A minecraft player is a diligent but strange being, they either collect materials and craft or destroy an entire echo system to create an absurdly large structure and there are others who do other things like combat and pvp.
But the true essence of this world was to simply mine and craft.
Suck repetitive actions would genuinely make a normals human go insane but feng was not a normal human. In fact he was no longer human as he was a minecrafter.
But he too can get tired but thankfully he can go into the real world.
Today Feng came out of his empty large lonely world and was once again graced by the sunny skies of Metropolis and seeing as today was indeed sunny and the sound of explosions were less, this could be a good day.
"Man, i should really get a place to enter the minecraft world, well i guess it's time to buy a house." Feng thought he should sell another gold bar.
So he went to the shop he went when arrived to this world and the owners heart immediately began to beat. He had realised he had made a miscalculation when he bought the gold bars from this particular customer, infact he was even afraid of selling them.
"Sir i am so sorry."
Feng raised an eyebrow, watching the shopkeeper's face cycle through several shades of pale. "...For what exactly?"
The man wrung his hands, glancing left and right as if checking for ears. He lowered his voice to something barely above a breath. "The gold you sold me. I had it appraised. Three different labs. Three different results and they were all the same result." He swallowed. "Sir, that gold is physically impossible. There are no impurities. None. Not even trace amounts. Every sample they tested came back as a hundred percent pure gold at the molecular level. One of the appraisers called it a theoretical material."
Feng stared at him. "...And?"
"And I got a call," the shopkeeper said, the words coming out in a rush now. "From someone I really did not want to get a call from. They wanted to know where I got it. I told them a customer. They asked for a description." He looked at Feng with the expression of a man standing next to a lit fuse. "Sir, you have very distinctive hair."
Feng was quiet for a moment.
"How much did they offer you?" he asked.
"I didn't take it," the shopkeeper said quickly, hands up. "I want that on record. I did not take it. I'm a legitimate business."
Feng studied him. The man was genuinely frightened, which meant whoever had called him had made an impression. LexCorp, probably. Or some government agency that had been cc'd on the lab results. Either way, the window for anonymous gold sales in Metropolis had just closed.
"Right," Feng said evenly. "Then what is the real price of the five gold bars if they weren't $1,500?."
The shop keeper carefully swallowed his saliva and began calculating on his phone. "Each one is heavier than a normal gold bar, roughly about 400 troy ounces, which is roughly around 28 pounds which is close to 13kg per bar."
"400 Troy ounces at current gold spot price is...." He trailed off. "Around 1.3 million dollars."
Feng stared.
"Per bar," the shopkeeper added, very quietly.
Another silence stretched between them. Outside, a car honked. Someone laughed on the street. Metropolis continued being Metropolis, completely unaware that a young man in a crown was currently doing invisible math at a jeweler's counter.
"So when you gave me nine thousand dollars," Feng said slowly, "for six bars."
The shopkeeper looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor. "In my defense, I genuinely thought—"
"You thought I didn't know what I had."
"…Yes."
Feng exhaled through his nose. Not angry. Just tired in the specific way of a man who had miscalculated something foundational and was now recalibrating every assumption downstream of it. He had walked into a gold shop and treated netherite-adjacent, molecularly perfect gold ingots like pocket change.
"Okay," Feng said. "New question. How many do you have left?"
"Five," the shopkeeper said. "I sold one. To the appraiser. Before I understood what I was dealing with. The other four are in my back safe."
"Sell me back the five you have. At the price you originally paid me." Feng said. The shopkeeper blinked. "That's... you're buying them back for nine thousand?"
"No, I'm buying back five bars for what you paid for six." Feng said. "Which was nine thousand. So, 7,500. And you keep the difference as an apology fee for the phone call situation."
The shopkeeper stared at him with the stunned expression of a man who had braced for punishment and received arithmetic instead.
"...That is very reasonable of you, sir."
"I know." Feng said. "Get the bars."
