A new idea

At six thirty, Mrs. Jones drove off right on time, heading from Forty Block in The Bronx to Central Park in Manhattan.

Lin Rui rode along to the Whole Foods supermarket where she worked, to see how its storage area operated and whether there were any loopholes to exploit.

"Leon, you were right about one thing. Supermarkets waste a tremendous amount. A lot of merchandise gets damaged before it even reaches the shelves and ends up defective."

"Shipping, preparing semifinished products, stocking shelves, even sales-the entire process produces waste and garbage. Know why? Ninety percent of it comes down to human error."

"Some of my employees are just stupid. They can't count, don't use their brains, don't look where they're going, or simply don't take responsibility."

"Everything looks bright and shiny once it's on the shelves, but just take a look at the kitchen and stockroom, and you'll see how chaotic the management is."

"Defective goods can't be sold. They can only be thrown away. Only a small portion gets donated. Most of it becomes garbage."

Mrs. Jones complained throughout the drive, recounting the absurd things she encountered at work. When they reached the supermarket's unloading and storage area, she found Lin Rui a temporary employee badge and took him inside.

The supermarket's own stockroom wasn't large. Trucks arrived from the suburbs early each morning with the fresh goods needed for that day.

Whole Foods counted as a relatively upscale supermarket and had strict requirements for how its merchandise looked. Fruit with even slight damage, for instance, would be thrown away, with only the prettiest pieces kept for the shelves.

As a result, the employees responsible for produce and prepared food threw large amounts of discarded goods into trash bins before the supermarket opened each day.

In the storage area, Mrs. Jones pointed at several large bins of substandard fruit waiting to be thrown out and asked, "Leon, can you put these to use?"

There were bananas, apples, grapes... all sorts of fruit, twenty or thirty varieties in total.

Lin Rui nodded, casually picked up a few crystal grapes, and tossed them into his mouth without even wiping them. They were sweet and delicious.

These grapes had been mercilessly discarded simply because they had fallen off their stems.

"I need a juicer, some ice, condensed milk, and yogurt."

"A juicer? We have those. Some customers return things because they have defects. Some returns go back on sale, but plenty get written off directly as losses. They actually all work.

"As for things like condensed milk and yogurt, we usually donate the ones close to their expiration dates to charities for the homeless. I can also set some aside just for you."

After a tour of the supermarket's stockroom and kitchen, Lin Rui could only marvel at how incredibly wasteful Americans were. They never economized.

Even people at the bottom like Mrs. Jones, who had to work two jobs, lacked cash but never appliances or food. They could eat themselves enormously fat.

"Next, you need to persuade Pastor Borg to help you sort out those government permits.

"Listen, I won't give you any help with that. I'm only following procedures to provide you with charitable supplies. I won't be involved in anything you do."

Mrs. Jones wanted to keep herself clear of it. She wouldn't touch anything that might involve breaking the law and cost her her job.

At ten that morning, the old pastor arrived at the supermarket in his pickup as usual to collect that day's near-expiration food and charitable supplies.

When he saw Lin Rui, he naturally asked how the boy was getting along at Mrs. Jones's home.

"Very well. Mrs. Jones and her family are very kind, and her son Toby is a really good kid too." Lin Rui felt utterly insincere as he said that last part.

The old pastor was very pleased to hear this.

But Lin Rui quickly changed his tone, his face full of worry. "But Mrs. Jones has it very hard. She has to work two jobs to support the family.

"Her husband is injured and can't work, and because they can't afford good health insurance, they can't pay his enormous medical bills. I don't think the outlook for their family is good.

"A family of six, on the verge of being unable to pay the bills that come fluttering in like snowflakes.

"Any little setback could break their cash flow, leaving them unable to pay their mortgage and car loan, and ultimately bankrupt."

Lin Rui's expression was spot-on, his voice low and slow, steeped in worry. "I've decided not to charge her for tutoring. I hope that can make things a little easier for her.

"But... that won't get her out of this predicament. And there are quite a few families struggling just like hers."

The old pastor was deeply moved. He reached out and patted Lin Rui's shoulder. "Leon, I wasn't wrong about you. You're a kind child.

"I know something of the Jones family's situation too.

"In fact, they're far from the worst off. I've met many families in even worse circumstances, and I often feel that my own strength is too small to offer more help.

"I'll pray for the Jones family and raise some donations for them..."

Lin Rui seized the opening. "Could we hold a charity sale to raise money for the Jones family?"

Ah... The old pastor froze for a moment, suddenly wondering whether this child from a red country across the ocean knew a little too much about America.

He even knew about charity sales?

Lin Rui continued, "When I was in Country Z, I often heard that the United States had a good safety net for ordinary people at the bottom, so the poor wouldn't suffer from hunger or cold.

"I met a good man like you, Mr. Borg, as soon as I arrived in New York. I believe the Jones family can get through this too, and I'm willing to do my part to help."

Faced with the boy's burning gaze, the old pastor might not have known what it meant to be "held over the fire," but what he felt at that moment came close.

He tried to explain that a charity sale required organization, planning, and coordination. It wasn't something they could just casually put together.

