I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 231 The Auction of the Bellow Group Begins

Cassandra spent a restless night, worried about losing this opportunity to make money, but also very unwilling to give up the $100.

The next day when she went to work, she made a point of checking the lockers first.

The note is still inside; no one has taken it.

She hesitated for a moment, but in the end she didn't take it back.

"I need money, and he can't deduct it from my pay for any reason!"

Cassandra mustered her courage and decided to leave the note inside anyway.

The note kept her on edge, causing her great anxiety.

Cassandra knew that what she was doing was in a gray area and could have endless consequences, but poverty left her with no choice but to continue.

She needs every penny.

Richard parked his car in the parking area next to Walmart, where he could see the location of the locker.

He waited for over an hour and finally saw someone: Joel, Stella's fiancé!

Joel had put on makeup, wore flat-framed glasses, a fake beard, and a baseball cap. His nose was also widened with something.

Most people wouldn't recognize him immediately, but Richard's powerful memory and vision allowed him to recognize Joel instantly.

That's the fiancé who took the photo with Stella!

Richard squinted as he observed Joel.

Stella's house was very far from this Walmart, so unless Joel worked nearby, there was no reason for him to shop there.

However, Joel's workplace was the Rosenberg Virus Research Center, so Richard was basically certain that Joel was an intelligence agent!

Joel walked into the supermarket, glanced at the locker, and saw the note inside, causing his eyebrows to furrow slightly.

He came here today because he received an alert from the blue lighter and wanted to get more information from Cassandra, but instead he found this note!

Is Cassandra still reliable?

he does not know.

But he knew Cassandra's superior, that damn black driver, was no longer reliable!

I gave him $200, but he embezzled $100 of it.

FXXK!

Joel silently took out $100, put it in the locker, locked the locker, and went into the supermarket.

Joel didn't slow down as he passed Cassandra's checkout counter; he just glanced at her.

Cassandra seemed to sense something and looked up.

Joel's gaze immediately passed over her and went to the shelves behind her, as if he were looking for something.

Cassandra seemed to look up unconsciously, then looked down again to continue processing payments for customers.

Joel pushed his shopping cart around the shelves, grabbed a bottle of water, a few packs of cigarettes, and other everyday items from the household goods section, and finally picked up a yellow disposable lighter before queuing up at Cassandra's checkout counter.

Joel pretended to be no different from any other customer, idly looking at his phone while occasionally glancing at Cassandra.

After repeated observation, Joel confirmed that Cassandra was not in any major problem; she was just a little angry because her superior had embezzled her money.

"With the money in place, this poor girl should be able to continue being my eyes and ears."

Joel was relieved; all he needed to do was replace that greedy black man.

When it was Joel's turn to pay, he placed the items in front of Cassandra.

Cassandra scanned the barcodes one by one; $27.8.

Joel pulled out two 20-yuan bills and placed the yellow disposable lighter on the counter: "Hello, miss, I'd like to buy a blue lighter, but I can't find one."

Cassandra looked up at him abruptly, then nervously replied, "Oh, they're probably sold out. The yellow ones can still be used."

After she finished giving him the change, she quickly pulled out a shopping receipt and placed it in Joel's hand.

Joel took the change, left the supermarket, and got back into his car.

He then looked closely at the receipt in his hand, and there was a number written on the back of the receipt: 27.

This was the number the two had agreed upon, corresponding to senior researcher Blake Stevenson.

The receipt is Blake's shopping receipt.

Joel glanced at it and frowned.

Is Blake getting ready to go out?

But Blake didn't ask for leave, could it be... that he's trying to run away?

He immediately sent a message to headquarters: "Keep an eye on Blake's movements."

Joel started the vehicle and left only after he finished.

Joel didn't notice that just seconds after he opened the door, a fly flew in, its claws still clutching an ant.

The fly placed the ant under the seat, while it itself hung upside down on the roof of the car.

The ant slowly crawled from under the seat to Joel's briefcase, then burrowed inside and hid on the innermost side.

