A Little Shock from the Warhammer World

Three hours later, the examination report came out.

The attending physician double-checked the data, his face a picture of disbelief. "The tumor... activity is gone! All metastatic lesions have completely vanished!"

"Your body indicators... are perfectly normal. This, this is impossible..."

Jobs snatched the report, his eyes sweeping over the indicators that had shifted from glaring red to healthy green. Beyond the ecstasy, there was more curiosity!

"Process the discharge."

"Now."

Faced with the demands of their golden goose, the hospital dared not utter a single word of objection.

Half an hour later, in the underground garage.

Just as Jobs settled into the car, a silver-gray Servo-skull silently flew out from behind the shadow of a pillar.

"What the hell! What is that!"

The bodyguards drew their guns in unison.

"Put them down." Jobs stopped them.

Soon, Fu Haoran walked out.

"Mr. Jobs, looks like the results are good."

At Jobs's signal, the two got into the car.

"The money will hit your account immediately." Jobs stared at him. "What technology was that?"

"You paid for health, not a technical manual." Fu Haoran leaned back into the seat. "Now, let's talk about a second deal. I need you to do two things for me."

"First, gather everyone like you—rich and willing to pay for possibilities."

"One billion USD, a comprehensive recovery package."

"Second," Fu Haoran handed over a slip of paper, "I need access to people in these fields who can actually solve problems. Washington, the EPA, the Department of Agriculture... names and introductions."

Jobs glanced at the paper, folded it, and tucked it away. "What do I get?"

"Priority for future transactions, and... the possibility of further health optimization." Fu Haoran smiled. "For instance, how about extending your lifespan by ten years?"

"My price is fair. One hundred million USD per year younger."

With that.

Before pulling open the car door, Fu Haoran turned back to add: "Oh, and health needs witnesses. Get outdoors more. It'll be good for you, and good for our business."

The next day, American news was detonated by a single headline.

<Miracle? Jobs Spotted Surfing at Malibu Beach, Health Status Sparks Frenzied Speculation!>

In the footage, Jobs stood tall and moved swiftly, a stark contrast to the gaunt, bedridden figure from a month ago.

What caused an even greater uproar were the close-ups captured by paparazzi. At a pool party, Jobs's bare torso showed clear muscle definition and taut skin, with not a single surgical scar in sight.

Public opinion boiled over.

"Vampire! Buying time with money!"

"He must have had a full blood transfusion, done some shady experiment!"

"There's not even a scar on his chest! This is fucking beyond modern medicine!"

Within the elite circle, the phones of top-tier billionaires practically blew up Jobs's private line.

Behind every voice was the fear of death and the greed for a miracle.

Fu Haoran turned off the news, a slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

Step one of the plan, exceeded expectations. Capital and the keys to top-tier connections were both in hand.

Just then, the system prompt appeared, and the sinister premonition alarm chimed in sync:

[Achievement Unlocked: Cross-Dimensional Dimensional Reduction Strike]

[Description: Applied foundational technology from a higher-dimensional universe to a lower-dimensional civilization, establishing absolute monopoly advantage.]

[Reward: Universal Points +666, Prestige +500, Charisma +5]

[New Feature Unlocked: Directed Technology Transfer Protocol (Basic)]

[Description: Consumes Universal Points and specific resources to perform "localization adaptation" of mastered otherworldly technology, and construct corresponding production lines within your territory. Currently transferable tier: Basic Industry / Basic Biochemistry.]

"Directed transfer... localization adaptation?" Fu Haoran's eyes lit up.

This was far more precise and practical than simple industrial transfer.

The system was encouraging him not only to arbitrage the gap between two worlds but also to build an absolute advantage industry based on Warhammer technology—one Blue Star could never replicate.

But distant water couldn't quench a present thirst. The hunger countdown of the Warhammer Hive City was still ticking.

"Startup capital is secured. Next step is raw materials—massive, cheap, and ideally free."

Fu Haoran's thoughts sharpened: use Blue Star's "ecological disaster" to fill Warhammer's "food black hole."

Asian carp, wild boars, oysters... these invasive species plaguing governments worldwide were the perfect "negative-cost" raw materials.

If he played his cards right, he wouldn't just get them for free—he might even land processing subsidies.

The key was obtaining an official license as a "legal scavenger."

An hour later, Fu Haoran walked alone into a solemn office building in Washington, D.C.

Director Kevin Smith didn't even bother rising from his wide leather chair.

He sized up the overly young Asian face before him, pulling a formulaic, slightly weary smile.

"Mr. Fu, we've looked at your Invasive Species Commercialization Proposal. The idea... interesting, but naive."

Kevin had a habit of saying the opposite of what he meant.

In his eyes, this proposal was a joke.

"But you need to understand, this country has a mature process."

"A lot of things aren't just about commercial value—you also need to show... concern and support for public affairs."

"For instance, some foundations dedicated to environmental protection and policy research always welcome visionary entrepreneurs."

He hinted in a practiced way, indifferent to whether Fu Haoran caught on.

Fu Haoran shook his head, speaking with utter confidence: "I don't think that's necessary."

The smile vanished from Kevin's face, replaced by a cold, businesslike demeanor.

"Then follow the process." He pointed toward the door. "Go to the front desk, pick up the forms and checklist. Complete all environmental assessments, business qualifications, community hearings... maybe this time next year, we can talk again."

He lowered his head, dismissing Fu Haoran. The message was clear: get lost.

But Fu Haoran didn't move.

"No rush, Director Kevin." Fu Haoran glanced at his watch. "A few friends I've scheduled should be arriving soon."

Kevin let out a scoff, finally lifting his eyes, dripping with sarcasm: "Friends? I don't care who you've called today. In this office, rules are rules! Now, please get—"

"Bang."

The heavy oak office door swung open—not violently, but with an undeniable force.

Three figures filed in.

At the lead was a silver-haired man with a solemn face: heavyweight Senator Robert Quinn.

Beside him walked a core figure from a lobbying group.

Last came the expressionless chief legal counsel of the Jobs Family, holding a gold-embossed envelope.

The three strode straight in, their gazes sweeping past Kevin Smith—frozen in his seat, face instantly pale—and landing on Fu Haoran.

Senator Robert gave a slight nod, his steady voice breaking the dead silence:

"It seems we've arrived just in time. Mr. Fu, the special memorandum for cross-state collection and processing of biological raw materials is ready, pending only the final signature."

He paused, his gaze finally shifting to the fidgeting director.

"Kevin, I hope the relevant departments' procedures will reflect the proper efficiency and support."

"You understand what I mean."