“Boss, one large bowl of beef noodles!”
At a small eatery outside the campus, Su Yuan found an empty table and called out to the busy middle-aged owner.

Before long, a steaming bowl of beef noodles was served. He picked up his chopsticks and ate with gusto, soup and all.

At night, the campus was bathed in moonlight stretching for miles, with stars scattered across the sky. An unknown floral fragrance drifted along with the rustle of leaves, carrying both the dry scent of soil and the fresh aroma of grass and trees.

On a whim, Su Yuan wandered through the small grove on campus—bridges, rockeries, and a small lake—feeling the vastness of heaven and earth. His mind gradually opened up and relaxed. It wasn’t until eight o’clock that he reined in his mood and returned to the dormitory. The room was still pitch-black; Ji Yehan and Gao Jun probably wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Shaking his head, he took out his laptop and prepared to go online.

After refreshing a few times, no webpages loaded.

Only then did he realize that the software he used to get online had been blocked by the telecom company again. The campus network at Binhe Institute of Technology operated on a client-based dial-up system—one account per person. No one knew what possessed the school leadership to come up with a rule that only students who had passed CET-4 could obtain an internet account.

This rigid regulation instantly plunged countless students into despair. Clearly, Su Yuan was one of the victims.

Fortunately, it wasn’t completely hopeless. As the saying went, true masters lived among the people. After much pleading, they managed to find a tech wizard among students majoring in computer software at a neighboring aviation electronics school. He reverse-engineered the internet software so that by purchasing a larger data package, one account could be shared via a router for the entire dorm—true single-account dialing with the whole dorm freeloading.

Unfortunately, crooked methods were still crooked methods. Even the longest-lived versions of such software rarely survived more than a semester; some didn’t even last a week.

It was truly sigh-worthy.

When Su Yuan failed to connect, he knew the software had once again reached the end of its life. Surrounded by darkness and silence so thick it felt suffocating, staying alone in the dorm was unbearable. Jangling his keys, he checked his wallet, ID card, and internet card. He decided to go to an internet café—for an all-nighter!

---

The internet cafés in the area were just north of Binhe Institute of Technology, in a newly developed residential district. Several cafés there had already accumulated a sizable student clientele.

Passing through lush green woods and walking along a stone-paved path for a while, the huge neon logo of an internet café appeared across the road.

The café was quite large, with over a hundred LCD-screen computers. About half of them were occupied. Su Yuan opened an account and went up to a private booth on the second floor to play by himself.

When he opened the account, the female attendant at the counter shot him a flirtatious glance—probably because he looked decent. Feeling pleased, Su Yuan returned the look. People often said he was handsome, and he wholeheartedly agreed. Of course, many also said he looked effeminate rather than handsome. That, he believed, was simply a matter of perspective. Anyone who said he looked effeminate clearly lacked aesthetic appreciation—vulgar, the lot of them!

At internet cafés, he didn’t like having people around. No matter how intense the shouting from others’ games was, it sounded like pure noise to him. Another reason might be that the game he played was rather childish.

Zhu Xian 2—and he was playing a cross-gender character.

He played Zhu Xian 2 because the visuals were gorgeous. When it came to games, Su Yuan always pursued visual splendor rather than depth. As for choosing a cross-gender character, that too was for the aesthetics. The Fox Spirit of the Lieshan Clan had a naturally soft and adorable vibe from the start.

Playing a seductive monster and acting cute was something Su Yuan loved most.

In the game, his little Lieshan fox latched onto a wealthy benefactor. That player was loaded, showering Su Yuan with ingots, equipment, pets, and mounts. His level skyrocketed at lightning speed.

However, with the semester about to begin—and with playing a cross-gender character seriously undermining a certain Mr. Su’s masculine image—people who knew him would mock him relentlessly, calling him effeminate. Su Yuan decided that after tonight, he would seal the account for good. On the screen, the pink-clad fox spirit wielded a gorgeous bow, firing arrows nonstop, accompanied by delicate gasps and the enemies’ cries of pain. Su Yuan clicked the mouse excitedly.

Cough, cough.
In the end, when he saw the little fox collapse to the ground and the words “Return to City to Revive” appeared on the screen, he rubbed his nose and lamented how he’d only seen the beginning but failed to foresee the ending—his little fox had actually been killed…

In a fit of irritation, he glanced at the clock in the lower right corner of the screen. It was nearly eleven. The poor fox lay prone in the wilderness—he decided to let that be the end of the game. Tragic, truly tragic. Damn, it was oddly poetic.

Exiting the game, he started looking for a movie.

“What should I watch today?”

A good movie didn’t depend on whether it was a blockbuster, but on whether it explored thought or emotion well. Su Yuan prided himself on being somewhat intelligent, so he picked a film that looked very highbrow: The Last Man on Earth. Fine, he admitted he was drawn in by a hint of suggestiveness in the synopsis. The story was about how, in the summer of 2002, all mammals on Earth with Y chromosomes suddenly died, leaving only one young man and his pet monkey…

Hold on!