It was already dark when Joel returned to the apartment building.

However, he didn't rush upstairs. He first removed all the disguise from his face, put it into his briefcase, and then opened the car door, walked into the building, and returned home.

Stella is not home; she's been very busy vying for the editor-in-chief position.

Joel didn't think much of it. He'd just sat down when his phone rang: "Joel, Blake didn't come to work today; he took the last-minute day off!"

Joel's expression changed slightly: "F*** him! He's trying to escape! Get the NYPD to check the highway surveillance footage immediately and catch him!"

Joel hurriedly packed his briefcase, got back into his car, and drove away.

Richard's car was parked in the shadows in the distance.

The fly puppet flew over and landed on his finger, and memories flooded into Richard's mind.

He saw all of Joel's actions and heard the messages Joel sent and the conversation on the phone.

"Joel is monitoring the researchers." Richard finally understood Joel's true job.

What exactly was Rosenberg researching?

They even have to guard against their own researchers escaping?

Just as Richard was about to start the vehicle.

Boom boom boom!

There was a knock on the car window.

Stella was standing outside the car.

She was drunk, carrying a handbag in one hand and a pair of high heels in the other, her cheeks flushed.

Richard frowned and rolled down the car window.

The night breeze carried the scent of alcohol from Stella.

Stella was a little drunk, but she managed to control herself and said nervously, "Richard, if you want me, you can call me. Don't park the car downstairs; it'll be troublesome if my fiancé finds out..."

'

Richard shrugged: "I was just passing by."

Stella scoffed, "Just passing by? Humph! Men are always saying one thing and meaning another!"

She walked around the front of the car, opened the door, and sat in the passenger seat with a very natural movement.

After getting into the car, Stella swept her long hair behind her head and then reached out to touch between Richard's legs.

Richard grabbed her hand and pushed her away.

Stella was a little annoyed: "What? Can't I use my mouth? Do you really have to go upstairs?"

Richard calmly replied, "You're overthinking it. I have a girlfriend."

"Damn Eastern man!" Stella was somewhat frustrated, lying on the car seat, finally realizing that Richard really wasn't interested in her.

She has never been rejected by a man multiple times.

Stella was still a little drunk, and her eyes were somewhat glazed as she looked at Richard.

In any case, Richard was a rather handsome young man, and his exceptional mental strength gave his eyes a special charm that made people more and more captivated by them, as if they possessed endless allure.

"Why did you leave last time? Winnie and I..." Stella blushed slightly, but continued, "Don't you like women being with other women? It's okay, it's just me today, just some fun little games between men and women. If you don't tell and I don't tell, who will know..."

'

Richard looked at her quietly: "Stella, what's wrong with you today? I feel like something's off with you."

Three flames floated above Stella's head: disappointment, anger, and desire.

The fire of disappointment is the most intense.

Upon hearing this, Stella bit her lip, her eyes reddening slightly.

After a long silence, she finally muttered a curse under her breath and said, "I failed! Today the radio station decided on the editor-in-chief, and it wasn't me, it was that old geezer I hate the most. Damn it! Can you imagine how arrogant he was in his office today?"

"Sometimes I wonder, am I destined to fail? Why do I keep failing?"

Stella seemed to be losing her composure; as she spoke rapidly, her chest heaved violently, revealing large expanses of her pale skin.

Richard neither urged her nor spoke.

He knew that the woman was just temporarily out of control, and he couldn't be bothered to waste his magic to suppress her disappointment.

Listening to Stella chat might provide some information about Joel.

Richard watched Stella vent for a while, and only after she stopped did he pull out a tissue and hand it to her.

"Thank you." Stella sobbed and wiped away her tears with a tissue.

Stella continued rambling, "I know you and Brian are on good terms; you saved Brian, I saw the news. I mean, if Brian has any news, you can let me know. Oh, and Debbie too. I don't know what your relationship with Debbie is, but if you think a certain news story won't hurt you, give me the news if possible. We can have some friendly cooperation; you need friends in the news industry, right? That's all I want in return: you can have my body, anytime, anywhere, as long as Joel isn't home. It's simple, isn't it? I don't need you to promise me anything."

