Becoming an Emperor Starting from the World of The Wandering Earth

Seeing that the emotions had been fully expressed, Murphy continued to speak slowly.

"Every day from seven in the morning to seven in the evening, there is hot soup, beans, and compressed biscuits. When conditions are good, there will also be meat and fresh vegetables."

"I can't guarantee that everyone will have enough to eat, but I can guarantee that everyone will have a hot meal. I can't guarantee that you'll have warm houses to live in, but I can guarantee that as long as this window is open, you won't starve to death in this awful weather."

Some people in the crowd began to sob quietly.

A young mother holding her child couldn't stop the tears from flowing down her face.

The elderly woman who had been talking to reporter Emily was now wiping her eyes repeatedly with the back of her hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

Murphy's voice softened again, "I know that a lot of people outside are saying that I'm a fool, a sucker, and that I'm throwing money away. But I don't care."

"Because in my eyes, you are not numbers, not costs; you are people, my compatriots, my neighbors, the people who should never be forgotten in this collapsing world. I love you!"

As soon as he finished speaking, a long-suppressed cheer finally erupted from the crowd.

"Mr. Murphy!!!"

"God bless you!!!"

"You are an angel! You are God!!"

"Murphy! Murphy! Murphy..."

Seeing that the time was almost right, Murphy gave Garcia a wink.

Garcia immediately understood and led seven or eight invited reporters forward to take pictures of Murphy.

At the same time, the live streaming equipment was pointed at Murphy, the crowd below, and the relief station behind him, constantly switching back and forth.

Murphy, at the opportune moment, put on a compassionate face, conveying his most perfect side to every household through live streaming.

After a while, the noise from below had not subsided, so Murphy finally raised his hand and pressed it down again.

This fervent atmosphere is good, but if it continues, he's afraid they'll get so excited they might suddenly die.

These people are "his family," "his lovers," and the source of his faith. Murphy would be heartbroken if any of them died.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please calm down. Next, we will..."

However, before Murphy could finish speaking, a female reporter suddenly stepped forward.

"Mr. Murphy, I'm Emily Carter, a reporter from the Houston Chronicle. May I ask you a question?"

Murphy was slightly taken aback, as this step was clearly not in the original plan, but he reacted very quickly, without showing any abnormality on his face, and nodded decisively.

"Excuse me," Emily paused, looking directly at Murphy, "when you opened this new relief window today and said these things in front of the media, were you just putting on a show?"

The air seemed to freeze for a second after those words were spoken.

The next second, the crowd near the stage erupted in cheers.

"What did you say?!"

"Say that again, you filthy bastard!"

"Get out! You're not welcome here!"

The black man who started the fight even tried to rush onto the stage, but was fortunately stopped by two staff members maintaining order.

But he still stubbornly roared at Emily, "You filthy bastard, you bitch, how dare you speak to Mr. Murphy like that? You just wait, I'll kill you!"

Even the old man who had been interviewed by Emily earlier looked indignant.

"God, please don't forgive this wicked person, send her to hell!"

Seeing the people's anger, Emily's face turned pale. But she didn't back down; she still held her head high, staring intently at Murphy.

Seeing this, Murphy gestured for everyone to be quiet again. "Ladies and gentlemen, please be quiet and listen to me."

The crowd fell silent the moment Murphy spoke.

Murphy then turned to Emily, "Miss Carter, you asked me if I was putting on a show?"

He stretched out his hand.

Emily was stunned for a moment, and before she could react, Murphy had already gently grasped the hand that was holding the recorder, pressed the recorder down a little, and then let go.

"Miss Carter, look at them."

Emily looked in the direction he was pointing.

Those tattered clothes, those sunken cheeks, those faces that looked particularly ferocious from anger and hunger.

"What did you see?"

Emily didn't speak, so Murphy spoke for her.

"What you see are homeless people, unemployed people, and useless people who can't survive in this damn world."

Some people in the audience lowered their heads, while others clenched their fists.

"But Miss Carter, what I see are people."

"They have names, families, and pasts; they're just unlucky, just abandoned by this era."

"You ask me if I'm putting on a show? Okay, then I'll ask you—are they putting on a show?"

Emily opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Those people who line up at dawn every day, those who stand for hours in the freezing rain just for a bowl of hot soup, those who thank me after receiving their gifts—are they just putting on a show?"

Murphy's voice remained calm, but every word seemed to be driven into the air like a nail.

"Are those who lived another day because of this bowl of hot soup, those who didn't freeze or starve tonight because of this meal, just putting on a show?"

Murphy took another half step forward and gently patted Emily's shoulder.

"Miss Carter, if this is all a show," Murphy's voice suddenly rose, turning to the audience and the camera lenses, "then I hope that everyone in the world will participate in this show."

"I wish every country, every government, and every wealthy person in the world would put on a show like this!"

"I hope their performances continue until everyone has enough to eat, until everyone is warm enough to wear, until no one freezes to death in the cold rainy nights anymore!"

Murphy's voice echoed around the platform.

"The reality is, they don't show off. They can't even be bothered to pretend. They throw you moldy bread, pour you beans mixed with sand, and use the money that should have been used to save lives to feed their own dogs and their mistresses' cats."

"So, Miss Carter, you're asking me if I'm just putting on a show?"

Murphy looked at her without flinching.

"Yes, I am. I'm putting on a show for those who can't go on living, to tell them that there are still people in this world who remember them. I'm putting on a show for those who are high and mighty, to tell them that ordinary people's lives matter too. I'm putting on a show for this messed-up world, to tell it that I just won't admit defeat."

"If this is what you call a show!"

Murphy laughed. "Then I hope this show never stops."

There was a two-second silence in the audience.

Then, it exploded with a deafening roar.

"Mr. Murphy!!!"

"Oh my God!!!"

"Did you hear that?! He said he was putting on a show for us!!"

"Mr. Murphy! My life is yours from now on!"

The cheers from the crowd grew louder and louder, and the shouts of "Mr. Murphy" almost pierced the sky.

Emily stood there, unsure of what to say.