Under bright sunlight.

A quiet little lake near the forest, left in a mess after last night's party.

Boom!

A hand suddenly broke through the thick ice, like a zombie hand that broke through the earth in a terrible legend and stretched out from the lake.

The skin is icy blue, like a corpse frozen to death by ice and snow.

A figure crawled out of the lake and staggered to the riverbank.

His body was wet and shivering, much like a person who had fallen into a cold lake and then crawled out, except for the fact that he had been lying in the lake all night.

With ice slag on his eyebrows, Shi sat on the ground trembling and lit a bonfire with an abandoned lighter.

He stretched out his frozen hands to warm the fire.

But the flames, which contain a staggering amount of heat, are absorbed in the air, and the freshly lit firewood turns into a pile of ice.

The heavy cold on his body was dispelled, and the icy blue of his skin faded.

As if he had become a living person again, Shi En couldn't believe that looking at his hands, his consciousness was slightly frozen, and his brain turned around, as if something incredible had happened to him.

He clenched his fists, feeling like he had never been better, frighteningly strong.

Recovering his health, he was ready to go home, but as soon as he stepped out of the woods, the extreme cold hit again.

Ice slag formed on his eyebrows, and Shi En trembled and beckoned to the passing car for help.

Laugh at.

"Kid, what's wrong with you?"

The car stopped, and an uncle got down, and just held him with concern, and his body stiffened.

In the next moment, the heat of his body was sucked away like a tide, and his whole person turned into an ice sculpture, which smashed straight on the hard road, shattering into a blood-colored ice slag.

Shi En's cold state improved, and at the same time, his whole body strength was stronger, and he stretched out his hand to lift the car easily like a plastic toy.

He realized something in an instant, and looked in a certain direction of the town, like a greedy gold digger who had just picked up a piece of sand gold and raised his eyes to see a mountain of gold, his eyes burst with unprecedented excitement and scorching looks, and he couldn't help but swallow his saliva.

There it is - a thermal power station!

……

Beep peel.

Heavy curtains woven from wool velvet were drawn to keep out the sunlight outside.

The flames burned silently in the fireplace.

Luthor took a sip of whiskey, his throat burning with a burning line, but his face did not fluctuate.

He went through the old news on his computer as he normally would, and the town's residents posted on the forum.

There was a stack of dollars on the table next to it.

Click

The door was opened by the servant.

A middle-aged man in a trench coat walked in, his eyes flashed shrewdly from time to time, and his hair was slightly bald, giving people a sense of shrewdness and strength.

There is a brown paper file bag in his hand, and he seems to be patting his thigh leisurely.

"Mr. Luther, are you ready for the money I want?"

"Roger Nickerson, if I'm not mistaken."

Luthor slowly stood up, poured a glass of clear brown liquor into his glass, and handed it to him, smiling.

"The reporter of the Metropolitan Enquirer? You said you had something you wanted to show me. ”

"This photo has skyrocketed our sales."

Nickerson pulled out a newspaper from his file bag.

Eye-catching print in the center of the newspaper, in front of the bank, Lex Luthor is holding a pistol, just snatching money and rushing out of the door.

"It's in the past."

Luthor chuckled, "I don't think Mr. Nixon, as a journalist, would be unaware of the latest developments in the bank robbery." ”

"Journalism is like that, it's easy to get out of style.

It's hard to keep your articles in the headlines. ”

Nick shook his head.

"Mr. Luther, have you ever dug up potatoes?"

Without waiting for Luthor to reply, he stared into Luther's eyes, as if he was firmly in control of the situation, and smirked.

"I think a boy like you, who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, shouldn't know that when digging potatoes, it's easy to bring out a bunch of potatoes."

Nickerson raised the document bag in his hand and handed it over, as if sighing.

"It's surprising that it's so thick, almost catching up with a wad of banknotes, and it's your criminal record when you were a minor."

"It seems that Mr. Reporter didn't lie to me on the phone, and he really knows something about my wild youth."

After taking the file and flipping through it, Luthor's voice was low and a smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Nickerson."

"Thanks?" Nickson wondered, thanks to him for what, to blackmail?

"This is full of destroyed electronic records and sealed archives, how did Mr. Reporter find them?"

He walked back to his desk, sat down slowly, and turned to ask.

"As you can imagine, your father must have spent a lot of money to cover up these files.

I'm not as rich as your father, but luckily it doesn't cost much to buy off the caretaker of a file guard room with a dusty shelf. ”

Nickson scoffed, thanking the caretaker who was bored and liked to look through the files, and sent him a windfall.

"Think about what it would be like if you put it out.

It has just been discovered that the heir to the Lutor Group who has been wronged is actually a bad record when he was young, and the bank robbery is nothing at all. ”

"In my experience as a journalist, people just like to reverse and reverse the plot."

He put down his glass, shrugged his shoulders, and glanced at the new $100,000 on the table with the scent of ink.

"This will surely have some impact on the share price of the Luthor Group!"

"Mr. Nickerson, the money is yours."

Luthor smiled and pulled out a black cloth bag from under the table.

"Mr. Luther, you're still in charge of providing the bags?"

Surprised, Nickerson pocketed the wad of money on the table.

"You must be feeling good right now."

Watching him pack up the money he had extorted from himself, Luthor was in no hurry.

"It's a good feeling to win over the famous Luthor father and son."

After loading the money, he threw down a sentence with a tone similar to that of an adult teaching a child, and turned away with a smile, his hand about to touch the doorknob.

"I'll give you the only photocopy, and live honestly, Lex Luthor."

"If you walk out of this door now, I guarantee that you will immediately evaporate from this world."

Luthor put down his glass, smiled and said something creepy.

"What are you going to do to kill me for this money?"

Nickerson turned and asked dismissively.

"To blackmail a billionaire heir, think I'm going to be unprepared?"

If he doesn't go back on time, the mailbox will be automatically reported to the major newspapers, and is $100,000 worth Luthor's killing?

He was not greedy, but only asked for a small amount.

"No, you'll live well.

But there is no evidence of your existence. He shook his head.

"What are you talking about?"

"Driver's licenses, passports, bank accounts, and even tax payment records, it's all gone."

Continuing to browse the news on the computer, Luther spoke casually, as if he was talking about a trivial matter.

"One phone call, no more evidence that you've ever lived."

"Mr. Luthor, you want to scare me?"

"Call the bank to see if your account is still open."

Like seeing a man who was skeptical of the common sense of the world that the sun would rise every day, Luthor looked up at him.

"If your phone number is still available."

He took out his phone and tried to make a call, but Nickerson tried several times and couldn't get out.

Cold sweat oozed from his forehead, his face became flustered, and his voice was nervously sharp.

"How did you do that?"