Richard turned his head to look at her, and from this angle, he could see the deep cleavage.

In the light of the streetlamp, her face was shrouded in darkness, only half of it illuminated, giving it a mysterious and inexplicable beauty.

Richard didn't look at it for long. He turned back and calmly said, "I think you need to rest and think carefully about what you're saying."

Clearly, she was still in a semi-conscious, semi-drunk state when she said those things.

Stella lowered her head and remained silent.

Suddenly: "I don't want to think about it anymore!"

Stella suddenly became agitated and ripped open her neckline with a tearing sound, revealing a black bra trimmed with lace.

"I want news! I want big news! I want to climb to the top! I don't want to fail anymore! I want the Pulitzer Prize!"

She ripped off her bra and pounced on Richard like a female leopard in heat.

Richard shoved her away and said coldly, "Solve it yourself."

"What did you say?" Stella looked at Richard in disbelief; this was too humiliating for her.

"What do you take me for?!"

The next second, Stella suddenly felt Richard's eyes brighten for a moment, and then the desire in her heart overwhelmed her reason like a flood.

Her hand involuntarily reached down.

Richard, meanwhile, calmly took out his phone and began taking pictures.

"Don't take pictures!" Stella screamed in terror.

But for some reason, she couldn't control her fingers, as if she were being controlled by a demon.

A dozen minutes later, Stella, wrapped in a somewhat tattered shirt, her eyes red-rimmed, said, "You're a monster! Delete the video right now!"

Stella bit her lip, her hair disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glazed over. In this state, she had a unique charm.

But Richard wasn't tempted at all. He calmly put away his phone, rolled down the car window to let the smell dissipate, and said, "Alright, now we can talk about cooperation. Actually... you have a Pulitzer Prize right next to you."

"Huh?" Stella was stunned. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes were blank, her eyelashes still bearing traces of drying tears, leaving a damp mark on her skin.

As Richard spoke, he carefully observed Stella, trying to discern whether she was feigning innocence or genuinely unaware of Joel's true intentions.

Real identity.

By observing the changes in her desire and her expression, Richard quickly confirmed that Stella was indeed unaware of the situation.

Then she becomes useful!

Richard said softly, "Do you believe your husband Joel is a senior researcher?"

"Of course!" Stella said with absolute certainty.

Richard calmly replied, "Actually, he is the intelligence chief of the Rosenberg Virus Research Center."

Stella's eyes were blank; the alcohol had slowed her brain, and it took her a long time to come to her senses.

"What did you say? What nonsense are you talking about? How could Joel be an intelligence agent? Rosenberg is a legitimate military research institution; he has no reason to lie to me."

Richard glanced at her a few times but offered no explanation.

A few seconds later, he suddenly pushed open the passenger door: "Let's go home right now. If Joel sees you like this, it'll be hard to explain. You can observe your husband, but..."

You need to be careful. Rosenberg isn't as simple as you think; many journalists have vanished without a trace.

Stella, clutching her collar, was somewhat embarrassed as she was ushered out of the car, still carrying her high heels.

A puff of blue smoke rose from the rear of the Porsche as it drove away.

"Men are all so heartless!" Stella cursed, though her mind was in turmoil.

What I did in the car today was completely beyond my imagination.

Too shameful!

Stella was very upset.

Richard got his hands on that video, which was devastating for her.

She still doesn't understand what happened to her just now, why she acted so impulsively.

It can only be attributed to the effect of alcohol.

Drinking alcohol is a major mistake!

Starting today, I'm quitting alcohol!

A car drove past her, and the driver's gaze was clearly unusual.

Stella shuddered, looked around, and fled home in a panic.

The room was dark; Joel wasn't home.

Stella quickly washed her face with cool water and barely managed to wake up.

She sat on the sofa in the living room, staring at the photo of herself and Joel on the opposite wall, carefully recalling every little detail of their life together.

