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Zhang Wei's final memory was a rogue Sichuan noodle, so spicy it could've fueled a rocket. He was a 30-year-old delivery driver in a sleepy Chinese town, his life a treadmill of wobbly scooters, late-night dumpling runs, and a goldfish named Chairman Mao who gave him the side-eye. So when he blinked and found himself sinking into a plush leather couch, surrounded by marble columns and men in flowing thobes, he figured he'd either ascended to paradise or stumbled into a fever dream.
"Your Highness, a glass of saffron-infused qahwa?" a server asked, holding a silver tray with cups that looked pricier than Wei's entire paycheck history.
"Your *Highness*?" Wei sputtered, nearly toppling a crystal vase. A mirrored wall reflected a stranger: bronzed skin, a jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds, and eyes that screamed "I own a private jet." Gone was his noodle-stained hoodie; this guy was built like he deadlifted gold bars. He slapped his cheek, expecting a glitch. Nope, real.
The room was a palace suite atop a Dubai skyscraper, its floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Burj Khalifa's neon spear against the twilight. Sheikhs in crisp dishdashas swapped stories over oud-scented air, while a falcon—yes, an actual *falcon*—perched on a gilded stand, staring at Wei like he'd swiped its dinner. A oud player strummed in the corner, and the vibe was pure desert royalty, dripping with wealth and swagger.
Before Wei could yell "teleportation!" or "spicy noodle afterlife!" a crisp *ding* rang in his skull, like a WeChat ping from the cosmos. A holographic smartphone materialized, invisible to the partygoers. Its screen flared with bold text:
**[Infinite Tycoon System] Activated!**
*Host: Zayd Al-Maktoum, Prince of Dubai*
*Mission: Rise to the Richest Man in the World*
*Current Net Worth: $50M (Small fry, host. Your cousins are bathing in billions.)*
*First Quest: Fund a local tech startup with $100,000 by midnight. Reward: Blueprint for Smart Water Bottle (Self-cooling, tracks hydration, syncs with health apps). Penalty: Perform a traditional ardah dance in front of the Burj Al Arab. Time left: 5 hours, 12 minutes. Let's move, host!*
Wei—now Zayd—blinked. "A system? Like those webnovels I read while slurping ramen?" He pinched his thigh. Still solid. The system's voice, slick and snarky like a Dubai DJ, chimed in: *"Bingo, host. You're reborn, reloaded, and slightly less likely to choke on noodles. Now, about that quest…"*
Zayd's mind reeled. A prince? In Dubai? With a system tossing out tech like free dates at a souk? His old life flashed—dodging potholes, saving for a secondhand phone. Now he had $50 million and a shot at outshining Musk and Bezos. A grin spread across his face. "Alright, system, let's stack some *dirhams* and make history."
First, he had to survive this palace soiree. A burly man in a black thobe, with a beard that screamed "oil magnate," clapped Zayd's shoulder. "Zayd, my lad! Still spending your allowance on custom dune buggies?"
Zayd froze. Allowance? Dune buggies? He improvised, channeling every rich-guy drama he'd binged. "Nah, Uncle… Saeed? I'm going big—world-changing tech, maybe save some oases."
The man roared, sloshing his qahwa. "Oases! You're a riot, Zayd. Just don't let your cousin Khalid outshine you at the family dinner tomorrow." He wandered off, leaving Zayd sweating. Khalid? Family dinner? He needed a cheat sheet, but the system wasn't a search engine.
*"Focus, host,"* the system urged. *"Quest deadline's ticking. Head to the Dubai Innovation Fair at the World Trade Centre. Startups are pitching like it's Shark Tank on steroids."*
Zayd nodded, snagging a qahwa to look suave. He slipped through the crowd, dodging sheikhs who sized him up like a stock chart and aunties who whispered about eligible princesses. At a buffet table, he overheard two coders in keffiyehs: "The fair's wild tonight. Some girl's pitching an AI recycling app. Could be huge."
