I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 146 The Salon of Justice (10K-word long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Richard looked at the drone in the sky. His eyesight allowed him to clearly see the modified camera below it, which was obviously mismatched in size, probably a specially modified high-definition version: "It's probably a reporter, not a believer. Believers aren't interested in the saint's privacy; they only care about what cross she wears."

In his view, the entire neighborhood was occasionally filled with the scent of unclaimed faith.

Not much, and not continuous, but enough for Richard to recover his magic.

Catherine's voice sounded tired: "Yesterday afternoon, someone parked their car at the gate, sat in it for two hours, did nothing, and then drove away. Luckily, there were police, but we don't know what they were up to. The night before last, someone posted a piece of paper on the wall that said, 'Saints must remain pure.'"

Nothing has happened in the last few days, and there's only one police car left; it might be withdrawn in a couple of days.

Richard drew the curtains shut again: "Where's Debbie?"

"She's going crazy," Catherine said helplessly. "She practices dancing in front of the mirror in the morning, argues with netizens in the afternoon, and asks me 20 times a day if she can go out tomorrow."

Richard chuckled.

Given Debbie's personality, it must have been really tough for her to be cooped up at home all this time.

This is the price a saint pays.

You can't call yourself a saint only when you're enjoying the admiration of thousands and can freely choose your major at Princeton.

Faint music could be heard coming from the room on the second floor, and the floor could be heard vibrating slightly through the ceiling.

Then he heard Debbie start howling.

Uh, maybe they're singing?

However, she was tone-deaf, and Richard couldn't hear a tune at all.

Shadow darted down the stairs and jumped into Richard's arms, burying its head deep between Richard's arms and covering its ears with its front paws.

Richard could see pain and torment in the actions of a cat.

Richard laughed: "Let's move to Baytop Villa."

Catherine paused, then asked softly, "Didn't you tell me privately last time that there was nuclear contamination over there? That it might be carcinogenic?"

Richard calmly replied, "It's alright, I can cure it."

He had just realized that since he could treat cancer without harm, there was no problem for Catherine and her daughter at No. 1200 Bayview Villa.

Even if the two women develop cancer cells, he can use [Flesh and Blood Remodeling] to transform the cancer cells into [fresh flesh and blood].

"There are enough rooms over there, and the security and privacy of the neighborhood are better than here. There's a private dock at the entrance, and the front and back yards are fenced off. At least the neighbors won't be squatting at the door with cameras, waiting to take pictures of the saint to sell for money, and no one will use drones to take pictures of her windows. The people living over there are all wealthy, and if the property management finds anyone spying outside, they will definitely take action."

Catherine didn't hesitate: "Okay, I'll pack my things."

The move took less than two hours.

Catherine only brought a change of clothes, personal belongings, and some important documents. She left all the furniture in its place and bought whatever she needed.

The obvious relocation would only draw attention to Baytop Villa.

When Debbie was shoved into the back seat, she was still wearing her hoodie and mask, huddled in the cramped space: "Where are we going?"

She hugged the cat and said excitedly.

No. 1200, Wanding Mountain Villa.

"Wait a minute! Didn't Aaron's family live there and get cancer?"

"You are a saint, suppressing all evil spirits, what are you afraid of?"

Debbie looked at Richard speechlessly: "Hey bro, it's enough to fool others, you can't fool yourself!"

Richard reached out and pressed her head down: "Shut up! Head down! There are people in front of us!"

Ugh! Debbie sullenly huddled in the crevice of the back seat.

"I feel like a piece of luggage!"

The shadow sullenly wriggled out of her arms and ran to the passenger seat.

Richard's vehicle drove out slowly, attracting little attention.

Half an hour later, the vehicle was parked in garage number 1200 of Wanding Mountain Villa.

As the door closed, Debbie finally poked her head out from the middle of the back seat, resting her chin on the crevice of the front seat: "This, it's so big! — Did you buy this?"

"Hmm." Richard was too lazy to explain that it was actually Christina who bought it, as that would only lead to more explanations.

"How do you have so much money! Richard! How many things have you been hiding from me?!"

'

"...Watch less of those Tokyo University romance dramas, they're addictive."

"Hehehe." Debbie opened the door and got out of the car, running around the yard like a husky.