To be honest, Stella had never thought carefully about this question since they first met: what exactly is Joel's profession?

Looking back now, she realizes that many things were not right.

Joel never talks about his work at home.

He kept telling himself that he couldn't talk about it because of the confidentiality agreement.

It is reasonable that Rosenberg is a military research institution and some classified information cannot be disclosed.

But after Richard's reminder, Stella finally realized the problem she had been avoiding: Joel not only didn't talk about work, he didn't even talk about medicine, biology, or anything related to his profession!

Throughout their years together, she never heard Joel talk about cells, viruses, vaccines, or experiments.

I'd never even heard of the technical terms used to describe the process.

It's not that it's inconvenient to talk about, but Joel doesn't seem to have thought about things in that way at all.

Stella couldn't even recall Joel ever showing interest in any scientific topics, not even once, let alone mentioning them casually.

Stella stood up from the sofa, walked barefoot to the photo wall, and stared intently at the photo of herself and Joel on the beach.

In the photo, she is smiling broadly, while Joel remains very serious.

He always seemed so serious.

Stella recalled asking Joel once, "What exactly does your lab research?"

Joel's reaction was somewhat angry: "You can't say! You know that!"

Stella didn't press the matter further, as she herself felt she had overstepped her bounds.

However, she suddenly realized that if he were a real senior researcher, he shouldn't get angry even if his fiancée asked about secret projects that couldn't be discussed, but rather refuse to answer.

Joel's reaction seemed a bit too sensitive, no, it was more like a stress response, as if he had received some kind of special training.

Stella continued to reminisce about the little things in their lives, and then she remembered something even more suspicious.

On one occasion, while writing a report on public health policy, she casually asked, "Joel, what measures do you think the government should take to balance defense and the economy?"

Joel said nothing: "I don't care about those things, and I don't understand them."

Stella didn't pay attention at the time, but now it suddenly dawned on her: how could a researcher working in a virus lab have no opinions on epidemic prevention and public health policies?

Stella grew increasingly uneasy. She walked around the house, carefully searching Joel's belongings, only to be shocked to discover that Joel had left nothing at home related to work!

USB drive, notebook, printouts, documents—nothing!

Is this the normal state of a scientific researcher?

Do not!

That's absolutely not it!

Stella finally realized that Joel's job was definitely not that simple!

Could it be true, as Richard said, that he is an intelligence chief?

But Rosenberg is a national research institution, so why would an intelligence chief pretend to be a scientific researcher?

What exactly is Joel trying to protect himself from?

What exactly is the Rosenberg Virus Research Center researching?

Also, Richard told me that there is a Pulitzer Prize there. What does that mean?

Was Rosenberg conducting some horrific experiments?

Stella, with her journalistic instincts, thought of some things, but couldn't help but shudder.

Stella finds herself seemingly teetering on the edge of danger without even realizing it.

Just before leaving get off work, Cassandra rushed to her locker, opened the door, and found that the note was gone, replaced by an extra $100.

Whew! Cassandra let out a heavy sigh of relief.

She felt a little scared; if she lost this easy money-making opportunity, she wouldn't even be able to support her family.

Fortunately, the higher-ups weren't angry. It seems that some rights still need to be fought for.

"So, can I ask for more money?" Cassandra wondered to herself.

The large conference room at the headquarters of the Bellow Group was filled with a group of people in suits, and the air was thick with smoke.

They had been struggling in the conference room for three days, but finally finished all the work.

The PwC project manager, his eyes dark and lifeless from working so hard, finished a cup of coffee, roused himself, opened the report, and summarized: "Gentlemen! According to our calculations, the total valuation of the core assets spun off from the Bellow Group this time is 15.54317 billion."

$10,000. However, if it's auctioned, we suggest the valuation should be between $12 billion and $16 billion at most.

Of the three core directors, Anton and Bauer's expressions changed slightly: "Why is it so low?"

