Chapter 10: Blood-Splicing Knife!

【【The Junkyard's Anomaly】Information Investigation Completed】

【You witnessed an extraordinary event and saved an innocent homeless man. SAN Value -4, Spirit Vision +1】

【Reward Obtained: Title "Apprentice Investigator", Ancient God's Bronze Coin *1, $50】

Roger looked again at his panel.

【Roger West】

【Title: Apprentice Investigator (Status-induced negative effect -30%)】（You've begun to feel curious about the unknown world, but remember: never piece together the clues, for the truth will look back at you. ）

【Occupation: Homeless Man】

【Status: Edge of the Rift (You stand on a dangerous brink, occasionally hearing phantom sounds or experiencing illusions, but Physical Function +10%)】

【Spirit Vision: 12】

【SAN Value: 3/22 (Daily Recovery: 2 points)】

【Physical Function: 6.4 (Status bonus +10%)】

【Skills: Anchor Point, Scavenging, Electrical Repair】

"Damn!"

After two days of rest, his SAN Value had already recovered to 7, returning him to Unstable Cognition.

But after investigating the new information, his SAN Value was cut in half.

However, due to the intense labor of hauling trash today, his Physical Function rose another 0.15, reaching the displayed value of 6.4.

With the 10% bonus, that's 7.04 Physical Function.

This is already the Physical Function level of some fitness enthusiasts.

Roger could clearly feel his lung capacity and stamina had improved significantly, and the exhaustion from a day of hauling trash had largely vanished.

This was undoubtedly a crucial bonus—even making him reluctant to revert his status.

And the new title, Apprentice Investigator, reduces status negative effects by 30%!

In other words, even the system was encouraging him to maintain his current mental state.

"So I'm a Meilijian Demon, huh!"

Roger muttered, then noticed his daily SAN recovery and SAN Value shangxian each increased by 1 point.

He perked up: "Could Eli Bart finally have become an Anchor Point?"

He opened the Skills interface—sure enough, a prompt appeared at the top.

【Eli Bart's Gratitude Has Been Achieved, Anchor Point +1】

【Anchor Point Effect: SAN Value shangxian +1, SAN Value Daily Recovery +1】

"Who the hell is Eli Bart!"

Roger widened his eyes, disbelieving.

But after a moment of careful recollection, he suddenly remembered the man compressed into the trash cube.

"Could it have been him?"

He clicked his tongue—everything suddenly made sense.

After all, as his savior, he deserved the man's genuine gratitude.

"Winning over Juan will be a long road!"

"Pfft, who wants to win him over? I'm not some Gala Geimu!"

Roger lay on his mat, propping his head with one hand, happily holding up a hundred-dollar bill.

"For the next few days, I can eat and drink well."

Then he tucked the bill securely against his body, rolled onto his side, and fell into sleep.

……

The nightmare persisted.

When Roger woke the next day, he felt drained.

He did a few exercises near his tent, only then restoring his mental state.

"What should I do today?"

Roger pulled out his phone, checked nearby relief points—it was nearly noon; the next free meal wouldn't be until around one.

While waiting, he took a quick inventory of his belongings.

Aside from the tent—the largest item—he owned only three sets of spare clothes, shampoo, perfume, two pairs of shoes, and a simple outdoor fire-starting kit.

"I can use this to boil instant noodles."

Roger felt excited, as if he were undertaking some wilderness survival.

But looking around at the steel jungle, he found it bitterly ironic.

After all, this vast, glittering city had no shelter for the homeless—they could only live in parks and sewers, surviving on sporadic free meals.

Perhaps someone once tried to solve it; perhaps someone even fought for it. But under the capitalist system, such problems were unsolvable—and those who raised them were quickly eliminated.

Thus, what remained before everyone's eyes was merely a gilded exterior hiding a hollow, termite-ridden nest of man-eating wasps.

Roger didn't want to think about such complicated things. As a homeless man, filling his stomach was the only priority.

He bought a hot dog to fill his belly, then went to a cheap supermarket and purchased several new toiletries.

Afterward, he found a mobile shower station operated by a nearby church on his phone, grabbed his change of clothes, and headed there to bathe.

His clothes from yesterday's work at the junkyard had grown foul-smelling.

But when he arrived, he discovered a long line—he'd have to wait at least an hour or so before he could get washed.

After an hour, the water would be gone!

Roger didn't want to wait that long, so he pulled out two dollars and bought the front spot in line from a homeless man.

Ten minutes later, he stepped out from the other side of the shower truck, feeling refreshed.

Just as he was about to return to his tent, he saw a large white blood donation truck parked beside the shower truck.

A giant poster stood beside the vehicle, showing smiling white and Black people having blood drawn, with a line of GG text beneath.

"Participate in blood donation—you'll gain love and bread, and make up for wasted time."

Roger looked up and saw it was a CSL blood donation station.

He knew this company, because it occasionally set up blood donation stations near homeless shelters and urged homeless people to download its app.

It was said that participating in their blood donation would earn you a substantial amount of dollars.

Legally, blood donation should be voluntary, with no monetary rewards.

But who would donate blood frequently without money?

So major pharmaceutical companies came up with a brilliant solution: they claimed blood donation was voluntary, but the donor's time was compensated.

Thus, they extended the duration of each donation and rewarded donors with dollars.

To further incentivize more people, they created an app.

And there, at the very bottom of the poster, was a small line of text: "Download the app and claim your new user package plus up to $800 in incentives!"

Honestly, $800 piqued Roger's interest.

Since he was already here, he might as well download it.

Out of curiosity, he opened his phone and scanned the QR code to download the app.

After opening the software and registering, the first thing that popped up was a dazzling new user gift interface.

On it, photos of an iPhone, a laptop, and stacks of dollars made one's mouth water, alongside exaggerated text:

"Participate in 8 blood donations in your first month to receive an $800 reward!"

"Bring your neighbor along for an extra $50!"

"Donate continuously for a year and win a brand-new iPhone!"

"What the hell?"

Roger couldn't help but widen his eyes: "Eight times a month? Just say you want my life!"

More shockingly, the app even had daily tasks, an achievement system, and a leveling system.

They categorized all users into four tiers: Bronze, Silver, Gold, and Platinum, each with different rewards.

For example, a Bronze user earned $20 for the first donation each week, and $50 for the second.

But a Silver user earned $55 for the second donation each week.

The app also featured a stock-like chart, clearly showing the pharmaceutical company's current plasma shortage and the dynamic changes in this month's donation incentives.

Shit, so to donate blood you have to check if today's plasma K-line is at a peak!

No, is this even legal?!

And since Roger was a new user, he could only view the past three days of price fluctuations.

Want to see more?

Sorry, become a premium member to unlock the 30-day chart.

Of course, if you want to check it briefly, complete your daily tasks.

What were the daily tasks?

Check in at a donation station, complete a blood test, and share the app with someone once.

Roger stared in disbelief, grateful that this thing didn't drain SAN Value—if it did, his SAN would've hit zero by now.

"No wonder Meilijian has no Pinduoduo or browser games—all the damn geniuses ended up at pharmaceutical companies."

"Fuck, get out of my phone!"

Roger promptly deleted the app.

After calming down, he returned to his park campsite.

But just as he put away his clothes and was about to go get lunch, the Seattle Times app suddenly popped up a notification.