In the merged memories, this person called Henry Stanton was, to put it nicely, a freelance journalist; to put it bluntly, he was an unemployed drifter with no fixed profession, scraping by selling all sorts of random footage shot on the streets to local small TV stations. Penniless and shabby were the best descriptions of his financial situation. Besides that, he had no real skills—his only asset was an intimate familiarity with the terrain and streets of Los Angeles, having grown up there since childhood. Otherwise, he couldn’t have done this kind of work.

“Born in the slums of Los Angeles, parents met God in a car accident caused by alcoholism…”

Seeing Ross beside him also deep in thought, Henry muttered to himself, taking stock of the former owner of this body’s illustrious history: “Dropped out of public high school at sixteen; worked as a lawn mower for a month, only to get hay fever; tried being a car mechanic, but got fired after damaging a customer’s car during repairs; tried selling drugs on the streets of LA, but chickened out; stole manhole covers and airport fence wire, but luckily came to his senses in time and didn’t get caught; …”

“You really are miserable.”

Henry repeated the phrase he’d said to himself most often over the past year. Compared to now, his previous self was much luckier. Back then, living on the other side of the Pacific, he was just a student at a second-rate film academy, about to face the reality of unemployment after graduation. But now, how was he supposed to go on?

That guy from before was undoubtedly a money-grubbing fool. Henry admitted he was greedy too, but he would never have done something as stupid as getting himself thrown in jail.

Back then, as a so-called freelance journalist, he actually accepted a job from a private detective agency—not only did he go to film the personal life of media tycoon Sumner Redstone, he even broke into the man’s private residence. He was caught red-handed, and in the chaos, accidentally injured the head of a British director who was a guest at Redstone’s mansion. Originally, he could have gotten off by paying a fine, but Sumner Redstone felt deeply humiliated and personally pressured the Los Angeles police, which led to him having to spend a year in jail.

A year in prison was anything but easy. The several scars on Henry’s body were the best proof. If he hadn’t befriended the local tough Ross, things might have been even worse. More importantly, the precious first year in this world was completely wasted.

That unlucky guy was definitely a fool, clearly caught up in a conflict way out of his league, ending up as a pitiful pawn.

This was the price the original Henry paid for his greed and upbringing, but now he had to bear the consequences.

Henry also admitted these experiences were his own fault. The British director he injured was said to have lasting aftereffects, his mind never quite the same. But having to pay for his predecessor’s mistakes was something he could never quite accept.

Especially Sumner Redstone, who had directly sent him to prison. Henry remembered very clearly that, due to the immense pressure Sumner Redstone put on the California justice system, not only did he end up in jail, but even his home in Los Angeles was forcibly confiscated to pay the fine.

Because of the miserable experience in prison, Henry still brooded over it. But he knew very well that Sumner Redstone was a true dragon, absolutely not someone he could afford to provoke. Giants like that might spare a glance at a dragon-slaying hero with a sword, but for a penniless vagrant like him, they wouldn’t even bother to look.

If a year ago Henry was still a somewhat naïve student, then a year in prison was enough to make him understand just how harsh and cold this world really was.

For a small fry like him, even basic survival was no easy feat.

The car finally arrived in Los Angeles. Instead of stopping in the suburbs, it drove straight into the city center. No matter what, Henry had the memories of a native Angeleno, and after a year of personal experience, he knew a bit about the greater LA area. Like most places in this country, the city center wasn’t a symbol of prosperity, but rather synonymous with slums.

If Henry were to give his own assessment, this country was definitely a paradise for the rich and a hell for the poor.

“Henry, are you really not going to consider my suggestion?”

Ross spoke up again. Sometimes, friendships forged in prison were the most reliable. “Hollywood isn’t what you imagine, and people like us have a hard time finding work.”

It’s never easy to climb to the top of any circle. Hollywood was only Henry’s long-term goal. His immediate goal was simple: how to survive in this country.

Put simply, it was about making money to feed himself.

Right now, he didn’t have a penny to his name, and had no idea where his next meal would come from.

“No, thanks, Ross.” Henry didn’t want to waste time in prison again, so he shook his head and said, “If I really can’t make it, I’ll definitely come to you.”

Selling heroin and arms wasn’t a profession Henry thought suited him.