8: Chapter 8: A Small Shock from the Warhammer World
Three hours later, the test results came back.
The attending physician repeatedly double-checked the data, a look of utter disbelief on his face: "The tumors... their activity has vanished! All the metastatic lesions are gone!"
"Your physical indicators... are perfectly normal! This, this is impossible..."
Jobs snatched the report, his eyes scanning the indicators that had turned from a glaring red to a healthy green. Beyond ecstasy, he felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity!
"Process the discharge."
"Now."
Faced with the demands of their primary benefactor, the hospital didn't dare utter a single word of protest.
Half an hour later, in the underground garage.
Just as Jobs sat down inside the car, a silver-gray mechanical skull silently flew out from the shadows of a pillar.
"Damn it! What is that!"
The bodyguards drew their guns one after another.
"Put them down," Jobs commanded, stopping them.
Soon, Fu Haoran stepped out.
"Mr. Jobs, it seems the results were good."
At Jobs' signal, the two of them entered the car.
"The money will be transferred immediately." Jobs stared at him. "What technology is that?"
"You paid for health, not a technical manual." Fu Haoran leaned back against the seat. "Now, let's discuss our second transaction. I need you to do two things for me."
"First, gather everyone like you—people with money who are willing to pay for possibilities."
"One billion US dollars for a full recovery package."
"Second," Fu Haoran handed over a slip of paper, "I need to get in touch with the people in these fields who can actually solve problems. People in Washington, the EPA, the Department of Agriculture... names and introductions."
Jobs scanned the note, folded it, and put it away. "What do I get out of this?"
"Priority for future transactions, and... the possibility of further health optimization." Fu Haoran smiled. "For instance, how about extending your life by ten years?"
"My price is very fair: one hundred million dollars per year of youth."
After speaking...
Before Fu Haoran opened the car door, he turned back and added: "By the way, health needs witnesses. Go outdoors more; it'll be good for you and for our business."
...
The next day, news across America was ignited by the same headline.
《A Miracle? Jobs Spotted Surfing at Malibu Beach; Health Status Sparks Wild Speculation!》
In the footage, Jobs appeared tall and upright, his movements swift—a completely different person from the emaciated figure on his deathbed a month ago.
What caused an even greater stir were the close-ups captured by paparazzi; at a pool party, Jobs' bare upper body showed clear muscle lines and tight skin, without a single surgical scar.
Public opinion reached a boiling point.
"Vampire! Buying time with money!"
"He must have had a full-body blood transfusion or some shady experiment!"
"There isn't even a scar on his chest! This isn't fucking modern medicine!"
In elite circles, the phone lines of top billionaires nearly blew up Jobs' private line.
Behind every voice was a fear of death and a greed for miracles.
Fu Haoran turned off the news, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
The first step of the plan was over-achieved. Funding and the stepping stones to top-tier connections were now in hand.
Just then, a system prompt surfaced, and the 'black-bellied' warning sounded simultaneously:
[Achievement Unlocked: Inter-dimensional Dimensional Strike]
[Description: Applying basic technology from a high-dimensional universe to a low-dimensional civilization to form an absolute monopoly advantage.]
[Rewards: Universal Points +666, Reputation +500, Charisma +5]
[New Function Unlocked: Targeted Technology Transfer Protocol (Primary)]
[Introduction: You can consume Universal Points and specific resources to perform 'localized adaptation' on mastered otherworldly technologies and build corresponding production lines within your territory. Current transferable levels: Basic Industry / Basic Biochemical.]
"Targeted transfer... localized 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 the two worlds but also to establish absolute advantage industries based on Warhammer technology that Earth could not replicate.
But distant water cannot quench immediate thirst; the hunger countdown in the Warhammer Hive City was still ticking away.
"I have the startup capital. The next step is raw materials—massive, cheap, and preferably free."
Fu Haoran's thinking became clear: use Earth's 'ecological disasters' to fill Warhammer's 'food black hole.'
Asian carp, wild boars, oysters... these invasive species that gave governments headaches were perfect 'negative cost' raw materials.
If handled correctly, he wouldn't just get them for free; he might even receive disposal subsidies.
The key lay in obtaining an official permit 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 rise from his large leather chair.
He sized up the overly young Asian face before him, his mouth twisting into a formulaic, slightly weary smile.
"Mr. Fu, we've looked over your 'Commercial Disposal Proposal for Invasive Species.' The idea... is very interesting. Very naive."
Kevin was habitually speaking in ironies.
In his eyes, this proposal was a joke.
"But you must understand, this country has a mature set of procedures."
"For many things, commercial value alone isn't enough; one also needs to demonstrate... concern and support for public affairs."
"For example, certain foundations dedicated to environmental protection and policy research always welcome visionary entrepreneurs."
He used a practiced way of hinting; as for whether Fu Haoran understood, Kevin didn't deign to care.
Fu Haoran shook his head and said with great confidence: "I don't think that's necessary."
The smile on Kevin's face vanished instantly, replaced by a business-like coldness.
"Then we'll follow the process." He raised a hand and pointed outside. "Go to the front desk to collect the forms and checklists. Complete all environmental assessments, business qualifications, community hearings... maybe this time next year, we can discuss it again."
He lowered his head, no longer looking at Fu Haoran. The meaning was clear: get out.
Fu Haoran, however, did not move.
"No rush, Director Kevin." Fu Haoran glanced at his watch. "A few friends I have an appointment with should be arriving soon."
Kevin scoffed and finally looked up, his eyes full of mockery. "Friends? I don't care who you have an appointment with today; in this office, rules are rules! Now, please leav—"
*Thud.*
The heavy solid wood door of the office was pushed open—not forcefully, yet with an unquestionable authority.
Three figures entered in single file.
At the head was a silver-haired elderly man with a solemn expression: the heavyweight Senator Robert Quinn.
Beside him followed a core figure from a lobbying group.
The last person was the expressionless chief legal counsel of the Jobs family, holding a gold-embossed envelope.
The three walked straight in, their gazes sweeping past Kevin Smith—who was frozen in his seat, his face turning pale instantly—and finally landing on Fu Haoran.
Senator Robert nodded slightly, his steady voice breaking the dead silence:
"It seems we've arrived just in time. Mr. Fu, the special memorandum of understanding regarding interstate biological raw material collection and processing is ready. It only needs the final signature."
He paused, his gaze finally turning toward the director, who was sitting on pins and needles.
"Kevin, I hope the procedures of the relevant departments can reflect the efficiency and support they should have."
"You understand what I mean."