The PwC project manager looked somewhat embarrassed: "You all know the current situation. My advice is to auction it off as soon as possible, don't drag it out. (Regarding the death of former state attorney general Jaeger...)"

The lawsuit could escalate into a criminal investigation at any time. If it enters criminal proceedings, and if President Bauer is arrested, the Bellows Group's stock price will plummet.

Everyone else looked at Bauer with displeasure.

Bauer's lips twitched.

FXXK! What do I care?! I didn't do it at all!

But nobody believed him when he said that!

The project leader continued, "Furthermore, once ACER technology is fully deployed, the value of traditional cosmetic medicine will quickly drop to zero. You all saw the news about Mr. Russell's skin recovering; such severe burns could be healed, and this was the second case, indicating that the technology is mature and not an isolated incident. Christina is breaking through the barriers from the laboratory to commercialization. There are no real technical hurdles, just varying costs. In other words, ACER technology could be commercialized at any time. Therefore, the longer it takes, the more the stock price will fall, possibly ending up at less than 120 billion."

"Can it be less than 120 billion?" Anton frowned.

The project manager shrugged.

He didn't explain further.

Everyone knows that the situation is dire and requires swift and decisive action.

Anton asked, "So, what form do you recommend for the auction?"

The project manager replied, "Multiple rounds of bidding. We'll first publicly solicit interest and let buyers submit their bids. Once we've selected those with genuine interest, we'll conduct one or two more rounds of bidding. This way, the market can discover the price without the auction getting out of control. The key is whether to split the bidding process into smaller parts or to bid as a whole; that's your decision."

Anton and three core directors briefly exchanged views, and no one could be certain at the moment: "Whether to bid on the parts separately or sell the whole thing, we'll leave it at that for now. Let's see how the first round of bids goes."

The project manager added, "Spinning off assets could yield higher returns, but only if someone is willing to take over the unwanted ones. If the most sought-after assets are snapped up, the rest may go unsold."

Director Raymond asked hesitantly, "So, which one do you recommend?"

The project manager replied, "I suggest splitting the bidding process, but not auctioning each asset separately. Instead, we should set rules to package the assets into multiple packages. Buyers can bid on individual asset packages or the entire package, and the Bellow Group has the right to choose the package with the highest total price. This way, we won't miss out on high premiums, and we can sell as many assets as possible to recover funds."

"No way it'll sell like that!" Bauer nodded. "This plan is unlikely to succeed; there are definitely a lot of assets that nobody will be willing to buy."

Anton added, "Let's release them first, see the market reaction, and then decide what to do."

OK.

The two sides then held various discussions regarding the details of the bidding process.

By noon, everyone was exhausted and finally able to rest. They could no longer hold on and went home.

Some couldn't hold on any longer and found a cot to lie down and sleep.

After Anton and Bauer exchanged a glance, they each left.

Everyone else needed to rest, but Bauer still didn't sleep.

He took out a new phone, took a picture of the core page of the assessment data, put it in his pocket, and drove to an inconspicuous coffee shop in Manhattan.

In the corner, Catherine had been sitting in the booth waiting for him for a long time.

Bauer looked around uneasily.

Catherine calmly replied, "No need to look. I've booked the entire café for today, so no other customers can come in."

Paul breathed a sigh of relief and sat down in front of her: "You know, if I leaked information to you and the Securities and Exchange Commission found out, it would be a federal felony."

Without exchanging any pleasantries, Bauer simply pushed the new phone off the table.

Catherine immediately put it into her briefcase.

Paul said softly, "PwC's valuation is between $120 billion and $160 billion, and the appraised value is $155 billion. The three directors disagree with this price, thinking it's too low, and they want to break through $160 billion. But PwC's estimated value is probably $135 billion. They didn't object, so they probably accept it."

Catherine listened quietly and felt reassured.

Bauer glanced around and continued in a low voice, "Anton will try to persuade them to sell at around 130 billion, but whether they can go lower depends on luck. If there are too many bidders, it will be difficult to drive down the price."

