Chapter 21: Begin Your Performance

In the morning, Lans bought a new set of clothes for ten dollars.

He didn’t hire a tailor to make a custom suit; instead, he bought ready-made clothes off the street—they didn’t fit perfectly, but for him now, this outfit was already excellent.

Then he went to the casino owned by the Koda family in the Bay Area of Jincheng City; he still had a few chips to exchange for cash.

The Koda family’s casino here wasn’t some hidden, secretive place tucked away in obscurity.

On the contrary, their Bay Area casino sat right on the cliffs behind Golden Sand Beach!

A dazzling building stood at the edge of the cliff.

Every day, brilliant sunlight shone upon its reflective exterior, and whenever the sun was out, people on the beach could hardly fail to notice this structure, gleaming like a mirror.

More than one person had complained to city hall about the building’s impact on beachgoers, but the Koda family paid every fine without ever shortchanging a cent.

Yet they made zero changes to the appearance.

According to Jincheng City and local laws, after paying fines, they had at most one hundred days to fix the exterior.

This meant they only needed to pay fines three times a year to maintain the status quo indefinitely.

Over time, everyone was forced to accept it.

At night, the building would glow with astonishing light, having become one of Golden Sand Beach’s landmarks—many young people came specifically to see it, even taking photos to prove they’d been there.

To reach the casino, you had to enter from the other side; the entire cliff area was private Koda family land. Lans presented his chips and named Fodis, then underwent a body search to confirm he carried no weapons or cameras before being allowed in.

Casino security was tight: every ten to twenty meters, two or three armed guards patrolled.

They weren’t static posts—they moved constantly, enhancing overall security.

When he reached the main building, he realized it was far larger and even more dazzling, opulent, than it had appeared from below the cliff.

Inside the lobby was a long counter—that’s where you exchanged chips.

Before he’d taken two steps, a scantily clad bunny girl approached him. “Are you here alone, sir?”

The bunny girl looked no older than twenty, with an excellent figure; when she ran, the undulating motion of her chest was visible—even the afterglow was enough to stir the imagination.

Lans smiled and explained, “Sorry, I’m just here to exchange chips.”

The bunny girl looked disappointed; as part of the casino’s entertainment staff, if Lans had come to gamble,

she only needed to accompany him to the tables, and when he left, whether he won or lost, she’d earn one percent of his total settlement.

That was the sole source of income for all companions.

On a good night, she could earn hundreds of dollars.

On a bad night, she might make only a few dollars.

Though disappointed, the girl still led Lans to the counter and explained the situation.

The girl behind the counter placed a soft pad covered in red velvet on the counter. “Please place your chips here, sir.”

From inside to outside, the entire casino gave Lans the feeling that “this place is damn legitimate”—the decor, the service, the attitude.

Though he hadn’t seen the main hall, he could imagine it was equally legitimate and luxurious.

“One hundred and fifty dollars total, sir. What denomination of cash would you like?”

These chips had their own anti-counterfeit markings, and in Jincheng City, even across the entire eastern federation, no one dared forge them openly.

A small number of fake chips wouldn’t even cover production costs; if too many appeared, traces would be impossible to hide.

Though the Koda family appeared to be merely a casino operator—a legitimate, family-run business paying taxes—they held considerable influence in the federation’s underworld.

That influence certainly wasn’t earned simply because they were rich.

“Do you have five-dollar bills?” Lans asked.

“Yes, sir, please wait a moment.” About two minutes later, the girl behind the counter counted the one hundred fifty dollars’ worth of five-dollar bills three times, placed them on the red velvet tray, then weighed them down with a token that looked like gold but was likely brass or alloy. She then presented the tray to Lans with both hands.

“Sir, here is your money. Please count it.”

Excellent service always increased customer satisfaction; even though Lans had no intention of gambling here, he now decided he’d bring others along someday.

Let them see the world, let them experience what “wine-soaked, gold-drenched decadence” truly meant.

