Chapter 2: As Long As I Have No Money, No One Can Steal From Me

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“Speaking of which, where did these seven dollars of starting capital come from? I don’t have any dollars on me, do I?” Ma Zhaodi searched his pockets carefully and suddenly realized that the fifty-something yuan he’d tucked away after buying cigarettes had vanished.

“So it’s like this, huh? I thought it was a gift of initial funds, but in the end, it’s just taking from myself.”

On the bright side, at least his attire—a shirt, trousers, and jacket—wouldn’t draw any attention in Gotham. There was nothing conspicuous about him.

He sighed, then promptly purchased Basic English Proficiency and a Local Identity from the system. Without those, with his current English skills, he wouldn’t be able to survive here at all. He also bought Rapid Life Recovery and a Save Point. According to the system’s introduction, moving save points would require asset points, and with only three dollars left, he chose not to set a save point just yet.

Looking up at the sky, he saw thick clouds obscuring the sun. From the dim light, he could tell it was night, but couldn’t guess the exact hour. With no better option, Ma Zhaodi headed toward the station exit. He remembered seeing a clock tower from the train; perhaps once he left the station, he could learn the time.

As he took a few more steps, his pace slowed. Just a moment ago, the station’s cacophony had been nothing but incomprehensible noise. But the instant he acquired Basic English Proficiency, those sounds transformed into fragmented conversations, as familiar and intelligible as the hum of a market back home.

This novel sensation amused Ma Zhaodi, whose English had only just scraped past Level Six. He recalled bits of English he’d studied before, feeling as if the system had patched together his broken language skills, turning them into a rickety but surprisingly speedy old bicycle.

Of course, that was merely his own lack of adaptation. In truth, his accent and writing were now fairly standard American English. Once he got used to it, that rickety bike would upgrade into a nifty little e-scooter.

Remembering that he now had a Gotham local’s identity, he searched his pockets again, only to find them as empty as his face was clean.

Searching more carefully, he discovered that his driver’s license, social security card, and other identification documents now existed within the Bare-Handed Entrepreneur system. He only had to think about them to take them out or put them away.

“At least that’s a little user-friendly.”

Never having seen a foreign driver’s license before, Ma Zhaodi reached into his jacket pocket, and a few seconds later pulled out his own license. He glanced at it curiously for a moment before putting it back. What he needed most urgently now was to find a livelihood in Gotham; otherwise, he might not be killed by a gang, terrorist group, assassin syndicate, supervillain, or even a common criminal, but by hunger or exposure before any of them had a chance.

After all, he had no idea how the homeless survived in America, and Gotham certainly wasn’t a place for harmless vagrants.

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Of course, he might gradually become familiar with the life of a vagrant; after all, he had no property here, and ending up on the streets was hardly surprising.

It was worth noting that while some homeless people could receive benefits after filing federal tax returns and providing valid bank account information, unfortunately, the system had given Ma Zhaodi an account, but he’d never earned any money, let alone paid any taxes.

Leaving the bustling platform, Ma Zhaodi finally saw the city up close.

A fine, drizzling rain fell from the sky, cloaking the night-shrouded city in a thin, dreamy veil. Vehicles and motorcycles darted along the glowing streets, while the lower halves of the densely packed high-rises were awash in shifting city lights and shadow. Their upper portions vanished into the night, with only the occasional floodlight tracing the sharp corners of their silhouettes.

In the distance, factories belched thick smoke. Nearby stood squat slums, their ramshackle buildings almost devoid of light. Only from the alleys came the occasional sounds of weeping, or the crack of violence and gunfire. The homeless made their camps here, huddling in grimy tents by derelict factories, under bridges, or in other abandoned structures, burning old newspapers and tattered books in oil drums for warmth.

Ma Zhaodi looked to the distance. Amid the dazzling screens and neon signs, the clock tower’s hands pointed to 9:00 p.m. Clearly, it was too late to find work tonight; he’d have to make it until morning.

“This starting scenario is absolutely absurd…”

A cold evening wind swept past, its chill laced with clammy mist. Ma Zhaodi shivered violently, stuffing his hands back into his jacket pockets. Hunched over, he tried to think of somewhere to spend the night. The busier streets would get him chased away, but lurking in the deserted corners was asking for trouble.

“Is there really no other way?”

He browsed through the system again and discovered a store. Inside, nearly everything imaginable could be bought—from daily necessities and food, to knives and tools; even special abilities and supernatural items. As for the more extravagant options, Ma Zhaodi didn’t bother looking—he couldn’t afford them anyway.

With only three dollars left in the system, it was almost certain he’d be sleeping rough tonight.

As he walked, he scrolled through the cheaper goods in the shop, when suddenly he realized his driver’s license was missing from his pocket.

“?”

He was sure he hadn’t put it back into the system; it should have still been in his jacket pocket.

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“Is… is it there?”

Ma Zhaodi turned his jacket inside out, searching with both hands, but couldn’t find his driver’s license. He was so anxious he nearly started cursing. Just then, his hand brushed against his trouser pocket.

“?”

“It’s… here?”

It took him a few seconds to realize what had happened. In the brief hundred meters from the station to here, right after arriving in Gotham, a local pickpocket had already struck.

The thief, finding his pockets and face equally empty, had thoughtfully returned his driver’s license to his trouser pocket.

Ridiculous! The whole theft had happened without him noticing a thing.

On the bright side, it was a reminder: a skilled thief could make off with the cash in your wallet, the watch on your wrist, or the phone in your pocket. But clearly, no one could steal from a pauper.

As long as he stayed penniless, he was invincible.

If he ran into a mugger, maybe after searching his pockets, the robber would even take pity on him and hand over a few dollars for something to eat.