Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 254 You truly have a deep love for England

"No, where did you get this watermelon?"

Constantine stared blankly at Ma Zhaodi beside him: "Where did you pull such a big thing out of?"

“Is it that important?” Ma Zhaodi shrugged. “We’ve been walking for more than two hours. To be honest, I’m actually fine, but I don’t know if you can keep going.”

"Me? I'm only now realizing that only mad dogs and the British go out in the midday sun."

"You really have a deep love for England."

“Don’t judge me, kid.” Constantine took a drag of his cigarette. “Noel Coward wrote the lyrics himself, and that old guy even won an Oscar.”

"I've learned something new. What's the song called?"

"Mad Dogs and the British".

"."

"Putting that aside," Constantine turned to look at him. "Why aren't you sweating at all?"

"This one?" Ma Zhaodi tossed aside the watermelon he had finished eating and pulled out a bottle of frosty white beverage from his backpack: "A cold drink. A few sips will keep you warm for fifty minutes. Want some?"

【cold drink

Price: $30 asset points
Note: I told the guild a long time ago that Zenny's inflation was too severe; crafting equipment could easily cost tens of thousands, but they just wouldn't listen. Look at the exchange rate of 1 to 10!

"Where did this magic potion come from?" Constantine frowned as he took the drink, then sniffed it. A faint coolness filled his nostrils, making him feel refreshed.

"Are you obsessed with magic?" Ma Zhaodi shook his head: "This is just a more effective summer drink."

Constantine then gulped down several large mouthfuls of the drink in the bottle, and a refreshing sensation immediately spread throughout his body. The blazing sun in the sky suddenly felt like the warm sun of spring, and his body felt relaxed.

He clicked his tongue in satisfaction: "I told you long ago, modern technology is much more effective than magic."

"Thank you for your patronage. Remember to give me five hundred dollars when you get back."

"?"

"What's wrong? Of course I can only sell you the things you've drunk from."

"Damn, this stuff better have a long shelf life."

The guide ahead suddenly turned his head and asked Ma Zhaodi, "First rank? Fifth Uncle?"

“Five hundred dollars,” Ma Zhaodi said. “If you’re hot too, I can give you half a bottle—as long as you don’t sell it.”

"Bring them here to sell, they'll sell well," the guide continued. "Out-of-towners are afraid of the heat."

Ma Zhaodi was speechless. This tour guide was too honest, directly stating the five words "rip off out-of-towners".

“I just hope there aren’t any guerrillas here,” Constantine sighed. “Hiring a guide, taking a plane, renting a car—I’ve already spent enough money. If I get kidnapped, I’ll lose all the money I’ve earned on this trip.”

Ma Zhaodi thought to himself, there's no need to be afraid of the guerrillas.
Three hours later, as dusk fell, the enormous red sun sank below the horizon of the desolate Gobi Desert, its color becoming as blinding and scorching as blood. Beyond the hills, a settlement built of thatched roofs and mud came into view.

"Lao Ban, we've arrived at the village paper."

Constantine looked at this settlement, which was called a "village" but was actually a "tribe," where dark-skinned primitive inhabitants dressed in long cloths moved about. They were thin and bony, with cracked lips. Some of the children had very thin limbs, but their bellies were strangely large.

Ma Zhaodi asked Constantine in a low voice, "What's going on?"

“Malnutrition, they eat soil, grass roots, and sand,” Constantine replied. “The land here is severely desertified, making farming impossible, so they stuff themselves with anything they can find. These things can’t be digested; and because they have too little protein, they have a lot of ascites.”

"Don't bother. I've been to Africa more than once, so I know about these things. You can't help them. Every time I come here, I feel like an astronaut in another world."

Ma Zhaodi remained silent.

When the three men entered the settlement, none of the villagers came up to speak. They watched the three uninvited guests in shirts with silence and vigilance, as if they were indeed looking at another world.

Constantine handed the guide the portrait Lester had drawn, and the guide spoke to them in Dinka, but no one answered.

Constantine could see some people's eyes darting around, their dark eyes quickly glancing towards the hill where a thatched hut stood apart from the rest of the settlement's buildings.

Ma Zhaodi also noticed this detail. He exchanged a glance with Constantine, then left the guide and the others in the settlement to talk, and secretly slipped away.

As they tiptoed to the door of the thatched hut, Constantine was about to observe the inside when an old voice rang out from within: "Come in—I thought you would be here sooner."

Ma Zhaodi saw a look of astonishment in Constantine's eyes. The two exchanged a glance and then simply lifted the curtain and went inside.

"The mother goat's internal organs indicate that yesterday was the time you should have arrived."

In the dimly lit thatched hut, a gaunt, dark-skinned old man sat cross-legged. The blood-red afterglow of the setting sun shone into the room, making his silhouette appear even more eerie and distorted.

His hair was shaved off, leaving only hair on the sides. His skin was rough and loose, with dry, cracked wrinkles and ravines covering his forehead and neck. He was completely naked, wearing only armbands and a loincloth. Strange, enormous ornaments adorned his ears, and an unidentified bird skull hung around his neck. His expression appeared somewhat sinister in the eerie light, as he looked at the two people in front of him with a half-smile.

Constantine walked into the room and replied casually, "Really? Ha, these days no divination method is completely reliable, right?"

Ma Zhaodi sat down next to Constantine with some curiosity and looked the old shaman up and down: "Where did you learn English?"

"Is that English you heard?" The old man's smile became even stranger. "But I wasn't speaking English."

“Pentecost,” Constantine interjected. “According to the Gospels, the fiftieth day after Easter is Pentecost, the day the Holy Spirit descends, and priests can speak other languages—you’re really something, the United Nations needs people like you.”

The old man didn't respond to his question, but continued, "I know, and you know, you are that laughing magician—I've seen you in my dreams."

"What a coincidence!"

At this moment, Ma Zhaodi clapped his hands and said, “Friends, I can understand that you feel like you’ve known each other for a long time and appreciate each other’s talents, but we should get down to business—one of your children has been imprisoned by an evil spirit, and now that evil spirit is causing trouble in London.”

"Now, all I want to know is, why did you do this?"

(End of this chapter)