I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 123 The Ups and Downs of Life (9K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

"FXXK! The box is full of bricks!! Boss! We've been tricked!" The henchman was shocked, even through his mask.

Dali, however, remained calm: "I know! It's empty!"

"Huh?" The underlings were dumbfounded.

Why ship an empty box?

"Empty package successfully arrived, no one is monitoring it." Dali stood by the window on the second floor of the warehouse, looking outside warily while making a call to the man in the suit.

The weather outside was calm and peaceful.

The henchmen on the perimeter didn't send back any warnings, and everything seemed normal.

The man in the suit breathed a sigh of relief on the other end of the phone.

He still couldn't figure out who was spying on Hart Island, and he hadn't slept well for two whole weeks after the last deal was interrupted.

Based on the surveillance footage, it seems impossible for either Lyon or Richard to be involved.

So he decided to try working with Da using an empty box.

If the police were to step in and arrest Dali's henchmen, there wouldn't be any serious consequences.

What's wrong with the box containing bricks?

Are we not allowed to use boxes to transport bricks?

Maybe we can follow the clues and catch the guy hiding in the shadows.

"Now we can be pretty sure that no one is watching us. The incident with the Wave Chaser was just an accident!" The man in the suit tried his best to remain calm and composed.

"The last incident was either a false alarm or the other party had already backed down."

"7

He thought awkwardly that he might just be outsmarting thin air.

Of course, I can't say that.

Unfortunately, what he didn't know was that outsmarting thin air wasn't the worst of it.

The worst part is that what you think is air is actually a person.

The inconspicuous rat hid in the corner, silently watching Dali and the others, like a dead object.

"Then let's begin the transaction!" Dali couldn't hold back any longer.

Among that batch of weapons, bullets and weapons were not the most important; the most important thing was the bulletproof vest.

Although federal law allows adults without a history of violent crime to make purchases online or in-store.

In reality, it is extremely difficult for any Black person to buy it.

And how many gang members don't have criminal records?

In particular, stockpiling large quantities of bulletproof vests can easily attract an FBI investigation.

There are also flashbangs, smoke grenades, and fragmentation grenades, all of which are military explosive and destructive devices that are strictly prohibited from being owned by civilians.

They are almost impossible to buy through normal channels.

Moreover, he demanded to buy it by the box, and only men in suits could provide that many weapons.

"Wait a few more days," the man in the suit said. "Ten days later, we'll make the deal. Maybe someone is waiting for us to let our guard down. Ten more days should be enough to bring out whoever's hiding in the shadows."

Dali's breathing became heavy, and his knuckles turned white as he gripped his phone.

"I can't wait ten days! Three days! I must get this batch of weapons within three days!"

Dali's voice was squeezed out from deep in his throat, as if it were being pressed down by something.

"Listen, Dali." The man in the suit's tone changed; there was something new in his otherwise steady voice.

It wasn't anger, but a condescending look that was even more humiliating than anger: "I'm the one giving you this, not the other way around. Don't bring those street trinkets here, they're useless."

The man in the suit wasn't threatening; he was reminding people.

Remind Dali to remember his position.

The two sides are indeed not on the same level.

Dali moved the phone an inch away from his ear.

He was afraid he would crush it.

These white people!

Those damn, self-important white people!

The man in the suit was just a errand boy, a middleman who relayed messages, yet he dared to speak to Dali in such a tone, as if Dali were a homeless man begging for change on a street corner, not the leader of the Ghost Shadow Gang!

He didn't know who was behind the man in the suit.

He dared not act rashly.

In just over two weeks, a single operation by the NYPD resulted in the deaths of thousands of New York gangsters.

If it was someone like that who did it, Dali knew he definitely wouldn't live to see the next month.

The man behind the suit has far more power than the NYPD.

He can provide a continuous supply of weapons.

They can turn off the marine police's radar on time and enter and leave Hart Island right under the noses of the NYPD and Coast Guard.

They were able to enact laws prohibiting others from landing on Hart Island, right next to New York, artificially creating a secure transit island for smuggling.

This kind of energy is something that street gangs cannot fight against.