The shadow followed, jumping around on the lawn, and then happily disappeared into the bushes.

Debbie walked around the front lawn, then around the back lawn.

"OMG! It's huge!"

She walked through the gate, through the foyer and living room, and finally arrived at the private dock, looking like a bird released from its cage.

Catherine's car followed her in. She got out and went into the house to check what was missing and what she needed to buy quickly.

"Wow! There's even a yacht!" Debbie's eyes widened.

Richard stood beside her: "The Wave Chaser, Lyon's ship, he went to East University."

"He'd give you his precious treasure? You didn't kill him, did you? Otherwise, where would you get so much money?"

"6

""

Do you live alone?

"Now there are three of us." Richard stretched in the sea breeze.

A big house is definitely more comfortable.

"Damn it! There's another third wheel!" Debbie blurted out without thinking, "Can't we let Catherine go back to live here...?"

'

Snapped!

"Oh dear!" Debbie clutched her head and turned to see her mother, Catherine. Startled, she quickly ran away: "I'll go pick a room!"

Catherine added, "Don't take Richard's room."

Richard sat leisurely in a recliner.

Catherine enjoyed the sea breeze for a while before saying, "It's good to be rich. The Upper East Side store still needs to reopen as soon as possible."

Richard calmly replied, "No rush, let Daniel gather evidence against Eugene."

Now that he has control of the NYPD, if Daniel can't handle Eugene, he doesn't care if Brian kills Eugene directly, although that will definitely lead to an investigation and retaliation from the state inspector general.

Catherine readily obeyed Richard's every word: "There's no food in the fridge, the kitchen is missing a lot of things, and..."

'

Richard waved his hand: "Go buy it. Don't let Debbie touch my study and bedroom. You can decorate the rest of the room as you like."

Richard didn't have many requirements regarding the decoration.

Catherine is here, and she can cook Chinese food for me; I can just let her handle it.

"OK." Catherine drove away.

Debbie screamed, "Wow! A huge bathtub! Can I take a bath?"

Debbie stood by the floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor and shouted.

A bathtub placed by a floor-to-ceiling window is most girls' dream.

It was originally designed by Aaron for his daughter Clara.

"That room is yours now," Richard said with a smile.

He got a fishing rod and tried to fish, but he didn't catch a single small fish in 30 minutes.

"You guys are so ungrateful!" Richard decisively used his magic hand to pierce the mouth of a small fish and forcefully pulled it up.

As long as there are fish in the water, I won't go home empty-handed!

The NYPD's temporary headquarters also includes a small, exclusive dining area for executives.

This dining area is located on the seventeenth floor. It is not large and is only for use by officers of the rank of police superintendent and above.

This place is usually not full. Most people come and take their food to go. Occasionally, someone will sit down for a meal and chat about trivial things.

But today is different.

A group of high-ranking officials ate and complained, and none of them seemed to want to leave.

Miller, the newly appointed General Affairs Director of IAB, said unhappily, "She wants to pull 12 people out of IAB! This isn't a transfer, this is... tearing down a wall!"

Miller muttered.

His relationship with Isabella was so-so, but he was the most senior member of the IAB and had little hope of climbing any higher; he was just waiting to retire.

But things are unpredictable.

Former General Affairs Secretary Byron resigned.

Former CEO Isabella was promoted to Chief of General Affairs, and Miller inexplicably became CEO.

Before he could even settle in, Isabella was promoted again and became the director of the NYPD!

Miller was also moved to a different position and became the head of general affairs.

In Isabella's opinion, although the old man wasn't very capable, he wouldn't cause her any trouble, and he was good enough for her.

After she became the director, she no longer wanted the IAB's chief of general affairs to be a strong person; a mediocre and useless person would be best.

But in Miller's view, he hadn't flattered Isabella at all, yet he still got promoted. Wasn't that a testament to his own abilities?

Everyone's eyes are still sharp!

Byron was simply more senior than her, and Isabella was a slut who sold her body.

I am the pillar of the IAB!

Look at Isabella, who's so arrogant, but she still has to obediently let me be the head of general affairs.

As a result, yesterday, Isabella's director's office suddenly issued an order that sparked discontent among many people.

