: There's a bonus for selling blood 8 times in a month.

Chapter 94: Selling Blood 8 Times in a Month Earns a Bonus (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

"No," Tony said, "it didn't pass either."

"Can't we just say what we mean?" Li Wei asked helplessly. "Did it pass or not?"

"Fuck, I'm not an admissions interviewer," Tony yelled. "I'm just the head coach of a football team. What do I know about all this nonsense? I can only give you a general idea."

After his explanation, Li Wei roughly understood. In the early application process for American universities, there's a stage between acceptance and rejection. If a university deems an applicant competitive but not strong enough to make a definitive decision during the early application phase, they will generally hold the application temporarily until the spring semester.

"Miss Anna, this is temporarily on hold," Tony said hesitantly. "But since you've already called me, I naturally have to help you with this. Otherwise, if you get the offer but your girlfriend doesn't, you'll definitely blame me."

"So I told them you could definitely break the NFL record," he said, "becoming the first person to enter the NFL right out of high school. Yale couldn't let go of someone as talented as you, so the board agreed to temporarily suspend Ms. Anna's application."

"How did everything get tied to this?" Levi sighed. "Okay, thanks, Coach Tony, I got it."

"I believe you'll be fine," Coach Tony said. "If you need anything, just contact me. You have to do your best in the All-Star Game. If you make it into the NFL, the board will naturally give Anna the green light."

Meanwhile, Riverdale in the Bronx.

Anya was alone in the room.

"It's alright, Anya," she mumbled, hugging a large old doll tightly to her chest, closing her eyes and burying her head in its fur. She just wished the world would just disappear right now.

She kept her eyes closed and remained completely still.

If she stays in that pose long enough, perhaps everyone will forget her, and she won't need to continue being Anna Sergeevna Volkova; Anna's life is becoming utterly foolish. Perhaps she could become someone else and then go to Yale in the spring.

Finally, after searching for many years, Li Wei did not give up and found her. Although she no longer remembered Li Wei's name at the time, when Li Wei gave her a scarf with a familiar scent or something else that could prove they were together, her memory suddenly returned, and she would say "I do" and live happily ever after.

The movie subtitles kept rolling in her mind, like a gentle violin melody.

"Miss Anna," came a knock on the door, "may I come in?"

"Aunt Katya," Anya buried herself in her dolls, "I'm really not in the mood right now."

However, Katya still pushed open the door and came in. She looked at the toy in Anya's arms—a doll that Anya had brought from Moscow, which had accompanied her since she was a child.

"It's just been put on hold," Katya said. "It doesn't mean you've been rejected by the interviewer."

"I had my expectations," Anya said with a bitter face, "but I really feel like I don't have much of a chance."

After thinking for a moment, Katya said, "I have already informed Mr. Sergei."

"What!" Anya jumped up. "What did my dad say?"

"His exact words were, 'The reason I achieved all this worldly success is so that my daughter won't have to live a hard life anymore,'" Katya relayed Mr. Sergei's exact words. "He was worried that you were putting too much pressure on yourself, so he planned to come and see you."

"No...no need," Anya quickly refused. "I'll be an adult soon, I can take care of myself."

"Mr. Sergei's private plane took off from Vnukovo Airport 45 minutes ago," Katya said calmly. "Would you like to call him and have him return to the airport?"

"Then forget it," Anya muttered. "Let him come if he wants."

"There's one more thing," Katya said. "He wants to meet Mr. Levy and plans to have dinner with him after Christmas."

"What!!!!"

As Christmas draws ever closer, the festive atmosphere grows stronger in both Deck Heights and Franklin K. Lane High School.

Franklin High School, in particular, has seen almost 99% of its students lose interest in studying and are simply looking forward to Christmas so they can start their two-week winter break.

However, Travis was not among those who were looking forward to a holiday.

He received a full scholarship offer from Pace University in New York, but the university had some concerns about Travis's intellectual disability and attached a condition to his admission letter: his GPA had to be 2.5/4.

