Invasion of the United States

The media is calling it the 'Great Escape.'"

Kelly pulled out her tablet from her handbag, lightly tapping the screen to play a shaky mobile video.

On the screen, 'Holy Light I' was quietly parked on an open field of a farm. Eight electric engines suddenly started, spewing powerful jets of air, and dust and grass clippings on the ground were whipped into a frenzy, flying all around.

When an IRS helicopter descended from above, attempting to block its path, 'Holy Light I' deftly slid sideways.

Its body tilted into a relaxed and elegant arc, effortlessly shaking off the pursuit, disappearing into the night in an instant, leaving behind only a blurred trail.

Below the video, the comment section was in an uproar. The poor people were clustered discussing performance parameters, while the rich skipped the nonsense and directly called to inquire about the price.

A "Bugatti Centodieci," priced in the tens of millions of US dollars, at most flaunts at car shows, speeding around a few laps to catch eyes;

A luxury mansion next to Central Park, New York, at thirty million US dollars, is only good for laundering money or occasionally living in to show off wealth;

A thousand-ton luxury yacht, starting at fifty million US dollars, equipped with a pool and private helicopter, can flex muscles in social circles, hosting a few parties along the way.

These things are just the icing on the cake. When times get tough, they can at most be auctioned off for some cash before going bankrupt, serving no real purpose.

But 'Holy Light I' is different.

It can fly a thousand kilometers at a speed of 300 km/h, supports vertical takeoff and landing, and automatically plans its route.

It's not a vase-like ornament but a tool that can carve out a path to survival in a dead-end situation. It preserves the user's life and freedom, a value far surpassing those vain luxury items.

Such a good thing costs only thirty million US dollars—potential customers are already contacting 'Electric Flight's factory in "Dongda," urgently wanting to buy this 'escape tool.'

Hearing her sister's introduction, Kelly was amazed but soon confused and asked, "Wait... when did the price of 'Holy Light I' rise to thirty million US dollars?

I clearly remember its cost was only five million US dollars—including the R&D costs and the premium for handcrafted manufacturing.

Once production increases, there's still a lot of room for cost reduction. So... who set the price?"

Jennifer shrugged, "Sis, you know, even the latest 'Pagani' sells for more than twenty million, and it's just there to look at?

When someone called to ask the price, I thought our product shouldn't be sold cheaply, so I casually said thirty million US dollars."

She paused, glanced at their father, seeing a helpless expression on his face, then added, "And the customer didn't even bargain, they just asked when they could get the product."

Jeff Connally couldn't help but pinch his forehead, rubbing his temples, marveling at how his second daughter was truly a 'pricing genius.'

He didn't think the price was bad—quite the opposite, it was perfect, so perfect it made him itch with excitement.

There are far too many wealthy people in this world, willing to spend a fortune on 'one-of-a-kind' luxury items. Some of them have dirty money and are constantly hiding, afraid of being caught one day.

They need something to quickly escape—regardless of terrain, capable of vertical takeoff, flying fast and far, 'Holy Light I' is practically tailored for these clients. EnjoythestorybyreadingonM|V|LE%MPYR.

Zhou Qingfeng personally endorsed it, personally demonstrated it, with the FBI and IRS cooperating in tests. Is there a better advertisement than this?

Selling just four units of 'Holy Light I' would yield over 100 million US dollars in pure profit. The luxury goods business is too good.

The problem is, with 'Electric Flight' under investigation by the Florida government, his 'Pioneer Holdings' can't invest in it.

"Damn it, having the meat right at my mouth but unable to eat it is truly painful. How will this farce end? I really want to kill that bastard Ellison Parker!"

-----------------

After moving into Lisa's shabby apartment, Zhou Qingfeng did nothing but surf the internet and binge eat.

He swept the kitchen clean of all food—pizza, chips, cookies, even a can of expired peanut butter that Annie had left in the fridge corner.

Besides that, he did something unexpected: dyed his hair flamboyant red and got temporary tattoos on both arms.

Doing this was his roommate Annie, a young girl who claimed to be a stylist.

She was slim, wearing a faded band T-shirt, with colorful plastic bracelets around her wrists.

Since that morning when Zhou Qingfeng pinned her to the wall with a dining knife to teach her a lesson, her attitude took a 180-degree turn, from a foul-mouthed punk to a docile girl-next-door.

At this moment, she was crouching beside Zhou Qingfeng, fiddling with a bunch of tools, cautiously asking, "How about a nose ring?"

She pulled out an assortment of accessories from an old metal toolbox—nose rings, earrings, tongue studs, a dazzling array, "Temporary, just clip them on, it doesn't hurt."

After Annie busied herself, Zhou Qingfeng's appearance had completely changed.

His originally black hair turned into a glaring crimson. His left arm had a tattoo of the Grim Reaper from Hell, and his right arm had the Holy Mother from Heaven—tattoos winding from shoulder to wrist, exuding an unbridled wildness.

This punk hooligan image was such a drastic change that it completely disguised his original look, even the ones who knew him best wouldn't recognize him.

"Victor, we've got a party tonight. Do you want to come?" Annie tentatively asked, with a hint of fawning in her voice.

"A lot of people are attending, all young folks. You can have a lot of fun, eating, drinking, dancing, and... other stuff."