Chapter 123: The Training Camp

The security company had grown impressively in stature. Although their contracts were few, the owner was wealthy and continued to expand relentlessly. He sought only elites—these individuals were never cheap. Those who had undergone professional training were truly different, incomparable to mere cowboys.

“Uncle Fu, have the two training camps started construction yet?”

“Young master, they’ve already begun. In at most two months, most of the facilities will be operational.”

“These carefully selected youngsters must be well trained; they will be invaluable in the future.”

“Understood, young master.”

The young master had changed significantly, maturing quite a bit. Yet, Uncle Fu couldn’t comprehend why he felt so insecure. The White family’s roots were firmly planted in Texas and had never lacked power. But now, in a civilized society, no one could easily wield such force.

Lacking a sense of security? Perhaps. His fate was so bizarre; how could he ever feel truly secure? Even when with a beauty, he worried about an ice pick. That’s why he always maintained a very proper posture.

Whether it was time travel or reincarnation, these were truly mysterious phenomena. China had its Wang Mang, suspected of time travel, and America had Tesla. None of these figures ended well. He needed to be cautious. After all, Area 51 was real in America.

Movies always portrayed it, and many believed it was fiction. But that was the cleverness of the Americans—denial only piqued curiosity. The half-truth was the best strategy. No matter who asked, a simple chuckle would dismiss the matter. Who would still talk about movie plots seriously?

But think about it: why was the earliest F117 developed there? Later the F22, and then the B2 bomber—all appeared there. America had no state-owned enterprises; these were all private firms. Boeing wasn’t in Nevada, nor Raytheon, and Lockheed Martin seemingly wasn’t either. So why were so many new weapons developed in a vast desert, a place unsuitable for factories?

The higher one’s position, the more one saw. Aliens, future technology—they might not be mere fantasy. Many had traveled back; having predecessors shouldn’t be strange. Just look at what Tesla worked on: wireless power transmission technology. Back in 2018, that was black tech. Tesla’s research wasn’t for cell phones but for long-distance wireless transmission.

He probably suffered a brain injury during time travel. His IQ was high, but his emotional intelligence left much to be desired.

The two most likely predecessors had not fared well. He had to be cautious. If someone took an interest in him, dissecting him for study would be the only outcome. Messing with technology that had yet to appear was courting death—no good would come of it.

Mastering existing technology was the true path. Within controllable limits, one must make mistakes occasionally; that was the way to live comfortably. Otherwise, it was over.

An ancient Chinese saying rang true: “Sail cautiously to ensure a ship lasts ten thousand years.” William White intended to follow this principle, giving no chance to his enemies.

Now, a group of bastards had their eyes on him. He could afford to be a bit reckless. Being wise and decisive wasn’t always good; those prone to foolishness were far more troublesome.

Honestly, his temperament was such that others found him extremely vexing. When these resources were in the hands of adults, it was mostly about negotiation and compromise. In the world of fools, compromise did not exist. You never knew when the other party would lose their mind. There was no probing—just reckless abandon.

Things got worse: someone planned to use force as a deterrent. That was infuriating. Whoever wanted to stir trouble could; everyone else just kept their distance.

The only consolation was that William White loved entertainment. His affairs with celebrities were no secret; those with keen eyes knew well. Others might retreat, but Warner couldn’t. The old man’s glasses were shrewd. Though William White’s layout seemed scattered, each piece had a clear purpose—nothing was random.

Underestimating his films ended how? Hollywood was turned upside down.

Star Wars? They never seemed afraid, only slightly spacing out release dates. With two summer blockbusters, their own “The Shining” was truly in trouble. Luckily, it was a low-budget horror film; losing badly was the best outcome.

William White was also in a tough spot. He hadn’t gone insane; why would he want to clash with Star Wars? He was simply helpless.

Since 1980, Hollywood had actually started to rebound from the bottom. More films began to gross over a hundred million, including the classic E.T.—a true blockbuster.

It wasn’t that William White didn’t want to compete; it was a matter of timing. Spielberg probably already had a script outline. Rushing in would only cause trouble.

Actually, there was a script for “Detective Detective” ready, an early version of “Beverly Hills Cop,” mainly focusing on gunfights—totally different from White’s adaptation.

In fact, many excellent scripts were already out there; people were just refining them. If you wanted to preemptively sabotage, you needed to act two years in advance; otherwise, script collisions would occur—an embarrassing mess.

Little Tiger was an orphan adopted by Uncle Fu. William White assigned him to handle intelligence, the most crucial part. Only by using his own people could he rest easy.

“Young master, these are the only people for now. Training more in time was impossible.”

“Hmm, no worries. Little Tiger, these are just backups. They won’t be deployed soon. Take your time organizing. Some information can be bought, or private investigators hired.”

“I understand, young master. The recent trainees are promising. Please give me more.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve increased recruitment. The shortage of personnel will be resolved within five years at most.”

Money isn’t everything.

Actually, that’s not quite right. One can only say money can’t buy everything.

But it is indeed all-powerful. Apart from money, nothing else can truly replace it.

Okay, maybe gold and diamonds?

That’s just splitting hairs. Things priced by currency are essentially money. Are you suggesting using artistic value for appraisal?

Whether it’s a security company or an intelligence agency, money makes everything simple.

In America, as long as you don’t cross certain lines, no one interferes.

In fact, the American elite live this way—that’s their true foundation.

Otherwise, how do you think the arms industry operates?

To boost weapons sales, they care little about how many die.

Desert tycoons? They have plenty of money.

Go fight your wars then; otherwise, America’s treasury would be empty.

If you say World War II was started by them, many would resist. But look back at little Hitler’s rise and you’ll see American capital was never far away.

Without American scrap steel, do you think you could build an aircraft carrier with a basin?

Chinese ore shipped back?

Don’t be ridiculous. With 35% iron content, China calls it rich ore. Australian iron ore mostly exceeds 60%. Anything below 50% is considered associated ore and is of little value.