Chapter 645: Satan's Backyard

In Washington, D.C., a luxurious hotel is surrounded by Secret Service agents like an iron barrel.
The air here is thicker than anywhere else, thick with the stale smell of old dollar bill ink and—the stench of power.
If those conspiracy theorists who spend their days posting "lizard people ruling the earth" videos on YouTube saw this scene, they'd probably have a stroke on the spot.
The Bilderberg Meeting.
In cheap tabloids and third-rate conspiracy theories, this name appears more frequently than discounted eggs at the supermarket.
In the mouths of ordinary people, this is the source of all evil, a holy land of conspiracy theories, the embodiment of the so-called "Illuminati" or "shadow government."
It's not just a name; it's a totem, a long-standing, abyssal gaze fixed at the top of the conspiracy theory pyramid.
The world perceives this as merely a playground for the ultra-wealthy, a decadent haven of champagne and caviar.
But in reality, beneath that gilded facade, undercurrents surge powerful enough to upend regimes in major powers and bring the world economy to a standstill.
Every toast here could potentially determine the life or death of a third-world nation.
Political tycoons, cultural godfathers, economic czars…
Even those who lurk behind the scenes, their hands stained with blood, are war profiteers.
Those who can sit in this room are all kings who have ascended to the throne in their respective fields, looking down upon all living beings.
The diners at the table hold knives capable of easily slicing through the borders of a nation.
"I've heard this place is the incubator of all the world's bloodshed, Satan's backyard?
All the world's conspiracies and schemes originate from the cigar smoke of these old men?"
A bulletproof Maybach, like a black steel behemoth, silently glided through layers of checkpoints.
Inside, Su Hao leaned lazily against the leather seat, his gaze, through the one-way glass, playfully observing the heavily armed, tense, and seemingly on high alert special agents outside.
"It's just hearsay, take it with a grain of salt. But where there's smoke, there's fire. This place's influence is undeniable."
Huang Fengwen, sitting next to him, curled his lip, his tone laced with disdain and a seasoned veteran's wistful remark.
"Look at that guy, several US presidents, and a bunch of European prime ministers, all had to come here to 'pay their respects' before being elected.
It's more like an interview than a meeting. The process is more rigid than a job-changing quest in an online game."
"Paying respects?" Su Hao chuckled. "So, if you don't come here for an 'interview' and kowtow, you can't become president or prime minister?"
"I wouldn't say it's 100% absolute control, but without their approval, trying to sit in that chair would be like getting your ass pricked until it bleeds."
Huang Fengwen shrugged.
Although the Bilderberg Conference has been repeatedly branded a disgrace by conspiracy theories, it's undeniable—
The reason conspiracy theories have a market is because they often represent the most obscured, ugliest truth.
In reality, those scenarios about the world order, oil pricing, and even local wars...
It was often in these enclosed meeting rooms, amidst the smoke of cigars and the clinking of glasses, that decisions were casually made by this group of older white men.
"Speaking of which, they sent us a gold-embossed invitation last year, didn't they?" Huang Fengwen suddenly remembered something.
Su Hao was taken aback, a blank look on his face: "Really? I have absolutely no recollection of it."
"Back then, you were at the height of your career, so busy you were practically running around like headless chickens, you didn't have time for these things."
Huang Fengwen rolled his eyes, complaining irritably,
"That coincided with that world-famous election farce, a complete mess like a pot of boiling eight-treasure porridge.
And then there were the international wars, like the final rounds of a 'PUBG' game."
"And last year those bastards actually chose the Netherlands as the venue, requiring a 10+ hour flight across the Atlantic, too far from us, we couldn't be bothered."
Su Hao glanced at Huang Fengwen with a smile: "Really? Is it because you're too lazy to move, or because..."
"Ahem! That's the official story." Huang Fengwen lowered his voice, a knowing, sly smile spreading across his face.
"To be honest, it was mainly because those days coincided with the first clear speedrun of the new dungeon.
Our guild prepared for that first kill for three whole months. My brothers and I had already sworn an oath, agreeing to raid all night.
If I stood up the guild that day and went to the Netherlands to drink tea with a bunch of old men, how would I lead the team afterward?"
"That's true." Su Hao nodded in admiration,
"Compared to 'trivial matters' like deciding the fate of the world, obviously 'big matters' like securing the server's first kill are more important."
"After all, the world can be rebuilt after it's destroyed, but missing out on the first kill is a lifelong regret!"
If this conversation were overheard, political scientists worldwide would probably all hang themselves.
In the eyes of the two most powerful men on this planet, the secret meeting that would decide the fate of the world was less important than clearing a dungeon in an online game!
That's the difference in class.
For mortals, Bilderberg is a temple;
For Su Hao and Huang Fengwen, it was just a boring dinner that would interfere with their game.
"According to the guild rules," Su Hao recalled solemnly,
"There's nothing we can do if someone in our family dies, but otherwise, we can't skip guild activities even if the sky falls.
I remember now, it's that new hellish dungeon, right?"
"That's right, that insane dungeon."
"Luckily, Brother Huang, you didn't go to the meeting.
If you weren't the main tank that night, those bastards in the guild would have definitely crawled over the internet cable and wrecked your house."
"That was a brilliant move."
"Right? That's why I didn't even mention it to you; I just threw the invitation in the shredder. Hehe."
The two big shots exchanged a knowing smile in the luxury car, like two high school students skipping class to go to an internet cafe. A palpable sense of tacit understanding and "collusion" filled the cabin.