Those big shots prefer to hide in the shadows, not daring to really clash with me.

coward!

Of course, Dali himself also covered his face every day...

"It really won't work!" Dali gritted his teeth, lowering his voice to a whisper just enough to keep his anger from overflowing. "The NYPD hasn't recovered yet, and every gang is fighting for territory! This is the most crucial time. If this works out, I can sell more stock and provide you with more organs. Fifty percent! I'll increase the price by fifty percent, and deliver within three days."

The man in the suit knew that Dali had finally revealed his true purpose.

Ever since that idiot rapper named Marcus publicly executed the sheriff, Antonio has become the NYPD's primary target and has been reduced to a fugitive by the NYPD.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If he can get better weapons, he can completely take over the BG gang's territory!

The man in the suit remained silent for a few seconds.

Dali could hear the sound of a lighter being lit on the other end of the phone and assumed the other person was interested.

In reality, the man in the suit didn't care about that small profit at all.

As the black glove directly managed by the King of New York, he didn't care about such petty gains.

"Fifty percent? Who do they think they are?" the man in the suit thought to himself.

In fact, the greatest value of this group of desperados lies in their hidden smuggling and sales channels to Brazil!

If we can snatch it, that's the most profitable thing!

The man in the suit had been entangled with Dali for so long just for this passage.

The man in the suit said calmly, "I have a shipment of weapons that I need you to deliver to Brazil. If you can do that, I can supply them to you within seven days."

Dali's breathing quickened, and he felt a sudden chill run down his spine.

Brazil!

He knew he had access to Brazil!

Dali had no idea how the other party knew that this passage was his true lifeline.

He knew he had no right to resist.

Since the other party is reminding me, it means they are telling me that I either have to cooperate or be completely eradicated!

"Okay! The deal will be done in seven days!" Dali immediately hung up the phone and slammed it on the table.

"Fuck! These damn white people!"

He could only suppress his frustration and dared not resist in the slightest.

Where did the leak come from?!

"Name, ID, driver's license, current address, fill it out and you can go." The FBI agent didn't even look up.

A stack of registration forms lay in front of him, each one listing the names of those about to be released.

The sudden siege of Queens Hospital naturally drew in a group of unrelated bystanders.

The FBI is responsible for recording these people and then sending them away.

In reality, recording this was a complete waste of time. It was just a case of hospital executives reselling medical equipment, and it had nothing to do with ordinary patients.

But that's how the FBI works, so he can only do pointless and futile work here.

The detective felt his life was being wasted. All that hard work filling out of these ridiculous forms was just thrown into a drawer and then destroyed 50 years later.

Richard took the pen and bent down to fill out the form.

His movements were neither fast nor slow, like an ordinary patient genuinely cooperating with the investigation.

While filling out the form, I casually asked, "What's going on today? Why are there so many people?"

"None of your business," the FBI agent said coldly. "Don't ask any more questions."

Richard didn't ask any more questions; he pushed the completed form back.

The FBI agent glanced at it, stamped the bottom right corner of the form, and waved his hand, indicating that he could leave.

Richard glanced back at the hospital; the raging fire was out of control.

If I were a fire mage, I wouldn't have to go through all that trouble.

He held a temporary pass and crossed the FBI cordon.

The entrance was already crowded with reporters and news vehicles.

FBI field supervisor Lucas Bell looked livid, feeling incredibly annoyed by the relentless questioning from a group of reporters.

Dean Jacob died of a heart attack on the spot, casting a shadow over what was originally a perfect arrest operation and causing huge trouble for the FBI.

Jacob's body was carried on a stretcher, covered with a white sheet, and transported to OCME for autopsy.

A group of photographers excitedly surrounded them, taking pictures.

Two hours ago he was saying "very good" on the walkie-talkie, but now he can't even be bothered to say a word.

When someone dies at an inopportune time, the follow-up report on that event is harder to write than the entire arrest operation itself.

At the FBI, death itself is not a problem.

The problem is that someone died at an inappropriate time, and who shouldn't have died.

Every "shouldn't" implies that there's some possibility that wasn't taken into account in the plan!

