Time Is Money

Director Kevin sprang up from his chair, spilling coffee all over his hand.

Ignoring the burn, he hurried over, his voice trembling. "S-Senator Robert! What are you..."

Senator Robert ignored him, walked over to the couch, and sat down. He pointed at Fu Haoran. "Kevin, Mr. Fu is a business partner of several of my friends."

"He has a project I need you to take a look at."

The Lobbying Vice Chairman tossed over a document. "The association has assessed the project. It can solve the invasive species problem in five swing states in the Midwest and create at least five hundred jobs."

"It'll be a big help in the midterm elections..."

The lawyer slid over a letter of introduction. "This is a joint letter of guarantee from Mr. Jobs and several investors. You can take a look, Mr. Kevin."

Kevin looked at the three heavyweights before him, then at the Chinese man watching the show. He had no idea what was going on.

Was this any way to get something done?

They were here to give him orders.

He forced out his most obsequious smile. "Of course! Absolutely! Mr. Fu's project will benefit the country and its people!"

"Just name your terms. We'll get all the paperwork done today!"

Half an hour later, Fu Haoran walked out of the building with the signed memorandum in hand.

The terms were outrageously generous: exclusive Federation purchasing rights, a hundred dollars per ton in processing subsidies, full reimbursement for fuel and ammunition, and no inspections for the end products.

He had barely said a word the whole time.

"Who says people in Eagle Nation don't pull strings or understand the art of human relations? They just set the bar so high you can't see it." Fu Haoran smiled and shook his head.

Still reeling from the experience, Fu Haoran had just gotten into the car when his phone vibrated.

A message came from a member of the Jobs Salon. "Mr. Fu, as you requested, the Golden State Food Processing Plant, the largest and most automated facility in the Central Valley, California, has been legally transferred into your name."

"The three main production lines have been calibrated and are ready to start work for you at any time."

Fu Haoran replied, "Got it," then locked his screen.

Not a trace of pleasantries.

Fu Haoran didn't need their friendship. He only needed their fear of death and their desire to live.

As for those invasive creatures no one valued, they were liabilities and a nuisance to everyone else.

But to a man who owned a Hive World, they were all strategic resources.

Perfect raw materials for canned food.

You're saying the ingredients are crawling with bacteria and loaded with heavy metals?

Come on. The people of the Warhammer World were already immune to all that. They weren't going to be scared of a few "trace elements."

The roar of propellers ripped through the quiet of Montana.

A discreetly painted Bombardier Global 8000 business jet landed directly on Graystone Town's old runway, barely long enough for a takeoff or landing.

The cabin door opened, and Fu Haoran descended the stairs, followed by three people: a shrewd-looking Jewish lawyer, a security chief with the impassive bearing of a former Navy SEAL, and a female assistant in office attire.

The townspeople's attention instantly focused on them.

Mayor Bob hurried over, rubbing his hands together and beaming. "Welcome, welcome! You must be Mr. Fu. Sorry for the long trip! Graystone Town may be small, but we have warm, honest folks and beautiful scenery..."

"How do I get to John Dutton's ranch?" Fu Haoran interrupted, his gaze sweeping over the cowboys leaning against their pickups, their eyes hostile.

Bob's smile stiffened. "Old John's stubborn and doesn't much welcome outsiders. Why don't I arrange for you all to rest first, and we can talk things over?"

"No need." Fu Haoran headed for the black Escalade waiting nearby. "Show us the way."

The convoy kicked up a cloud of dust that hit the mayor in the face.

The onlookers whispered among themselves:

"Another land buyer. And an Asian guy, too."

"Flew in on a plane just to show off? Old Dutton could greet him with a shotgun."

"I'll bet fifty bucks he'll come crying back in ten minutes."

Grayrock Ranch.

In front of the ranch house porch, John "Old Stone" Dutton leaned against the doorframe.

He was the owner of this land, and his family had worked it for over a hundred years.

