Three hours later, the test results came back.
The attending physician checked the data again and again, looking as if he'd seen a ghost. "The tumor... it's inactive! All the metastatic lesions are gone!"
"Your vital signs... are perfectly normal! This, this is impossible..."
Jobs snatched the report and scanned the results, which had changed from glaring red to healthy green. He was overjoyed, but even more curious.
"Discharge me."
"Now."
Faced with the demands of their big-spending benefactor, the hospital didn't dare say a word.
Half an hour later, in the underground parking garage.
Jobs had just gotten into his car when a silver-gray servo-skull silently emerged from the shadow of a pillar.
"What the hell is that?!"
The bodyguards drew their guns one after another.
"Put them down," Jobs said, stopping them.
Soon, Fu Haoran stepped out.
"Mr. Jobs, it looks like the results were good."
At Jobs's gesture, the two got into the car.
"The money will be transferred immediately." Jobs stared at him. "What kind of technology is that?"
"You paid for good health, not a technical manual." Fu Haoran leaned back in his seat. "Now, let's discuss our second deal. I need your help with two things."
"First, gather everyone like you—people with money who are willing to pay for a chance at something extraordinary."
"Ten billion dollars for a complete recovery package."
"Second..." Fu Haoran handed him a piece of paper. "I need access to people in these fields who can actually solve problems. People in Washington, at the Environmental Protection Agency, the Department of Agriculture... Names and introductions."
Jobs glanced at the note, then folded it and put it away. "What do I get?"
"Priority access to future deals, and... the possibility of further health optimization." Fu Haoran smiled. "How about adding ten years to your life?"
"My prices are very fair. One hundred million dollars for every year younger."
With that,
Fu Haoran opened the car door, then turned back to add, "By the way, good health needs witnesses. Spend more time outdoors. It'll be good for you and for our business."
The next day, the same news set the whole country ablaze.
<Miracle? Jobs spotted surfing at Malibu beach, sparking wild speculation about his health!>
In the footage, Jobs stood tall and moved with speed, nothing like the gaunt figure who had been bedridden just a month ago.
Even more sensational were the close-up shots caught by paparazzi. At a pool party, Jobs's bare upper body showed clearly defined muscles and taut skin, without a single surgical scar.
Public opinion erupted.
"Vampire! He bought himself more time!"
"He must've had all his blood replaced. Some kind of shady experiment!"
"Not even a scar on his chest! This is sure as hell not modern medicine!"
In elite circles, calls from top billionaires all but overwhelmed Jobs's private line.
Behind every voice lay a fear of death and a hunger for miracles.
Fu Haoran turned off the news, the corners of his mouth lifting.
The first step of the plan had gone even better than expected. He now had the funds and an entry point to the uppermost circles.
Just then, a system notification appeared, accompanied by a warning of sinister intent:
[Achievement Unlocked: Cross-Dimensional Dimensional Reduction Strike]
[Description: Apply the basic technology of a higher-dimensional universe to a lower-dimensional civilization, creating an absolute monopoly.]
[Reward: Universal Points +666, Reputation +500, Charisma +5]
[New Feature Unlocked: Directed Technology Transfer Protocol (Basic)]
[Description: By consuming Universal Points and specific resources, you can "localize" mastered technologies from other worlds and build corresponding production lines within your territory. Current transferable levels: Basic Industry/Basic Biochemistry.]
"Directed transfer... localization?" Fu Haoran's eyes lit up.
This was far more precise and practical than simply transferring industrial technology.
The system was encouraging him not only to profit from the gap between the two worlds, but also to establish an industry based on Warhammer technology—a decisive advantage that Blue Star couldn't replicate.
But a distant river couldn't quench an immediate thirst. The countdown to starvation in the Warhammer Hive City was still ticking away.
"Now I have the startup capital. Next, I need raw materials—vast quantities, cheap, and preferably free."
Fu Haoran's thinking became clear: use Blue Star's "ecological disasters" to fill Warhammer's "food black hole."
Asian carp, wild boar, oysters... These invasive species, a headache for governments around the world, were perfect "negative-cost" raw materials.
If he handled things right, he could get them for free—and might even receive subsidies for removing them.
The key was to get an official permit as a "legitimate cleanup operator."
An hour later, Fu Haoran walked alone into a stately office building in Washington, D.C.
Director Kevin Smith didn't even rise from his wide leather chair.
He sized up the overly young Asian man before him, his mouth pulling into a practiced, slightly weary smile.
"Mr. Fu, we've reviewed your Invasive Species Commercialization Proposal. It's... very interesting, very naive."
Kevin had a habit of saying the opposite of what he meant.
In his eyes, the proposal was a joke.
"But you need to understand that this country has a well-established process."
"Commercial value alone isn't enough for a lot of things. You also need to show... concern and support for public affairs."
"For example, some foundations dedicated to environmental protection and policy research are always happy to welcome far-sighted entrepreneurs."
The other man used a well-practiced line to hint at what he wanted. Whether Fu Haoran understood was none of Kevin's concern.
Fu Haoran shook his head and said confidently, "I don't think that's necessary."
The smile vanished from Kevin's face, replaced by the cold indifference of someone conducting official business.
"Then we'll follow the process." He gestured toward the door. "Go to the front desk for the forms and checklist. Complete the environmental assessments, business credentials, community hearings... Maybe we can discuss it again this time next year."
He lowered his head and stopped looking at Fu Haoran. His meaning was clear: Get lost.
But Fu Haoran didn't move.
"No rush, Director Smith." Fu Haoran glanced at his watch. "The friends I've invited should be here soon."
Kevin scoffed and finally looked up, his eyes full of mockery. "Friends? I don't care who you've invited today. In this office, the rules are the rules! Now, please get ou—"
"Bang."
The heavy solid-wood office door swung open—not violently, but with an unmistakable force.
Three figures filed inside.
At their head was a silver-haired old man with a solemn expression: Senator Robert Quinn, a heavyweight in the Senate.
At his side was a key figure from a lobbying group.
The last was the Jobs Family's chief legal counsel, holding a gold-embossed envelope and wearing a blank expression.
The three walked straight in. Their eyes passed over Kevin Smith, frozen in his seat and suddenly deathly pale, before settling on Fu Haoran.
Senator Robert gave a slight nod, his steady voice breaking the silence.
"It seems we've arrived at just the right time. Mr. Fu, the special memorandum for the interstate collection and processing of biological materials is ready. It only needs a final signature."
He paused, then turned his gaze to the director, who was sitting on pins and needles.
"Kevin, I hope the relevant departments can show the efficiency and support that are expected of them."
"You understand what I mean."
Before you continue