If the American Dream had a more concrete name, it would be Santa Barbara.
If you could find an area in America with plenty of public restrooms, good security, and no homeless people, that would be Santa Barbara.
This seems like a very low requirement for later , but it's an extremely high bar in America.
Los Angeles and New York couldn't achieve this, but Santa Barbara did.
It's one of the most popular retirement destinations for wealthy Americans, nestled at the foot of the Santa Ines Mountains, facing the Pacific Ocean, boasting a beautiful coastline of about 20 kilometers—the longest south-facing coastline on the West Coast of the United States outside of Alaska.
Ernst's home is in Montecito, Santa Barbara, one of the most famous affluent areas in California and even the entire United States.
Located north of Los Angeles, less than a two-hour drive, it's a favorite among Hollywood celebrities.
Even with Ernst's considerable income, buying property in Montecito was still a significant financial burden.
This villa was left to him by his father, representing one-sixth of his inheritance, and is now worth around five million dollars.
Back in Montecito, Craig wasn't even allowed inside before Ernst dismissed him.
He needed Ernst to investigate who had sabotaged him. It'seasier to deal with the devil than his minions, and since the other party was lurking in the shadows, Ernst had to be cautious.
The old saying goes, "Never fight a battle unprepared," and he wasn't the fool he used to be.
"What a scumbag."
In his study, watching the videos saved on his computer, Ernst, while enjoying the view, couldn't help but curse him as a beast and a piece of trash.
Although the male protagonist in the videos was "himself," and he had accepted this body, he was still shocked.
This guy was actually a great photographer, and his specialty was photographing animals.
Whips, collars, writing—those were all too lowbrow.
This guy actually tied these girls up, hung them in the air, and then subjected them to endless torture, taming them like dogs amidst their sobs, and then torturing them again.
According to Ernst's observation, these women were all around twenty years old, many probably around eighteen.
At this moment, Ernst felt extremely uncomfortable seeing all this.
"Treatment, money."
After watching a few videos, Ernst picked up a pen and paper and wrote down these two words.
After thinking for a moment, he added a question mark after "treatment."
He realized that after watching for so long, he hadn't reacted at all.
Ernst didn't know if it was because the original owner had adapted or if he had been frightened in the hotel.
This problem was crucial and needed to be determined and resolved as soon as possible.
Taking out his phone, Ernst recalled a phone number from his memory and dialed it.
The call connected quickly, and after a brief conversation, they hung up.
"I'm not here to be a slave; I'm here to enjoy life. Fame should come early, and making money is important."
"But making money isn't the goal; the goal is the enjoyment that wealth brings."
After thinking for a moment, Ernst wrote the three words "Internet" in large letters on the paper.
It was June 1996, and the Internet boom had arrived. Next came the bubble-blowing; Ernst wanted to create the biggest bubble to give to the people of America as a greeting gift.
Two months ago, Yahoo officially went public on Wall Street, with its stock price reaching $500 million on the first day of trading. Yahoo's revenue last year was only $1.3 million, and its net profit was a loss of $630,000.
Those internet giants that would become household names in later generations were either newly established, still searching for a way out, or hadn't even been established yet.
Imagining himself standing on television, eloquently speaking, becoming an idol to countless geniuses, filled him with a strange excitement.
"What a wonderful era! Is there anyone who understands the future of the internet industry better than me?"
Some things have to be done by someone else, why can't it be him?
That money can flow into other people's pockets, why can't it be his?
Those women can climb into other people's beds, why can't it be him?
Howard Hughes has been dead for over twenty years; America needs a new Aquaman.
Which man doesn't want to be Hefner or Joseph Lau? Tens of thousands of women—how many days are there in a lifetime?
"Media," Ernst wrote again in large characters.
The power of discourse is crucial; it must be firmly grasped in one's own hands.
Ernst kept a record of his future plans and major events. To avoid detection, these notes were recorded using special methods, like a codebook.
Ernst initially wanted to use Chinese, but after thinking it over, he felt it wasn't safe either.
In the free United States, burglaries were commonplace, even in wealthy neighborhoods.
If these things were stolen one day, it would be easy to find someone who understood Chinese.
So Ernst used a combination of Chinese, English, and codes, scribbling random words like discarded drafts. Interspersed within these notes were various numbers, the corresponding text being the information he needed to preserve.
An afternoon passed until his stomach rumbled, and Ernst realized he hadn't eaten all day.
Entering the kitchen, the moment he opened the refrigerator, Ernst realized his first priority was to find a housekeeper.
His predecessor couldn't cook, spending his days out partying, leaving the refrigerator empty except for drinks.
The current Ernst, however, couldn't cook.
"I'll order takeout; evenings are high-energy."
After making the call, Ernst went into the bathroom to wash up.
Looking at his naked reflection in the mirror, Ernst's figure and appearance were truly impeccable.
Around 1.85 meters tall, his body was all muscle, with sharp, defined features.
His facial contours were highly sculpted, with a full forehead that sloping slightly backward, and prominent brow bones that rose like hills. This made his eyes deep-set, the eye sockets seemingly casting natural shadows, adding a touch of mystery and profundity.
His nose was high and straight, his jawline sharply defined, with strong lines.
Capital doesn't exist for obese people; if it does, it's because of a weak back or kidneys.
He burned far more calories with women than he did at the gym, so why bother with gym workouts? He didn't have the time.
After a quick wash, he felt much refreshed. Just as he was about to pour himself a drink, the delivery arrived.
"American Chinese food, damn, it's really authentic!"
Ernst had been assured on the phone that it was absolutely the most authentic Chinese food, and since he didn't know what they had, he asked for a few of their specialties.
But looking at the food on the table, Ernst realized he didn't recognize a single dish.
Sesame chicken, orange peel beef, and a mixed shredded vegetables dish.
Ernst had heard of General Tso's chicken before; the delivery guy had told him it was the same thing, just one spicy and the other not.
Deep-fried and then stir-fried with sauce, the dish was surrounded by broccoli and sprinkled with sesame seeds.
Ernst took a bite and was certain this Chinese food was learned from McDonald's chefs.
"Ding-dong."
The doorbell rang again. Ernst opened the door to find his late-night snack had arrived.
"Honey, I never expected you to call me."
Ernst's eyes fell on a delicate, pretty face, sweet-looking with blonde hair, a beige coat that made her skin appear even whiter.
She opened her coat, revealing only a sexy bra underneath.
A voluptuous figure, skin so soft it seemed like it could be squeezed for moisture.
Very sexy, incredibly hot.
Her eyes held a hint of resentment, but after Ernst touched her, they became incredibly alluring.
Naomi Watts, Ernst never expected that this female lead from King Kong was also one of his fish in the pond.
To confirm his physical problem, Ernst ordered her dishes.
"You haven't eaten yet?"
Naomi asked, seeing the food on the table.
"No, I haven't eaten, but I obviously have better food now."
He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom amidst her wanton laughter.