1

In the summer of 1988, the shadow of the Cold War grew thicker and kept making loud thunders to scare you.

New York City suburbs. Wisteria Lane in Fairview Township.

At noon, a new resident arrived here: Rick Smith, a young writer who was famous all over the United States. The neighbors had gotten the inside scoop from the real estate agent in advance. 

This new neighbor was not only a well-known young writer, but he also knew many real upper-class dignitaries and had written social commentaries in major European newspapers. It was said that the response was strong.

"This is a respectable and big man," Ms. Lillian, the only real estate agent in the community, introduced him to the town residents in a serious manner.

When the neighbors heard the sound of car engines on the street, they hurried to their windows.

In that era, newspapers were still the main carrier of news and entertainment, and television was almost always filled with big names, big news, and some superpower's not-so-cool propaganda slogans. The Internet was still a mysterious realm that ordinary people could not access. Books were the primary carriers of knowledge, and anyone who could write books was respected. 

Everyone was slightly excited about the world-renowned writer coming around. 

Everyone was looking at the new neighbor.

"So young!"

"He's of Asian descent? Black hair."

"He must have been writing for a long time and lacked exercise. He is too thin. He is like a thin stick."

"Haha, this is just a kid. He can't even carry his luggage."

"He looks ordinary and doesn't look like a big shot at all. He lives here alone? Big shots all have servants."

Perhaps the onlookers were too enthusiastic; their gazes almost ignited the big boy who was being watched.

Our great writer Rick clearly felt the hot gazes of his neighbors, but the heavy luggage made it difficult for him to move quickly. The huge canvas bag weighed at least 60 kilograms. All of this was really a problem for an eighteen-year-old boy.

There were several large boxes of paper archives in the trunk. In this era of transition from the old to the new, electronic files were not yet popular, and Rick was still using a typewriter in pain.

After moving the luggage several times, Rick slumped down on the sofa in the living room on the first floor, sweating all over. He quietly thought about what he should do next. When he went to the kitchen because he was thirsty, he noticed that the two giant freezers were filled with all kinds of fresh ingredients.

Drinking water, juice, and milk filled the entire refrigerator.

In the cloakroom on the second floor, all the clothes and shoes for all seasons were neatly arranged and brand new. Rick noticed that all the clothes were custom-made and seemed to have a unified design style.

All the electrical appliances in the house were also at the forefront of this era. You could really move in with just your luggage.

[Ms. Potts is really capable of doing things. It was a great decision to sign a contract with her.]

Rick looked at the simple and low-key decoration in the house and sighed again that it was nice to sit under a big tree and enjoy the shade.

---

Let's adjust the time forward and start this story from the beginning.

When Lao Chen first came to this strange world, he opened his eyes and saw a thin and shriveled figure reflected in the French window, holding an identity document that he didn't know whether it was real or fake. He searched his whole body and found only a piece of tattered parchment with graffiti on it in his pocket.

The old scavengers at the distant garbage dump all said he was a fool who only knew how to laugh.

It was a desperate day. Lao Chen endured the cold and hunger and tried again and again to awaken the superpowers mentioned in novels. He even shouted at the system twice like a madman.

But apart from the particularly clear memories of his past life, the darkness only made him colder and hungrier. After seeking help from the police to no avail, the newly arrived Lao Chen could only try to survive, but unfortunately, his body was too weak and he was out of breath before he could even walk out of the street.

He plucked up the courage to ask a few restaurants, but they said it was not possible for a smelly and dirty homeless guy to wash the dishes.

Old Chen, a time traveler wandering on the street, was in a daze, like a skeleton that could fall apart at any time. He fell asleep again and again beside the trash can on the corner of the street and woke up from a golden dream again and again.

As the concept of time gradually disappeared, the time traveler Lao Chen slowly turned into the dying homeless man Rick, all for the sake of survival.

After many hardships, when he was about to fall asleep in a corner of Central Park again, he was lucky enough to meet a tomboy named Phoebe.

Phoebe enthusiastically taught the skeleton a guide to wandering in New York, teaching him how to survive in a garbage dump, how to get hot water at a shelter, and where the forbidden areas were that he must not go to.

When the skeleton asked Phoebe, "Why are you helping me?"

Phoebe said mysteriously, "You must be a magical creature summoned into this world by a necromancer! I saw your skeleton huddled in the corner, emitting golden light."

It can be said that from this day on, the time traveler Lao Chen finally regained consciousness. It was also from this moment that the first vest identity Rick Smith was officially used.

