Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

"Boss, your cooking is amazing! Today's mutton soup is whiter than milk and smells even better than grilled steak!"

"Yeah, boss, aren't you going to try some? There's still a lot left in the pot."

Ali and Omar, two boys in their early teens, licked the bottom of their bowls and offered enthusiastic compliments to Kong Jiu, who was sitting next to them.

"You talk like you've actually tasted a grilled steak."

Kong Jiu smiled wearily, his gaze falling gently on the two clowns.

"I've eaten it, I've eaten steak!"

Ali patted his chest, a childlike pride on his face: "Before my dad took me across the Iron Curtain to Amerigo, we could eat steak once a month!"

Kong Jiu felt a pang of sadness. Looking at the two brown-skinned children, he did not refute their explanation.

The mutton soup business was particularly good today, and there was even a long queue at one point.

Perhaps it was because of the snow that everyone wanted a bowl of hot soup, or perhaps the aroma of oil wafted so far that it attracted the neighbors from the surrounding area.

However, there was still some left over, with scraps of meat and dissolved bone fragments at the bottom of the pot.

These things can certainly be sold, and they can even be sold for more than the mutton soup itself.

"If you like it, drink more. Pack two more bowls to take home, and the rest..."

Kong Jiu raised his head and looked towards the street corner in the distance.

Several timid figures glanced at the mutton soup stall from time to time, but never dared to step forward.

The health bars above those people's heads were glowing a blinding red light.

Kong Jiu sighed, his voice lowering:

"Let's drive the food truck to the Prophet's Church and sell the rest at half price."

"Are you going to sell it at half price again?"

A hint of reluctance flashed across the two children's faces, but they still obediently nodded, bent down to unlock the chains, and pushed the food cart toward the Prophet's Church.

Kong Jiu smiled and followed the two young waiters, glancing behind him out of the corner of his eye.

Sure enough, the homeless men quietly followed.

Kong Jiu sighed silently to himself.

Actually, his real intention was to give the soup dregs directly to the homeless people behind him.

But today is not a day of fasting, so he had no reason to rashly give food to the homeless.

Otherwise, certain gangs in the Lower City who consider themselves "shadow societies" will think that Kong Jiu has broken the rules and will come to cause trouble.

Once, Kong Jiu encountered a black man who was on the verge of death, suffering from a high fever, lying on a park bench.

He had only given the other person some hot water and an antibiotic, and he was given a stern warning by the local gang leader.

According to the gang leader, "That traitor deserved to die in the cold."

"You yellow-skinned monkey, you can't just save him like that. What if that traitor rises to prominence and comes back to settle scores with us? You'll be an accomplice!"

Fortunately, a pastor from the Prophet's Church intervened and the gang leader finally let him go.

It was because of that incident that Kong Jiu got to know many people in the lower-level prophetic cult, but from then on he never dared to do good deeds in the lower city again.

The Lower City is such a violent, chaotic, and pitiful place.

Countless illegal immigrants, bankrupts, and undocumented immigrants gather at the bottom of this urban center.

Impoverished people from the lower classes came together in order to survive.

Some people founded churches, gathering the strength of the weak, like a candle flame in the wind and snow, illuminating a small area.

But more often, they evolved into gangs, using the "rules" of the lower classes to intimidate the lower classes and barely maintain a life that could still be considered orderly.

Ali and Omar, these two young men, are people who live in fear.

They are considered lucky among their peers.

If you can meet Kong Jiu, you can earn some pocket money and even eat mutton soup and flatbread.

They can be happy all day just because they had mutton soup with mutton tail fat today.

However, seeing the satisfied smiles on the two young men's faces, Kong Jiu felt a lump in his throat.

Their health bars had very little health, hovering almost at the kill threshold.

No, it's not just them.

Rather, Kong Jiu didn't see a single person in the entire lower city with a full or normal health bar.

From noon to evening, from the time he was simmering the soup until only the soup residue remained, he didn't see a single person with normal blood volume in the lower city.

Everyone is struggling on the edge of the "kill line," with their health bar hanging by a thread.

Kong Jiu was not a heartless person.

He felt bad when he saw the refugees in the lower city treating the soup he made with mutton as a delicacy.

Now, with the addition of this skill called "Eye of the Deadline," which allows him to directly see everyone's lifeline, he felt a mix of emotions.

"The people of Amerigo are so pitiful. I wish they could be like the beacon of light in my home world."

Looking at the frozen body by the roadside, its health bar reduced to zero, Kong Jiu felt an indescribable sorrow welling up in his chest.

Before they knew it, Kong Jiu, holding onto his bicycle, and the three of them, pushing the mutton soup cart, arrived at a small church.

The ridge sculptures on the roof of the hall are weathered and mottled, showing that they are quite old.

However, the archway and road in front of the door were very clean, clearly indicating that someone had been taking care of them.

Kong Jiu instructed the two children to watch the stall outside, and then went inside alone.

As he expected, the church was packed with ragged homeless people.

Moreover, everyone's health bar was glowing red, and all of them were below the kill threshold.

Kong Jiu understood the rules here: homeless people allowed to enter the Prophet's Church to seek shelter from the cold were not necessarily followers of the Prophet's Church, but they had to be "holy people" who did not use any enhancers or do evil.

As soon as he pushed open the door, he saw a relatively neatly dressed, brown-skinned, and aged-looking pastor standing on the pulpit at the very front of the church.

From the moment Kong Jiu entered, the pastor's gaze remained fixed on him, never wavering.

Kong Jiu walked past the homeless men who were either fast asleep, groaning softly, or scratching their frostbite, and went straight to the pastor.

Good evening, Kong.

The elderly pastor bowed slightly in greeting.

"There's some mutton soup left, here you go. You know the rules, don't say I gave it to you."

Kong Jiu lowered his voice, then looked around at the people huddled in the church seeking shelter from the cold, and frowned as he asked, "How many people froze to death today?"

Sof Gashawi, the old pastor, was the one who had helped him out of a gang dispute.

He was also one of the contacts for Kong Jiu to receive the body.

No, to be precise, he wasn't an "informant," but rather a pastor "carrying on the legacy of the deceased."

Many of the lower-class refugees who had been helped by Kong Jiu had heard from somewhere that Kong Jiu was a corpse collector.

The homeless people who had received help from Congo went to Reverend Sophomore and claimed that in gratitude to this kind Easterner, they were willing to sell their bodies to him after their deaths.

When Kong Jiu learned of this news, he stood there stunned for a very long time.

He rushed back to the lower town immediately, knelt before the homeless people at the church, and swore that his charity work was not for such purposes, begging them not to do so.

But Su Fu held his hand, helped him up, and said softly.

"You have the heart of a saint, Confucius; accept people's kindness."

From then on, Sof became his contact.

Countless survivors are willing to seek out Sof in exchange for a little relief.

After they die, they will be sold to Kong Jiu, and the money will naturally fall into the hands of this old pastor.

Perhaps he, who sells the remains of the dead for money, is not exactly a saint.

But Sof used the money obtained from the dead to help more survivors through the Prophet's Church.

But this winter is really too cold, really too cold.

"How many people froze to death today?"

When Kong Jiu asked the question, the old pastor opened his eyes slightly, his eyes filled with compassion.

"I can't count them all, Kong."

The old pastor's voice trembled.

"This winter has been so cold that the backyard... is now piled high with the dead."

Kong Jiu turned around and looked at the homeless people lying haphazardly below, speechless for a long time.