I searched and fought in America.

I'll set up a general store. First, it'll allow me to clear out all the junk I don't want to sell at low prices to the system; second, if I can actually bring real-world goods here to sell...

The price difference between the two worlds is an inexhaustible gold mine!

With this thought in mind, Rosen left the market immediately.

The scene before him returned to the basement of the shelter. He quickly walked to the terminal, opened the communication list, and found the contact channel marked "Black Marketer".

This channel appeared automatically after he opened the exchange.

Rosen didn't waste any words and sent the message directly:

How do I acquire the shops in the market?

A few seconds later, the black market merchant's reply popped up on the screen:

"Hey, Private First Class, you have good taste. Want to do business at the market? Simple, just get a land deed. Here's your deal, 20000 Kazakhstani kyats."

20000 Kazakhstani rupees!

Rosen felt a pain in his flesh. He had just received a huge sum of 40,000, and before he could even enjoy it, he was about to lose half of it.

But he hesitated for only three seconds before gritting his teeth and typing out his reply:

"I bought it."

If the experiment is successful, it will be an invincible engine for sustainable wealth generation, and this initial investment is necessary.

[Ding! 20000 Kazakhstani Credits deducted.]

You have acquired a land deed for the outskirts of the market.

Looking at the parchment that had appeared out of thin air in his hand, Rosen quickly asked the most crucial question:

"Reality... I mean, can I sell items from my original world at the market?"

The black market dealer quickly replied:

"Of course, the market accepts all materials. However, items from other worlds are considered unknown resources and cannot be listed directly. You will need to pay the system to 'appraise' them. Once the appraisal is successful and the system assigns them the attributes and value of this world, you can set the price as you wish."

Rosen stared at the line of text on the screen, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

Paying for authentication? No problem.

When he gets back to Houston, we'll bring some over to test the waters!

---

Now that the system matters are settled, it's time to get down to business in the real world.

Rosen opened the encrypted phone, accessed the "Hell's Thorn" platform, and uploaded a photo of the silver briefcase. As for the contents, he had already had Caesar deliver them.

A few minutes later, the employer's reply popped up:

[Customer]: Received it, the item is genuine.

[Customer]: You guys... you've made quite a fuss.

Rosen stared at the words and remained silent for a few seconds.

He didn't reply.

The other party did not ask any further questions.

A few minutes later, the account notification read: "[US$500000 has been credited to your account. The platform takes a 60% cut, so you will receive US$200000.]"

Rosen's lips twitched as he looked at the number.

Two hundred thousand.

We risked our lives and worked ourselves to the bone, and we only managed to earn 200,000.

But he also knew that getting 200,000 yuan of this kind of shady money was already a stroke of good luck.

He turned off his phone, leaned back on the bed, and let out a long sigh.

I can finally sleep.

however--

"Knock knock knock".

A knock came at the door.

Rosen frowned.

Who would come at this hour?

He got up, walked to the door, and looked out through the peephole.

Morris stood outside the door, his expression somewhat grave.

Rosen opened the door.

Morris began:

"Holy Father, someone is looking for you."

"Who?"

“Someone from the city government,” Morriston paused, “an official from the mayor’s office named Emily Watson. She says she has something to discuss with you.”

Rosen raised an eyebrow.

Government officials?

find him?

Where is she?

"I didn't let her come directly from the recycling plant," Morris said. "Do you want to see her?"

Rosen was silent for two seconds.

Then he nodded.

"Let her come over; see her in the study."

Fifteen minutes later.

Rosen sat in the study left by Father Kevin, with two glasses of water on the tea table in front of him.

A woman in business attire was led in by Maurice.

She was probably in her thirties, blonde, with exquisite makeup, wearing high heels, and holding a folder in her hand.

After entering, her gaze swept around the study, landing on Rosen, and then—

His brows furrowed slightly.

That expression made it seem like he was looking at something unclean.

"You're Rosen?" she asked, her tone slightly casual.

Rosen stood up, his attitude polite:

"Please sit down."

Emily walked to the opposite side of him, but did not sit down immediately. Instead, she wiped the chair with her hand to make sure there was no dust before reluctantly sitting down.

She placed the folder on the table and said in a businesslike tone:

"I'm Emily Watson from the Environment and Health Committee. I'm here today to ask you to do something."

Confess.

Rosen picked up his water glass, took a sip, and said nothing.

