Chapter Twenty-Nine: Squad Leader Li Hongbo

“Classmates, the ‘War’ game is not merely a game. You all know that the game points will determine the allocation of interests between the Moon and Mars, which concerns the fundamental interests of our nation and people. Therefore, once we enter the game, we must firmly choose Marx and Engels as our faith, and strive to earn as many points as possible…”

Chen Hao habitually took his seat in the last row, watching as Li Hongbo, the class monitor, delivered his passionate speech from the podium. He found it impossible to reconcile this charismatic figure with the petty schemer from his memories.

Li Hongbo’s family ran a gift company, and he was easygoing and popular among his peers. Besides serving as the class monitor for the economics class, he was also president of the student council of the School of Economics, making him something of a celebrity within the college.

Chen Hao had always had a good impression of him. Whenever Li Hongbo was in charge of attendance, Chen Hao—who belonged to the group perpetually absent from class—could count on him not to report his truancy unless the teacher specifically called the roll.

In every respect, Li Hongbo was an outstanding person, yet Chen Hao’s memories painted him as despicable to the core, making him doubt the veracity of his recollections. According to those memories, right after this seminar about the ‘War’ game, Li Hongbo would announce the establishment of a game studio. Any student who joined only needed to submit a fixed amount of game points each month in exchange for a substantial salary.

Virtual neural computers were prohibitively expensive, and the average student couldn’t afford one. Daily visits to internet cafés were equally costly, so Li Hongbo’s game studio was immensely attractive. Huayang, being a provincial capital, drew many students from remote regions who wanted to stay in the city but faced bleak job prospects after graduation. Joining the game studio meant stable income and the chance to play ‘War’ every day—what could be better?

It was a win-win arrangement. In total, eighty students from Huayang University joined Li Hongbo’s ‘Blue Sky’ game studio, Chen Hao among them. When signing the contract, Li Hongbo claimed that members could leave the studio at any time, but the reality was that the contract stipulated a five-year term; for every year left early, the member had to pay 100,000 as a penalty.

Li Hongbo’s contract was a full nine pages long. He explained its length was due to detailed bonus regulations. Since everyone was classmates and trusted him, most lacked the patience to read through the lengthy contract. When signing, it was usually Li Hongbo doing the talking, and the inexperienced students unwittingly signed away their freedom.

Upon graduating and joining the ‘Blue Sky’ studio, everyone realized the benefits were merely average—slightly inferior to other game studios. When some students expressed dissatisfaction, Li Hongbo apologized earnestly, claiming operational issues and promising increased bonuses once things improved.

The members valued their four years of camaraderie. After Li Hongbo’s sincere apology, no one left, and within half a year, everyone grew accustomed to the situation. Among them was a student named Wang Donglai, who had joined the studio with his girlfriend. One day, after encountering a problem in the game, he exited early and headed to Li Hongbo’s room on the third floor. From outside the door, he heard the rhythmic symphony of a man’s heavy breathing, a woman’s moans, and the creaking of the bed.

The woman inside was none other than Wang Donglai’s girlfriend. Losing all reason, Wang Donglai kicked the door open and beat Li Hongbo badly. Afterwards, he intended to leave the studio, and when the story spread, many classmates became disgusted with Li Hongbo’s conduct and also wanted to leave.

At this point, Li Hongbo produced the contract, leaving everyone stunned; only then did they realize there was a clause prohibiting departure for five years. Having served only six months, leaving would cost 450,000 in penalties. Most members came from average backgrounds and couldn’t afford such a sum, so they had no choice but to compromise.

In the end, only Chen Hao and Wang Donglai left the studio. Chen Hao sold the gunboat he had earned over two months of missions to pay the penalty. He was someone who couldn’t tolerate injustice; after learning of Li Hongbo’s character, he couldn’t remain in the studio.

Wang Donglai had fared worse than Chen Hao in the game and couldn’t raise the 450,000. Yet with his girlfriend gone, he couldn’t bear to stay and be humiliated. Many classmates pleaded for him, but Li Hongbo, holding a grudge after the beating, insisted on the penalty.

Wang Donglai’s family was average; 450,000 was astronomical to him. He took out a mortgage loan to pay the penalty. Burdened by debt, Wang Donglai endured two years of hardship, but fortunately, he later revealed a talent for warship design in the game and, lucky enough to finish a task, joined the Mawei Shipyard and finally cleared his debts…

Scenes from memory flashed before Chen Hao’s eyes, prompting him to glance at Wang Donglai, who sat off to the side. Wang Donglai was handsome and cheerful, well-liked among classmates. At that moment, his girlfriend Ma Chan was sitting with him at the same table, their heads pressed together as they whispered, smiles of sweetness on their faces.

“Brothers and sisters, I believe you’ve all felt the allure of ‘War.’ Today I bring good news: I’m investing in the creation of a game studio. In the first phase, we’ll have eighty virtual neural computers. Anyone interested can sign a contract after class for a monthly salary…”

Li Hongbo continued to eloquently introduce his studio on stage, his actions perfectly matching Chen Hao’s memories. After explaining the studio’s details, Li Hongbo pulled a stack of contracts from his desk, smiling as he said, “Everything I’ve just described is written in the contract. Anyone interested can sign right away! Make sure to read it through, or else you’ll fall into my trap…”

His “humor” drew laughter from the classroom, and several game-loving students immediately went up to sign. No one considered that a classmate might deceive them. Seeing this, Chen Hao also walked to the podium, smiling as he said, “Class monitor, could I have a contract to look over?”

Li Hongbo readily handed a contract to Chen Hao. “Chen Hao, you’re a gaming expert. Did you catch my introduction? The better you play, the higher your bonus. I have high hopes for you.”

Knowing Chen Hao was not the patient type, Li Hongbo doubted he would read all nine pages. After handing over the contract, he focused on the other students. Whenever a meticulous student took time to read, Li Hongbo would joke, “XXX is so careful! Haha! Read it well, or you won’t even know when you’ve been sold.”

Hearing this, those who intended to read carefully felt embarrassed and began to hesitate about signing.

Chen Hao flipped to the seventh page, exactly where his memory told him the five-year clause was written. He raised his voice, “Class monitor, didn’t you forget to mention that the contract states you can’t leave the studio for five years? If you do, you have to pay 100,000 penalty per year, right?”