My name is Cheng Huan.
It has the same name as the main character who tragically died in London in the 1919 silent film "Tear of a Broken Flower". He fell in the rain, but I lived in the sunshine - because Brother Kun fished me out of the most embarrassing quagmire in the country and sent me to the East District of Los Angeles.
Now I open a grocery store, wear Hanfu, twist Buddhist beads, and give sermons to homeless people. There is a pancake stall at the door, and credit card holders come every now and then to protect the safety of this street.
The cake nourishes the stomach, the knife protects peace, and the Buddha calms the heart.
Until the black SUV parked across the street and someone walked out carrying a baseball bat.
This time, I will not let the tragedy in the movie happen again. The knife protects the safety of the neighborhood. The cake nourishes the stomach, the knife protects safety, and the Buddha comforts the heart - the three of us weirdos have struck a delicate balance in this rundown little street.
The tragedy of the movie Miles Huan will never happen again. This time, I want to turn the drama in the sea of suffering into a comedy.