But Lin Rui would never let the old pastor brush this off so easily. He continued, "I heard American communities have a tradition...

"Children of seven or eight can sell drinks they make themselves on the street, or help their neighbors tend their gardens, to earn pocket money.

"Could we sell some charitable supplies on city streets to raise money for Mr. Jones's medical bills?

"Set up a little stall or something."

With the scroll fully unrolled, Lin Rui revealed the dagger and laid out his plan in detail.

First, the supermarket threw away quite a lot of food and fruit every day over minor imperfections. They weren't inedible; they just looked bad. It was such a waste.

Second, Lin Rui couldn't attend school yet and was willing to provide the labor, setting up a food and drink stall or something similar in a neighborhood with plenty of tourists and office workers.

Third, New York City allowed individuals to sell things from street stalls.

They only needed to leave at least twelve feet of clear sidewalk space for pedestrians and stay away from areas such as street corners, subway entrances, and bus stops.

Of course, Lin Rui left out the most important part: obtaining the relevant permits. Those permits were extremely difficult to get and involved lengthy waits.

The old pastor, however, knew very well that although setting up a stall sounded trivial, making it legal required a whole pile of paperwork. Lin Rui had raised the subject in an obvious act of "moral blackmail," forcing him to take a position.

If the old pastor refused, he would clearly face tremendous moral pressure; if he agreed, he would have to take the initiative in moving it forward.

"What do you think of my idea?" Lin Rui pressed.

Sigh... The old pastor sighed. "Leon, your plan is indeed feasible. But there are some difficulties we can't get around."

"What difficulties?" Lin Rui asked.

The old pastor had been backed into a corner. His faith wouldn't let him turn a blind eye to suffering.

Mr. Jones hadn't brought his suffering upon himself, and Lin Rui's proposal was perfectly reasonable. He had no grounds to refuse.

"Let me make a call." After careful consideration, the old pastor made up his mind and no longer hesitated. "I'll ask a professional how we should handle this."

The call went neither to New York City's Department of Consumer and Worker Protection nor to the health department, much less to an institution such as city hall. Instead, he called the church.

Churches in the United States mainly fell into two categories: Protestant and Catholic. Protestantism was further divided into Evangelicalism, Lutheranism, Calvinism... a whole host of branches.

The old pastor followed Calvinism, also called Presbyterianism. There was a Union Theological Seminary in New York that had been founded by Presbyterians.

The church was slow to respond. Only after three days did it send someone to contact the old pastor, then send someone to Mr. Jones's home to look into his situation.

Everything checked out. Mr. Jones really was injured, really couldn't afford further medical bills, and really was struggling to get by, because he had used some doctors and tests outside his insurance coverage.

Mrs. Jones specifically took half a day off and went home to tearfully tell the church representatives about her circumstances, hoping for God's help.

The old pastor then brought Lin Rui forward, explaining that the idea had come from this child, who was willing to help the Jones family out of their predicament without payment.

As for Lin Rui's identity, the old pastor made that perfectly clear too-he was a child from a respectable red family, here to study in our America on a valid student visa.

This child had sought the Lord's help when he ran into trouble, and under this pastor's influence, he was very willing to help others.

Deeply moved by Lin Rui's "noble character," the church representatives conducting the investigation said they would report to their superiors and move the matter forward.

The old pastor specifically pulled the church representatives aside and asked how likely this was to succeed.

"There shouldn't be any problem." The church representative smiled, stopping just short of beating his chest and guaranteeing it. "A Black woman, an impoverished family, good credit. These are exactly the people the church wants to help.

"And you even brought in a child from a red country to submit the application. Do you know how excited the church's higher-ups will be when they see a report like this?"

The church representative patted the old pastor's shoulder and raised his eyebrows as though they shared an understanding.

In his view, there was no way a newcomer to the United States like Lin Rui could have come up with this application. Only someone familiar with America and the church system could have devised something like this.

The old pastor probably wanted to rake in a little money too, and had deliberately put together this stall project-even in raking in money, he was so cautious. He really had a conscience.

If Lin Rui had asked for tens of thousands of dollars in assistance, the church would certainly have found it difficult. After all, there were too many people in need and only so much money available to help them.

But all Lin Rui wanted was to apply to the relevant government agencies for a few business permits, and for the lowest-tier street stall at that-to the church, this was nothing.

That was the advantage of having a backer. A few phone calls and a little use of their connections were all it took to expedite every procedure, entirely legally and in compliance with regulations.

Lin Rui would have plenty to keep him busy next. He needed to apply for a Social Security number and, while he was at it, take his passport and visa to get a driver's license.

For half a month, Lin Rui lived quite comfortably. By day, he handed out aid to the homeless at the church; at night, he slept soundly.

He was already considering whether to buy a used car to get around. Otherwise, he had to find someone to give him a ride, which was very inconvenient.

The only things giving him a headache were Toby and the "tutoring mission" he simply couldn't complete-until this mission ended, no new missions would trigger.

Yet Toby was like a pig, making absolutely no progress in his studies, and had already tormented him several times in the nightmare space.