Every unplanned event needs an explanation!

It would take him at least one night of copywriting work to finish it!

Thanks to AI, it used to take him three days to write!

Lucas-Bell yelled, "Isn't there enough trouble already? No photos! No photos!"

His voice was drowned out by the many other voices.

Countless people at the scene raised their phones to take pictures, and flashes of light rose and fell among the crowd.

News can't be stopped.

The FBI can cut off a hospital's network, but it can't cut off the screen in everyone's pocket.

News on the internet has begun to spread like wildfire.

The headlines are getting more and more sensational:

FBI and IRS raided Queens hospitals, with plastic surgery departments being the hardest hit.

Mysterious fire in hospital computer room, suspected of destroying evidence.

"Dean Jacob died on the spot while being held hostage by the FBI; the FBI claimed it was a heart attack—what a coincidence!"

More than 30 mid- to high-level officials were taken away, and Queens hospitals were put on high alert.

The comments section has exploded.

Some say it was a cover-up by high-ranking officials in the medical system.

Some say it's a medical scandal.

Some say this is a repeat of the NYPD fire.

When Richard finally squeezed out of the hospital gate, he looked back once.

The scene was in complete chaos.

The area in front of the building was filled with unmarked cars, and the agents were busy moving boxes of documents.

Black smoke was still billowing out of the computer room windows, and a pungent, burnt smell lingered in the air.

A female patient tearfully complained, "I waited nine months! A full nine months! Today I finally got my appointment, but you took my doctor away!"

That's fucking awful! Richard was speechless.

He looked away and walked towards the parking lot.

Sensing from afar, the rat had already moved swiftly from the hidden dock on Hart Island to a house in Brooklyn!

The rat puppet's duration was almost up, and he had to hurry.

Richard drove to the edge of Brooklyn and stopped in front of a fast food restaurant window.

"A hamburger, a Coke, and a bag of fries." Richard handed over a crisp $20 bill from the car.

Judging from the luxury car and his demeanor, Richard clearly wasn't planning on giving change.

Most of it is tips!

"OK! GUY!" The saleswoman winked at Richard happily.

A group of Black gang members stood on the street corner, and their conversation stopped as soon as they saw his Porsche.

Their gaze shifted from the car logo to the license plate, then from the car window to the Asian face behind the steering wheel.

No one spoke, but their eyes were filled with undisguised hatred and jealousy.

In Brooklyn, owning a Porsche is a provocation in itself.

When an Asian man drives a Porsche and parks it on the territory of a Black gang, it's not just a provocation, it's a test—a test of whether they dare to make a move.

So Richard wisely kept the Porsche running; who knows what those guys who were always hyped up might do.

He could clearly sense a great deal of malicious gazes from the surrounding area, and many of them were the kind of malice that could kill at any moment.

This place should be very close to the Ghost Shadow Gang's hideout.

"Here's yours, handsome!" The black girl winked and handed over the food.

Richard gently pushed open the car door and stuck out one foot, as if only to stretch out his arm.

A rat jumped out from a crack in the sewer on the street, rubbed against Richard's foot, and then disappeared back into the sewer.

Richard drove away with the food, checking the rat's memory as he drove.

Dali and the person on the other end of the phone set the transaction for seven days from now!

Richard smiled.

Seven days is enough time to arrange a lot of things.

There's no doubt that the person on the other end of the phone has a powerful background; if we can catch him, we can dig out even more information.

When news of Morris's investigation into Katrina's clinic reached OMIG, the fat man in charge of the interrogation was holding a cup of black coffee that had gone cold.

"In other words, Daniel was arrested by mistake."

"Yes. That price was very reasonable for those scrapped devices, slightly low because they didn't have serial numbers. It was a crime, but it's not related to Daniel; at least we can't find any evidence against him."

"But after investigation, it was found that a batch of new equipment was indeed sold to the Katrina Clinic under the guise of being sold to the Queens Hospital! If the Katrina Clinic received obsolete equipment, what happened to the new equipment?"