In other words, he cannot fail the course, but that is by no means an easy task for him.

At this moment, in the library, Levi and Craig are tutoring Travis in English literature.

"The Great Gatsby," Levy pointed to the cover, "the cornerstone of American literature. Tell me, after you finished reading it, what are your thoughts on the character of Gatsby? Especially his obsession with Daisy, and the symbolic meaning of the green light."

"Oh, Gatsby," Travis shook his head, "that guy was a simp, and a rich simp with a bit of a screw loose."

Li Wei stopped writing: "Continue."

“Look at this, Levi,” Travis sat up straight, “this guy made all that money for Daisy, right? He bought a huge villa, threw parties every week, all the drunks in town went, just so Daisy could walk by and have a drink?”

"This is to demonstrate his passion for dreams—"

—

"That's what you call a simp," Travis interrupted Levi, shouting, "If I had that much money, I'd just buy the house across from Daisy's, get a megaphone, and every morning stand on my balcony yelling at her through the loudspeaker: 'Hey! Daisy! Come out and hang out!' Why bother with all these complicated parties?"

"Let's switch to another one," Levy quickly tossed "The Great Gatsby" aside, "George Orwell's 'Animal Farm,' have you read it?"

"I've read it, it's an introductory guide to farm management." Travis nodded.

"...No, this is a political allegory," Li Wei corrected. "What I want to ask is, how do you interpret the statement that all animals are created equal, but some animals are more equal than others?"

“This is so real, Levi,” Travis said. “This is like writing about a football team.”

Li Wei paused for a moment: "What?"

"You see, all animals are born equal, which is like Coach Miller telling us at the beginning of the season that everyone has a chance to start—it's all bullshit," Travis analyzed. "And then the 'pigs' started to take over. In the book, they're like Napoleon, but in reality, they're just quarterbacks."

Levi and Craig, the two quarterbacks, exchanged glances and ultimately resisted the urge to drag Travis out and beat him up.

"Quarterbacks can be late for practice without any problem," Travis said to himself, "but for a running back like me, being a minute late means running 10 laps."

"Genius!" Levi snapped the book shut. "Discharge—I mean, I have something to do, I'm leaving now. Craig, you can teach him."

"Hey!" Craig grumbled, annoyed. "Jasmine is still waiting for me..."

""

However, Li Wei had already taken his bag and walked out of the library.

Michael, who was sitting a few tables away from them, hesitated for a moment after seeing Levi get up and leave, but still did not chase after him.

He took out his phone and looked at it; it was a Christmas promotion from a private drug rehabilitation center.

[New Hope Rehabilitation Center: The best Christmas gift for your family—a lucid loved one. Holiday Special Offer: 14-day intensive detoxification program, limited-time offer only US$5999 (including room and board), original price US$9999. The first 50 registrants will have their membership assessment fee waived.]

Michael stared at the number; he was still $1000 short of that amount of money he had saved.

Michael did have a thought when Levi got up. He believed Levi would lend it to him if he asked.

But then he thought again. His family had already reduced the rent round after round out of consideration for Li Wei—Don Quixote said he'd reduced it for a month, but he hadn't asked them to raise it afterward. If he were to gamble with him again, he might no longer be seen as a friend by Li Wei, but as a debtor, a beggar.

He glanced in the direction Li Wei had left, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt to cover half his face, slung his badly worn backpack over his shoulder, and headed in the opposite direction from the library.

Half an hour later, at a private plasma collection center called CSL in Queens.

The air was thick with the mixed smells of disinfectant, cheap coffee, and stale food. The waiting area was filled with all sorts of people: homeless people, single mothers working part-time jobs, and drunkards who were still hungover.

Michael pushed open the door and entered. The receptionist was a middle-aged Hispanic woman who looked utterly disillusioned with life. She didn't even look up: "New here or a long-time member?"

