24: Chapter 24 The Troubles of One Hundred Million Yuan: A Bizarre Procurement List

Morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in the dormitory curtains, shaking Fang Jiming's eyelids.

He irritably pulled the quilt over his head and turned over, trying to go back to sleep, but the phone under his pillow shrieked with a tacky alarm song.

Fang Jiming fumbled for the phone, swiped to unlock it, and saw the blue pop-up window right in front of his eyes.

"Ding"

"Your savings account ending in 8848 has received 100,000,000.00 RMB, current balance 159,000,000.00 RMB"

"Congratulations to the host for successfully passing the trial period. From now on, the daily payment will be stable, arriving at 8:00 AM every morning. Have a pleasant time spending!"

Fang Jiming: (꒪~꒪)

He stared at the text message from the bank, calculated the money the system had given him a few days ago, and instinctively counted the long string of zeros that were almost overflowing the screen, completely losing all drowsiness.

He threw off the quilt, sat up straight, scratched his messy hair that looked like a bird's nest, and let out a long sigh.

When other people got rich, they thought about how to wine and dine, but he could only stare blankly at this string of numbers. The system's damn restrictive clauses were stuck around his neck, preventing him from directly stuffing even a penny into the pockets of those brats.

He shuffled in his flip-flops into the narrow bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face, letting the droplets drip down his chin into the sink.

Fang Jiming raised his head and looked at the substitute homeroom teacher in the mirror with red-rimmed eyes, pulling a helpless smile.

This frustration, like a mouse falling into a rice jar but discovering it had no teeth, was even more uncomfortable than swallowing a bitter melon whole.

After washing up, Fang Jiming put on a slightly faded gray hoodie, took his phone, went downstairs, and scanned for a yellow shared bike.

The morning rush hour in Nanqiao City was jammed solid; he couldn't understand why the teachers' dormitory was so far away.

(◍•﹏•) He pedaled the shared bike slowly, weaving through the exhaust fumes from the cars, and calculated his big plan for the day.

The gate of No. 19 Middle School was exceptionally lively today. Just as Fang Jiming parked the shared bike in the designated area at the school gate, he smelled the rich aroma of braised pork.

Uncle Zhang stood outside the guard room in his faded security uniform, craning his neck to look inside, his enamel mug long forgotten somewhere.

Uncle Zhang: (๑¯﹃¯๑)

Eight heavy catering trucks with the logos of famous high-end catering companies were lined up, parked steadily in the open space in front of the flagpole.

Staff in uniform white chef outfits were unloading stainless steel insulated buckets. The moment the lids were lifted, the enticing aroma of food filled the entire campus air.

The bell for the end of class rang right at that moment, and a dense crowd of people poured out from the Grade 10 to Grade 12 teaching buildings.

Qian Duoduo ran to the front, the large gold chain around his neck swinging wildly with his pace, and he rushed in front of the catering truck to sniff.

"Holy crap!"

"This is the exclusive catering truck from that high-end Japanese restaurant my dad always goes to."

"I could smell this caviar sushi even with my eyes closed."

Zhang Ming followed behind, wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, and widened his eyes.

"Since your family is rich, you've eaten it. We common folks usually only get to eat stir-fried cabbage stalks with fatty pork in the Cafeteria."

"Has the sun risen from the west today?"

"Did the school get rich?"

Several staff members in white chef uniforms started to maintain order with loudspeakers, smiling.

"Students, don't rush."

"Line up and take your time."

"This free lunch is fully sponsored by The Foundation. From the principal and teachers down to the security guards and cleaners, all 1,400 people in the school get a share, enough to eat your fill."

The entire school erupted in deafening cheers; even the cleaning lady in the building next door was stomping her feet with excitement while holding her mop.

Fang Jiming stood at the back of the crowd, hands in his hoodie pockets, watching these students rushing toward the catering trucks, unable to suppress the corners of his mouth turning up.

He tilted his head and looked toward the direction of the original school Cafeteria.

The entrance to the Cafeteria was desolate, and not even a sparrow wanted to stay there.

Zhao Guangming, the brother-in-law of Vice Principal Sun Yaozu, was wearing a dirty, greasy apron. He stood alone behind the Cafeteria's glass door, holding a large iron ladle used for stir-frying.

Zhao Guangming: (ꐦÒ_Ó)

Zhao Guangming was so angry that he slammed the large iron ladle in his hand against the door frame, shaking off a layer of dust.

Zhao Guangming had received a call from his brother-in-law, Vice Principal Sun Yaozu, last night, telling him to stop business and rest for these three days without any further explanation.

He had originally wanted to make a fortune in the past few days by selling that sour stir-fried noodles made with gutter oil, but now it had all gone down the drain.

He gritted his teeth, but due to Vice Principal Sun Yaozu's warning, he didn't dare say a word and could only hide behind the door and sulk.

Fang Jiming withdrew his gaze and walked slowly toward a secluded corner behind the teaching building, taking out his phone to start getting down to business.

The problem with that troublemaker Lu Zihao hadn't been solved yet, and the 30 million reward from the system plus the 120 teacher merit points were like a hook, making him feel itchy.

To deal with this kind of adolescent boy who used violence to hide his fear, just reasoning with him was like an old lady chewing cowhide—a complete waste of effort.

He had to find a place for that kid to legitimately vent his excess energy, give his body a major overhaul, and let out all that evil fire pent up in his heart.

Fang Jiming searched through his phone contacts for a moment and dialed the number of the largest and highest-end sports equipment supplier in Nanqiao City.

The phone rang three times before being picked up, and a middle-aged man's thick voice came from the other end.

"Hello, this is the general agent for Dingsheng Sports Equipment. How can I help you?"

Fang Jiming leaned against the corner of the wall, kicking small stones on the ground with his toe, his tone as casual as buying Chinese cabbage at a wet market.

"Boss."

"I need a full set of international competition-level sandbags, leather focus mitts, a full set of high-end protective gear, and professional-grade shock-absorbing floor mats."

The supplier, Boss Wang, on the other end of the phone was taken aback. He usually received orders from gyms; it was rare for someone to specify international competition-level hard goods right off the bat.

"Sir, our competition-grade equipment here is all made of imported top-grain cowhide, filled with high-density composite materials."

"The price isn't cheap. Are you planning to open a high-end fighting club?"

Fang Jiming chuckled and changed his standing posture.

"I'm not planning to open a club."

"I'm just looking for a toy for the kid at home to vent his energy."

"These days, when bratty kids are full of energy and you don't give them something serious to do, it's like throwing a bomb into a cesspit—it stirs up public anger."

Boss Wang: (°ー°〃)

Boss Wang was a bit confused by this grounded colloquialism and didn't know how to respond, coughing twice to cover his embarrassment.

"Sir, you really know how to joke."

"This configuration will cost at least 500,000 and up. Are you sure you want to order it?"

Fang Jiming curled his lip and kicked the small stone at his feet away.

"500,000 is 500,000."

"Only with this high-level equipment will it feel right when hitting, and it can help him thoroughly explore the depths of his martial arts skills."

"This money is worth spending."