America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Since the goal is to stage a dramatic "change of heart," a poor student who deliberately dresses up in formal attire to appear serious is more likely to win the female reporter's trust, or rather, her favor, than a disheveled homeless man.

Twenty minutes later.

Chen Ming looked completely different in the mirror.

His stubble was neatly shaved, revealing his sharply defined jawline. The suit fit his well-proportioned figure perfectly, and although the cuffs were slightly worn, it made him look less like a pampered young master and more like a man who had truly experienced the trials of society.

"Looks like a hapless guy getting ready to attend a Senate hearing..."

Chen Ming straightened his tie in front of the mirror, then nodded in satisfaction.

As he pushed open the bedroom door, preparing to stride away, he bumped into a moving "mountain of garbage."

Sofia was blocking the hallway with a huge pile of colorful dirty clothes—lace underwear mixed with athletic socks, and even a few unwashed T-shirts hanging there—clearly preparing to stuff the whole thing into the poor washing machine.

"Hey, watch where you're going! You..."

Sophia was already on the verge of uttering the classic F-word when her gaze finally met Chen Ming's clean-cut face and well-tailored charcoal gray suit.

The swear words caught in his throat.

Sofia blinked, and a pink sock in her arms fell to the ground with a "thud".

She stared blankly at the male model in front of her, who looked like he had stepped off the cover of GQ magazine, then looked down at the dirty clothes in her arms, her mind completely blank.

Who are you?

"I'm your roommate who always helps share the rent, but now I'm temporarily leaving this rat kingdom to meet some people."

Chen Ming gracefully turned to the side, avoiding the socks that had fallen to the ground.

Excuse me.

It wasn't until the security door closed that Sofia suddenly came to her senses, as if she had just woken up from some kind of hypnotic state.

She bent down to pick up the socks, and then, as was her habit, stuffed all the messy clothes in her arms into the washing machine.

But she stopped halfway through reaching out her hand.

What lingered in her mind was the impeccably tailored gray suit and the damn...refined aura emanating from the man.

"Fu*k."

Sofia cursed under her breath and, for the first time ever, picked out the underwear that was originally going to be washed with the T-shirts and threw it into the laundry basket on the other side.

"It must be the suit... Yes, it's the suit."

"I actually find that guy who makes fried rice all the time kind of...sexy?"

Sofia threw a wad of socks into the washing machine and then angrily pressed the start button.

"I can't live like this anymore!"

……

Silver Lake, the "Jerusalem" of Los Angeles' hipsters and yuppies.

The air here is filled with the smell of expensive matcha lattes, marijuana, and an anxiety deliberately created to appear "relaxed".

Independent filmmakers in vintage shirts and French Bulldogs are a common sight on the streets, as are disillusioned screenwriters drinking cocktails in broad daylight...

As Chen Ming pushed open the glass door of the "Intellectuals' Café," a rich aroma of coffee beans wafted out.

The store was packed with people, and almost every table had the Apple laptop logo lit up. The sound of typing on the keyboard was so dense it sounded like a downpour.

Looking around the store, I noticed a blonde woman sitting in the corner by the window.

Although only her neat, shoulder-length blonde hair and half a shoulder were visible, her upright posture, which stood out from the relaxed atmosphere around her, was very eye-catching.

"Ms. White?" Chen Ming stepped forward and asked, feigning timidity.

The blonde woman turned her head abruptly.

A typical "media face"—angular features, exquisite but aggressive makeup, and gray-blue eyes scanning Chen Ming up and down like a scanner.

Her figure is surprisingly hot – overall, she has textbook-perfect blonde wavy hair.

The woman's gaze swept over Chen Ming's thigh muscles, then upwards, finally settling on the collar of his shirt, which was slightly bulging from his pectoral muscles.

"You're Chen?"

Michelle raised an eyebrow, her previously serious expression suddenly softening, and a smile curved her lips.

"Wow...that's a little unexpected."

She didn't get up, but instead rested her chin on her hand, openly admiring the man in front of her. Her gaze was as if she were examining some expensive exhibit, which made Chen Ming feel a little uneasy.

"My informant told me you were a poor student tormented by a guilty conscience. I thought you'd be some nerdy guy with thick-rimmed glasses and a face full of acne..."

Michelle pointed a finger at Chen Ming's suit.

"The suit is well-tailored, and judging by how taut the fabric is on your chest and arms... You probably spend more time in the lab than in the gym, right?"

"This is for self-defense..."

Chen Ming pretended to be uncomfortable with such a direct gaze, and his ears turned slightly red.

"Don't be nervous, I'm just praising you."

Michelle chuckled softly.

"To be honest, even if the material you bring isn't explosive enough, I can still introduce you to my friend who's a model agent in West Hollywood—they really like your melancholic and dangerous Asian intellectual vibe...you'll definitely earn more than you do in the lab."

"I...I'm here to talk business."

Chen Ming pretended to look around like a startled rabbit.

"Is it...safe here? I mean, are there police or other people around?"

"Relax, handsome, let's sit down first."

"There are only two kinds of people here: screenwriters who can't write scripts and actors who can't find jobs. Nobody cares what a handsome Asian guy and a washed-up female reporter are talking about."

Chen Ming then carefully sat down.

"Okay, joke over."

Michelle leaned forward and began to scrutinize Chen Ming.

"My informant says you have evidence that Professor Evans is involved in illegal transactions. If that's not true, we're just wasting each other's time—though I don't think looking at your face is entirely a waste, but I'd rather have the headlines right now."

"I do have things in my possession: photos, experimental data, and even a recording... that I shouldn't have heard."

"But I can't just give it to you like that."

Why?

Michelle tapped her fingers lightly beside the voice recorder.

"Since you're here, isn't it all for exposure?"

"But I don't want to die yet." Chen Ming feigned fear and swallowed hard.

"I need reassurance; what I know is terrifying."

Chen Ming stared intently into Michelle's eyes, his tone urgent.

"You need to find me a completely safe hiding place. I can't go back to my apartment or to school until the news comes out... Now even the FBI and the police are unreliable."

Michelle paused for a moment.