Becoming an Emperor Starting from the World of The Wandering Earth

These are just the less desirable, less addictive products.

If you come across the purified kind, the price can be several times higher.

Sometimes you could even trade it for several rifles, or even a piece of beef.

For these completely addicted and obsessed individuals, these small glass bottles are their life.

You can skip meals, you can skip water, you can skip sleep, but you can't be without goods.

People would do anything for this taste.

Stealing, robbing, cheating, selling.

The ration coupons that UEG distributes every month are meant to be exchanged for some synthetic bean paste and compressed biscuits, so that they can at least stay alive and not starve.

However, many drug addicts, as soon as they receive the coupons, immediately run to the black market to exchange them for credits from dealers who specialize in buying coupons, and then turn around and go to drug dealers.

Sometimes, in order to get the goods faster, the price is driven down to an extremely low level. A ration coupon that could originally be exchanged for three days' worth of food might only be enough to exchange for one bite of inferior goods that are not strong enough.

But they didn't care; they just wanted to satisfy their immediate cravings.

tomorrow?

I'll think of another way tomorrow, another way to steal, another way to rob, or... another way to sell something.

If it weren't for the current social unrest, and the fact that UEG had cut almost all non-essential research and medical projects in order to cope with the solar helium flash, and was instead focused on protecting the Mountain Moving and Ark projects.

Otherwise, more than a decade ago, there were even people who made money by buying and selling corpses.

Some homeless people would gather in groups of three or five.

I managed to scrape together the credits I stole and robbed today, and it was barely enough to buy a small dose of potion.

Then they gather together to enjoy it.

If you're unlucky, or your body is already exhausted, you might collapse from the effects of the medication and never wake up again.

For the surviving companions, this is not a sad thing at all; on the contrary, it may be a windfall.

Even corpses have "value".

Some illegal medical research institutions, or collectors with unusual hobbies, will pay for it.

But nowadays, even regular medical resources are in dire need, so the demand from the margins and underground has naturally shrunk dramatically.

The market for corpses is getting worse every day; often, even if they're given away for free, nobody wants them.

Instead, human trafficking has grown rampant.

A living person is always more useful than a dead one.

Young and strong men can be sold to those still struggling illegal mines and underground factories to work as slave laborers until they die from exhaustion.

Women and children are more expensive, and of course, the consequences are even darker.

After all, who says that meat sold on the black market is necessarily beef or pork?

In this world, people are worse off than grass.

Murphy stared at the boxes of medicine in front of him for a few seconds in silence.

"Garcia".

The old butler stepped forward: "Sir?"

"Move all of these things out and dump them into the stinking ditch behind the factory."

Garcia was clearly taken aback for a moment.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he only replied, "Yes, sir."

After saying that, he picked up the communicator and pressed a few buttons. Soon after, several logistics personnel came over, bowed respectfully to Murphy and Garcia, and then carried the boxes toward the back gate of the factory.

After finishing dealing with the matter, Garcia returned to Murphy's side.

"Sir, throw those things away..." he said cautiously. "Actually, you can get a lot of credits on the black market. The company is short of funds lately, and if we could get an extra injection of funds, it would make things much easier."

Although Garcia didn't quite understand the ins and outs, he could earn at least 200 million credits if he sold all those boxes.

With this credit, the company's working capital can be greatly relieved.

For Garcia, no one else matters; only Murphy and the company are the most important.

However, Murphy didn't respond. After a few seconds, he finally spoke.

"Garcia, what do you think about taking the money out of these credit cards and opening a relief window?" Murphy said, waving the credit cards in his hand.

Garcia almost dropped his umbrella.

He stared at Murphy with the same expression he had a month ago when he heard Murphy say in the office that the relief window was going to be reopened.

"Sir, you..." Garcia took a deep breath, trying to keep his tone steady, "You haven't given up on this idea yet?"

Seeing that Murphy didn't speak, Garcia took a half step forward and lowered his voice.

"Sir, I know you have a kind heart. These days, you won't find another person like you in all of Houston. But sir, you've already done enough. The factory employs over two hundred people, and hundreds of mouths are waiting at the two relief windows every day. Are you really going to open a third one?"

He pointed to the dark, rainy night outside.

"Sir, you can't save all those people outside. You might save ten today, but a hundred might come tomorrow, and a thousand the day after. There are just too many people in this world who can't survive; you can't save them all."

"And sir, even if you open another relief window, what will change? Those people get a bowl of hot soup today, but what about tomorrow? What about the day after? As long as this damn sun keeps exploding, as long as UEG keeps providing centralized supplies, and as long as it keeps raining outside, those people will never survive."

"You're throwing money into a bottomless pit."

After Garcia finished speaking, he took a breath and looked at Murphy.

Murphy remained silent.

He simply waved to the logistics personnel who had returned after dispensing the medicine, indicating that they could go back.

"Garcia, you're right."

Garcia paused for a moment.

"But," Murphy paused, "those people lining up for welfare are not just numbers, nor are they just costs."

Do you remember Cheng Hongtu?

Garcia nodded.

"He queued for six hours at the relief window just for a bowl of stewed beans."

Murphy's voice was flat. "He's a key member of the security team now. He just took down a gang's hideout tonight."

"And Nancy, and Kirk, and Peter, and Mullen, and you."

"If someone hadn't given you a hand back then, where would you be now?"

Garcia didn't say anything.

Murphy turned around and walked towards the office building.

"Open another relief window, located in the southeast area, closer to that cold chain warehouse. They've run out of M-13s there, so it'll be free."

"Also," Murphy paused, "remember to find a few reporters. These days, it's not enough to just do good deeds; you have to let people know we're doing good deeds."

Garcia stood there, watching Murphy's figure disappear into the office building.

After a long while, he finally sighed.

"Yes, sir."

Garcia didn't know what to say.

All he knew was that he would do whatever Murphy told him to do.

This was a habit he had developed since the time of Mr. Murphy.

This habit will probably continue until the day he can no longer do it.