"Nine times out of ten, the hospital director or some high-ranking official in the plastic surgery department smuggled the new equipment elsewhere and pocketed it! They then bought a set of obsolete old equipment from somewhere else to fool the Katrina Clinic."

"FXXK! This is even worse than reselling equipment! Some bastard just swallowed the new equipment and made Daniel and his cronies take the blame?"

"Yes."

"Oh! What a bunch of bitches!" Brody rubbed his temples. "Poor Daniel, he and the others got ripped off by the higher-ups."

He had seen too many unfortunate people like this, the lowest of the low being pushed out to take the blame, not because they were the most guilty, but because they were the least capable of fighting back and the least likely to come into contact with the truth.

This situation has occurred multiple times during investigations at Queens Hospital.

A nurse colluded with the head doctor to sell a batch of medical supplies such as needles and saline solution to a private hospital at a low price. However, the private hospital discovered that the supplies were expired!

They cheated even their own customers; Queens Hospital is truly a bunch of hidden talents.

Therefore, the unfortunate nurse did not hesitate to become a witness against the tainted case, denouncing the evil practices of the higher-ups who did not even spare their own people.

That's despicable!

Daniel was the most pitiful one among them.

The nurse only sold items worth a few thousand dollars, and Daniel was kept in the dark the whole time, believing he was doing legitimate business and selling genuinely obsolete old goods.

In reality, the new equipment was embezzled by higher-ups, and he became the scapegoat.

If it weren't for this sudden investigation, a few years later, when the equipment at the Katrina Clinic was completely scrapped and obsolete, no one would be able to tell whether it was new or old.

"Alright, I'll go and get rid of that unlucky guy."

"Talk to him; he should be willing to be a witness for the prosecution."

"We don't need such stupid witnesses."

The door was suddenly opened.

Daniel jolted awake and sat up in bed, his back hitting the wall with a thud.

He had been lying here for a day and a night, thinking through all the possible scenarios and making all sorts of preparations.

Daniel took a deep breath, trying to remain calm, and faced the fat interrogator who walked in.

If the other party obtains crucial evidence, then admit to reselling the equipment and try to secure a plea bargain or pay bail.

If the other party doesn't find anything, stick to your guns and insist that you're selling genuine scrapped equipment, since there's no signature on the contract anyway.

"I need to speak with my lawyer," Daniel said directly.

The fat detective let out a short, cold snort from his nose.

"Kid, you're all right now. Hurry up and sign the papers and get out of here."

"Huh? Let me, let me go?" Daniel was dumbfounded. He had prepared his mental defenses for a whole day and night, repeatedly rehearsing when to surrender, what to reveal more about, when to stand firm, and which people he absolutely could not mention, such as Richard's surgery.

He had even planned out his escape route: the most crucial bottom line was to keep his license.

If Richard loses his license, it will be difficult for him to find another person he can trust, and if two people in a row have such incredible recovery speeds after surgery, it will inevitably attract attention.

If one person performs surgery well, that's called talent; but if two people perform surgery well, then there's something wrong!

But now?

What is this now?!

He didn't even have a chance to say a word before the other party told him to leave?

"Sign, sign and leave?"

"What? You're still going to eat breakfast here? None of your business, you unlucky kid." The fat detective was very impatient.

With the task force having caught a bunch of big fish, he had no time to interrogate a nobody like Daniel.

That's such a waste of time.

Let's get rid of this idiot quickly; maybe we can still snatch some soup or broth.

Daniel felt as if his fist, which he had clenched all night, had slammed into the air, and his chest tightened with discomfort.

How come it has nothing to do with me?

I really participated in MF!

Shouldn't you interrogate me repeatedly?

After several rounds of this, I finally couldn't take it anymore and broke down, confessing. Then you guys repeatedly verified the details.

Isn't that how it's always portrayed in movies?

He had even planned out the timing of the collapse.

He never imagined that the trial he had waited a day for would end with just one sentence: "Sign here and get out of here!"

He didn't even have a chance to break down.

All the rehearsals were for nothing, and all the mental preparation turned into a joke.

What kind of conspiracy are you plotting?!