Simply put, there are two points:

1. To prevent corruption, all police superintendents, inspectors, and sergeants must regularly rotate their jurisdictions. This regulation will be implemented immediately, and specific transfer plans are currently being studied.

2. In order to combat the increasingly serious security problems in New York, it was decided to establish an elite squad of 100 people, named the Iron Raven Squad.

I don't know exactly what they did, but Isabella used this title to name thousands of key personnel from multiple departments, asking them to come to headquarters for interviews, and then selecting 100 people from among them.

These two commands seem absurd to many people.

Before issuing the document, Isabella did not notify anyone, did not seek anyone's opinion (perhaps only O'Connor, that sycophant, knew), and did not allow any buffer time.

The order was issued directly to each department, and the appointments began that afternoon. The selection process specifically targeted core positions in each department, with the IAB being one of the departments with the largest number of personnel transferred.

Deputy Director Tyreke scoffed and added, "She's just an acting director. An acting director's job is to maintain the status quo, but she's started tearing things down on her very first day!"

""

Henry's resignation was so sudden that Tyreke didn't even have time to react before the position of director fell to Isabella.

This made him very unhappy.

In Tyreke's view, he was the first choice for chief!

"What exactly is she trying to do?" Miller was very dissatisfied.

In his view, as the IAB's chief of general affairs, Isabella's transfer of his jurisdiction under the pretext of "preventing corruption" was a clear indication of her dissatisfaction with his work.

A senior police inspector leaned over and muttered resentfully, "That bitch probably thinks she's the official chief now!"

He lowered his voice noticeably, as if afraid of being overheard.

He heard rumors that his jurisdiction might be reorganized.

FXXK!

I've been operating in this area for ten years, and you think you can just transfer me like that?

The other executives also chimed in with their own opinions, all expressing strong dissatisfaction.

Isabella's order affected the interests of many people.

Miller had already mentally crossed Isabella out.

Having just taken over as head of general affairs, he felt that he, who had been suppressed all his life, finally had the opportunity to do something, and was ambitious to achieve something.

He had planned to rebuild the IAB's reputation over the course of a year, but now Isabella has pulled away all of his most capable people!

All the personnel structure he painstakingly built has completely collapsed!

All plans have fallen through!

"Is she crazy? A hundred-strong elite squad? Is she trying to build a private army?!"

"Changing the jurisdiction is the biggest problem," another person chimed in. "My team has been operating in Brooklyn for six years. All those informants, those connections, those undercover agents within the gangs—it's all been built up over six years. And she wants to replace it all with just one sentence, making me start all over again in Queens?"

"This bitch only knows how to sleep with men! She thinks the NYPD is a bed toy she can play with at will!"

"Hehehe!" The men let out a wicked laugh that was best left unsaid.

"I think we need to have a serious talk about this," Tyreke said seriously. "She is, after all, the chief!"

Everyone fell silent.

Senior Superintendent Roderick, who was in charge of dealing with terrorist attacks, listened for a while and finally made up his mind. He stepped forward, suppressing his anger, and said, "What's there to be afraid of? She also targeted my people without consulting me! She didn't even give me a heads-up, just issued orders for my people to go for interviews, FXXK! Those are my people!"

The others nodded in agreement.

In reality, what everyone present was most unhappy about was the adjustment of the jurisdiction, which affected everyone's interests, but most people were too embarrassed to say it out loud.

This area is full of high-ranking officials from the entire NYPD, and many of their jurisdictions are naturally the most lucrative parts of the entire NYPD.

For example, in wealthy neighborhoods, near the United Nations headquarters, high-end apartments, top universities, Central Park, and consulate areas, violent crime is extremely rare; the main crimes are theft, noise pollution, and security for protests.

These districts consistently rank at the bottom of the city in terms of homicide and shooting statistics, yet they easily achieve top rankings in annual CompStat assessments.

Performance, wealth, and safety are all in the best position.

Who knows where they'll be assigned after the jurisdictional adjustments!

Whether it's Brooklyn, known as the "Killing District" or the "Murder Capital," or the remote, messy areas of Queens, or the hellish neighborhood of the South Bronx with its poor residents, they don't want to go there!

But how can I say such things?

Therefore, it would be much better to attack Isabella and remove people without their consent.