"The bidding method has not yet been determined. Independent shareholders hope to split the bidding process into separate parts, while Anton expressed his desire to make a move as a whole and as soon as possible."

However, the specific plan has not yet been finalized; they will make a decision after reviewing the first round of bids.

Catherine nodded, not pressing for further questions, and simply said, "Let me know if there are any changes."

After saying that, she turned up the collar of her trench coat to cover her face, put on sunglasses, and hurriedly left.

Bauer didn't leave immediately. Instead, he finished a cup of coffee, ate some food, and then left the coffee shop to go home and rest.

That afternoon, Bellow Group released an announcement about the sale of assets on its official website.

The announcement stated that the group is undergoing a restructuring and plans to divest some core assets to focus on a new strategic direction.

Interested parties are welcome to contact us and submit a quote.

After the news was released, potential buyers and the media quickly followed up.

The Bellow Group has finally made its move!

Fifteen minutes after the announcement was issued, Harkers received the news in his office and immediately convened a meeting of senior executives.

After everyone had reviewed the entire sale list, Hax gave the order: "I need these eight flagship stores of the Bello Group in major cities; these are our primary targets."

These eight flagship stores are all owned properties of the Bellow Group. Hax has his eye on the land, and after buying it, he can either convert the flagship stores into hotels or simply demolish and rebuild them.

Each flagship store is located in a prime area of ​​the city, making them extremely valuable.

The locations of the three flagship stores in New York were ones that Haxke had coveted for a long time.

This time, we finally found an opportunity!

After Hax gave the order, his subordinates immediately sprang into action.

Someone went to compile a summary of the loan terms from Mellon Bank, a bank with which they had a long-term partnership. If an acquisition was needed, a large sum of money would be required immediately, necessitating a loan from the bank, making Mellon Bank virtually their only option.

Someone compiled information on the properties of all the stores on the list, clearly indicating which were owned by the owners and which were held by subsidiaries.

Which ones are rented, and what are the lease terms?

No one knows what Bellow Group's target price is, and no one knows how many competitors there are. This will be a difficult psychological game involving billions of dollars.

Meanwhile, the financial markets reacted, with Bellow Group's stock price dipping slightly by 3% before stabilizing.

It's not that the news isn't bad enough, but rather that Bellows Group's stock price has already bottomed out and reached an all-time low.

After Richard finished discussing the key points of the Bello Group acquisition with Catherine, he delegated all authority to her. He was only prepared to act at crucial moments and achieve the best possible result; he didn't care about the details.

Just then, my phone rang, and it was ALEX.

His voice sounded incredibly excited: "Hey! Dude, my investigation is over! You know what? I went to see that bastard immigration officer today, and holy crap! I had a whole bunch of explanations prepared, and guess what? He didn't even look at my materials, and just said: 'This work has been put on hold, temporarily suspended.'" I asked him when it started, and he said he didn't know. I asked why it was put on hold, and he said it wasn't his responsibility. Anyway, it's over! He also said that investigations of all international students at the University of Tokyo have been temporarily suspended. What about your situation?

How is the situation?

Richard didn't explain what had happened. Alex wasn't interested in political changes and didn't know the impact Theodore's downfall had on the Immigration Bureau. He simply said, "My investigation has also been put on hold."

Alex burst out laughing: "That's great! Americans just love to act crazy, they do things all at once, who knows what kind of policies they'll come up with this time."

Richard smiled and said, "Maybe we were just lucky."

"Exactly!" Alex laughed loudly. "I knew it! We didn't need to worry about visas at all. You were so nervous before, but look, nothing happened. I've always been very lucky."

Richard was both amused and exasperated.

The two chatted for a few more minutes before Richard put down his phone.

For now, ALEX seems much safer.

He's no longer broadcasting live, and now that the immigration bureau's investigation is over, Richard is at least temporarily safe, which puts him at ease.

"FXXK! Why?!" Wang Jianye sat in his Flushing office, staring intently at the red notification on his computer screen.

