Chapter 40: Sweet Dreams

Money isn’t everything, but nothing is possible without it.

“Just as the West cannot do without Jerusalem.”

“We must have our own dollars.”

Su Lin was busy tying up the man in a suit beneath his feet with plastic rope, using a back-cuff method.

“With all due respect, what you just said makes no sense,” Kleine said, tearing off a strip of black tape and sealing the man’s mouth: “Also, the cash in their safe is pounds.”

“Ask that guy with the slicked-back hair where he gets red bills—I don’t want to go to the bank for foreign exchange!”

“You can ask him where the underground banks are,” Kleine dragged the slicked-back man toward the corner: “I’ll get it out of him right away.”

“The safe combination.”

“Really?!” Su Lin felt goosebumps rise on his skin; he stood up and kicked the man in the black suit: “These guys actually understand romance?”

“I thought you had no heart.”

Inside a luxurious villa on the outskirts, all security personnel lay sprawled across the floor.

In the room decorated in classical style, books, porcelain, and carpets were riddled with bullet holes; shards of glass were scattered everywhere.

A middle-aged bald man had his mouth sealed with black tape, staring in terror at the two figures before him.

One wore black armor and a jet-black crown; the other dressed as a classical swordsman, masked, clad in white, with a long sword strapped to his back.

He seriously doubted whether the past decades of his life had been lived at all.

Just two people had wiped out dozens of fully armed security guards.

Even guns couldn’t penetrate their defenses.

Was this some kind of superhero movie, or had he somehow slipped into a TV drama?

His mind raced, but he couldn’t recall where he’d possibly crossed paths with this duo of hybrid East-West warriors.

His past deeds?!

That shouldn’t be possible.

Riiip—the black tape tore from his mouth.

“Great heroes.”

“Shh,” Su Lin placed a finger to his lips.

The bald middle-aged man instantly fell silent as a stone.

“Human trafficking? You really know how to live—built yourself such a huge villa,” Su Lin pulled out a notebook, thought for a moment, then tossed it aside: “You’ve five minutes. Write down everything you know about your associates or anyone else involved in illegal activities.”

Ten minutes later, police cars surrounded the location. When they opened the door, they found the bald middle-aged man curled in a corner, eyes vacant, as if he’d witnessed something utterly horrifying.

“He’s gone mad,” one officer said after checking him.

“What happened here?”

With Su Lin’s abilities—or rather, the system’s—Su Lin could become a human printing press by tomorrow.

But that would be too boring.

Moreover, currency represents, to some extent, the value of social resources; excessive printing of any nation’s currency risks triggering inflation.

“Isn’t that armor heavy to wear?”

One man, carrying a stack of bags filled with operating funds, appeared in a small woodland in the mountains.

Kleine dropped the sack on the ground and removed his helmet.

“It’s fine.”

The Source Fortress hadn’t followed him to this world; he couldn’t tap into its power to accommodate the Black Emperor’s Sequence Card—he had to act in person.

Actually, the Faceless didn’t need to hide at all.

If Su Lin hadn’t assured him this world had no supernatural forces, he wouldn’t have risked using his true body.

In plain terms, what he did tonight was visit clubs, use divination to find people engaged in illegal activities.

Using the Diviner’s Sequence ability, he traced connections and systematically eliminated suspects.

“We agreed—I get thirty percent,” Kleine shook the heavy sack.

“No problem.”

Su Lin didn’t care what Kleine intended to do with the world’s money; earning compensation for labor was only fair, and what Kleine did with the cash was none of his business.

“I thought you’d be living in luxury,” Kleine said.

“What doesn’t cost money these days?”

“True,” Kleine deeply understood this point.

Su Lin dismissed the Historical Projection and stepped out from the empty air beside him; Kleine’s brow twitched—wait, that wasn’t his real body?

“You should find an agent,” Kleine advised: “Help him solve some problems, or give him cultivation techniques—he can earn money for you in society.”

“I’ll consider it later,” Su Lin had thought of this before, but his need for money had never been high, nor had the others’.

Compared to living in Earth’s cities, they preferred spending their time at Water Mirror Peak, a place ideal for cultivation, visiting urban life only occasionally.

“Let’s go back.”

Back at Water Mirror Peak, everything was as before: Su Lin led Kleine to the living quarters, where Kleine chose a room.

“Would you like to try cultivation?” Su Lin pointed toward the ancient building atop the mountain, along the white jade steps.

“No,” Kleine answered without hesitation: “I’m no longer human—I’m not even sure if I can cultivate. I can only walk this one path to the end.”

“If you come across any item from novels that calms the mind and dispels negative emotions, keep an eye out,” Kleine paused: “I’ll trade something for it later.”

“Alright,” Su Lin nodded: “It’s already 4 a.m.—get some rest.”

“Thanks for tonight.”

“Dream well,” Kleine made a gesture—a sign of praying to the night for sweet dreams and peace.

Closing the door, Kleine lay on his side, gazing at the room’s subtle decor and the white clouds beyond the wooden window, yet still felt a lingering unease.

After a while, Kleine rose, slipped on his shoes, left the house, followed his memory to the teleportation gate, and stepped through.

Arriving in Rongcheng, he took a taxi to the entrance of a five-star hotel.

“Here’s your change—ninety yuan.”

“Thank you.”

Entering the hotel lobby, the night-shift receptionist was watching a web drama; seeing a guest, she tapped twice to minimize the webpage.

“Welcome.”

Kleine snapped his fingers and murmured:

“Please book me the best room.”

“May I see your ID, please?”

In the receptionist’s eyes, Kleine presented his ID, and she completed his registration via the computer system.

“All set—Suite 01 on the 17th floor.”

The receptionist returned his ID to her wallet, stepped away from the recording camera, and gracefully handed Kleine the room card.

“Two thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight yuan, sir.”

Kleine pulled out thirty red bills from his pocket and said to the receptionist:

“Keep the rest as a tip—thank you.”

Taking the elevator to the 17th floor, he swiped the card—the door opened to a spacious suite over a hundred square meters.

He wandered into a room with floor-to-ceiling windows, pulled back the curtains, and lay on the bed; the velvet pillow and plush mattress offered no greater comfort than his room at Water Mirror Peak.

Yet as he gazed out at the glittering skyscrapers, the cars speeding along the elevated highway, and the tiny window-lights like grains of rice, his lingering unease slowly faded.

As a mythic being, he naturally felt a rare wave of weariness.

His eyes half-closed, slowly shutting, he slipped into sleep.