After leaving the casino, he drove to pick up Aierwen , then both headed directly to Mr. Anderson’s restaurant in the Bay Area.

It was noon; the restaurant was packed, all seventeen or eighteen tables filled with customers.

Lans and Aierwen , guided by the manager, found a small table.

Soon, a waiter brought the menu.

The moment he opened it, Aierwen gasped; he flipped through several pages but couldn’t decide.

It was too expensive!

“A six-month-old Green beef rib costs seven dollars and ninety-eight cents. Add a bread roll and it’s another dollar. If we add anything else, this meal for just the two of us will cost… thirty or forty dollars!”

“Damn it, for thirty or forty dollars I could eat myself sick at the port district’s braised beef stall!”

A woman at the next table couldn’t help but laugh out loud, then immediately looked apologetic and apologized.

The port district had many laborers; their demand for meat far exceeded that of non-laborers.

Near heavy-labor job sites in the port district, there were many small stalls or restaurants catering specifically to these workers.

They weren’t even proper restaurants—more like fast-food joints.

Their main offering was braised beef, shredded to a pulp, boneless, all finely minced meat.

This meat was cheap: three pounds for one dollar.

Vendors bought it, added extra sauce and a little spice, boiled it all in giant iron pots until the aroma of soy and meat filled the air.

Anyone who sat down and paid sixty cents got a huge bowl!

If you paid seventy cents, you could eat bread until full.

Don’t expect the bread to taste good—it was just edible!

Most laborers ate this once every two or three days, savoring the joy of eating meat until they were stuffed.

Especially the satisfaction of tearing the hard bread into pieces, soaking them in the broth, then swallowing the meat, broth, and bread together—many couldn’t forget it!

These small stalls did booming business; every noon they were packed.

Affordable prices were their killer advantage.

Aierwen couldn’t resist—he’d eaten there several times and thought it might be the best food in the world, no contest!

Of course, mentioning it now was just about Xintengqian .

Lans ordered two bowls of clear soup, a salad, steak with fried sausages and bread rolls, and dessert.

No alcohol—he’d be driving later, and neither was yet twenty.

The total came close to forty dollars; Aierwen ’s face twisted in pain.

Lans, however, was relaxed. “Someone will pay for us. Eat your fill.”

“If you’re going to Xinteng , it’s not your turn.”

Perhaps Lans’s reassurance helped a little; Aierwen felt less miserable.

The restaurant’s business was truly excellent; by half past twelve, every table was full, and some customers had to leave because no seats remained.

The entire restaurant radiated vibrant energy.

As long as money was being made—even if it didn’t go to the waiters or cooks—they still gained morale from it.

Feeling happy because the capitalist was making money was a shared “empathy” among the lower classes across nearly every region and ideology on Earth.

Though empathy here seemed meaningless.

Undeniably, a steak worth nearly ten dollars was far tastier than minced beef; the carefully crafted sauce made every bite feel like happiness.

Aierwen no longer dared say the steak was worse than minced beef—it was too delicious.

As they neared the end of the meal, Lans pulled a large cockroach from his pocket and handed it to Aierwen . “Bite half.”

Aierwen stared at the cockroach, as big as a thumb, stunned. “What?”

“I said bite half.”

Watching the struggling insect, Aierwen suddenly found the beef less appetizing. “So this is your plan?”

Lans nodded. “I need your honest feedback. Don’t worry—I bought it from a roadside pet feed store. It’s healthy, clean, hygienic.”

Aierwen spent a long time psyching himself up, cursed “Fuck,” then closed his eyes and shoved half the cockroach into his mouth, biting down hard.

The woman at the next table was stunned!

Then, Lans had the nauseated Aierwen place half the cockroach in his soup spoon, letting it float half-submerged in the thick broth, while the other half he spat onto the table.

Then he looked at Aierwen ’s pale face. “Feel like throwing up?”

Aierwen answered honestly. “Yes.”

“Then why wait?”

“Vom…”