"She's humiliating us!"

Roderick whispered, "I suspect what she actually wants is a NYPD she can completely control. Anyone she deems disobedient will be transferred to Brooklyn or the South Bronx!"

"FXXK!"

"Damn bitch!"

"The officers and sergeants below aren't having an easy time either. She's adjusting duty zones and collecting information on everyone's home addresses and family relationships. She calls it 'working nearby,' but it's really just background checks!"

"She wants to turn the NYPD into a one-man show!"

Deputy Director Terrick said angrily, "BULLSHIT! She's just an acting director, and she thinks she's something special."

Roderick continued to sow discord: "Acting director? If she sidelines us all within a month, she's no longer acting!"

A brief silence fell over everyone.

Miller spoke first: "We can't let her continue like this. We have to teach her a lesson."

"How do I do it?"

Everyone fell silent again.

Publicly breaking ties with a newly appointed bureau chief is too risky; she might react negatively, thinking someone is defying her authority.

"Make it public?"

"We can't go through the media! It won't do us any good."

They just want to seize the good territory; it wouldn't sound good if they said that out loud.

Roderick got up and closed the door.

The room fell silent as everyone looked at him. "Brothers," he said, "we're the core force maintaining order in New York, not some slut who only knows how to sleep around. If she tramples us underfoot, New York's security will completely collapse! We must protect New York! This is our home!"

His words made the atmosphere around him momentarily heavy.

Nobody believed his nonsense.

The crowd looked on with confusion. Why was Roderick, who had always kept a low profile, being so proactive today?

Roderick seemed to read their gazes, and he immediately offered a seemingly reasonable explanation: "Why should O'Connor be the Commissioner? He joined the NYPD after me! When he first joined, I was his sheriff!"

""

Everyone immediately understood: Roderick was jealous.

Roderick scoffed, "What did O'Connor do on Hart Island? He took five men, three died, and he himself was unharmed! What did the media say? They said Bobby killed 22 armed gangsters all by himself! Two!"

The media coverage has always been outrageous. It was originally 15, then 16, then 22. Everyone was taken down by Poppy, as if the others were just decorations.

No one knows exactly how many bandits there were.

"Who would believe that? A man, critically wounded by a defensive grenade, killed 22 fully armed thugs in less than five minutes, with inferior weaponry and in complete darkness! FXXK! Brothers! We fought our way out of the streets of New York, and they think we're just amateurs who've never even held a gun, believing this kind of nonsense!"

The crowd burst into laughter.

Nobody believes that bullshit propaganda.

Who knows how many people Isabella and O'Connor actually brought to the island?

"So what do you want to do?"

"Isn't she trying to steal political achievements? We'll ruin her achievements!"

Everyone fell silent.

"I suggest we form a communication team," Roderick said, creating a group chat.

"We're not targeting her; we're just doing the right thing to make sure the NYPD isn't ruined by one person."

He posted the QR code publicly: "Who wants to join?"

The people around were silent for a moment.

A grumbling police inspector stood up, scanned the QR code to join the group, and bluntly stated, "I don't want to be treated like a stray dog, kicked out of Manhattan and sent to Brooklyn by that bitch!"

"That's right! The dock is mine! Nobody can touch it!" Another police inspector stood up, his face fierce.

Soon, everyone joined the group.

There are 33 people in total.

Group name: Justice Salon.

A group of high-ranking officials who are determined to defend their "territory" to the death—they're so righteous!

Manhattan University, with its upscale shopping street just two blocks from the university gate.

The Manhattan branch of the Manhattan Anti-Aging and Metabolic Research Center has its blood collection point located on this commercial street, next to two boutiques: a cashmere luxury clothing store on one side and a boutique-style Blue Bottle Café on the other.

The Manhattan blood donation center doesn't have the cheap lightbox signs of ordinary blood donation stations. Instead, there's only a matte dark gray metal plaque embedded in the upper left corner of the floor-to-ceiling glass wall. It's so understated and restrained that at first glance you would think it's a high-end private health checkup institution, and you would never associate it with "paid blood donation".

The plaque bears a line of thin text: "Manhattan Anti-Aging and Metabolic Research Center".

The next line in smaller print reads: "Paid Blood Donation Center in Manhattan."

