After his brief detainment and investigation by American authorities, Xiao China was released, much to the confusion of the Customs and Border Protection (CBP) officers. Though enraged by his earlier attack on one of their own, they had no choice but to let him go once they realized he was a political envoy from China. Still, they couldn't help but wonder, Why would the Chinese government send this madman as an envoy?

Xiao China walked out of the airport with a smug grin, his displeasure already forgotten. "How can I be angry with these American barbarians?" he muttered to himself. "It's like being upset with the gorillas at the zoo. Funny creatures, but not worth my attention."

Putting the airport encounter behind him, Xiao China strode through the streets of Los Angeles, curious but unimpressed. He glanced up at the towering skyscrapers around him, dismissing them with a snort. "An obvious imitation of China," he mused. "How can these Americans think they can mimic thousands of years of architectural greatness? Even I, the future emperor, can barely comprehend the depth of our culture."

Shaking his head in disappointment, he turned away from the city's skyline and wandered into a nearby alley. There, he encountered a group of Blacks, as he had so crudely labeled them earlier. They were moving toward him with a casual swagger, talking in a rhythm and style that immediately caught his attention.

One of the men stepped forward, his voice low and menacing as he delivered a string of lines:

"Gimme what you got, bro,

Don't play dumb, you know how this gon' go.

Yo, I ain't messin', don't make me act a fool,

Run it quick, or I'll show you what this blade do."

Another one followed up, adding:

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"Quit playin', you know what I'm sayin',

Give it up now, before I start sprayin'.

Ain't no time to think, no hesitation,

Or this moment's your final destination."

Xiao China stared at them, his eyes narrowing. Ah... this must be that American activity... what do they call it? Ah yes, rap. He had heard about this so-called "rap," where men faced off in verbal combat, much like the ancient poetic contests of China. Offended by the low-level challenge, Xiao China scoffed. These Blacks think they can match the poetry of the Chinese? Ha! They are like infants fumbling in the dark.

For a moment, he considered teaching them a lesson by kicking them unconscious, just as he had done to the CBP officer. But then he paused. No, he thought, how could these poor barbarians ever understand the grandeur of Chinese poetry?

Sighing dramatically, he decided to stoop to their level. It wasn't as though they would understand true culture, but perhaps they could be impressed by his "rap skills."

Clearing his throat, Xiao China began:

"Yo, you know what you're doin', man, I'm a Chinese king,

Future emperor of Chinabawne, yeah, I wear the ring.

Ain't no bitch, I stand tall in my land,

Your mama's weak, man, she don't understand."

He was starting to enjoy himself now, believing he was effortlessly outclassing his opponents:

"Introduce her to me, I'll show you who's boss,

I'll bring that power, no games, no loss.

We Chinese, man, we rise and we build,

Making seven kids, strong, with skills."

The men in front of him looked at each other, confused, but Xiao China was on a roll:

"Yo, how many brothers you got, one or two?

Poor American, man, you don't have a clue.

We stack 'em up, seven kids per wife,

You introduce your mama, I'll change your whole life!"

He puffed out his chest, delivering the final blow:

"I'll give you 8 brothers, all Chinabawne kings,

We rule the future, watch how the dynasty swings!"

Xiao China finished, grinning proudly, convinced that he had just decimated his opponents in this impromptu rap battle. Surely they would be humbled by his lyrical prowess and bow before the might of the future emperor.

But instead of applause, the only thing that greeted Xiao China was a swift, metallic thud to the face.

The last thing Xiao China saw was the flash of a metal pipe before his world turned black.