Reborn in the Entertainment Industry: Second Life

Actually, Bo Bing didn't quite understand the skill at first. In his opinion, makeup techniques shouldn't be needed at this stage.

However, after trying out the skill the system gave him, he discovered that the "Makeup Technique" was not just makeup in the traditional sense, but more like disguise. However, at present, he could only use this skill to slightly change his temperament, and could not completely change his appearance.

That might be enough.

The other skill, [Finger Bone Enhancement], hasn't been fully explored yet. However, it's estimated to simply increase the strength of the finger bones, and it might play a real role in certain finger striking situations.

As for the last title, "Blind Monk," Bo Bing is more inclined to believe it is a defensive skill. Compared to "Speed ​​of Life," which cannot be triggered at all times and requires a 30-day cooldown, this title may offer greater value in terms of survival.

There's one thing: after the critical hit rate is increased, there's a chance to trigger [One-Hit Kill] - this skill is too overpowered. Bo Bing used it to directly interrupt the opponent's vital signs before. Unless absolutely necessary, Bo Bing still doesn't want to use this skill. It doesn't feel good to take someone's life for no reason.

The young man wandered around the station for a day or two, and based on the information he had gathered before, he had a general idea of ​​what was going on.

In recent years, train stations have been relatively accommodating. There are many migrant workers and homeless people sleeping on cardboard boxes in the lobby. Bo Bing squatted in a corner of the ticket hall and managed to get by for two days. People would believe him if he were a mentally unstable hoodlum.

The layover was on the afternoon of the third day.

Bo Bing tore open the bag of instant noodles, filled it with water, and squatted on the steps to eat them. Two short but reasonably well-dressed men caught his attention.

His ability to find these two people so easily in the vast sea of ​​people was largely due to his sensitivity, his years of experience, Zhou Tao's information, and Alpha. Generally speaking, even undercover reporters would never be able to find these kinds of people so quickly and accurately.

These two people kept handing out flyers to people at the train station, saying that their factory was looking for workers to work with. When asked, they said that their pharmaceutical factory was short of people and that you could get on the train by paying a 50 yuan "medical examination fee." They made it sound very convincing—actually, this is quite common near train stations, and there's nothing particularly special about it.

Most locals don't come here looking for work; they're shrewd enough to just glance at the place and walk away. Workers with their own goals won't just follow anyone, especially since it costs 50 yuan. People who don't usually have a "medical check-up" mentality are even less likely to pay that fee.

Bo Bing leaned against the hidden window, watching the two men silently. Seeing that they showed no sign of leaving, she secretly went around to the location of the car they had mentioned and took a look from afar.

In the middle, there's a wooden sign that says "xxx Pharmaceutical Factory".

Inside the cargo box, which means the rear seats have blocked windows and can't see the road outside, it's clear that someone has been scammed for a high salary. Bo Bing roughly knows that there are six people on the truck who have been cheated.

Bo Bing returned to her original position and, based on the name of the pharmaceutical company, confirmed that this was the same health product pyramid scheme that had defrauded Zhou Zhiyang.

Around 6 p.m., as darkness fell, he slowly packed up his woven bag—it contained the same daily necessities as any other migrant worker's bag, along with the fake ID card. Bo Bing was betting that they wouldn't thoroughly check these toy-like ID cards. Of course, even if problems arose, he had a ready-made excuse.

The young man, carrying a white flour sack on his back, walked out of the station, pretending to be a migrant worker who had just left the station, and deliberately passed in front of the two men.

Sure enough, just as Bo Bing was passing by, he was stopped by one of the people.

rhetoric.

The young man lowered his eyebrows, spoke in broken Mandarin, and showed an expression of being both interested and hesitant.

Seeing that things were looking promising, the two of them started to exaggerate even more.

In reality, Bo Bing couldn't help but smile, though she was struggling to suppress it.

It's really not easy to make him laugh.

They make money by filling urea bags, and the boss gives people 9999 gold pieces to hang around their necks—it's so prestigious!

As long as you're willing to work hard, even a small worker can become a boss. You don't need to drive a Mercedes; the biggest bosses each get a plane and a pilot's license to fly!

They're full of convincing lies.

They really thought Bo Bing was an ignorant young man and tried to coax him by being roundabout. They would say that they had been to his hometown and that they had relatives there, so he could just work for them without worry.

Bo Bing nodded in agreement, pretending to be very reluctant as he rummaged through a pile of plastic bags to find 50 yuan in change. Seeing that it was getting late, the two of them flanked Bo Bing on either side as if afraid he would run away, and boarded the bus. Bo Bing finally managed to squeeze onto the bus, and several people inside made some complaints, but after the driver gave him a few words of reprimand, they all quieted down and stopped making noise.

As the night gradually darkened, the driver deliberately took many detours, winding through narrow roads, tunnels, and villages, before finally arriving at a dilapidated prefab house.

As soon as the car entered, the large iron gate outside closed, and a dozen or so people wearing gray short-sleeved shirts came out and surrounded the car. They said they were going to inspect and conduct physical examinations, and their tone was relatively mild. They said they would arrange dormitories for them, have dinner, wash up, and have a "welcome party" that evening.

Actually, I could already sense that something was wrong.

They handed over their ID cards, took their luggage, and searched their cell phones.

Bo Bing stared at the guy in front of her who was being kicked to the ground by three or four people for refusing to hand over his ID card. Her eyes flickered slightly, and she quickly stepped forward to stop him and smooth things over.

[Sales pitch] Start.

The cold, electronic sound is reassuring.

"Hey, brother, let's talk this out," Bo Bing said glibly, leaning over and handing his ID card to the boss. He flicked his bangs with his right hand. "We're all honest people who work hard. Only by handing over our ID cards can we see if we're honest people. Otherwise, what if some murderer sneaks in?"

Bo Bing shook his head, his slightly long, messy hair flying behind him. With a hunched back and pigeon-toed stance, he looked every bit the social cancer.

"You're in such a hurry, kid!"

Seeing that someone knew what was good for them, the leader stopped kicking. Several henchmen also held down the burly man with bulging veins on the ground, searched his ID card and phone, glanced at Bo Bing's ID card, and threw it into their pockets. "You're here, aren't you? I'll remember you."

Bo Bing then launched into another round of cunning and sycophantic flattery.

It seems the boss hadn't seen the power of this "rhetoric" before, or perhaps he genuinely thought Bo Bing was a promising talent, and even praised him a couple of times before leaving to establish his authority.

The moment Bo Bing turned her head, the smile vanished from her face.

Caught off guard, they met the eyes of the man on the ground.

Bo Bing casually avoided eye contact.

—Those were eyes full of vigilance and inquiry.