Richard pushed open the door and walked in. He was greeted by a huge, one-piece, off-white stone slab reception desk. Two receptionists in custom-made medical uniforms looked up at the same time, smiling.

One white, one black; one fat, one thin—any organization would have to say it's too fair.

The white girl's gaze quickly swept over Richard's entire body: a white hoodie, dark trousers, and a pair of slightly worn sneakers; he looked like an ordinary college student.

Her tone was gentle and polite: "Are you a freshman here for the first time? We offer an extra discount for your first blood test: $280 plus a $50 transportation allowance."

This price is considered very high even in the high-end blood collection industry.

Richard's previous low-level blood donation site only offered a few dozen dollars per donation.

"I'm here for a part-time job, my name is Richard, and I've already made an appointment."

"Okay." The woman found Richard's name in the system, which was followed by a special access level.

Although they didn't know what this level of access actually meant, the system indicated that his priority was higher than the store manager's, a situation they had never seen before.

The white-clad receptionist's smile remained unchanged, but her tone became even more respectful: "The store manager is in the office inside, the second room on the left after you enter."

Richard nodded and walked through the foyer, which was decorated like a high-end clinic.

Several abstract paintings with gentle tones hung on the walls on both sides of the corridor, a faint citrus scent wafted in the air, and light gray sound-absorbing carpets swayed underfoot, making every step silent.

In the heart of capitalism, the power of money is indeed invincible.

Richard knocked on the office door, and a slightly nervous female voice came from inside: "Come in."

He pushed open the door and saw a petite girl.

He could tell at a glance that Heather Green was a girl from the University of Tokyo.

Christina was indeed thoughtful, assigning a student from the East University to assist her.

Heather Green had fair skin, large black-rimmed glasses, and a small stature, probably less than 1.6 meters tall. She wore a white store manager's uniform that was clearly a size too big for her, with the neckline hanging loosely—well, she looked very poor.

Her sleeves were rolled up twice, revealing a slender wrist. Beside her sat a half-finished cup of milk tea and a stack of documents.

She noticed Richard's gaze fixed on the milk tea, as if he'd been caught stealing it, and he tried to cover it with the documents.

"Hi, Mr. Richard?" Heather didn't know how to address him, her voice was a little timid, and her large eyes behind her glasses glanced at Richard in a flustered manner before quickly looking down, as if she didn't know where to look: "I, I am Heather-Green Christina's doctoral student, and the manager of this blood collection point."

Richard chuckled; the other person's behavior made him feel like the interviewer. He immediately said in Chinese, "An international student?"

"Yes! Yes!" Heather-Green exclaimed in surprise, "You're from Dongda University too?"

She had heard of Richard's name and knew that Richard was rumored to be Christina's academic successor, but she never expected that he would be a student from the University of Tokyo.

Seeing that she seemed hesitant about whether to stand up, Richard simply sat down in the chair opposite her and said with a smile, "Just call me Richard. We're both Christina's students, so you're actually my senior. What's your Chinese name, senior?"

"Han Qing." Han Qing seemed a bit socially awkward and not good at small talk. Even though Richard said they were both from Dongda University, she said in a serious tone, "Professor Christina mentioned you to me. You are a core researcher in the lab, and she asked me to cooperate with all your requests."

Han Qing was clearly a bit timid. Her serious demeanor and attempts to appear mature were somewhat amusing.

After Han Qing finished speaking, he glanced at Richard cautiously, seemingly worried about whether Christina's "all demands" were legitimate.

Richard laughed.

You're too poor; I only like rich girls.

However, Richard did not intend to make things difficult for her. He knew that exchanging pleasantries with such a person would only make things difficult for her.

Richard simply stated in a businesslike manner, "Manager Han, I'm just here part-time. I'll just have my blood drawn like the other blood collectors. You don't need to worry about it."

When the conversation turned to business, Han Qing visibly relaxed and was able to speak normally again: "By the way, your supervisor said that you bring your own blood samples back for cell experiments every day? Will there be any problems with the blood samples on the way? Do you want me to send someone to deliver them to you?"

"No need, thank you. It's a special research project my supervisor assigned, but I don't know what she wants me to do."

