081 I Want a Giant Airplane

With a blink, Li Daniu found himself back in his long-lost room.

“System, you always catch me off guard like this.”

He glanced at the massive travel bag that had appeared on his bed, opened it with excitement, and pulled out the portable hard drive. Leaping straight from the bed to his computer, he wasted no time connecting the drive and rifling through its contents. Since “I Am Legend” was a movie rooted in reality, there were no compatibility issues—every file, whether film, music, novel, comic, or even the vaccine and enhancement drug formulas prepared by Robert, was perfectly intact.

Disconnecting the drive, Li Daniu kissed it fervently. Compared to the jewels and diamonds in the travel bag, the wealth this hard drive could generate far surpassed them. Of course, this kind of wealth required a process to come to fruition; he couldn’t simply unload everything at once.

Publishing the novels, for example, was plausible—he could shamelessly claim them as his own work. But what about the music? Thousands of classic songs—who would be the performer? And the movies? The actors in those films didn’t exist in this world. If the box office soared, the world would search in vain for those actors. It would be absurd.

After his excitement subsided, Li Daniu set the hard drive aside. Unlike the wealth that could not be quickly converted, the jewels and diamonds, though less valuable, could be cashed in much more easily.

However, after searching online for the market value of similar jewels and diamonds, a wave of sadness washed over him.

“How foolish I am, truly.”

Due to the system’s strict restrictions on the size and weight of items he could bring back from the movie world, Li Daniu had left behind the smaller-carat diamonds and lower-quality jewels at the survivors’ base, selecting only the most extraordinary-looking gems.

Now, staring at these jewels and diamonds, each estimated to be worth over ten billion dollars, Li Daniu realized how foolish he had been.

In the real world, every rare treasure causes a sensation. The necklace he brought back from “Infernal Affairs” was valued at only two hundred million dollars, and the auction house was prepared to spend half a year promoting it.

Now, his travel bag contained a dozen pieces of jewelry on par with that necklace—some even superior. These pieces came from the vaults of every bank in the most prosperous part of New York, Manhattan—the very best of their collections.

This wasn’t cabbage for wholesale; these were priceless treasures. Any single piece could host a boutique exhibition, and ten pieces at once would make headlines around the globe.

How would he sell them? To whom?

Li Daniu finally understood what it meant to be too clever for his own good. His selective greed had only made it vastly more difficult to cash them in.

Apart from the portable hard drive and the jewels, his greatest prize was the enhancement serum—perhaps the most significant gain of all.

Yet, for all its power, the enhancement serum was even less marketable than the other spoils. With great risk came great reward: the serum could bestow unimaginable wealth and strength, but without trustworthy people and sufficient power, it could not be revealed. Otherwise, Li Daniu would face the world’s wrath.

He locked all his spoils in the safe in his room, unworried that anyone would suspect its worth—no one could possibly imagine that the world’s poorest king possessed wealth that would leave the richest tycoons in the dust.

With a sigh, Li Daniu gave up worrying. Everything would work itself out in time. Compared to when he first arrived in this world, his situation had improved vastly. With so much treasure hidden in his safe, what more could he want?

If necessary, he could always smuggle out the jewels one by one for sale—eventually, he’d cash them all in.

Stripping off his clothes and burning them, Li Daniu headed to the bathroom for a thorough wash and a long soak. At Robert’s house, it had been easy—they alone had the run of Manhattan’s resources. At the survivors’ base, however, there were too many people and far fewer supplies. Even soap and shower gel had to be rationed.

After his bath, refreshed and rejuvenated, he didn’t bother with meditation or training; he was simply too exhausted. After all, he’d knocked out over three thousand Darkseekers in the last two days, depleting his inner strength twice over—not to mention the toll on his body.

He slept soundly and only awoke at dawn the next day. If you asked Li Daniu what he disliked most about cultivating internal energy, he’d say it was the inability to sleep in.

A martial art like the Nine Yang Divine Skill didn’t just grow with meditation; it operated day and night, in every movement and stillness, constantly circulating. While this passive operation was less effective than focused practice, it still brought immense benefits. Before, Li Daniu’s personal record was sleeping for twenty-three hours straight—even if not tired, he could lie in bed playing with his phone. Now, a few hours of sleep left him brimming with energy, making it impossible to laze in bed.

He genuinely missed those lazy mornings snuggled under the covers.

After getting up and enjoying a long-missed breakfast, seeing the familiar faces of Tuvalu filled him with happiness.

Three months in the world of “I Am Legend” had shown him the true brutality of the apocalypse and the tragic struggle for survival under disaster. No matter how invincible he became, he would never choose to stay in such a world another day.

Compared to that, life here was undoubtedly blessed. Tuvalu might still be the poorest country on earth, but at least they no longer feared being swallowed by the sea.

Now, Li Daniu sat atop a towering mountain of gold. Even if he could only chip away at it bit by bit, every fragment could be traded for a better life. Unlike in “I Am Legend,” where every material good had to be earned at the risk of one’s life.

After breakfast came the parliamentary session.

Parliament—a nation’s grand meeting. In most countries, these sessions happened once a year. But Tuvalu was too small; with barely a dozen national leaders, and most lacking much leadership skill, every issue was resolved by collective brainstorming. In effect, every such discussion was a full assembly.

Li Daniu took his seat at the head of the conference table and listened as Burns and the others presented their reports.

“Your Majesty, the first item on the agenda today is the design renderings for the Auckland Islands. We now have ten versions for your consideration.”

As Burns finished, an assistant switched on the projector and began displaying the designs one by one.

Li Daniu pursed his lips—such was the nature of a monarchy. The blueprint for New Tuvalu’s grand development wasn’t decided by practicality, but by the king’s personal preference.

It was reckless, Li Daniu mused, but he couldn’t help being fond of this kind of recklessness now that he was king.

However, his good mood faded as the renderings played out. By the time the last was shown, frustration had taken over.

“No need for the detailed diagrams,” he said, falling silent and staring expressionlessly at Burns and the others. Only when they began to sweat under his gaze did he speak again.

“How dare you show me these worthless designs?” he suddenly thundered. “Let’s not even talk about the rest—look at the airport! You’re proposing an airstrip for planes carrying only a hundred passengers—are you kidding me?”

Burns and the others were startled by his sudden outburst.

“Your Majesty, I’ll have the design firms revise them at once—to match our current Tuvalu airport,” Burns replied, bracing himself.

“What did you say?” A wave of anger surged through Li Daniu. The Tuvalu airport? It could only serve tiny planes for at most fifty people—what use was that?

Li Daniu’s vision for Tuvalu was clear: to build a major international airport. Yet Burns and the others didn’t even understand why he was upset and were proposing to make it even smaller.

“I’m saying these airport designs are far too small! Don’t you understand? I want a big airport, an international airport—not some village airstrip. Is that clear? I don’t ever want to have to transfer through another country just to come home or go abroad. Our airport needs to accommodate direct international flights with large planes, not just those little ones that only make it to New Zealand or Australia. Do you understand me at all?”