Daniel carefully examined the form the fat man had asked him to sign.

Very concise and clear.

There are no complex and difficult sentences that attempt to deceive oneself into confessing.

Daniel signed the papers in a daze and was pushed out of a room, through a gray corridor, and out through an unmarked iron door.

Outside was a parking lot, and the sunlight was so bright that he squinted.

Only then did he realize where he was being held.

Still in New York.

Drip!

The car horn sounded.

Daniel looked and realized it was his mentor Christina Shepard's car.

Christina, wearing sunglasses, called out, "Don't just stand there, it wasn't easy to find you."

It was actually my mentor who saved me!

"Mentor!" Daniel excitedly ran to the car window. "I knew you wouldn't abandon me!"

Christina gave him a dismissive look: "We'll talk in the car."

Daniel opened the car door and got into the passenger seat.

The car drove out of the parking lot and merged into the traffic on the main road.

Surrounded by the traffic, Daniel finally felt like he was back in the world of normal people. It was like a lifetime ago. The immense psychological pressure vanished in an instant, and he burst into tears.

It wasn't sobbing; it was the kind of crying that had been suppressed all night and finally broke down. His shoulders were shaking, and his face was covered in tears and snot.

"Don't get my car seat dirty," Christina said expressionlessly. "Cut your tears before you talk."

Daniel cried for about two more minutes before finally wiping his face clean with his sleeve: "What happened? How come I was released without any problems?"

Christina stated bluntly, "You don't need to know what happened. The equipment in Catherine's clinic is indeed old equipment that's about to be scrapped."

Daniel's eyes widened: "How is that possible? I've used it before, it's not old..."

'

Christina glared at him.

Daniel understood in an instant.

Christina used some unimaginable means to replace the equipment in the clinic before the OMIG raid.

When the investigation team rushed in, all they found were secondhand items.

My mentor is awesome!

"There's also surveillance footage, what do we do?" Daniel had already figured out all the key points in a day and a night.

Christina nodded approvingly; this student was particularly clever at this kind of thing: "The entire senior management of Queens Hospital was arrested because of the resale of medical equipment, and the hospital director, Jacob, burned down the server room to cover up his crimes."

Did the fire destroy all the evidence?

"WTF! I'm so lucky! Is God protecting me too?" Daniel exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"God is indeed protecting you," Christina thought to herself.

Daniel had countless questions in his mind: How did Christina discover the problem and replace the equipment in such a short time?

What exactly happened? Why was the entire Queens hospital system raided?

Was the fire really just a coincidence?

But seeing Christina's expression, he swallowed all his questions and decided to take all his doubts to the grave.

It has nothing to do with me; what I need to know is that I've been rescued!

"Mentor, how did you find me?"

Christina calmly replied, "The Attorney General's office can't arrest you without a word; they don't have that authority. Only the FBI can do that."

"It just so happens that the head of the FBI's medical division is my student, which is how I found you. I also put some pressure on the FBI through certain channels, otherwise you wouldn't be released until tomorrow. I was afraid you would say something inappropriate."

Daniel was deeply moved: "Mentor, you're so kind to me!"

He knew without asking that he had paid a huge price in favors for these things.

Christina gave a light hum, offering no further explanation, only saying, "Just remember one thing: you made two normal equipment disposal deals with the Katrina Clinic. The hospital's higher-ups, maybe Director Wesley, maybe the hospital director, moved the hospital's new equipment away; where it went is none of your business. In short, you made one normal disposal deal."

"To outsiders, you might have just wanted to make a normal transaction, or even worse, you might have intended to sell new equipment as used equipment, but you were tricked by higher-ups. Remember, you're an unlucky guy!"

"In the Queens hospital case, your status determines your fate. Senior management will be prosecuted, attending physicians will have their licenses revoked, and only resident physicians will be released as the unlucky ones."

"Huh? Is that so? Won't that make me look stupid?"

Christina glanced at him: "Or should I turn back now, admit to the FBI that you knew about and orchestrated the deal, lose your license, and go to jail?"

Daniel quickly shook his head: "No, no, no, I think being a little stupid is good!"

