God Level Farmer In Another World

"Sister, are you here alone?"

Sister Hong, from another city, spoke in a thick, spicy accent as she struck up a conversation with the woman in the suit.

The woman, cold and aloof, clearly looked down on someone like Sister Hong, who had mingled in seedy circles for years.

But Sister Hong wasn't bothered, instead giggling and saying, "There's a boss over there who'd like to buy you a drink. Won't you give him some face?"

The woman in the suit was none other than Welma. She glanced at Alex, feeling a sense of disdain.

She couldn't stand these second-generation rich kids and had already rejected Sister Hong's advances several times. However, Sister Hong's persistence made her worry that it might interfere with her plans for the evening, so with a frown, she walked over and sat down next to Alex.

To her surprise, Alex didn't try to flirt; he simply sat quietly, sipping his wheat beer.

Welma's professional instincts kicked in, and she cast a sidelong glance at him.

A look of mockery flickered in her eyes. Wheat beer was meant to be gulped down for a refreshing kick, but Alex was sipping it pretentiously.

"Playing hard to get? Such a childish trick."

Bored, Welma crossed her legs and watched the crazed men and women dancing in the club.

Alex glanced at her briefly, confirming his suspicion. This woman was indeed near the top of the power structure in Bluewater City—the head of the Security Bureau.

Checking his watch, he calculated the time before finally starting to speak:

"You're different from ordinary women, very special."

Alex's goal was to stall for time.

Welma chuckled.

"Oh? Then tell me, what kind of woman am I?"

A faint smile curled on Alex's lips.

"A woman like strong liquor."

This cliché pick-up line made Welma feel nauseated, and she responded sarcastically:

"Comparing women to alcohol? You don't even know how to drink properly. Wheat beer isn't meant to be sipped like that."

Alex shook his head.

"This is the strongest drink of all. It must be savored slowly."

Welma thought he was just being pretentious.

"An 18% beer, and you call that strong?"

Alex drank half his glass before saying,

"Any drink with a story behind it is strong."

Welma figured Alex was about to start some cheesy attempt to impress her. Shaking her head with a smile, she said,

"Alright, I'm all ears."

Alex asked,

"The yearly income of residents in the old district doesn't even match what those in power earn in a single day.

The bitterness in this wheat beer—it must taste a lot like the stories of the people in the old district, don't you think?"

Welma's eyes glimmered with a hint of mockery.

To someone in her high-ranking position, this sounded like nothing more than the weak and useless complaints of the lower class.

Such a comparison only made her think that Alex lacked cultural sophistication.

There was no urgency for the surprise inspection, so she decided to play along with Alex for a bit.

Speaking from the perspective of her authority, she said:

"I don't see them as suffering all that much. Sure, those in power earn more, but they also bear the corresponding responsibilities, don't they? You must understand, without protection from above, those people wouldn't even have food to eat."

Alex raised his glass of wheat beer.

"Do you know how wheat beer is made?"

Welma, who had grown up in luxury, had no idea about such mundane things. She smiled and replied,

"Please, go on."

Alex swirled the half-full glass of beer in his hand.

"Wheat seeds must be soaked, and after they sprout, they are left out in the sun.

People build a plastic shelter for the seedlings outdoors, to protect them from wind and rain.

Three days later, the malt can be harvested to brew beer.

The seedlings continue to grow, but they will never reach maturity because there's always a sickle waiting to harvest them.

Don't you think the residents of the old district are like those wheat seedlings, and those in power are the sickles?

Now, tell me—does this malt-brewed beer in my hand taste strong enough?"

Welma's brows furrowed deeply. His words were both insane and sinister.

According to the man in the ghost king mask, those in power were butchers.

Were the common people nothing more than pigs?

Once they had bred enough piglets, the old pigs would end up on the dinner table.

And the cycle would repeat for their offspring?

Instinctively, Welma refuted:

"It's not as bad as you make it sound..."

Alex took another sip of his beer and said quietly,

"The residents of the old district die poor, still thinking it's because they didn't work hard enough.

They should have spread across the fields like golden crops in autumn.

No one ever tells them that no matter how hard they try, they'll never grow up.

Because the sickle above their heads has already decided how to slice them up for the next generation.

And the nobles in the new district are growing fat off of their meat."

Welma, as someone in a position of power, felt a bit embarrassed to be confronted with such a brutal truth.

Though she was a person with Level Eight innate spirit power, she found herself unable to argue back.

Chapter 36: The Story of Wheat Beer (Continued)

"This isn't just talking about strong liquor; it's a complaint about the extreme social polarization."

Who talks to a woman like this?

Welma's expression turned a bit sour as she asked, "Is this the kind of story you tell women in a bar?"

Alex glanced at his watch—he had successfully stalled Welma for a while now. He stood up, offering an apologetic smile:

"Maybe I've had too much to drink. I'm truly sorry if my story wasn't entertaining enough. I'll take my leave."

With that, he left the second floor.

Welma muttered to herself, What a strange man. She took out her phone and sent a text:

"Move in now. Begin the operation!"

Soon, the entrance of Rasputin Bar became chaotic as security officers stormed in with flashlights.

"Surprise inspection!"

"Turn on the lights! Shut off the music!"

Sister Hong felt a surge of panic. What's going on?

There was no advance notice of an inspection!

She hurried forward, trying to please Willard Smith, the officer in charge. "Director Smith, why are you personally here on the front lines? You could have given us a heads-up, and I'd have prepared some fine wine for you!"

Willard greedily eyed the voluptuous older woman in front of him, but as soon as he glanced up and saw Welma on the second floor, a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Immediately, he straightened up and said in a serious tone, "We're here for an inspection. Please cooperate!"

Sister Hong quickly nodded, organizing her staff to assist the security officers with the inspection.

Half an hour later...

Willard approached Welma, fawning, "Ma'am, everything checks out fine."

It was only then that Sister Hong realized the beautiful woman before her was a top official in the Security Bureau! As Welma observed everyone's expressions, her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the message, and her face darkened, her expression turning ice-cold.

Walking down the stairs, Welma sneered and asked Sister Hong, "Where is Giovani?"

Sister Hong replied honestly, "Mr. Giovani was seriously injured and is still in the hospital."

Welma's eyes widened in shock, and after a long pause, she muttered, "Return to the Eastern District Security Office."

Inside the security bureau's car, Welma couldn't calm herself.

The Eastern District Security Office had caught fire.

Someone clearly didn't want her investigating the bar, so they had set fire to the station to force her away.

"Ma'am, here's the file on Sister Hong, provided by one of our informants," Willard said, handing over a folder.

Welma skimmed through it.

It turned out that Sister Hong had murky ties to the Black Dragon Gang. Because of this, despite her strong capabilities, she had been assigned to manage Rasputin Bar, a low-performing venue where Giovani didn't place much trust in her.

This development wasn't what Welma had anticipated. Unsatisfied, she asked, "Was Giovani really injured?"

Willard nodded. "We've confirmed it. He was attacked by members of the Black Dragon Gang earlier this afternoon, and his injuries are severe."

Welma pressed further, "Are you sure it was this afternoon? How serious are his injuries?"

Willard nodded again, "Absolutely. He was taken to the hospital this afternoon, and the injuries left him in a vegetative state."

Welma was stunned. A vegetative state?

If that's true, Giovani couldn't have been the one who set the fire.

And since Giovani's injury happened in the afternoon, there's no way he was involved in the arson.

So who started the fire?

The person who torched the security office must be trying to cover up Rasputin Bar's secrets.

If it wasn't Giovani, then who else could it be?

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