The Role of Reputation

After settling the matter of film distribution, Li Daniu no longer had any reason to stay in America. He left a portion of cash in his entertainment company’s account, assigned Castro to remain behind, and arranged two tasks.

The first was to rename the company TC Entertainment. In this world, there was no China, and Li Daniu had searched thoroughly—even in Huaguo’s online sphere, the moniker “TC” was nowhere to be found. So he claimed it for himself without hesitation.

The second task was for Castro to begin recruiting staff in line with standard entertainment company practices, preparing for the adaptation of film and television works Li Daniu would bring back on his next journey.

Castro hailed from Tuvalu and held Tuvaluan citizenship. Li Daniu wasn’t worried about leaving him in charge; after all, he was no longer the same Li Daniu who had first arrived in this world. Not only was “The Lord of the Rings” earning him fame and fortune, and not only would the upcoming movie release bring in a substantial sum, but Li Daniu’s personal strength was now unrivaled—he could take on anyone single-handedly in this world.

And not only one-on-one; even if faced with multiple adversaries, unless each of them wielded an AK, he could easily dispatch them all. Though he had returned to the real world, Li Daniu had never missed a single day of practicing the Nine Suns Divine Art—it had become second nature.

Peerless internal energy naturally brought its benefits. In the real world, there was no opportunity to compete over inner strength, so Li Daniu’s profound mastery remained unseen. Yet with his internal energy, whether in terms of strength or speed—the metrics that best showcased physical prowess in this world—Li Daniu could set records no one would believe.

His speed was enhanced by lightness skills, making him faster than the Bolt of his previous life, even on one leg. Although his body remained at a normal human level, when attacking with the Nine Suns Divine Art’s internal force, he could easily send a car flying with a kick.

Beyond strength and speed was his reaction time, which had increased dramatically since he started cultivating the Nine Suns Divine Art. In the martial world, even third-rate fighters sparred with speed beyond the comprehension of ordinary people, and Li Daniu now ranked among the top masters of the Golden Martial World.

If facing an organized military, Li Daniu was less confident, but against individuals or those wielding less powerful weapons like handguns, he felt no pressure whatsoever.

He hadn’t yet tested whether the True Qi of the Nine Suns Divine Art could deflect bullets, but if no one could hit him, it hardly mattered.

Thus, Li Daniu was unconcerned that Castro might mess things up, and the same applied to Burns. Even with the vast interests involved in purchasing the Auckland Islands, Li Daniu dared entrust the matter to him—not solely out of trust.

Li Daniu believed that, aside from a handful of powerful elites, he could take anyone’s life in this world as easily as reaching into a pocket.

Under the threat of death, whether Castro or Burns, whatever they took from Li Daniu, they would be forced to return.

As for the rule of law, “a life for a life,” Li Daniu scoffed. Whether or not he had the nerve to kill was beside the point; even if he did, someone would need evidence to cause him trouble.

Upon returning to Tuvalu, Burns came to report.

“The proposal to sell the Auckland Islands has been submitted by a senator I contacted. The vote will begin next Monday. They want the promised fifty million dollars transferred to their account before the resolution.”

“What if we send the money and the proposal doesn’t pass?” Li Daniu wasn’t worried about them embezzling his funds—the higher the position, the more likely they were to honor their commitments—but he was concerned about the hassle of repeated votes.

Burns explained, “Those senators are highly influential in New Zealand. There won’t be any issue with the vote. Besides, the Auckland Islands are of no real use to them; their previous reluctance was just a ploy for benefits.”

“If the government approves, what about public opinion? What if the people object during the announcement?” Li Daniu was concerned about this as well.

“They plan to manage public opinion,” Burns replied. “The key point is Tuvalu’s imminent submersion by the sea; if handled well, the public won’t object much. Most New Zealanders don’t even know their country owns the Auckland Islands.”

Li Daniu considered and agreed. Tuvalu had only eleven thousand citizens, no military power, and posed no threat. There were no conflicts of interest or historical grudges between Tuvalu and New Zealand, and New Zealand had always provided ample aid to Tuvalu.

Most Tuvaluan immigrants settled in New Zealand, which was the only country in the world willing to accept Tuvaluan immigrants unconditionally—though the quota was only seventy per year.

In such circumstances, manipulating public opinion wouldn’t meet much resistance from New Zealanders.

“The fifty million can be transferred at any time.” The two hundred million dollar deposit from the necklace had remained in Li Daniu’s private account, which he had handed over to Burns to manage in the name of the government. With Li Daniu’s signature, the funds could be released immediately.

As for the means of transferring those funds, Li Daniu wasn’t concerned. The senators would certainly handle it more discreetly than he could.

“But what about the construction companies they demanded handle the project? Did we reject that?”

“Still in negotiation,” Burns replied.

“Are they insistent?” Li Daniu frowned.

Bribery didn’t bother Li Daniu; he lacked the power to negotiate as an equal now, but retrieving his dignity later would be easy. However, he couldn’t allow them to dictate the construction of the Auckland Islands. Infrastructure, once invested, was not easily changed.

If the companies recommended by those senators were mere shell operations, focused only on profit and indifferent to quality, it would not just waste money—it would directly hamper Tuvalu’s development and affect Li Daniu’s approval among Tuvaluans.

Moving away from their ancestral home was painful enough, justified only by necessity. If, upon arrival, their new home was shoddy, the pain would turn to resentment.

That resentment wouldn’t target the construction companies, but the Tuvaluan government that orchestrated everything—with Li Daniu, the king, at the forefront.

Li Daniu had no desire for his mere eleven thousand citizens to resent him.

“They’re not particularly stubborn; fifty million is more than enough to silence them. But no one minds having more cash in their pocket.”

Li Daniu pondered before saying, “Let’s be firm on this point. Tell them that the construction of the Auckland Islands—the new Tuvalu—will be open for public bidding. If the companies they recommend are competent, we’ll use them; if not, no deal.”

“What if negotiations break down?” Burns hesitated, lacking confidence as prime minister in front of those senators.

Li Daniu smiled. “Hint to them that my novel is selling well in America, and global release is imminent.”

Burns nearly got a question mark tattooed on his forehead. What did a bestselling novel have to do with refusing their construction companies?

Seeing Burns’s confusion, Li Daniu explained, “The reason we’re so passive is our lack of power. If I had nuclear weapons, and they refused to sell, the whole world would object—don’t you agree?”

“My book’s success isn’t just about money—it brings fame. Maybe in less than a year, the whole world will know me, Li... Tarek, and Tuvalu by extension. That’s reputation.”

“In peaceful times, fame is power. They demand money and business because they think no one listens to us. But if I have millions of readers worldwide, my voice will be heard, and the media will report it.”

“Tell me, would they dare to push their luck then?”