Chapter Ninety-Four: Birds of a Feather Flock Together

After lunch, the ranch welcomed another wave of visitors. The idle young George Bush had come calling to freeload.

The White family served authentic Chinese cuisine, not the counterfeit stuff found in Chinatown. George Bush and his father had both spent time in China, so he knew better than anyone how delicious the real thing could be.

Let alone whether their cook could manage it, even the Chinese restaurants could not match it.

In truth, there was nothing to be done. Americans loved sweet-and-sour flavors, and above all they loved fried food. Under such peculiar demands, the American version of sweet-and-sour pork was born.

It was the kind of dish that could make a Chinese person retch, yet Americans adored it. William White did not touch that sort of thing. For a man born with fat genes, Texas cooking alone was already terrifying enough; if he also took to fried food, he might end up a two-hundred-plus-pound lump of blubber.

A fat man could still chase women, of course, but he was never as popular as a fresh-faced heartthrob. He had no intention of turning that into a transaction. That might well have been the one and only bottom line for this bastard.

"George, how have you been lately?" Knowing the man was swamped, William White deliberately teased him.

"Ugh, I’m sick of it. It hasn’t stopped since Thanksgiving." George Bush looked thoroughly fed up. And really, why shouldn’t he? It wasn’t even his father’s campaign, and yet he was running himself ragged like a dog.

George Bush had not come alone, of course. He had brought along a whole pack of hangers-on. William White had far more pull than this fellow now, so these second-generation rich kids naturally did not mind making his acquaintance.

The reputation of a bestselling author was no empty boast. It could inspire real awe.

Do not be fooled by the ranch full of cowboys. They respected learned men just as much. In their eyes, anyone capable of writing a book was already formidable. If plenty of people also enjoyed reading it, then that person absolutely deserved everyone’s respect.

"Come on, George. I’ll take you all to the guest rooms first. You missed lunch, so how about a Texas-style afternoon tea?" William White rode ahead.

"A Texas-style afternoon tea? What the hell is that? I’m starving." Bush was not about to stand on ceremony, and he asked in utter confusion.

"Haha, it’s just dinner served in the afternoon." William White wore a mocking smile, winking all the while.

"Damn. All right, I’m convinced those two movies really were made by you. Since when did you get so funny?"

"Ah, life is hard. If I don’t keep things funny, how am I supposed to feed my ranch?"

The whole crowd laughed and joked as they headed for the ranch. Their pace was not especially fast, but they still kicked up a sky full of dust.

If one hundred horses already made this much of a spectacle, William White could hardly imagine the battlefields of old. What kind of sight would it have been when tens of thousands of horses charged together?

Fools naturally preferred the company of fools. The White ranch was already in complete chaos. It had become a gathering place for spoiled rich kids, and a ruckus was inevitable.

As for the meme about the silly husky, Jason was left speechless. That dumb dog was famous now, at least in Hollywood, where plenty of people knew the mischievous fool.

To this bunch of idiots, the silly dog was clearly very appealing. Jason’s German friend was getting a headache; the dogs at home were plainly in short supply.

George Bush’s visit this time was obviously a scouting mission. American elections, to put it bluntly, are a money game. Having money does not guarantee victory, but having none guarantees defeat.

As the race intensified, everyone’s pockets were running dry, and now they needed fresh blood. William White was unquestionably a perfect target. The guy was making money like a madman.

Since they already knew the elephant would win, of course they needed to lend a hand. He was not some rebellious teenager; there was no need for him to be contrarian. The elephant’s policies clearly favored capitalists, so naturally they should respond with enthusiasm.

In America, the wealthy were not to be trifled with. These investments were an important part of the game as well. If you were a CEO, then these investors were major shareholders. Even if you could not enrich them directly, you still had to support them properly.

That was the so-called exchange of interests. There was no need for any politeness.

In truth, Americans themselves did not really know what politeness meant. As for William White, a bit of swagger was only fitting. That was the proper reaction of a nouveau riche upstart.

No one dared to look down on his third film anymore. Better to give him room on the release schedule than to damage their own dollars.

The theater owners’ attitude was crystal clear: they would never make things difficult for their cash cow. Well, Americans probably did not have a god for that office.

With Home Alone, the theater owners truly breathed a sigh of relief. One film alone could not rescue a sluggish movie market, but it could at least let them relax.

Their income was not limited to box office receipts. Audiences spent money on other things there too, especially for a film like Home Alone. Movies of that sort were usually watched by families or by young couples.

Those people had strong spending power. Some theaters even had to add more popcorn machines. What thrilled them most was that the film had a sequel, meaning they could make the money all over again.

One success might be written off as luck. Twice was another matter. Once you had done it twice, people could no longer simply dismiss you; any attempt to belittle you would only invite ridicule. In this world, there was no such thing as repeated good fortune.

George Bush completed his task smoothly, and William White made it clear that he could count on his support. With that result in hand, he could of course eat and drink in peace. He was still just a reckless kid, after all, and had no idea how to restrain himself.

"George, want to go to Los Angeles with me? I’ve got a new plane."

Seeing the other man winking at him, Bush sighed. "I’ve heard about it. Our fathers all use your story to lecture us. It’s enough to make a man miserable." His tone was openly sour.

"What’s the big deal? I’m just lucky, that’s all. The old men are thinking too much," William White said indifferently, wearing his swagger like a casual coat.

In response, the whole bunch naturally gave him the finger. Among them, the biggest bastard had soared to the skies. In less than a year, he had already reached a height they now had to look up to, and there was no need to mention how frustrated that made them.

Though everyone flipped him off, none of them refused his invitation. A private jet was certainly more comfortable than commercial air travel. Anyone who turned that down would be an idiot.

Pirate One had not been hidden in the least. With such an outrageous paint job, it was impossible not to notice.

"A pirate-themed comic?" That was the conclusion everyone in the industry reached.

They were simply puzzled. The so-called Viking Pirate Comics Company was still obscure, nowhere near as famous as his software and films. So what was going on now? He had even named his personal aircraft after his comic company.

That could only mean William White attached enormous importance to his comics business. Otherwise, he would never have done such a thing.

And yet, and still, and nevertheless.

A pirate-themed comic?

Are you sure this is not a joke?

Mainstream American comics had always belonged to superheroes. Though the industry had long been seeking change, it still had not made much of a breakthrough.

Did William White not know that?

He was merely leading everyone off the trail on purpose. Once his arcade game hit the market, it would cause an immediate sensation, and even more eyes would be fixed on his every move. His comic line still needed at least another half year. Before then, it was best to let those comic giants keep sleeping a little longer.