Becoming an Emperor Starting from the World of The Wandering Earth

Meanwhile, Murphy, watching the crowd beating up the blond-haired man from behind the platform, smirked.

By this time, the line was in complete chaos. No one cared about queuing; everyone was focused on attacking the blond guy and his group.

Several staff members responsible for maintaining order tried to step forward to break up the fight, but Murphy gently raised his hand to stop them.

"Let them fight. They'll stop when they're tired."

This is exactly what he wanted.

He opened a relief window and gave away food that he had bought with real money every day for free. What was his motive?

Of course, it's not just about seeking that vague and illusory good reputation, nor is it about becoming some kind of saint who saves people from suffering.

Murphy was never a saint.

In this godforsaken world where the sun is about to explode and everyone could freeze or starve to death tomorrow, saints die the fastest.

He was after faith points, but faith points are not something that can be obtained through charity.

Simple gratitude is too shallow and too easily forgotten.

If you give him a bowl of hot soup today, he will be so grateful that he will call you God.

If the soup runs out tomorrow, or someone elsewhere gives him a couple of pieces of meat, he'll forget all about you in no time.

The surge in faith points brought about by the online hype, followed by a period of stagnation, is the best example.

Human hearts are fickle, especially when repeatedly tormented by hunger and despair.

Therefore, he cannot simply be a giver.

He had to tie his own life to the lives of these people.

Murphy gave them a way to survive and food.

Correspondingly, they also have to give something in return.

They offer loyalty, dependence, and the awareness that "we'll fight anyone who dares to harm the people who give us a way to survive."

The brawl currently taking place outside is the most direct manifestation of this self-awareness.

Those idiots with yellow hair made a mistake by publicly revealing their dirty schemes.

They wanted to take advantage, to get something for free, and to turn Murphy's kind donation into their own means of enjoyment.

To those who are truly relying on relief to barely survive, this is the greatest blasphemy.

Insulting Mr. Murphy is like destroying our family's livelihood and cutting off our last hope of survival.

What else is there to say?

Killing you would be too lenient.

Murphy looked at the black worker who had started the fight, and at how he had put all his strength into every kick.

He vaguely remembered this person; I think his name was Leonard. He had queued at the old window in the South District before. He was always quiet and would leave as soon as he got his things.

Unexpectedly, he was the first to jump out.

And there was that burly man with the thick beard, that lame old man, and all the men and women who joined in the shouting and killing...

They may not actually have a very high level of morality.

They were simply instinctively defending their meager, sole, and guaranteed survival provided by Mr. Murphy.

This kind of defense is more powerful and more solid than any empty gratitude.

Murphy looked away and walked to the other side of the prefab house, where the supplies to be distributed today were piled up.

Boxes of compressed biscuits, neatly stacked cans of beans, and several large buckets of stewed meat soup bubbling away on the kitchen stove in the logistics area.

Unlike those fake products made with synthetic proteins, this contains real meat.

Although it's frozen meat, it still looks incredibly tempting mixed in with potatoes and carrots.

"Garcia," Murphy said.

"Sir," Garcia immediately stepped forward.

"Go tell the people maintaining order to pull them apart when it's almost time, so they don't actually kill anyone, that would be a hassle."

"Yes, sir."

"Also," Murphy pointed outside, "when they start distributing things at the window, tell the person in charge to be polite and slow. When handing something to each person, remember to look them in the eye and say, 'Mr. Murphy, have a good day.'"

Garcia paused for a moment, then understood Murphy's intention.

"I understand, sir. It will be arranged."

Murphy nodded and said nothing more.

He treated them as human beings, and they treated him as a god.

That makes sense.

The beating by the crowd continued, and the blond-haired man and his companions were curled up on the ground, their hands covering their heads, their pleas for mercy weak and feeble.

Just then, someone shouted.

"Mr. Murphy is here!"

This shout seemed to have a magical power, instantly silencing the crowd that had been punching and kicking each other.

The homeless men who had been lashing out at the blond-haired man with bloodshot eyes suddenly stopped, as if a shutdown button had been pressed, and immediately put away their fists and surged toward the platform.

"Mr. Murphy! Mr. Murphy is here!"

"My God, it really is Mr. Murphy!"

"Long live Mr. Murphy!"

As for the blond-haired guy and his group, nobody even glanced at them anymore.

Murphy stood on the high platform, watching the crowd rapidly gathering below.

The crowd was dense, men and women, young and old, all with expressions that mixed with excitement, awe, and anticipation.

They looked up at him as if he were a god!

Admiring those gazes, Murphy's lips curled into a slight smile, before she adopted a gentle expression and subtly activated her charm aura.

He raised his hands and pressed them down.

The crowd quickly fell silent, and thousands of eyes were fixed on him.

Murphy didn't speak immediately, but instead slowly scanned the crowd, over the tattered clothes, the sunken cheeks, and the longing eyes.

He spoke after a few seconds.

"Ladies and gentlemen, and children."

His voice carried throughout the open space through a makeshift loudspeaker set up on the platform.

"Standing here today, looking at you all, I feel very sad."

"I know that many of you came from more than ten kilometers away, some set off at dawn, and some didn't sleep all night. You came here for only the simplest wish—to survive."

As soon as he finished speaking, some people in the crowd began to wipe away tears.

"You are the cornerstone of this city, the builders of this country. You have paved roads, built skyscrapers, grown crops, and produced energy with your own hands. But today, you can't even get a full meal, and you don't even have a place to shelter from the wind and rain."

"Whose fault is this? Is it the sun's fault for the helium flash? Is it the fault of the centralized supply from the UEG? Or is it the fault of this damned world?"

Murphy continued without waiting for an answer:

"Both, and neither. I, Murphy, am no big shot. I can't change the sun, nor can I turn the world around. But there is one thing I can do."

Murphy raised his right hand, pointing to the brand-new container houses behind him, and then to the sign for the Murphy Energy Southeast Region Mutual Aid and Relief Station.

"So I can only open another relief window, and I promise that from today onwards, this window will remain open forever."

"forever!"

These two words exploded in the crowd like a thunderclap.

"Oh my god! Mr. Murphy! Mr. Murphy!"

"God bless you, thank you Mr. Murphy! Thank you, Murphy!"

[PS: Sorry everyone, I can't update too much today in order to get enough data. I'll only be updating three times today. I hope to get some monthly tickets in return. Please help me.]