130: Chapter 130: Subspace Setup Completed, System Offers Benefits

"Put simply, it's an upgraded version of the heaven and earth illusion I used over the Hoover Dam before."

"Fixed location, permanently active, no need to rent it again every time."

[The additional cost for this type of holographic projection and texture configuration is 3 million emotion points.]

[The sub-space gate itself is 10 million emotion points.]

[Total: 13 million emotion points.]

Zhang Yi leaned back against the sofa, watching the number 13 million pop up on the system interface, his fingers tapping involuntarily on the armrest.

What he was thinking about in his mind was actually very simple:

13 million was not a small amount; it was more than double the 5 million he had spent previously on the [Quantum State Holographic Communication and Monitoring Core] prop.

From the initial 2,000 emotion points to buy four low-spec androids, to now spending millions without batting an eye, the instinct of feeling the pinch never really disappeared,

it was just that as the base numbers grew, the threshold for that feeling of pain rose right along with them.

He was silently calculating in his mind how long it would take for this investment to break even from all of humanity through the sub-space display triggered by π = 3,

and whether, after breaking even, there would be any spare capacity to make a few more additional investments into Script Two.

But from the system's perspective, this expression of frowning and deep thought belonged to a different interpretation template.

The system lacked human emotions, but it had months of transaction records available for playback and analysis:

It had seen this kind of silence on this host too many times,

and after every silence, it was followed by all sorts of tricky, logically rigorous, and indefensible bargaining offensives:

from "It just so happens to be my birthday today" when buying androids, to "Just make it a shoddy project" when building the underground base, to "Hollow out all the alien technology inside, I only want the shell" when buying the spaceship wreckage.

The system had learned to be shrewd.

It did not intend to accompany Zhang Yi into another round of bargaining tug-of-war.

[Detected that the host's one-time large consumption has reached the 10-million level, triggering a 1-million point coupon reward.]

[The current total price can be reduced to 12 million.]

[The final interpretation right belongs to the system; this price is the lowest transaction price, and no form of bargaining is accepted.]

Zhang Yi was pulled out of his calculations by this string of discount prompts that suddenly popped up.

He blinked, then swiped the screen to confirm that the discount was real. His balance was deducted from 14 million to 2 million, and the sub-space gate was acquired.

As for the system's inner monologue... he didn't notice it at all.

He set the internal parameters of the sub-space to the correct cosmic spacetime of π = 3, and then spent nearly half an hour using holographic projections and textures to decorate the interior to look incredibly high-class.

A massive floating city hovered above an amber-colored sky,

with energy cores emitting a soft, cold light embedded beneath the base of each level,

and floating rails circling the entire surface of the city,

while streamlined aircraft shuttled silently between the rails.

Any mortal standing before this city would immediately understand that what they were looking at was a masterpiece of a higher civilization that did not belong to this distorted spacetime at all.

After finishing all this, he closed the system interface, leaned back against the sofa, and let out a long breath.

"Once the correct spacetime in the sub-space surfaces, humanity will see hope once again."

"From despair to hope, this kind of intense emotional reversal is what a behind-the-scenes dealer should truly be harvesting."

He picked up his coffee, drank the last sip, and as he set the cup down, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

Then, just as Zhang Yi was preparing to deploy Zhang Long and the sub-space gate over to Diana's side again,

another surveillance screen in the corner of the system interface suddenly caught his eye.

...

Nevada, Las Vegas, Spring Mountain Manor.

This manor, belonging to the Warren Family, was currently facing a formidable enemy.

The palm trees on the outskirts of the manor rustled in the desert night wind,

and on the lawn surrounding the main building, several abandoned armored SUVs were scattered, doors wide open, engines still idling.

But not a single one of the Warren Family's hundreds of armed death squads dared to move.

They held their guns up, their sights aimed at the open French floor-to-ceiling window on the first floor of the main manor building, yet not a single person dared to pull the trigger.

Because Link Warren was sitting on the sofa behind that floor-to-ceiling window, his hands resting obediently on his knees, his face pale, his lips trembling slightly.

Behind him stood two armed attendants wearing unmarked dark gray combat uniforms; their gun barrels were not pointed at his head,

but what terrified him even more than having guns pointed at his head were the two old men sitting across from him, chatting while drinking whiskey.

Link had never been this scared in his entire life.

He had previously seen Grey Alien crawl out of the ventilation ducts in the underground garage of the Las Vegas City Hall, had his pupils scanned by that eerie blue scanning beam, and been gestured to be silent by that gray-white face.

That was the first time he had experienced what fear was.

But that night in the garage, the fear had been sudden—an instinctive reaction after having his worldview forcibly shattered by an existence that did not belong to the human cognitive framework.

He had no time to think, no time to process it; he was just being pushed along by fear.

But now, it was different.

Now he was sitting on his own sofa, with two old men across from him smoking cigars and drinking, chatting about the weather and golf courses in the exact same calm tone his father used when interrogating witnesses at Senate hearings,

and the armed attendants they brought had already pinned all the Warren Family's armed death squads within dozens of miles of his home, leaving them unable to move.

This kind of fear was slow; it was the kind where you had time to think, where you clearly knew what was going to happen next, but could do nothing about it.

Chief of Staff Raymond Carter stood in front and to the side of the sofa where Link was sitting, blocking the space between Rockefeller III and Link.

Beads of sweat seeped from his forehead, but his posture remained upright, and his tone still maintained the precision and calmness typical of a Silicon Valley engineer.

"No matter who you are, Nevada is the Warren Family's territory."

"You are kidnapping people here today, and you're kidnapping the young master of the Warren Family, no less..."

He pushed his glasses up by half an inch, his gaze passing over the two old men who were leisurely clinking their glasses on the coffee table,

"...you won't make it out of Nevada!"

Rockefeller III and Samuel Astor turned their heads simultaneously and looked at each other.

Then Samuel placed his cigar on the edge of the ashtray, leaned back against the sofa while holding his whiskey glass, and a faint, undisguised smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.

Rockefeller III did not smile;

he simply placed his glass back on the coffee table and looked at Raymond with an almost benevolent gaze, as if he were watching a little boy in his own backyard waving a stick as if it were a sword.

Raymond had been the Chief of Staff for the Warren Family for over a decade, had sold companies in Silicon Valley, fought opponents in the political arena, and slammed tables with CIA field supervisors in the intelligence system; never had anyone responded to him with such an expression after he had delivered a harsh threat.

That feeling was not being despised, nor was it being insulted; it was like standing in the shadow of a behemoth, looking up and unable to see the top,

only able to feel that his entire existence had been silently covered by that shadow.