"OK, I'll process your onboarding." Han Qing was a little puzzled, but she didn't say anything. She turned around and started working on the computer.

As she entered the information, she quietly thought to herself.

The mentor's academic successor, with authority exceeding that of the store manager, is now casually referring to his role as a "part-time" employee.

Maybe he's a second-generation scholar from a wealthy family!

You absolutely must not offend him!

I'm just a part-time PhD student, please don't cause me any trouble.

I've had it bad enough. I wanted to work part-time at the university, but all the research assistant positions were taken by other PhD students. Luckily, my supervisor was kind enough to give me a teaching assistant job, which involves helping him supervise undergraduate experiments and grade assignments.

If it weren't for the upcoming Chinese New Year and my desire to save up for a plane ticket home, I wouldn't have come all the way from Princeton to work part-time here.

Han Qing didn't know what Richard was doing, but the only thing she was sure of was that he definitely wasn't short of that little bit of salary.

In any case, Han Qing always kept his distance from these important figures and various second-generation rich kids.

Her goal was very simple: study hard, get a PhD, and finally find a good job, preferably in a cell laboratory.

She is perfectly content with this kind of life.

After Richard finished the formalities, he went to work.

The Manhattan blood donation center is a high-end blood donation center.

The requirements for blood donors are also very high. They are limited to those aged 18-30, who do not smoke or drink alcohol, have no chronic diseases, no allergies, and have not taken prescription drugs in the past six months. Ideally, they should be healthy students with regular schedules. A large number of applicants are eliminated in the initial screening, and those who pass are rare healthy samples, so the price is much higher than that of ordinary blood plasma stations.

However, there were still many people there because the price was high: $250 per session, which is higher than the $150 charged by most high-end blood collection services.

The US dollar is significantly higher.

The other blood collectors are also women, all experienced professional nurses, and generally over 35 years old.

There were black, white, and yellow people, but nobody wanted to talk to a male student from Tokyo University who looked poor.

Richard was happy to be at ease.

In less than two hours, Richard completed 70 blood draws.

Because metal blood boxes are used here, the blood donors don't know whether Richard actually had his blood drawn or not.

Richard stole all the blood without hesitation, accumulating 14 units of [fresh flesh and blood] after 70 blood draws, basically filling the [Blood Box].

The efficiency here is indeed much faster than over there.

Second only to directly killing a living person and liposuction.

However, the environment here is very stable, and the Blood Remains Chest can be filled in just 3 hours!

Richard had just finished talking to the previous customer when another person walked in, radiating an aura of undetermined faith, like a torch.

"Irving?" Richard asked in surprise.

Owen was also surprised, but quickly said happily, "Brother Richard, I didn't expect to see you here. Are you working part-time here now?"

Richard asked in confusion, "Why are you selling your blood?"

"I've lost my job." Owen smiled at Richard, noticing the man's confusion: "After your formal complaint against OCME, you were right to leave. It was a filthy place."

Richard was silent for a moment, then removed the IV. "What are you planning to do now?"

Irving didn't answer directly, but instead pressed a cotton swab against the needle prick: "Everyone has their own path to walk. May the Lord bless you, Brother Richard."

Richard watched his departing figure and sighed.

This is the best possible outcome for Irving; at least he wasn't killed by some "psychopathic" gunman.

Irving walked out of the blood donation station and stood on the steps. His phone lit up with a message: "Saint Thorns Symposium, this Saturday at 2 PM —"

His gaze hardened.

I hope this discussion won't disappoint me.

.

He walked towards the parking lot.

A moment later, Chloe, wearing a trench coat, stood on the steps where Irving had just stood and looked up at the nameplate.

"The Manhattan Anti-Aging and Metabolic Research Center, a paid blood donation center in Manhattan?"

This is a high-end blood donation station.

Chloe, feeling somewhat dejected after failing an interview at a private clinic, said, "The pay here must be quite high."

The people coming and going were all young students wearing casual hoodies and carrying backpacks.

Chloe simply pushed the door open and went inside.

Richard finally filled the Blood Box and immediately packed up the metal blood box to leave.

The other blood collectors looked at him with some curiosity; leaving now was clearly not a good idea.

Richard was about to say goodbye to Han Qing before leaving when he suddenly heard a somewhat familiar woman's voice coming from the room.