"Old member." Michael took a barcode card out of his pocket and handed it over. "I saw you sent a text message saying there's a Christmas bonus for completing your 8th donation this month."

"Yes, if you pass the screening today, plus the Christmas bonus, you can get $150 on this deal." The receptionist skillfully scanned the card and then handed him a tablet. "Go over there and fill out the questionnaire. You know the rules, don't lie. If your blood protein level is below the standard, or if they find you have tattoos or piercings that haven't been there for a year, you've come for nothing."

Michael found a corner to sit down with his tablet and expertly checked off the questions: Have you ever injected drugs intravenously? Have you ever engaged in same-sex sexual activity? Have you recently gotten any tattoos? Have you ever engaged in high-risk sexual behavior?...

During the physical examination, the nurse told him that his blood protein level was only 6.5, and that they would not draw blood if it was below 6.0. Mai used the excuse that he had not had much of an appetite recently to brush it off.

"Go lie down on bed number 44."

Michael lay down on the uncomfortable recliner, looking at the pale white fluorescent light above him.

"Will the spotlight shine as brightly on Li Wei after he becomes famous?" he wondered.

A technician pushed open the door and entered, rubbing his eye sockets with his fingers as he came in. With Christmas approaching, more and more people were selling blood, and the technicians were getting busy.

"It might be a little cold," he said mechanically. "Just bear with it."

Mai could feel warm blood flowing out of his body, passing through the machine to separate the plasma, and then the remaining red blood cells, mixed with anticoagulants and saline solution, returning to his body with a chilling sensation.

He watched as the plastic bag gradually filled with a pale yellow liquid, containing his blood plasma, his life force.

Now, they've become a bag of goods worth $150. If we can scrape together a few more, do some odd jobs, and maybe borrow a few hundred dollars from the mob, we might be able to get Kevin into that rehabilitation center.

"At least Kevin should be able to eat something decent in there," Michael thought, feeling a little dizzy, closing his eyes. "As long as he can kick his drug addiction..."

After an unknown amount of time, the machine emitted a "beep beep" sound.

"Okay, hold it here." The technician pulled out the needle and wrapped a bandage around his elbow twice. "Sit there and rest for 15 minutes before you leave. There's free juice at the door. Don't faint at the door, or we won't compensate you."

Michael got up from the chair, feeling like he was walking on cotton. He went to the counter, where the receptionist credited his prepaid debit card.

"$150, credited to your account."

Michael clutched the thin card and walked out of the collection center. He walked slowly all the way from Queens back to the South Bronx.

As dusk fell, most of the shops in the southern district were already closed, as if they had entered another world.

Michael doesn't usually come home this late, but today he wanted to save on bus fare, and being a little absent-minded, he accidentally found himself almost home.

His hearing seemed to be playing tricks on him—either too far away or too close, a series of deliberately muffled footsteps followed behind him.

"Hey buddy," a hard, tubular object suddenly pressed against his back, "give me your bag. I just saw you come out of the blood bank. Hand over your card!"

"No..." Michael gasped for breath, "Get away!"

"Do you want to die? Huh?" The robber, driven to the brink of drug addiction, lost his patience. "I'll teach you a lesson!"

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out, but it didn't hit Michael.

The robber froze in mid-air, his eyes widening suddenly. He fell straight to the ground like a tombstone, dark red, viscous blood gushing from his mouth as if it were free.

A thin figure emerged from the shadows, holding a smoking pistol in his hand.

"Kevin!" Michael yelled, "You killed someone?"

"Don't talk nonsense," Kevin walked over, squatted down next to the robber, and groped around for a while. "If I don't kill him, you're going to die."

Suddenly, he yelled and snatched a rusty revolver from the robber's hand. He opened the magazine and saw that there were still two bullets inside.

He put the gun away with a satisfied grin, looking at a somewhat shaken Michael. "How does it feel to be saved by the brother you look down on?" he asked with a grin.