While the shopkeeper disappeared into the back, Feng leaned against the counter and looked out the window. The math was not complicated now that he had the real numbers. Five bars at 1.3 million each was 6.5 million dollars sitting in a back safe, and he had originally sold six for nine thousand.
He felt something. Not quite embarrassment. More like the specific irritation of someone who had played an economy on easy mode without reading the tooltip.
The shopkeeper returned with the bars, and Feng paid him from the cash remaining in his inventory, tucked the gold away, and walked out onto the street with 6.5 million dollars worth of perfect gold in his inventory and significantly more context about his situation than he'd had ten minutes ago.
Well atleast he didn't incur a loss, Feng began to dig into his memories to see who could buy his gold while also obtaining a place to live in Metropolis and then he remembered one person
That one person was Bruce Wayne.
Feng paused in the middle of the sidewalk, hands in his coat pockets, and stared at the middle distance while a businessman walked around him with mild irritation.
Bruce Wayne. Billionaire. Philanthropist. Definitely not Batman. Owner of Wayne Enterprises, which had divisions in materials science, aerospace, defense contracting, and approximately seventeen other industries that would have an academic crisis over molecularly perfect gold.
More importantly, Bruce Wayne was the kind of man who bought things for reasons that had nothing to do with their market value. He bought things because they were interesting. Because they were leverage. Because knowing what they were before anyone else did was its own currency.
Feng started walking again.
The problem was access. He couldn't exactly walk into Wayne Tower and ask to speak to the billionaire personally. Well, he could. He had done more absurd things in the past two weeks. He had threatened a cat goddess over a custard pastry. He had tortured a Red Lantern with three Wardens and a splash potion. He had sold six bars of theoretically impossible gold to a jewelry shop for nine thousand dollars.
Compared to that, cold-calling Bruce Wayne was practically reasonable.
He found a payphone. Then realized he didn't know the number. Then found a café with wifi and borrowed a corner seat long enough to look up the Wayne Enterprises main line.
The receptionist answered on the second ring.
"Wayne Enterprises, how may I direct your call?"
"Materials acquisition," Feng said. "Or whoever handles private sales of novel alloys. I have something your R&D division would find interesting."
A pause. "May I ask who's calling?"
"Someone with orange hair and a crown," Feng said. "If Mr. Wayne asks."
Another pause, longer this time. "Please hold."
The hold music was classical. Feng waited. He counted seventeen seconds before someone else picked up.
"This is Lucius Fox." The voice was measured, unhurried, and had the particular quality of someone who had learned to be patient with unusual phone calls. "I understand you have something you'd like to sell."
Feng straightened slightly. Lucius Fox. Head of Wayne Enterprises R&D. The man who built Batman's toys and had the dignity to never say so publicly.
"Five gold bars," Feng said. "Hundred percent pure at the molecular level. No impurities. Already been through three independent appraisals if you want the documentation. One of the appraisers called it a theoretical material."
Silence.
Not the silence of skepticism. The silence of a man doing rapid, careful thinking.
"Where did you have them appraised?" Lucius asked.
Feng gave him the name of the shop. Let him verify it independently. That was fine.
"And you're looking to sell all five?"
"Four," Feng said. "I'm keeping one."
"May I ask why only four?"
"Because I'm not stupid," Feng said pleasantly.
A short, quiet sound that might have been a laugh. "Fair enough. Are you available to meet in person? I'd want to see the material before we discuss price."
"I'm in Metropolis currently," Feng said. "But I can travel."
"We can arrange something in the city," Lucius said. "There's a Wayne Enterprises satellite office on Bessolo Boulevard. Would tomorrow morning work?"
Feng looked out the café window at Metropolis going about its afternoon. He had nowhere to be. His calendar was entirely empty except for a pending Nether trip and an eventual confrontation with a Wither Queen who had apparently decided he was interesting.
"Yeah, that'd be ok." Feng hung up and frowned, he wouldn't really expect bruce himself to reply but it was a worthwhile commitment.
Having nothing more to do, Feng didn't return back to the MC world and instead decided to get something sweet to eat.