Clark had been circling that nail for a week. At this moment, he was lying on the beach sunbathing, seemingly relaxing, but actually he had run out of ideas. He just wanted to know which wicked person came up with this trick—the key point is, isn't this technique a bit too absurd?
Clark had really exhausted every conceivable method, including adjusting the laser output, trying to pull it out with finesse, or drilling through the earth's crust to attack the roots directly. These days, he truly had been sleepless, using every skill he had used over the years, and the result was that now he was lying here with the nail still firmly stuck in the ground.
As the situation developed to this stage, the main emotion supporting Clark to keep trying was defiance. He knew he could fly to Mars, try to talk to the Mars people, or seek help from others to see if they had solutions. But he felt he should at least exhaust all the methods he could think of himself before asking for help. And because he did have a lot of abilities, the Exhaustion Method took a long time.
Just as Clark was getting ready to try again, he saw a group of people approaching from a distance. He turned around to see Shiller walking towards him on the sand, and Clark turned his body back.
"Mr. Kent! Mr. Kent!…Clark Kent!"
Clark had no choice but to turn back. He looked at Shiller helplessly and said, "What are you up to this time? Why is it that nothing good ever comes when you appear?"
"That's a stereotype." Shiller took a document out of his bag and handed it to Clark, then said, "Sign this."
"What's this?" Clark looked at the document with some confusion, then instantly widened his eyes, "Kansas State Legislator application form?"
"And this," Shiller took out another document, "an abridged version of the Party Establishment Application, a judicial ruling from the Supreme Court, an approval draft for election reform…"
"What's all this?" Clark was completely baffled, he said, "What does this have to do with me? Why do I have to sign it?"
Shiller snatched those documents back and stuffed them into his bag, then said, "Actually, it's all a bunch of waste paper, all made up stuff—You can't become a legislator just by applying, and parties aren't established through application forms. I'm just here to inform you, the election results are out."
"What?" Clark was a bit surprised, "These people finally stopped fighting? Because of this nail?"
"Of course not, it's because a historically brilliant presidential candidate has unified the opinions of both parties, leading them to unanimously decide to discard the previous voting results and cast all their votes for him."
"Who's that capable?"
"You."
Half an hour later, Clark walked into the White House looking bewildered. He was examining the decorations of the Presidential Palace, wearing a sweatshirt and holding a camera, looking every bit like a tourist who had accidentally wandered into a political news site. Then they arrived at the often-seen-in-the-news President's Office. Clark circled the desk twice and then said, "So this is my desk now."
"Yes, that's the nuclear button."
"And what about this side?"
"Currently it's the water cooler button, but you can pour any drink you like into the cooler, including cola."
"What the hell!" Clark said incredulously, "This is the nuclear button, and this is the cola button, what if I press the wrong one?!"
"That's why they chose someone who doesn't like cola," Shiller shrugged.
Clark closed his eyes forcefully and then said, "Shiller! You're messing with me again!"
"Alright, there's no nuclear button, it's all an emergency alarm system, you shouldn't have much opportunity to press it." Shiller sat down across from him and then said, "Considering you're not familiar with the work of the president, I'll be your personal secretary for a while…"
"Are you familiar with presidential work?"
"Of course not, which is why the two of us are here—the ones who are familiar with the work are in the State Lord's Office."
Clark covered his forehead again.
"So what should I do?" Clark spread his hands and said, "What did the previous presidents do when they first came here?"
"Of course, asking the same questions as you."
"None of them knew what to do?!"
"Otherwise, they wouldn't have ended up sitting here."
Clark lowered his head and covered his eyes.
"Actually, speaking of which, it's not difficult," Shiller took out a stack of files, then said, "As long as you sign this pile, that's all."
Clark took the files half-doubtfully, then waved his hand in front of his face, saying with some disdain, "Why so much dust?"
"Don't mention it, it took some effort to find these—traversed over 68 cosmos, couldn't find a still-existing America with Little Roosevelt's policies documents, finally found one still in power, and traded a lot of good stuff to get it from him."
Clark stared blankly at Shiller, not daring to believe what he had heard. He tried hard to ignore the amount of information in those words, then said, "Why are they so old?"
"Because these are early documents," Shiller said, "he sealed them up himself, and I had a hard time finding them. If there's no issue, go ahead and sign them."
Clark skimmed through them; there were so many technical terms that they made his head spin. Fortunately, he'd brushed up on his English recently, and he could barely make out that these seemed to be tax-related documents. So, Clark didn't think much of it and just signed. Shiller was somewhat surprised, and asked, "Aren't you going to look more carefully?"
"Though I'm not from that era, I've heard my dad talk about it. Come to think of it, our family's current financial predicament is thanks to that president — the taxes were just too high."
"And you still signed?"