The vehicle moved forward slowly.

Christina was silent for a moment, then spoke: "Next, you have a huge opportunity."

"The entire senior management of Queens Hospital was apprehended: the hospital director, three vice presidents, one board member, the head of equipment, seven department heads, thirteen attending physicians, and other related personnel, a total of thirty-five people were taken away for investigation."

"Queens Hospital is effectively paralyzed; in fact, the state has declared a state of emergency for the hospital. The state has decided to send Dr. Noah Goldwin from Uptown Public Hospital to temporarily oversee the work at Queens Hospital. He is very busy and cannot go to Queens Hospital to provide guidance, so he needs to appoint someone to temporarily take charge."

"And Noah Godwin is my student, a very good student, the kind of student I would be willing to co-author with on a paper."

Daniel's lips twitched: "Advisor, I suspect you're implying my academic performance is poor?"

"I won't insult something that doesn't exist," Christina said calmly. "Anyway, you're very lucky. Most of the highly qualified doctors have been arrested, and the few who are temporarily uninvolved are being questioned. You've already finished your questioning because you were the first to be arrested. At the same time, you're one of the most senior resident doctors. If you'd like, I can have him appoint you as the on-site manager of Queens Hospital, temporarily giving you control of the entire hospital."

Daniel's breathing quickened as he immediately thought of something.

Medical records!

Queens Hospital has accumulated decades of plastic surgery medical records!

Christina gripped the steering wheel firmly with both hands: "If you do well, you'll have a crucial choice to make. Two paths. First, continue in plastic surgery, take charge of the hospital this year, help it through its difficulties, and next year I'm confident I can help you apply for the attending physician exam ahead of time, saving you three or four years."

11

"Secondly, I remember you have a master's degree in healthcare management. That means you could give up clinical work and switch to administration. I'll give you a push; with a bit of luck, you might even jump straight to vice president!"

"Vice Dean—" Daniel's voice was a little weak.

Vice Dean?

This is something he would never have dared to even think about under normal circumstances.

From graduating with an MD and entering a hospital, starting as a resident physician and eventually becoming a vice president (clinical to technical vice president), it would take at least 38 years if everything went smoothly and every step was correct!

Now, if you give up clinical work and switch to administration, you might be directly promoted to vice president (administrative management).

Moreover, this has an advantage.

If you are a clinical vice president, you are considered a clinical doctor, and you shouldn't recommend patients to private clinics.

However, if you are an administrative vice dean, then it doesn't matter.

Do whatever you want!

For a resident physician to jump directly to the position of vice president is a pipe dream in any hospital.

But now that Queens Hospital is in a state of emergency and the entire management team has been purged, the pipe dream suddenly has a possibility of becoming a reality.

Christina parked the car in front of Daniel's house: "Don't rush. Calm down tomorrow, and tell me your answer the day after. Noah will officially accept the appointment the day after tomorrow."

"Oh..." Daniel was completely stunned.

He placed his hand on the car door handle but didn't push it open: "I think—I'd better talk to Richard about it."

Can you make money as a vice dean?

can.

How much can I earn?

Under low-risk conditions, the annual income is between 50 and 80.

How can I earn more money?

Do it according to Jacob's method.

The risk is that I could end up in federal prison at any time.

Why not hang out with Richard?

Take it flying right away!

Performing illegal surgeries is far less risky than reselling medical equipment.

Christina glanced at him with some surprise, but said nothing. "It's up to you. Think it over carefully. I think Corbyn's crackdown on Queens Hospital this time was a bit abrupt. Even if someone reported it, he wouldn't have taken such a big step. There must be another reason behind it. Be careful, if you become the vice president, you might face tremendous pressure."

Christina finished speaking and drove away.

Daniel stood by the roadside, watching Christina's taillights disappear around the corner.

He knew that a turning point in his life had arrived.

The dramatic changes in such a short period of time made it impossible for him to remain calm.

An hour ago, I was still considering whether I could choose a safer place with fewer black people if I went to jail.

An hour later, I'll have to consider whether or not I should become the vice dean.