Emily, seemingly oblivious to his silence, continued:

"You should know about the sewer explosion a few days ago. The survivors are in the hospital now, and the media is swarming around them all day. We need you to step forward and say a few words to them."

Lawson put down his water glass:

"What did you say?"

Emily's expression grew impatient, as if Rosen had asked a very stupid question:

"Of course, let them say what they need to say in front of the media, say that the government's rescue was timely, that the firefighters were brave and fearless, and that they are grateful for the care of the mayor and officials at all levels. In short, let them say whatever they need to say."

She paused, then added:

"You know, those people's experiences... well, they're a bit sensitive. If they talk nonsense in front of the media, it will affect social stability and the mayor's votes."

Can you shoulder this responsibility?

Rosen tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

He suddenly asked:

"Have you contacted them?"

Emily's expression stiffened slightly.

Three hours ago.

Houston Central Hospital, fifth floor, intensive care unit.

Two men in suits stood in front of the nurses' station. One of them showed his identification, and a few minutes later, they were led into a ward at the end of the corridor.

In the ward, an elderly man with a broken leg was leaning against the headboard, looking out the window.

"Mr. Joseph?" one of the men in a suit spoke, a professional smile on his face. "We are staff members of the city government, and we have come to visit you."

The old man turned his head, glanced at them, and then looked away.

The man in the suit seemed oblivious and continued speaking to himself:

"We've heard about your story. It's truly remarkable that you survived such an explosion. The media is very interested in you, and reporters may come to interview you in a few days. You'll only need to say a few words then."

"What did you say?" the old man asked, his voice hoarse.

The man in the suit smiled even more broadly:

"Just say you thank the government for the rescue, thank the firefighters for their bravery, and thank the mayor for his concern for the citizens. You are a survivor, and your words are the most convincing."

At that time, your image will appear on television, and you might even receive donations from some kind-hearted people—”

The old man looked at him.

Just look at him.

The man in the suit's smile gradually faded.

"Mr. Joseph?"

The old man looked away and continued to gaze out the window.

"roll."

The man in the suit's expression changed.

The person next to him stepped forward, his tone becoming harsh:

"Sir, we're doing this for your own good. You know, if you say something inappropriate, you'll face a lot of trouble. Medical insurance, housing subsidies, social assistance—these things are all managed by the municipal government. If you cooperate, we guarantee you'll have a good life in the future. If you don't cooperate…"

He paused, then didn't continue.

The old man did not turn around.

"roll."

Another ward.

A girl with her arms wrapped in bandages curled up on the bed, huddled together like a frightened little animal.

Two women in suits stood by the bed, speaking gently:

"Child, don't be afraid. We're here to help you. When the reporters arrive, just tell them you're very grateful to the government and that the mayor sent people to rescue you."

If you say so, we'll arrange a good foster family for you, support your schooling, and provide you with living expenses, okay?

The girl did not speak.

She just curled up even tighter.

"Child?" A woman reached out to touch her.

The girl jerked back, slamming her head against the headboard with a thud. She looked up, her thin lips slightly parted.

"roll."

Her voice was very soft.

But both women heard it clearly.

The third ward.

A young mother is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her child.

The baby in her arms was still a little pale, but he could already open his eyes and play with his mother's fingers.

Two men in suits stood at the door but did not go in.

Because there were two men in overalls standing at the door.

The two men stood guard on either side of the door, arms crossed, watching them expressionlessly.

"We're from the city government," a man in a suit said, forcing himself to speak.

The man in overalls didn't move.

"Let us in."

The man in overalls still didn't move.

The man in the suit took a deep breath and raised his voice to shout inside:

"Madam! We're from the city government! We'd like to discuss something with you! It might be beneficial for you!"

There was no response.

After a few seconds, a voice came out, very calm:

"roll."

The fourth ward.

The fifth ward.

The sixth ward.

Without exception, all survivors.

Whether you lure them with benefits or threaten them, their reaction is always the same—

One word.

"roll."

---

Thank you to the King of Love Talk, Yan Linmo, and I Don't Know Anyone for the monthly tickets.

---

Brothers, I finally finished writing at 5 a.m. today. I've completely revised the section from chapter 15, so you can go and read it. I wrote almost 20,000 words today. I don't even know who I am anymore.

If you enjoyed watching, please give it a vote to show your support!

I go to sleep.