"Because it's not entirely his fault. Although the taxes were high at the time, agricultural subsidies were also quite high, and transactions were relatively free, everything sold well. It was the subsequent presidents who kept canceling subsidies, and ultimately it became what it is today."
"It seems you have some understanding of his policies," Shiller said.
Clark replied with a bit of pride, "Of course, in fact, farmers pay the most attention to policies. Their cash flow is already tight, and sometimes missing a single subsidy can make it impossible to keep the farm running. My dad always warned me about this, which is why I became a political journalist."
Clark paused for a moment, then continued, "I can sort of understand the pattern of this policy: High taxes significantly reduce disposable income, but that money doesn't just disappear into thin air; it turns into specific subsidies. These so-called specific subsidies mean you can only use this money to buy designated items, and there's nowhere else to spend it. It's like forcing farmers to buy seeds, fertilizer, and machinery, rather than investing in anything else.
"I suppose factory owners were also in the same boat. Most of their income was taken, then returned as specific subsidies, supposedly subsidies, but really just resources. They couldn't use the money for anything else, it could only go into factory production. Not to say it got better and better, but at least it guaranteed a certain output."
"After this system was done away with, farmers started making a little money and started liking investments. They either threw it into the stock market or dabbled in futures or something. Factory owners might have done the same because they weren't buying new equipment and output declined year by year. Farms became less and less valuable and turned into burdensome assets, sold off at low prices. The money earned could go make more in the stock market. No one wanted to be a farmer anymore; they all flocked to big cities to get into finance."
Clark had a reminiscent look on his face as he said, "I remember, originally, around my home, there were four farms, and by now, they've all changed owners, except for one that's still in production. One was turned into a vacation estate, and another was abandoned — mind you, these farms used to be the best plots, with yields similar to ours. But Bob, who sold his farm first, made a fortune in the stock market and now seems to have moved to Los Angeles to enjoy his retirement life."
"Actually, I kind of regret not advising my dad to sell the farm. Had we invested in the stock market back then, my mom wouldn't have to work so hard, and she might even be a wealthy lady in Beverly Hills now."
"And now?" Shiller asked.
Clark rubbed his hands together and said, "Never mind the rest, just give me the files related to agricultural subsidies. I must replenish all the missed subsidies for the farmers over the years!"
Shiller flipped through the documents and took out several, then said, "That's not a big deal, but the key is whether you can collect the taxes — if you can't collect them, there's no money to give out as subsidies."
"How can it not be collected? What does the tax bureau do?"
"They're doing their job, but it was too sudden, and some people can't accept it, overreacting is normal. If there's any violent conflict and certain people want to sensationalize it..."
Clark immediately said, "You're right, those political journalists love to report on this kind of thing. Go arrest the editor of The Daily Planet first; he's as good as ten men."
Shiller sighed helplessly, and Clark raised an eyebrow and said, "Alright, I know that's not legal, I was just saying."
"No, what I mean is, it's during violent conflicts that evidence can be captured — if you simply take them away directly, that wouldn't happen."
Clark gave him a questioning look. Shiller said, "Using police and the military to deal with tax resisters can be troublesome. There can be casualties in the tussle; we need a cleaner and quicker method."
"You mean..."
"Use superpower users," Shiller said, "I happen to also serve as the head of A.R.G.U.S., and I have many capable operatives there, like Doomsday, who is perfect for collecting taxes. If worse comes to worst, we can contact the Justice League; they are quite efficient when working together."
Clark thought for a moment, then nodded and said, "Alright, let's do it that way. I believe they can quickly get the taxes collected."
Then, Shiller pulled out another file and said, "Here's the 'Metropolis City Management Reform Program'; take a look."
Clark picked up the file and started reading. It was mostly about measures to aid homeless people, including building shelters, providing communal housing, improving heating conditions, and thoroughly eliminating the tent zones.
"Of course, and here's another one," Shiller handed over another document and said, "solving the issues of rampant drug use and gun proliferation; this one is a bit trickier, and we may need superpower users if necessary."
"No problem," Clark nodded and said.
Shiller stood up and said, "I'm done with my matters. You have an hour's break next, followed by a half-hour exclusive interview..."
"I don't need any break; let the journalist in," Clark said ambitiously, "I want to discuss my policies on taxes, subsidies, urban management, and tackling contraband. I need them to know I'm a good president."
"No problem, I'll let her in now." Shiller nodded and walked out.
Clark was rehearsing his points when a smart figure walked in. When Clark looked up, he saw Lois. He sprang to his feet, nervous enough to forget all his prepared lines, and stammered, "Lois... why are you here, I..."
"Good afternoon, Mr. President," Lois smiled at him and said, "if there's no issue, shall we start the interview?"
"Yes… sure…"