He had just reviewed his complaint against Alex that he had submitted to the immigration office, intending to add some new evidence, but a red message popped up on the page: "This application has been marked as not requiring processing by the system and cannot be submitted again."

"What the fuck!" Wang Jianye cursed angrily.

"Why? Why doesn't it need to be dealt with? Why not kick that bastard out of America?"

He refreshed the page again, but the red text remained unchanged.

He was unwilling to give up, so he refreshed the page again, but the red text remained there.

Wang Jianye leaned back in disappointment, the chair creaking as it mirrored his terrible mood.

Wang Jianye couldn't understand it, he just couldn't understand it at all!

This is not the first time he has reported someone.

He had previously reported several students who were exchanging currency privately to prevent it from affecting his income.

Every time a report is filed, those students are thoroughly investigated by the immigration authorities, and the vast majority are deported from the United States.

"Why did we fail this time? Why?!"

Wang Jianye stared at the line of red text for a long time, and finally could only close the page in frustration, completely unaware of what had happened.

Just then, the secretary walked in: "Boss, this month's bank statements are in."

The secretary placed a document on the desktop.

Wang Jianye opened it and glanced at it; his expression turned even uglier.

This month's revenue is worse than last month's, down by at least 10%!

Overall profits have decreased by nearly 30% compared to the same period last year!

Previously, clients referred by friends would come for consultations, but now far fewer people come for consultations.

Some people even ask him on the phone if the "kill line" mentioned online is true.

It's all because of that damned lie!

That bastard Alex actually spread rumors about the kill line?

In America, there's no such thing as a kill line!

I'm perfectly fine, aren't I?!

After a moment of impotent rage, Wang Jianye closed the ledger and waved for his secretary to leave.

He slumped back in his chair, feeling incredibly terrible.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time.

"Damn Alex!"

This wasn't the first time he'd had a bad business deal, but this time was different.

His enemy was Alex, an international student, someone whose online comments could affect his business. Alex was completely different from his previous business rivals, which left Wang Jianye feeling somewhat helpless.

As night fell, Wang Jianye tidied up and headed to a Cantonese restaurant in Flushing.

He often dines here with a few friends.

This group of friends are all of Chinese descent or immigrants, but they have a wide variety of professions. Some own restaurants, some are small logistics business owners, and there is also a Chinese woman named Li Yuan who works as a columnist for The New York Times.

Li Yuan is good-looking, and it is said that she has a very open lifestyle.

Wang Jianye has been eyeing Li Yuan for a long time, but he hasn't managed to seduce her yet.

The friends at the dinner were all acquaintances. After exchanging a few pleasantries, the dishes were served.

When the third dish was served, Wang Jianye started talking about Alex.

"Did you know what? I recently reported an international student named Alex, but the immigration office withdrew my report without even giving a reason!!"

The restaurant owner asked in surprise, "Didn't you successfully report this several times before? Why did the immigration bureau withdraw the report this time? Does that international student have connections?"

"What kind of background does he have?!" Wang Jianye picked up his wine glass and took a swig angrily. "I don't know why, but the system's response was simply 'no action needed.' Alice, you're a reporter, you're well-informed..."

"Tong, could you help me look up this person?"

Li Yuan looked up, a hint of interest in her eyes: "Oh? Who did you report? Did you get any personal information?"

Wang Jianye revealed ALEX's name and channel: "He's a fat guy who runs a self-media platform. He spreads rumors online every day, saying that there's a 'kill line' or something, which makes my current job as a real estate agent very difficult."

Li Yuan didn't reply, but picked up her phone and wrote down ALEX's information.

At the dinner table, everyone started chatting about other things, laughing and joking.

After the dinner, Wang Jianye's plan to seduce Li Yuan failed, and he was somewhat frustrated.

This bitch is too arrogant! What's with the attitude! Wang Jianye decided that he wouldn't waste any more time on this woman next time.

There are plenty of women who have just immigrated or studied abroad, who are younger and easier to fool. There's no need for me to waste my time and energy on older women like this.

Li Yuan still had work to finish, so she returned to her office to sober up before continuing her work.

