Chapter 517: Arrival in Mei Li Jian

Yu Lin's trip to Mei Li Jian was not told to the Mei Li Jian High Command.

He even had the Xia Country High Command publicly decline the "invitation".

Of course, these were all for show.

While Mei Li Jian was in a frantic, sighing mess, Yu Lin had already slipped into Chicago alone.

At this moment, he was sitting on a public bench on the boundary between the South District and the North District.

The bench faced south.

Behind him rose the affluent North District's skyscrapers, lakeside mansions, Lincoln Park, tidy streets, and unhurried pedestrians; ahead lay a completely different realm.

The south contains the largest black neighborhood, with stark wealth gaps and the worst security, including the Obama Residence, University of Chicago, and so on; the West Bank is a mix of industry and residential zones, with concentrated gang activity and prominent security issues,

Yu Lin made no deliberate effort to perceive anything, simply sitting quietly like a meditative stone statue.

After a long while, he stood up.

The exquisite outfit on his body silently transformed into the plainest casual wear the instant he rose.

A simple short‑sleeved shirt, slightly faded white trousers at the knees, and slightly scuffed sneakers.

At this moment, he could blend into any ordinary street without drawing attention.

His presence, at that instant, re‑emerged within the causality and perception of this space.

On the opposite bench sat a middle‑aged white man, scrolling on his phone.

He casually glanced up and saw a person suddenly appear on the neighboring seat—just moments ago it was clearly empty!

"Fuck!" the man shrieked, leaping up like a ghost, cursing as he snatched his Backpack and bolted north without looking back, glancing over his shoulder as he vanished around the corner.

He looked as if he feared Yu Lin would rob him.

Yu Lin ignored him and stepped toward the South District.

In the first few blocks, the change was still subtle.

The streets were relatively clean, shops operating normally, pedestrians hurrying yet with calm expressions.

White faces were still common, and occasionally a police car rolled by slowly.

But as he walked deeper, the air seemed to shift quietly.

The proportion of white people gradually declined, while black and Latino faces increased.

Street upkeep noticeably worsened, with uncleaned gum stains on sidewalks, overflowing trash cans, and sloppy graffiti appearing on walls.

At first they were only scattered signature tags, gradually becoming dense and conspicuous.

Many shop windows had iron grilles added, convenience‑store signs faded and aged, and the liquor store's glass bore a notice saying "No entry for unaccompanied Underage" with most of the lettering peeled away.

Asian faces were also numerous, most hurrying, avoiding eye contact, buying and leaving quickly, trying not to become anyone's focal point.

Yu Lin walked at an unhurried pace, like a tourist and like a resident strolling after dinner.

Yet that composure felt out of place here.

He could feel those gazes.

They came from a few youths crouched on the steps across the street, from the corner of a black woman leaning against the wall on a call, and from a brief pause of people playing cards at the corner store.

Those glances lingered on him briefly, assessed, then moved on.

Like undersea currents, they existed but were not rushing to surge.

No one had approached to strike up conversation.

Yu Lin kept walking and turned a corner.

His steps halted.

His gaze fell on a modest electronics shop about thirty meters ahead.

The shop's iron grille had been pried open, hanging crookedly to one side.

The glass door lay shattered on the ground, reflecting tiny shards of light under the streetlamp.

Seven or eight people moved in and out of the broken doorway, their actions practiced and roles clear.

Someone was fanning at the entrance, others were stuffing laptops and cell phones into a large black trash bag, and someone already lugged a bulging sack down the street at a quick pace.

The shop's alarm had long been silenced, and the few pedestrians on the street ignored it, none stopping.

A faint siren sounded in the distance, but judging its direction and speed, taking a detour was inevitable, as was being late.

Only the hurried shop owner remained, crying out at the doorway, "God, help me!"

Yu Lin stood at the corner, watching the scene, and whispered to himself:

"Yo ho, Zero Yuan Purchase."

"His life is tragic."

When Yu Lin softly uttered the words "Zero Yuan Purchase," a calm, low voice sounded beside his ear.

Yu Lin did not turn around, nor make any extra movement.

He knew who was coming.

The voice continued, "His name is Aidewen, fifty‑four years old."

"When he was eight, his father was accidentally killed by a factory guard during a wage‑dispute clash; the employer paid two thousand dollars and settled the matter."

"His mother died the year after his father's burial, from overwork and pneumonia, and even the burial costs were raised by church donations."

"He was subsequently taken in by three different families in turn."

"The first family made him sleep in the basement and wake at 4:30 a. m. to help his foster father move milk crates; the second family, disliking his appetite, sent him to an auto‑repair shop as an apprentice at twelve, with no wages, only a lunch provided;"

"The third family was better; his foster father was a black pastor who taught him the Holy Bible and kindness, but the pastor died of a heart attack when he was fifteen, leaving him homeless again."

"He never finished high school, but he remembered the pastor's words—'Your hands are more honest than your mouth.'"

"So he taught himself auto repair, taught himself electrical repair, saved money, borrowed money, lost money, and saved again."

"At thirty‑two he bought this shop; at thirty‑five he cleared all his debts; at thirty‑six he married and had a son and daughter."

Yu Lin listened silently, without interrupting.

「Four years ago, when his wife went to buy supplies, a gang shooting erupted while she was in line. Three stray bullets: one hit her calf, one pierced her abdomen, and one—struck her heart directly. 」

「When his son was fifteen, he was Wash brain, lost his identity as a man, left behind a sex-change report, and then disappeared; he had people inquire, but could not find him. 」

「When his daughter was in middle school, she was bullied at school, she began refusing to speak, refusing to go out, and now lives in a psychiatric sanatorium in the suburbs. 」

「But he still has this shop. 」

「This is all he has left, something he can hold onto; he can rely on this shop to pay his daughter's medical fees, and rely on this shop to maintain the meaning of going on. 」

「He opens the shop at six every morning, closes at eleven at night, works seven days a week; he had just gone out to trade. 」

「In the late night he always repeats one sentence—」

「【God, let me make it through tomorrow.】」

Yu Lin still did not turn back, merely saying: 「Then why don't you go help him? 」

「He is actually calling out to God. 」

「Could it be that he bears sin? 」

Behind him was a brief silence.

Divine Jesus stood just half a step behind him, his gaze passing over Yu Lin and falling upon the ransacked shop, falling upon that trembling back.

Then he withdrew his gaze and met Yu Lin's eyes.

「So you've come. 」 he said.