Sexual Harassment Costs Extra

"Come on, bro," Michael said, looking at Li Wei with heartfelt anguish. "Tell me honestly—are you on steroids?"

Early the next morning, Li Wei arrived at the gym, eager to test his strength.

He had heard that bench-pressing 100 kilograms was a significant hurdle for most fitness enthusiasts. He wanted to see whether he could break through that barrier in one go today.

To his surprise, Michael, the Black classmate he had met at the gym before, had come this early too.

After asking, Li Wei learned that Michael also had a part-time job that afternoon, so he could only squeeze in a workout before school that morning.

As they trained, Michael began to feel that something was off.

His buddy had only barely managed one 80-kilogram rep the day before yesterday. How was he pushing 80 kilograms today like it was fucking air?!

Naturally suspicious, he instinctively assumed Li Wei had secretly taken something to speed up his progress.

"Quit thinking up nonsense." Li Wei patted him on the shoulder. "I'm not on steroids."

"Were you messing with me the day before yesterday, then?" Michael simply could not believe Li Wei had progressed this fast. "Are you Superman or something? You get stronger by soaking up sunlight and absorbing solar radiation?"

Li Wei was also curious about where the system's limits lay, whether one day he really could become Superman.

But right now, he was only a frail seventeen-year-old who had possessed the system for barely a week. He was not yet in a position to worry about whether he could eat beef.

"Enough bullshit." Li Wei smiled. "Help me load the plates."

"How much?" Michael asked. "You're in good shape today. Want to try 90 kilograms?"

Li Wei shook his head. "Go straight to 100 kilograms," he said. "I'll give it a shot."

"If you can bench 100 kilograms, that'd be fucking insane, bro." Michael bumped fists with him and loaded the bar to 100 kilograms. "Come on. I'll spot you from behind."

"Wait, you said 100, and you actually meant 100?!"

Michael watched Li Wei steadily press 100 kilograms, then even push up 110 kilograms afterward, and completely lost it.

"I surrender." He grabbed Li Wei's shirt. "What are you taking? Can you hook me up too? I'm begging you. Stop working out. Seriously, stop working out."

Li Wei knew Michael was only fooling around. After joking with him for a bit, he went over to the squat rack to test his squat limit.

His squat strength had also risen impressively, shooting straight from 95 kilograms to 140 kilograms.

Only now did Li Wei feel that his physical condition might have reached the standard needed to join a high school football team.

He eagerly anticipated what unbelievable heights his physical abilities would reach after more than three weeks, when school began.

Near nine o'clock, Michael and Li Wei left the gym together and went their separate ways.

Li Wei needed to go home and change before heading to his part-time job in the Upper East Side, while Michael had to hurry to school.

He was not the only one who noticed the changes in his physique and strength. Mrs. Dolores noticed them too.

"This suit seems a little tight," she said as she looked at Li Wei. "Did you get fat? What else are you wearing underneath?"

"I've been working out lately," Li Wei explained. "That's probably why the clothes look smaller."

"Not this fast," Mrs. Dolores said. "Stand still."

She walked up to Li Wei and circled him several times, her hands roaming over his chest and waist for quite a while.

A few seconds later, Li Wei finally realized it—this Slavic woman had apparently noticed long ago. She was just taking advantage of him.

"That's sexual harassment." Li Wei took a step back, then paused. "It costs extra."

"This body is fine. You are not allowed to work out any more," Mrs. Dolores said calmly. "Your part-time wage is going up to thirty dollars an hour. I'm very satisfied that you still have sufficient self-control after making money. That is not a common virtue among the poor."

Well, with an extra thirty dollars in pre-tax income every day, Li Wei could allow his boss to touch him once in a while.

Her expression and tone remained calm. Even after Li Wei called her out, she showed no embarrassment whatsoever, as though not even the sky falling could make her furrow her brows.

"Go find Emma." She looked Li Wei up and down. "Have her take you to change into a new outfit. Hmm... wear that EU 54 Brunello Cucinelli suit, then have her match it with a pair of non-prescription gold-rimmed glasses."

"Isn't that a little too expensive?" Li Wei was somewhat surprised. "If I remember correctly, that Brunello Cucinelli suit costs thirteen thousand dollars, right?"

"Then you had better wear it carefully and make sure your body does not change shape," Mrs. Dolores said calmly. "No smoking. Do not let any smell get on you."

It had to be said that the owner of a fashion boutique on New York's Fifth Avenue truly had impeccable taste and judgment.

Li Wei emerged wearing the Neapolitan suit with its shoulder pads removed and a pair of non-prescription gold-rimmed glasses. Combined with his mixed-race features, he looked like a highly cultivated young aristocrat who had just returned from a top luxury fashion show.

Before long, Li Wei closed another sale. Though he suspected the customer had come entirely for his face, that did not matter.

Five hundred dollars in commission for a single day, plus another five hundred dollars in tips, made him not mind being treated as a pretty vase. If a few more generous rich ladies like that came along, he might be able to buy a house in Brooklyn next week.

But from his pre-tax income of 1,090 dollars, 218 dollars were deducted in taxes before it even reached him, making his eyelids twitch.

"Can't take it already?" Emma, another sales associate, teased. "You don't even have status yet. Once you get status and own your own house, the good times will really begin."

"Federal Social Security FICA, withholding tax, state tax, city tax, mandatory insurance, property tax..." She counted them off on her fingers, then sighed. "You're lucky if half your pre-tax income reaches your hands. You still have to live on what remains."

"Isn't there tax avoidance?" Li Wei could not help saying. "The richer people are, the less tax they pay."

"Sure." Emma laughed at him. "But you should probably wait until you have assets worth hundreds of millions of dollars before worrying about that. If you want to avoid taxes, you need at least two full-time accountants working for you."

Li Wei could only watch helplessly as 218 dollars flew out of his hands, then boarded the Brooklyn subway in a gloomy mood.

As usual, he took the subway to Eighth Avenue, got off, and picked through the supermarket for affordable, high-calorie foods before returning to the basement.

"Well, look who it is." Li Wei was astonished to see Don Quixote in the room. "Shouldn't you be at the construction site at this hour?"

"Good lord." Coughing, he kept the door open to let the air circulate. "How many cigarettes did you smoke?"

Don Quixote was slumped half-reclined on the sofa, looking dejected, with a half-finished bottle of cheap liquor in hand.

On the coffee table before him, cigarette butts had already spilled out of the ashtray.

"Not that many," Don Quixote said. "Let me ask you something. Do you really want to get into the Ivy League with your current background?"