"I'm sorry, you don't have the required qualifications or nursing experience."

"7

OK.

Chloe walked out of the door disappointed, only to see Richard: "What are you doing here?"

"Come work part-time here," Richard said with a smile.

Chloe's expression froze for a moment: "You—are working part-time here?"

When I first saw Richard driving a Porsche Panamera, I thought he was a rich kid who was there to experience life.

Now she's seen Richard at another blood collection point?

Whose rich kid works two jobs?

Isn't he a rich kid?

Did I mistake someone for someone else?

He was just an ordinary poor student, looking for part-time jobs everywhere to supplement his living expenses.

"Yeah, the pay is better here than over there," Richard said casually. "You want to work here too?"

Chloe nodded instinctively: "The hourly wage should be higher here, but unfortunately they don't want me..."

""

Chloe complained, "Without experience, you can't find a job; without a job, you have no experience."

She was very frustrated after failing two interviews in one morning.

Richard thought about it and realized that this girl was not bad. Although she had kept her distance from him before, she had become quite nice later on and had reminded him why Tiffany was hostile towards him.

Regardless of her motives, Richard was willing to help her.

Knock knock! He knocked on Han Qing's door. Han Qing stood up nervously and said in Chinese, "What's wrong?"

The store manager's behavior left Chloe a little confused. Why did the store manager seem a bit afraid of Richard?

Richard smiled and said in Chinese, "Senior Sister Han, this Chloe, I worked with her at another blood collection site before, she's quite efficient."

Han Qing thought of a whole bunch of things in an instant.

If Christina's mentor's academic successor's friend (or perhaps girlfriend) is rejected, how will they get along in the lab afterward?

What if this affects my chances of getting a research assistant position...?

Moreover, the mentor said that he would meet all of Richard's requirements.

You can bring your girlfriend in if you want, just don't cause me any trouble.

"Okay!" Han Qing immediately said, "Chloe, if you're a skilled worker, I can pay you $35 an hour. Is that alright?"

Chloe's breath hitched.

35 dollars.

She worked there for more than half a year before earning only $21 an hour.

"Sure! Of course!"

Richard smiled and said, "Then you two get back to work."

He left immediately after speaking.

Chloe looked at Richard's back, completely confused about his identity.

Who is he?

Even a rich kid can't expect the manager of a high-end blood donation center to obey his every word, right?

Could it be that the store manager is his girlfriend?

It doesn't look like it at all.

However, both of them look like they are from the University of Tokyo. Is this how couples from the University of Tokyo interact?

Richard returned to Baytop Manor.

Seven or eight people were standing in front of Evan's house. A plump woman adorned with gold and silver jewelry blocked the entrance, her voice shrill like a knife being sharpened: "This is my son's house! Evan is my son! She's just an outsider, married for less than three years! What right does she have to take my son's house!"

The property manager stood by helplessly.

Evan's young wife stood behind the threshold, neither opening the door nor moving aside, but simply responding through the crack: "Evan and I signed a prenuptial agreement, this house is mine!"

Evan's mother didn't seem too sad, only angry about losing their source of income: "You bitch, you killed Evan!"

"You're framing me! He's my husband!"

"You're the one who killed him! You must have pushed him into the sea!"

"Damn it! You're framing me! Get out of here! Or I'll call the police! Property management! Do you think I'm paying all that money every year just so you can watch this show?!"

The property manager, sweating profusely, whispered to Evan's mother, "The medical examiner's report is clear: Evan died from an accidental fall into the sea. There were no signs of struggle, no drug overdose, no sudden illness, and the cause of death was water inhalation. Homicide is ruled out. His last text message was to his editor about 'unfairness,' and the editor told him that seven of his books had been taken off the shelves..."

"7

The property manager did not continue speaking.

Everyone understood that Evan, suffering a huge setback in his career and emotionally devastated, committed suicide by jumping into the sea at the dock late at night.

The argument between the two sides continues.

Richard returned home, while Debbie was doing yoga or something on the beach.

She somehow learned a bunch of weird poses, twisting herself into a pretzel shape, which made Richard's back ache just looking at her.

Suddenly, a wisp of unclaimed faith floated on the horizon and drifted toward Richard's location.

