America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

"In short, at this critical juncture, if I were you, I would never get involved in this mess for a little subsidy. What if that female reporter really digs up some juicy gossip or the police get involved in the investigation... As your assistant, you would be among the first to be questioned, and you might even become the scapegoat."

"Thank you for reminding me."

Chen Ming nodded, looking sincerely at his old classmate.

Although her words were always sarcastic and even carried a hint of arrogance, this warning was genuinely well-intentioned.

"Thank you for reminding me, Emma... but I'm really short of money right now."

"If you're really short of money, I can lend you some, but don't get yourself into trouble."

I appreciate it.

Chen Ming smiled, turned around and walked towards the laboratory building.

Journalist investigations, police attention, gang conflicts...

The volcano under Evans's "sugar daddy" seems about to erupt.

As a newcomer to the industry, I need to quickly figure out what's going on before deciding whether to help him or run away.

After passing through the red brick corridor covered with ivy, Chen Ming pushed open the heavy glass door of the laboratory building.

The medical school building is like a huge white maze, with the hum of the central air conditioning masking the occasional footsteps.

Chen Ming skillfully avoided the elevators that required card swiping and walked along the fire escape to the third floor—Evans' private territory and the power center of the entire anatomy department.

"Knock knock".

It took a good ten seconds before the door finally cracked open.

A bloodshot eye peered through the crack in the door until it recognized Chen Ming as the visitor, at which point the door was fully opened.

Evans's hair was disheveled, his tie was askew, and he looked anxious and dejected.

"You're here? Have a seat." He gestured to the leather sofa next to him.

"I didn't want to trouble you, but those interns... you know, these days many people can't even spell words correctly, let alone distinguish between general procurement and private donations."

"Help me go through all the lists from 24 years ago in the cabinet, especially... the handwritten receipts. Put them separately in that black box; I need to take them home to deal with them."

Evans rubbed his temples, his voice tinged with helplessness.

"Pick them out."

"No problem, Professor."

Chen Ming didn't ask any questions, rolled up his sleeves, and started working.

Just as Emma said, the so-called "private donation" list was full of trickery—there were no formal invoices, only scribbled signatures and amounts.

Long Beach Port Management Fees, East Los Angeles Cleaning Services, Tortilla Shop Procurement...

There were even several receipts clearly stained with dried dark brown liquid, with amounts totaling several thousand US dollars.

Chen Ming calmly gathered the receipts and neatly stacked them into the black box.

Two hours later.

"All done, Professor."

Chen Ming dusted off his hands and pushed the sealed black box to the side of his desk.

"Still so efficient. If those idiots did this, it would take them at least an afternoon, and then I'd have to check for problems for another hour..."

Evans nodded approvingly, took out a check, wrote down a few numbers, and handed it to Chen Ming.

"This is yours, it's a hundred dollars more than the school's hourly wage... consider it hush money."

Chen Ming folded the check and put it in his pocket, but did not leave.

"Professor, you don't look too well."

"I noticed while organizing the documents that the purchase volume for some dates seems unusually high, and the supplier's name is changing frequently... I shouldn't say anything, but are you in trouble?"

Upon hearing this, Evans' facial muscles twitched twice.

"You're a smart kid, Chen, but being too smart isn't always a good thing."

The old man shook his head with a wry smile.

"This doesn't really concern you much... Yes, I've gotten myself into trouble, and with a bunch of unruly stray dogs."

"Not long ago, I desperately needed a large sum of money to pay for the drug rehabilitation center... At that time, several laboratories and companies had a high demand for fresh samples, so I became greedy and contacted several gangs, including the 18th Street gang and several unknown Latin American groups..."

Evans said it through gritted teeth.

"I made it very clear to them that I wanted a complete, fresh specimen, not from an unnatural death but with an intact appearance, but do you know what they sent me?"

"Garbage! It's all garbage!"

"Either your veins are full of fentanyl and your liver is as hard as a rock, or your whole body is covered in needle marks and so rotten that even preservatives can't be injected."

"The most outrageous time was when they even sent us a mangled body riddled with bullet holes from over a dozen 9mm bullets, with even the skull shattered!"

"How am I supposed to put this on the dissection table? How am I supposed to demonstrate it to my students?!"

Evans, panting heavily, loosened his tie.

"I refused to accept the goods at the time, and then these bastards started to hold me hostage, saying that I had to pay the original price for the goods I ordered... that's tens of thousands of dollars."

"I refused, and that's when the conflict started."

"That kidnapping under the bridge was their first warning to me, and thankfully you saved me. But after that failed attempt, those bastards learned their lesson."

"They started deliberately leaking information to a female reporter at the Los Angeles Times, feeding her bit by bit. Today it's a blurry photo of the delivery, tomorrow it's a cut-out audio recording."

"They wanted to force me to give in this way, to make me return all the money, and even double it."

"Just now, the 18th Street gang called me." Evans covered his face in dejection.

"They said the female reporter named Michelle has obtained substantial evidence. If I don't bring 50,000 yuan in cash to the underground parking garage of the old campus tonight to buy back the recording USB drive... I'll be on the front page tomorrow."

"Chen, you should leave. I don't want to drag you down with me."

Chen Ming did not move after listening.

go?

Where else can we go?

"Professor, have you forgotten..." Chen Ming slowly began.

"I'm now the first mate on your wrecked ship. If the ship sinks, you'll be ruined, and I'll be in big trouble too."

"Then the FBI or those keen-nosed reporters will follow your leads and investigate a little... 'Oh, look who this is? A student on leave driving around in a food truck, actually the middleman in all this?'"

Chen Ming, mimicking an exaggerated news anchor tone, shrugged.

"Forget about going back to school, the food cart that I finally managed to clean of all the grease will probably be auctioned off to pay off debts... I might even be convicted of a serious crime."

"So what do you want to do?"

"Let's get the audio recording evidence first."