The only surviving man in the world, one pitiful monkey, and over three billion women globally—was this a human tragedy, or the ultimate winner’s life?

Late into the night, Su Yuan began chatting with friends who were also night owls. Exhausted, he finally curled up on the soft leather sofa chair and drifted off to sleep.

Morning, seven o’clock.

Su Yuan opened his eyes to see that the computer had logged out. His head felt heavy. Shaking it, he stretched and walked out of the internet café.

The blazing sun was already scorching the ground again. With his nerves still frazzled, Su Yuan raised a hand to shield his eyes. After buying some simple food from a street stall, his thoughts were entirely occupied by longing for his bed.

“Hey, young man, could you stop for a moment?”

Still chewing on a meat bun, Su Yuan turned around and saw a young Taoist waving at him. Yep—he’d run into a con artist.

“What do you want?”

“Young man—no, benefactor. Benefactor, please slow your steps.”
Dressed in a cross-collared robe with wide sleeves in muted blue-gray, the Taoist followed him.

“Benefactor, I observe that your complexion is haggard, your steps unsteady, and there is a faint black line between your brows—an ominous sign…”

Bullshit. You’re lurking at the entrance of the internet café—didn’t you see me pulling an all-nighter online? Su Yuan ignored him and kept walking.

“Young man, benefactor…”

The young Taoist spread his arms, blocking Su Yuan’s path. His wide sleeves drooped, clearly revealing a dazzling gold ring on his finger. Su Yuan didn’t know whether Taoists were supposed to wear rings, but wearing such a huge one—wasn’t that a bit flashy?

“Benefactor, you are facing great misfortune—bloodshed disaster!”

“Go, go, don’t say such unlucky things!” Su Yuan frowned and waved him away. Though he wasn’t deeply religious, he still respected certain traditional taboos.

Unfortunately, wherever Su Yuan went, the Taoist blocked him, as if he’d set his sights on him alone.

“What do you want exactly?” Su Yuan grew annoyed. So many people were leaving the café—why stop only him? Did he think Su Yuan was weak and couldn’t beat him up?

“Benefactor, I am a real Taoist, not a fake one.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes—there’s a big difference!”

“Then why don’t you call yourself ‘this poor Taoist’?” Su Yuan shot back.

The Taoist smiled slyly. “Benefactor, you don’t know this, but nowadays Taoists rarely use that term. Just ‘I’ will do.”

Choking slightly, Su Yuan became even more convinced this Taoist was no good.

“The immortal path values life, saving all beings without measure, infinite blessings from the Heavenly Venerable—”

Waving a hand to cut off the ramble, Su Yuan asked directly, “What do you want?”

“This humble Taoist sees that benefactor’s inner and outer energies are depleted—a sign of the Five Declines of Heaven and Man. By chance, I possess a jade talisman seal that can help benefactor avert disaster.”

“Just say it—how much?”

The young Taoist cast Su Yuan an appreciative glance. This young benefactor was perceptive indeed—worthy of his painstaking guidance.

“This item is a naturally formed treasure, gathering the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, imbued with great merit, capable of defying fate and changing one’s fortune. As for the price… ahem, putting a price on it would sully it… This money—I won’t take.”

Playing hard to get, the young Taoist thought smugly.

“Such a good deal? Then give it to me.”
Saying so, Su Yuan directly snatched the so-called “jade talisman seal” from his hand and examined it closely. It was just an ordinary square piece of jadeite, emerald green, about half the size of a palm.

The young Taoist’s face darkened for a moment, but he quickly forced a smile. “I won’t take money, but the merit…”

“What merit?” Su Yuan asked.

The Taoist’s expression changed. “This merit!” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together.

“Oh, that!” Su Yuan suddenly understood. The jadeite was probably genuine—he had that much eye for it—and he quite liked it. He casually pulled out a red banknote and handed it over. “This merit should be big enough, right?”

The young Taoist pursed his lips. Merit was always better the more there was! But seeing that Su Yuan was already walking away, he didn’t bother chasing him. After all, he’d picked this thing up anyway—trading it for a bill was still a gain. Humming a little tune, he crossed the road.

Suddenly, there was the screech of a car braking hard, followed by a cry of pain. Su Yuan turned back to see the smug young Taoist from earlier knocked down by a small van, blood spraying from his head as he struggled to get up and yelled at the driver. Truly a case of “bloodshed disaster.”

Su Yuan chuckled speechlessly. Looks like the Taoist had sacrificed himself, taking on someone else’s misfortune. Infinite merit indeed—truly infinite merit!

Back in the dormitory, unable to keep his eyes open, Su Yuan flung himself onto the bed. The air outside was unbearably hot, but with the combined effect of the air conditioner and fan, wrapped in a thin blanket, he slept very comfortably.

It wasn’t until he heard some movement that he slowly woke up.