He wore a faded denim shirt and clutched an old cowboy hat in his thick-fingered hand. His gaze raked over the approaching convoy like a knife.

The car came to a stop, and Fu Haoran got out.

Old Stone stared at his Asian face, spat out his cigarette butt, and spoke in a voice rough as sandpaper.

"Kid, turn around and go back. You don't belong here. I'd die before I sold any of my land on the edge of Yellowstone, especially to an Asian guy who couldn't even shoot a wild boar."

The lawyer frowned and stepped forward, but Fu Haoran raised a hand to stop him.

He walked over to the weather-beaten wooden table on the porch, pulled a blank checkbook and a Montblanc pen from the lawyer's briefcase, and tossed them onto the tabletop.

"Grayrock Ranch, including all its annexed forests, five miles of river access, the slaughterhouse, and the buildings." Fu Haoran's voice was calm. "Fill in your own price. Sign the contract now, and the money will be transferred immediately."

Old Stone stared at the checkbook, then sneered. He grabbed the pen and swiftly wrote down a figure.

"I'm not asking for much. Give me 320 million." He stared challengingly at Fu Haoran. "Don't waste my time, kid. You agree to the price, we make the deal. If you don't, get lost."

The lawyer objected. "Mr. Dutton, that's three hundred percent above market value! This is malicious—"

Fu Haoran raised a hand to stop him.

"Time is money. That's a fair price."

Fu Haoran turned to his female assistant. "Lola, the contract."

The lawyer was still trying to argue, but Fu Haoran had already picked up the pen and signed the contract laid out in front of him.

Old John was stunned. Even when the lawyer urged him to sign, he still seemed to be sleepwalking.

The female assistant tapped away at her tablet, and Old John's phone vibrated.

He took it out and stared at the bank deposit notification, his expression deeply conflicted.

The news spread quickly, and the neighboring ranchers who had gathered erupted.

Bald, redneck Hank rubbed his hands together and cursed at Fu Haoran. "Insane! Three hundred and twenty million for this dump? That Asian sucker must have more money than brains!"

The lanky man beside him slapped his thigh. "Fuck, why can't something like that happen to me?"

"So what if he bought it? He'll never be able to run it. Then he'll be out of here!"

Fu Haoran ignored their chatter.

The lawyer still refused to give up. "Mr. Fu, speaking as a professional, I still have to advise you: this area has some of the worst invasive species problems in the entire country. The cost of managing them will far exceed the purchase price!"

"Professional firms have calculated that it'll take at least ten years to..."

Fu Haoran waved him off, his eyes on the production capacity report his assistant had just handed him.

[Projected Annual Production Capacity]

Asian Carp: Approximately 8,000 tons caught annually in controllable river sections; 6,000 tons of fish meat after processing.

Wild Boars: Approximately 40,000 head reliably recovered; an average of 100 kilograms of meat per animal, for 4,000 tons of meat.

Other species (coyotes, animal organs): Supplementary recovery, with an estimated 5,000 tons of meat.

Total annual meat ingredients: Approximately 15,000 tons.

Fu Haoran closed the report.

Fifteen thousand tons was far beyond the limits of an ordinary ranch.

But Fu Haoran knew the estimate was based on one outrageous assumption: that he would pour money into equipment and labor without regard for the cost.

Premium Canned Food could reduce the Corpse Starch requirement from four billion tons to one hundred million, but even that was still an astronomical amount for Fu Haoran at present.

"Still not enough. Looks like I'll have to speed up my plans and build a Vertical Farm. I'll need to multiply production tenfold just to make a dent in the Hive World's shortfall."

While Fu Haoran was still planning his supply chain, he had no idea that several kilometers away, the lenses of a pair of binoculars were reflecting a cold glint from a ridge.

Meanwhile, on an encrypted channel:

"The target has arrived at the Montana base and is highly active. Prepare to initiate the final stage of the recovery operation."