[From now on, I am Rick Smith.]

Half a month later, Rick was lucky enough to pick up a broken typewriter in the garbage dump.

In the days that followed, he began his journey of plagiarizing in the alley behind the homeless shelter, relying on third-hand food and second-hand waste paper.

Unlike the weakness of the body, the memories of past lives in his brain were extremely clear, just like retrieving a once-stored file from a hard drive.

Rick remembered every word. Even though he was so hungry that his eyes were blurry, he could still clearly recall every second of his past life. Because of the worn parchment in his pocket, he thought of an adventure story he had read before.

This was the source of all inspiration, and the story began with a piece of parchment that recorded the treasure.

He typed again and again with cold and trembling hands and also curled up in the corner and fell asleep holding the typewriter again and again.

Every dream woke him up in a dazzling golden light.

The golden light was so warm that it supported the dying Rick to finish writing his first story.

Excitedly holding the tattered manuscript, the homeless man Mr. Rick Smith was beaten up by the security guard at the door of the publishing house.

A famous tree man once said: "Aimuglut~~"

When translated into human language, there are many interpretations, one of which is {Beating a fool can make him accept reality and grow up.}

That night, Rick, who was extremely skinny, slipped through the iron fence like an eel and entered a comprehensive mall called Bloomingdale's to start "zero-dollar shopping." He fought wits and courage with the security guards in the dark until dawn.

After succeeding, Rick ran into an unfamiliar community in a panic, carrying a large bag of clothes, and fell asleep again in an empty alley.

The next morning, in a barber shop in a slum area, Rick, neatly dressed, scrubbed the toilet and all the glass in the store.

Papa Papa in the store gave Rick a clean bald head and treated the wound given to him by the security guard of the publishing house. Finally, he treated him to freshly baked bread.

Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6. Using clean paper to write again.

Day 7. Amid Papa Papa's warning not to risk his life in the black community, Rick Smith, dressed in a high-end suit and with a changed appearance, set off.

He walked into the city's largest publishing house, the Horn Publishing and Distribution Company, with his brand new manuscript in his hand.

At the reception desk in the lobby on the first floor, Rick ate a bunch of cookies and candies while waiting.

Half an hour later, a sweet-looking female secretary took him all the way to the top floor. In the spacious and bright office, the editor-in-chief Jonah Jameson, who had a mustache and a cigar in his mouth, was talking on the phone and saying "fuck you." Of course, the famous adventure writer Loretta Sage on the other end of the phone was not to be outdone.

Rick sat at his desk obediently and stiffly. He was not yet qualified to speak.

Editor-in-chief Jameson had a friendly interaction with the female writer Sage on the other end of the phone for a full twenty minutes, and the two of them almost gave birth to a child using the receiver.

"Click."

After hanging up the phone, the editor looked at Rick, who was as thin as a bamboo pole.

"Young man, you are very patient. Although I was very busy just now, I noticed that you didn't show any impatience at all."

"This is very good quality, so I decided to give you a chance to see how much of this novel you have written. I only have the first few chapters here, the content before the protagonist goes out on an adventure at sea."

Editor-in-Chief Jameson powerfully controlled the pace of the conversation, but he also let out words that pleased Rick.

"Hello, Editor Jameson. Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I have already written the story, and it is not a long

 novel. The whole story is recorded in my mind, and I can continue writing at any time."

"Young man, you look like a genius. Our publishing house has been looking for new writers like you. My intuition tells me that this novel will definitely sell well, but I also have a premise. That is, you must finish writing the rest of the story within a week, and it must be as exciting as the beginning."

In that era, the market still had a demand for excellent novels, and Editor-in-Chief Jameson always appreciated young people who were diligent and talented.

But Rick, who had just transmigrated, knew that it was the story of treasure and adventure that attracted this American editor, who was one of the best in the industry.

The following days were a torturous but extremely precious period of growth for Rick.

Since he was homeless and sleeping in Central Park every day, Editor-in-Chief Jameson generously allowed Rick to write in the office on the top floor of the publishing house during the day. At night, the old editor personally sent the undernourished young man to the bus.

The editors on the top floor of the publishing house took good care of this diligent and polite young man and bought a lot of fresh fruit and milk every day to make breakfast for him.

Mr. Rick Smith, who has a profound plagiarism ability, once again opened the door to a new world from this place. He forgot the desperate life in the dark alleys of New York City and walked into the bright world of words.