This belief wafted from Wanding Mountain Villa, seemingly originating from a neighbor's house.

This has never happened before.

Richard asked疑惑地问道, "What happened today? Did Debbie go out to preach?"

Catherine brought Richard a cup of Tieguanyin tea: "There are a few devout Catholic families in Baytop Manor. They heard that Debbie had moved here and came to visit this morning. They were very polite and restrained. However, there are a few Protestant neighbors who are unhappy, but they didn't say anything, and no one came to cause trouble. Overall, it's much better than where I live."

That's a good thing.

You can slowly recover your magic power even at home.

After Richard's mental state improved to 14 points, the unclaimed faith around him began to drift towards him on its own, as if Richard possessed gravity.

My magic is full, and the Blood Box is full too.

"We can't waste it!"

Richard immediately began to demonize the [living flesh and blood], increasing its magical abundance.

Richard sensed another huge change!

Previously, he could only raise the abundance of 3 units of [Fresh Flesh and Blood] to 20 before becoming exhausted.

This time, he raised all 21 units of "Fresh Flesh and Blood" in the entire "Blood Box" to 20 in one go before feeling somewhat tired.

And his condition is much better than before.

If Richard gritted his teeth and persevered, he felt he could transform 30 units into magic at once!

Very good!

Richard was overjoyed.

Now that we have enough fresh flesh and blood, enough magic power, and the ability to enchant 20 units of spirit at once, we can complete the task of "Flesh and Blood Enchanting" in a maximum of two months!

"Shadow!" Richard shouted.

Shadow wags its tail and runs to Richard's side, tilting its head and asking, "Meow?"

"Come here." Richard beckoned.

As if knowing something, the shadow jumped into Richard's arms, full of anticipation.

The tail has been modified, what's the next step?

paw!

Richard pinched the cat's paw and activated [Flesh Remodeling], using [Fresh Flesh] with 20 magic abundance to remodel it into cells, gradually replacing the cat's claw, muscle, and bone cells.

The 14 points of spirit also increased his speed in performing the [Flesh Remodeling] skill, allowing him to replace a large number of cells with just a flick of his wrist.

Within minutes, all four of the shadow's legs were reshaped by fresh flesh and blood.

The shadow looked at its own claws.

I think I've grown new legs!

The shadow jumped off the control panel, meowed, and swung its paw.

Swish!

Three scratches were found on the intricately patterned tile!

The shadow itself was terrified, and its fur stood on end.

That's too intense! Richard's lips twitched as he watched: "Shadow, be careful in the future, and don't hurt anyone."

Meow! Shadow responded and dashed out of the room in a flash, several times faster than before.

It excitedly darted around the yard, just like a shadow.

That is, Richard; no one else could keep up with his speed.

However, it tripped and fell while running, as it was still getting used to its paws.

As it gradually adapted to its four new legs, Richard saw the shadow leaping and bounding around the yard like a parkour performer, easily scaling the three- or four-meter-high wall.

It's still a kitten!

Debbie in the yard was terrified: "What's wrong with you! Shadow! Are you crazy?"

The shadow excitedly darted over the courtyard wall and disappeared without a trace.

Debbie was dumbfounded.

The animals at Bayding Mountain Villa are likely to suffer a severe blow today.

"Remember to come home," Richard called out, though it was unclear whether the shadow heard him.

Based on the current progress, it is estimated that strengthening all the shadows will require approximately 100-150 units of fresh flesh.

After replacing its entire body, wait another month. If the shadow is still in good condition, Richard will then use it on himself.

Richard suddenly thought of a classic philosophical paradox, the Ship of Theseus:

The ship was constantly exposed to wind and rain, causing the planks to rot. The craftsmen had to replace the rotten planks one by one. Over the centuries, every part of the ship had been replaced with new materials. Not a single piece of wood was the original one from when it first set sail. So, was this still the same ship?

If I replace all the cells in a shadow's body, will the shadow still be the same shadow?

Just then, a cat's mournful howl came from afar, and no one knew which unfortunate creature the shadow was bullying.

It seemed Shadow didn't care about this philosophical question. Suddenly, Brian's phone rang, his speech noticeably faster than usual: "Master, Samuel and Dali are dead in prison! They say it was suicide!"