The ups and downs of life are truly thrilling.

When Richard got home, Debbie was curled up on the sofa, gritting her teeth as she stared at her phone screen.

She was wearing a cheerleader's jacket and her hair was still tied in the ponytail she wore during the game, clearly having just returned from training.

Catherine sat at the dining table, pretending to look at a contract, but the smile on her lips was impossible to hide.

"What's wrong?" Richard walked behind the sofa.

"Get away!" Debbie immediately flipped her phone over and placed it face down on her lap.

Richard reached out: "What photo? Let me see."

"Don't look! It's too ugly!" Debbie clutched her phone tightly to her chest.

Catherine finally couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Catherine! You're laughing at me too!" Debbie glared at her.

Catherine immediately straightened her face: "Sorry, I wasn't laughing."

Taking advantage of Dai's distraction, Richard snatched the phone from her hand.

Debbie snatched it back: "Don't look! It's too ugly! It will affect my image in your eyes."

"Do you even have an image? Toilet Saintess."

"What the fuck?!" Debbie's eyes widened.

"What's your name?"

"Don't swear."

"You call me the Toilet Saintess!"

"Isn't that right?"

"We agreed not to bring those things up!"

"What did I say? Toilet Saintess."

"Ugh! Don't bring that up again! You're not going to say 10 years, are you?!"

Debbie sullenly sat back on the sofa, sinking into the cushions like a punctured inflatable doll.

Shadow was pacing on the sofa armrest with its tail wagging. She reached out to hug Shadow, but Shadow nimbly bypassed her, circled halfway around, and jumped directly into Richard's arms.

It curled up into a ball, looked up at Richard, and let out a soft, coquettish meow.

Richard glanced down at his shadow.

This cat is quite clever; it knows who can help it become stronger.

Debbie's eyes widened even more: "You gave it medicine? It used to hate you the most!"

Richard petted the cat, and Shadow immediately started purring.

"I am your master!" Debbie rushed over and snatched the shadow back from Richard's arms.

The shadow flicked its tail in her arms. The tail wasn't like a cat's tail; it was like a short whip, lashing Debbie's hand until it was red.

"Ah!" Debbie cried out in pain and released her grip, and the shadow immediately jumped back onto Richard.

"What cat has such a heavy tail? What breed is it?"

Richard opened his phone and searched for Debbie. Debbie, helpless and angry, yelled, "Are these people crazy? I was just sleeping on the bus, and they took pictures of me!"

The first result clearly stated: #Her Highness the Holy Maiden Drooling#

The accompanying photo shows Debbie leaning against the window of the cheerleading bus, her head tilted to one side, her mouth wide open, and drool dripping from the corner of her mouth, leaving a clear trail on the glass.

She was sleeping soundly, completely unconcerned about her image.

When Debbie saw the photo, she let out a wail even more devastating than when she had been struck by the shadow.

"Those reporters are crazy! I just got up too early this morning for the competition and I was really tired. What's there to film? I'm not a celebrity!"

Richard scrolled down. Debbie's social media account had already surpassed 100,000 followers, and this was without her ever actively managing it. She hadn't even posted many videos, only her initial self-introduction, "Hi, I'm Debbie," which, in just a few seconds, garnered millions of views.

"You'll have to get used to it." Richard turned off his phone. "As the canonization case progresses, you'll attract more reporters than celebrities. Everyone has a cell phone now; you don't need professional equipment to take pictures of you. Your classmates are probably already making pocket money by selling unflattering photos of you."

"Damn bitches!" Debbie cursed, then realized, "So, that means I'm famous?"

Richard shrugged.

Debbie picked up her phone again, opened her account, and checked her followers.

5+!

"I'm famous! I'm going to be an internet celebrity!"

Debbie immediately picked up the reluctant-looking Shadow, grabbed a purple scarf from the side, draped it over Shadow, and flashed her signature bright smile at the phone camera: "Hi, I'm Debbie! Isn't my kitten cute?"

I filmed a 5-second video and sent it!

Richard's lips twitched slightly.

That silk scarf, it seems, is the one that the Virgin Mary dropped?

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