Chapter 2065: Chapter 1887: Swallowing a Loss in Silence Eat till you’re full. Drink till you’re satisfied. Is that all for the evening? Of course not. A trillion-dollar order, just two meals seems petty. The Myanmar National Art Troupe specially arranged a private banquet, and a group of over a thousand strolled to the large building next door. ---Performance Center. "So beautiful!" "This..." "It’s different from before." "..." Some who had been here before looked up in wonder. Everyone raised their heads. They saw. Above the oval-shaped building, giant and incredibly beautiful sword-wielding angels projected into the sky, a full twelve of them forming a circle, long hair flowing and wings stretching tens of meters flapping. Alright! In an instant. The guests were all captivated. "Click click click!" They paused to take pictures. In the distance. More people joined the photo-taking crowd, stopping to admire this projection which was appearing for the first time; ten minutes ago it wasn’t there. Seeing the closed main gate with people inside, they immediately understood. ---Exclusive performance. Indeed. A two-trillion order. Even after discounts, it’s a huge figure in itself, showing respect a bit, as it’s justified. And the foreign attendees found it reasonable, because their lives had been saved by them. Every week. A large public welfare performance is held here. Free of charge. Thus. Foreigners visiting Xin’an City. As long as they have time, will watch at least once. Alternatively, the venue is rented out due to high traffic, in just over a month hosting three world-class tour concerts. Fully packed each time. Additionally. Various performance troupes also vie for bookings. Not only do foreigners watch, the incomes of local Myanmar citizens have greatly increased, and they have begun gaining considerable consumption capacity, many things previously unseen. Now. They have money. Watching performances is also a form of social interaction. Otherwise. Having conversations outside, not knowing what others are talking about would be quite awkward. As the material life enriches, it’s necessary to enrich the spiritual life as well - don’t let this great era go to waste. ... Entering. Seating. Finished watching the performance. It’s already eleven o’clock. As invited guests, naturally no worries about not having accommodation. The New District built numerous upscale neighborhoods like hotels where you can check in with just luggage, ensuring these major clients are not neglected. Thousands of people can be accommodated casually. "Wow!" "This environment is good." "Yeah." "..." People couldn’t help but marvel. Of course. It’s not like they’ve never seen the world; how could they? They were just amazed that the whole New District is built to such standards; no residence in the world is built entirely to such standards. Area. Decoration. Environment, Furniture. ... All excellent, and it’s rental housing; even in developed countries this is impossible, because Congress wouldn’t approve such a project in the budget and corporations lack the capability. Therefore. They were stunned. "What a pity." "What?" "There’s no entertainment, no fun." This comment. Clearly laced with some ’color’. "Don’t even think about it, there’s none anywhere in Myanmar. If you want to have fun, catch a flight back." The person beside him spread his hands; this place is indeed good, but very strict about certain ’entertainment activities’. "Should’ve brought one along." "Wow!" "That server is quite pretty." "..." This guy. Could something clean occupy your thoughts? "Slap!" The next moment. That person smacked his face. "What happened?" "A mosquito." "..." You didn’t need to hit so hard; it’s already red. That person was speechless; while amusing himself with some wild ideas, his hand reflexively slapped his face quite forcefully. Almost knocked himself out. Brain: "Left hand, what are you doing?" Left hand: "Slapping a mosquito." Brain: "Oh!" ... Some chose to rest, but more went out to enjoy Xin’an City’s night view. The New District is defined as a Leisure District, thus it’s not as bustling in the evening as the Main City District. In fact. Foreigners’ nighttime entry is restricted. After all. The whole New District has no hotels officially open to the public; it’s mainly for locals residing there, daytime is one thing, but at night the streets filled with foreigners seems very inappropriate. On the street. Hughes wandered alone. He’s not here for the first time; after the City Projection appeared, he came once with friends. After the museum was established, he came again; this is his third visit, thus he’s not unfamiliar with Xin’an City. Dynamic. Lively. Promising. This is his evaluation of Xin’an City. Even if. One day, the Transcription Fluid is cracked, the changes in this city and this country won’t disappear; highways, railways, wharfs, airports... won’t vanish. Five years. As long as it’s not cracked within five years. It’s imaginable. Myanmar’s nationwide public infrastructure will be fully developed, New rural construction thoroughly completed, urban construction nearly complete, and by then Myanmar’s foundation would be very solid. Medical. Education. Technology. Agriculture. Travel. ... All investments will continue to generate stable returns. Ling will ascend to the altar in full, even sitting as President into old age, Myanmar citizens likely wouldn’t oppose. While wandering. "Mr. Hughes!" Ahead. A young man in his twenties called out excitedly. "Hmm?" Who’s this guy? Do I know you? Nevertheless. He responded politely. "Hello." After the man introduced himself, Hughes understood... he truly didn’t know this guy, but had met once at a private collection appreciation event, though he knows this guy’s father. It’s just. His father passed away six months ago. This guy. Rumored to have inherited his fortune, selling everywhere, living lavishly; a few pieces fell into his father’s hands, and instantly Hughes lost interest in chatting, "Oh, it’s you." "Are you visiting Xin’an City?" "..." This question. Left Hughes speechless. Not even knowing why he’s here, likely unaware he works at the Ou Wei Foundation; talking to such a person is a waste of time. Noticing. The young man also felt awkward. "Uh." "Mr. Hughes, I have a small problem..." The young man hesitated in saying. "Goodbye." Hughes walked on ahead. Are you kidding? Does my face say ’Angel’? Your problems have nothing to do with me. I enjoy doing good deeds but that helps the poor, you’re not poor and living extravagantly, quite detestable. "..." Watching Hughes’ back. Raised his hand. Eventually. Put it down again, accepting that Hughes is someone he couldn’t afford to offend. "Sigh!" "Seems like there’s no hope." The young man sighed; he’s not here for fun, but to ’recover’ his father’s stolen collection, after his father died, he sold off the collections in large numbers. Hundreds of pieces. He felt. He could live off these collections for a lifetime. Starting with ordinary pieces, he made quite a bit of money, spending lavishly without thinking much; if short, just sell another piece. However. A month ago. His home was robbed, not daring to report to the police because... among them are a few extremely precious items of immense value, reporting would lead to insurmountable inheritance tax. Underreporting inheritance value is one form of tax evasion. This loss. Could only be swallowed. However. A week ago, he saw an online picture of one stolen piece showing up in this museum, labeled an imitation, but that collection his father never exhibited. Thus. He came.