Becoming an Emperor Starting from the World of The Wandering Earth

Due to the construction of planetary engines and the gradual shutdown of the Earth's rotation, the global climate has become completely chaotic.

Yesterday it was still drizzling, but this morning the sun was shining brightly in the sky, and the temperature soared to almost 30 degrees Celsius. The entire southern suburbs of Houston felt like a giant steamer.

But this awful weather can't stop people.

Five hundred meters east of the gate of the Mo's Energy factory, on a newly leveled open space, a simple steel structure platform has been erected.

Behind the platform are three prefabricated container houses pieced together, with a brand-new sign on top that reads "Moshi Energy Southeast Region Mutual Aid and Relief Station".

The area in front of the platform was packed with people.

A rough estimate suggests that at least three to four thousand people were present.

Men, women, the elderly, and children were packed together, carrying all sorts of bags.

"Have you heard? The new relief window opened today!"

"That's right, I arrived at three in the morning, afraid I wouldn't get a turn."

"Mr. Murphy is an angel; this is the third window already."

"A third one? You must be mistaken, weren't there two before?"

"What do you know? That's in the west district, this is in the southeast district, it's newly opened!"

A buzzing of discussion rose and fell among the crowd.

An elderly African American woman, wrapped in a tattered blanket, stood on tiptoe, peering ahead and muttering, "I heard there's not only bean soup this time, but also meat porridge? Really?"

A middle-aged man next to him wiped the sweat from his face and chimed in, "It's true. My cousin works in a factory and said that Mr. Murphy just bought a batch of pork at a high price a few days ago. The canteen has been adding extra meals, so there will definitely be plenty at the relief window as well."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" The old lady's eyes lit up immediately. "My little grandson hasn't smelled meat in three months."

Suddenly, in the middle of the line, a young man in a T-shirt curled his lip and muttered to his companion, "Tch, what meat porridge? It's probably just dishwater mixed with some starch, just a cheap imitation."

Before his companion could reply, a burly man with a thick beard in front of him suddenly turned around, glaring and shouting, "What did you say?"

The young man was startled and instinctively shrank back, saying, "I... I was just saying..."

"Tell me about it?"

The burly man with a thick beard grabbed him by the collar. "You're new here, aren't you? Do you know what's different about Mo's Energy's relief efforts compared to other places?"

The young man, struggling to breathe, quickly waved his hands, saying, "Big brother, big brother, I was wrong, I was wrong..."

"wrong?"

The burly man with the thick beard didn't let go, and his voice grew even louder.

"Let me tell you, I've lined up at official relief stations before, and what did those bastards give me? Moldy bread! Beans mixed with sand! Sometimes they even spit in the soup! If you're not going to drink it, get out, nobody cares if you starve to death!"

He took a breath, let go of his hand, and pointed to the white-painted prefab house in front of him.

"But Mo's Energy is different. They give you real food that can fill your stomach. The beans are stewed until soft, the soup is hot, and sometimes there's minced meat. Last winter, I almost froze to death under a bridge, and I survived thanks to a bowl of hot soup from this window."

The young man rubbed his neck and dared not utter a sound.

Seeing this, his companion quickly tried to smooth things over: "Brother, don't be angry. My brother here is just being silly. We only came all the way from the North District because we heard that a new window had opened here."

Seeing the young men back down, the burly man with the thick beard snorted, "If you don't know any better, then watch and listen more, and shut up."

As the sun rose higher, more and more people gathered.

Just then, a somewhat dilapidated interview vehicle stopped in the open space outside the group.

The car door opened, and a blonde woman wearing a light gray hoodie and carrying a camera bag jumped out.

He glanced at the dense crowd ahead, then at the brand-new sign, took out his press pass from his bag, hung it around his neck, and walked towards the line.

"Hello, I'm Emily Carter, a reporter for The Houston Chronicle."

She moved to the back of the line, showed her identification to a young mother holding a child, and asked, "May I ask you a few questions?"

The young mother glanced at her warily, instinctively tightening her grip on her child before asking, "What's the problem?"

Emily smiled kindly and pointed to the relief station ahead: "Today is the opening day of the new relief window at Mo's Energy. Where are you from? Why did you choose to queue here?"

The young mother hesitated for a moment, but then spoke up.

"I come from the East District. Why did I come here? Because the things they offer here are good."

"Okay?" Emily pressed, "How so?"

Upon hearing this, the young mother's eyes lit up.

"I went to a federal relief center last month and waited in line for four hours. When I got to the window, the person inside just threw a paper bag out. I bent down to pick it up, and they yelled at me, 'Hurry up, don't waste time.'"

As she spoke, the young mother paused and looked down at the child in her arms.

"But Mo's Energy is different. Last month, I picked it up at the window in the southeast area. The staff handed it to me with a smile and asked how old my child was and if I needed baby formula."

As she spoke, her eyes began to redden.

"These days, who treats you like a human being? Only Mr. Murphy."

Emily quickly jotted down notes in her notebook, then pressed on, "So, in your opinion, what's the difference between these relief channels Mr. Murphy has opened and official agencies?"

"different?"

The young mother thought for a moment, "First of all, the official supplies were moldy, while everything they gave us was fresh. Secondly, the people here are nice. Those officials are all like dead men, they'd rather take their anger out on you, but not here."

Emily nodded and then asked, "So, what kind of person do you think Mr. Murphy is?"

The young mother almost blurted out, "What a good man! What an incredibly good man! He's an angel sent by God to save us!"

She raised her voice, causing several people in front of her to turn around and look.

"Let me tell you, Miss Reporter, there's no such thing as Mr. Murphy these days. He owns factories and businesses, yet he still cares about people like us who can't make a living. He's not just putting on an act; he genuinely gives us things and a way to survive."

An old man nearby chimed in, "Yes, yes, I've lived for sixty-seven years and met a lot of people, but Mr. Murphy is the first one like him."

The old man held up one finger and shook it.

"Do you know why? Because he gave us more than just food; he treated us like human beings."

"To be human?" Emily was taken aback.

"Yes, treated like human beings." The old man pointed to himself. "At the official relief station, you get things like you're begging. But here, you stand in line, and they smile and hand them to you. You take them and say thank you, and they even tell you to take care. That's what it means to treat us like human beings."