However, she thought of Wang Jianye again, and felt somewhat annoyed.

That greasy old man was always hanging around her. She knew Wang Jianye's little schemes all too well. She looked down on Wang Jianye, but she didn't say it out loud.

Then, Li Yuan remembered the self-media blogger Wang Jianye had mentioned, whose name was something like ALEX.

Feeling bored, Li Yuan decided to check her phone.

After reading a few, her expression turned serious, and her mood worsened: "How can there be such a shameless fatso?! Are there poor people in America? Of course there are. But is that why you're slandering America?"

Li Yuan was so angry that she gritted her teeth.

She watched it all night long, going through most of Alex's video clips, her anger almost uncontrollable.

As her beloved America, she couldn't tolerate anyone speaking ill of America.

Especially since he's a despicable student from Dongda University!

Li Yuan was incredibly excited. She turned on her computer, created a new document, and started typing away at lightning speed.

Why is the University of Tokyo so concerned about the poor in America?

"You know what? New York winters are cold, but there's a kind of cold that's even more biting than sub-zero temperatures and snow. That kind of cold is called 'the kill line.' This is a metaphor from the gaming community that's been circulating on the internet at Dongda University for the past few weeks, and it's spreading at an alarming speed."

"It was invented by a student from Tokyo University living in New York, whose online ID was ALEX. He was studying biomedical sciences while working part-time as an assistant at a local forensic institution. He used his own eyes to record many disturbing moments: 'On Halloween night, children knock on doors not for candy, but for dinner. Delivery drivers are still out on the streets at 3 a.m., because if they don't finish the next delivery, they won't have money for this month's rent. A worker fell from scaffolding and spent three days in the hospital, the bills crushing him like an avalanche...'"

These fabricated stories have spread virally on the Chinese internet, being forwarded wildly, and the comment sections are filled with anger and fear. A term that once belonged only to gamers is now becoming a key to understanding the workings of society across the ocean...

"To be honest, I don't like that term. There is indeed a serious wealth gap in the United States; that's a fact, and no one can deny it. Walking the streets of Manhattan, you can see well-dressed elites emerging from glass-walled buildings, and you can also see homeless people huddled in subway vents..."

'

"However, the truth about a country is never made up of just one aspect."

"Those deliverymen who braved the wind and snow have also accepted a free cup of hot coffee at the entrance of a church they passed by. Those..."

Families unable to pay their bills are backed by countless aid programs, charitable funds, church assistance, unemployment benefits, and a flawed but real bankruptcy protection system. This country has built a massive safety net with nearly half of its fiscal expenditure; it's imperfect, it has many loopholes, but it truly supports those who are falling. This is the civilization and warmth of America!

"I've seen poverty in America too. In Skid Row, Los Angeles, tents lined the street, and drug addicts lay on the ground unattended. But churches provided two free meals a day, charities distributed clean clothes weekly, and the government had dedicated mental health intervention teams patrolling the area. Poverty was still poverty, and suffering was still suffering, but no one pretended it didn't exist, and they had enough to eat and wear..."

"Perhaps this is what I really wanted to say: America's poverty also comes with a precious dignity!"

"Some people ask, why does the 'kill line' resonate so deeply? When the suffering of an American homeless man is presented to them, they seem to find some kind of relief, and their own lives don't seem so bitter after all..."

"America may never be perfect, but it has never abandoned its people, something no other country can do..."

blah.

blah.

Li Yuan wrote with great enthusiasm and her writing was brilliant.

If people from the University of Tokyo saw this, they would immediately be able to smell the pungent stench of public intellectuals.

Before I knew it, dawn had broken.

Li Yuan turned her head and saw that it was Stella from the next workstation.

Stella lost the competition for editor-in-chief and has seemed a bit down these past few days.

However, Stella's writing was quite good, and Li Yuan wanted her to help her improve it: "Stella, are you busy? I'd like to ask you to take a look at an article I just wrote, about a student from the University of Tokyo who maliciously spread rumors about America online..."

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