Jackpot. Zayd ducked out, ignoring a diplomat offering a "private dhow cruise." The palace garage housed a gleaming Maserati GranTurismo, keys dangling like a dare. Zayd gaped. "I rode a scooter with a busted taillight yesterday." He slid in, praying he wouldn't crash a $500,000 car. The system piped up: *"Relax, host. I've synced with the car's AI. Just don't try racing a camel."*
The drive to the World Trade Centre was a blur of neon billboards and palm-lined boulevards. Zayd's pulse hammered, not from the speed but from the insanity of it all. A prince, a player in a billionaire's game, with only a sassy system as his wingman. The Innovation Fair was a tech carnival—booths packed with VR headsets, robot baristas, and holographic ads. Zayd grabbed a program, scanning startup names: *GreenCycleAI, OasisNet, SandSync.* Dubai was a geek's paradise.
A young woman in a sleek abaya took the stage, pitching *GreenCycleAI*, an app that used AI to optimize recycling in urban centers. "It sorts waste in real-time, cuts landfill use by 40%, and rewards users with crypto tokens," she declared. The crowd hummed, intrigued but cautious. Zayd's system dinged, projecting a graph only he could see: *GreenCycleAI Potential: 250% growth in 8 months. Invest now, host.* The Financial Trend Predictor below showed a global spike in sustainable tech. Zayd's gut screamed "winner."
He raised his hand during Q&A. "Prince Zayd Al-Maktoum. I'm in for $100,000." The room gasped. The pitcher, Noor, blinked like she'd seen a mirage. "Your Highness, seriously?" Zayd nodded, playing it cool while internally freaking out, *I just spent a hundred grand!* The system cheered: *"Quest complete! Blueprint downloading… Smart Water Bottle acquired. Bonus: +500 Tycoon Points for decisiveness."*
But trouble brewed. A lean man in a tailored suit—his cousin Khalid, Zayd realized from a memory flash—stood. "I'll offer $120,000 for 60% control." The crowd buzzed. Khalid smirked, his cufflinks glinting like tiny daggers. "Zayd, stick to yacht parties. This is real business."
Zayd's temper flared. He wasn't Zhang Wei, groveling to landlords. He leaned into the mic, summoning his hotpot-eating grit. "Khalid, your deal's as weak as decaf qahwa. I'm upping to $150,000 for 25% equity. Noor keeps her vision." He winked at Noor, who looked ready to hug him.
The crowd erupted in applause. Khalid's smirk faltered, but he sat, muttering to an aide. The system chuckled: *"Nice one, host. You've got an enemy, but you'll be trending on X by morning."* Zayd sealed the deal backstage, wiring funds via a banking app (password: *DesertStar77*). Noor shook his hand. "You're nuts, Your Highness, but I'm glad you're my nuts."
As Zayd left, the system flashed: *Warning: Khalid's aide is probing your financial security. Next quest: Fortify your accounts by 9 AM. Reward: Access to Financial Trend Predictor (Level 1). Penalty: You sing 'Happy Birthday' in Arabic at the Dubai Opera.* Zayd groaned, sliding into the Maserati. "Can't I just enjoy being a prince for one night?"
*"Nope,"* the system quipped. *"Welcome to the top, host. It's all falcons and backstabbers from here."*
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The desert breeze whipped through Zayd's hair as he cruised back to the palace, Dubai's skyline a constellation of dreams. He wasn't Zhang Wei, scraping by on noodle tips. He was Prince Zayd, with a system, a green tech stake, and a cousin plotting his downfall. Tomorrow, he'd face the family dinner, lock down his accounts, and maybe figure out why his closet had 49 identical thobes. For now, he grinned, the Smart Water Bottle blueprint buzzing in his mind like a promise of hydration and hustle.
"Richest man in the world?" he muttered. "Let's start with richest prince in the Gulf."
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