Chapter Four: The Interdimensional Internet Café

Wang Ying said nothing more. She quietly accompanied Chen Hao through the discharge procedures; her phone rang several times, but she ignored every call and eventually switched it off altogether.

In tacit understanding, neither of them hailed a cab. They strolled silently along the tree-shaded avenue. Chen Hao, searching for something to say, remarked, “If he wasn’t such a philanderer, Zhou Shi would be a good catch—he’s got a lot going for him. So, what kind of guy are you really looking for? Or do you plan on being a spinster for life?”

“Mind your own business.”

Wang Ying shot back, annoyed, “His so-called advantages weren’t even earned by himself. I’m not worried about finding someone, so stop meddling.”

Wang Ying was the epitome of a thoughtful, intelligent girl. Only around her closest friends would she drop her usual composure and reveal this side of herself. Though they all got along well, Chen Hao had never harbored any inappropriate thoughts about her. He often joked that they were too close for him to ever make a move.

Friendship, when it reaches a certain depth, becomes something rare and precious, too valuable to risk altering. In today’s world, the odds of a romance leading to marriage aren’t high; turning friendship into love, only to end up strangers, would be too tragic.

“Where are you headed?” As they reached the gates of Huayang University, they spoke in unison.

They exchanged a smile. Chen Hao replied, “Where else could I go? I have zero interest in classes. Other than an internet café, there’s really nowhere for me.”

Wang Ying rolled her eyes. “You just had a run-in with an exploding virtual neural helmet at an internet café, and you dare go back?”

“Haha! Do I look like someone who’s afraid of dying?”

Chen Hao laughed and turned down the street to the right. With ten years’ worth of future memories now in his mind, he already knew the cause of the helmet malfunction. He certainly wasn’t worried about it exploding again.

Chen Hao didn’t bother asking Wang Ying if she wanted to game with him. In four years of university, apart from reading and the occasional shopping trip, Wang Ying had virtually no other hobbies. Once, when Chen Hao joked that she was out of touch because she’d never played computer games, Wang Ying retorted that she was actually a master at one game—Super Mario.

Today, Zhao Qiang, the owner of the internet café, was thoroughly frustrated. Out of all the virtual neural helmet cafés opening nationwide, his was the only one that had a mishap. He was a decent guy; though the explosion had left him frazzled, he still drove to the hospital to check on the injured, only to discover they’d already been discharged.

When he returned to his café, he found that four new virtual helmet cafés had sprung up around Huayang University. The game “War” had taken the world by storm in just half a day. The helmets were expensive, making it unlikely for them to become household items like PCs, so the once-declining internet café business was booming again.

Zhao Qiang had been the first to seize the opportunity, but because of the explosion, he lost his advantage. The new cafés were all packed. Though crowds milled around the entrance of his “Super Spacetime” café, nobody dared be the first inside, thanks to lingering fears about the explosion.

Zhao Qiang tried his best to assure everyone that all the helmets had been thoroughly inspected and were safe. He even brought in experts from the manufacturer, but no one wanted to be the first to try. Just as he was about to lose hope, a tall, thin man strode in and declared, “I’m not buying that one-in-a-billion odds thing. The ‘War’ game is already live—being late to the party means you’ll fall behind.”

At last, someone was willing to be the first. Zhao Qiang was deeply moved. But when he recognized who had entered, he was taken aback—it was Chen Hao, one of the injured from the explosion, whom he’d personally had sent to the hospital. He hadn’t expected Chen Hao to dare come back to the same café.

Chen Hao knew the helmet explosion was caused by memories from the future, so he felt somewhat guilty. To help Zhao Qiang out of his predicament, he walked up to the cashier and handed over two hundred yuan. “Boss, I’ll take ten hours.”

The helmets were costly, and so was the hourly rate—twenty yuan an hour at Zhao Qiang’s place. Taking Chen Hao’s money, Zhao Qiang gave him a discreet thumbs-up. “Brother, your internet charges are on the house for the whole week.”

“Hmph! Bunch of cowards. I’m not afraid!”

A petite girl, head held high, marched into the café. She looked about fifteen or sixteen, with delicate features—arched brows, skin as smooth as cream, shoulder-length hair brushing her rosy cheeks. She wore a white T-shirt, denim shorts, and her bare legs caught the eye.

Her lips were distinctive, the corners slightly upturned as if mocking those around her. She produced a hundred-yuan note and announced, chin lifted, “Five hours for me.”

As Chen Hao headed over to the helmets, the girl came up beside him and said bluntly, “Dude, out of all these people, you’re the only one with the guts to come in here. You’re the real deal.”

Caught off guard, Chen Hao laughed. “I already survived one explosion this morning. I’m immune.”

The girl’s pretty eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you’re that unlucky guy from this morning!”

When Chen Hao nodded again, she stepped back two paces. “I was already nervous, but seeing you take the plunge inspired me. Who knew you were the unlucky one! Look, I admire your guts, but please don’t bring any bad luck my way!”

She dashed to the farthest helmet, leaving Chen Hao with nothing but a charming view of her retreating figure. Seeing someone take the lead, the hesitant crowd outside surged in, eager to swipe their IDs and get online.

Chen Hao picked a spot at random, logged into QQ out of habit, then donned the gaming helmet. He’d already registered his game account. Upon logging in, he found himself not in a blank white space, but in a metallic hall.

At the center stood a male officer, who greeted him theatrically: “Welcome to the world of ‘War,’ rookie! I’m your in-game adjutant, number 9527.”

“Do you want to become the leader of a nation? A general? A business tycoon? Sorry, I forgot—you’re just a rookie. First, you need to pick a name. Once set, it cannot be changed.”

Chen Hao didn’t choose a name at random. His memories from the future told him about a hidden clan quest in “War.” This quest could only be triggered from NPCs sharing your surname. If a Chinese player chose a name that didn’t conform to traditional surnames, they’d never unlock this quest.

For example, if someone picked the name “Silver Spear Overlord,” the system would treat “Silver” as the surname, but there were no NPC clans with that name in the game.

Clan ties run deep in Chinese culture, even in the twenty-first century. The game was set starting in 1900, an era when such bonds were even stronger. If a player managed to trigger and complete the clan quest, they’d gain powerful support from their NPC kin.

“Chen Cheng.”

Chen Hao chose his real surname. The Chen clan, descendants of Shun, had been a major surname since ancient times, particularly dominant in the southern provinces. Since the revolutionary movement at the end of the Qing dynasty was centered in the south, and Chen Hao planned to develop there, using the Chen surname offered the best chance at the clan quest.

As for the given name, he tried a famous one, just to see if it would pass. After entering it, 9527 declared dramatically, “Rookie, plagiarism is wrong! Your name matches a special NPC and cannot be approved.”

“Chen Baxian.”

Being something of a gaming geek, Chen Hao had a mischievous side. This time, he picked not a modern celebrity, but the founding emperor of the Chen dynasty from the Southern and Northern Dynasties period.

“Congratulations, name set successfully! Chen Baxian, please select your place of origin.”

Place of origin was another critical hidden attribute in “War.” Once set, it could not be changed. In late imperial China, local connections mattered greatly. For example, during the 1911 Revolution, Zhang Jian and others argued for “Sunan governing Sunan.” If you wanted to become a local warlord in the game, your place of origin was crucial.

Chen Hao picked Qianzhou after careful consideration. Before the fall of the Qing, it was extremely difficult to become a warlord, so his initial goal was to level up and build his reputation quickly. After the Wuchang Uprising, countless players would vie to become warlords, making competition fierce. Since he wasn’t joining a professional gaming studio or working with a team, developing alone in the remote Qianzhou region was his best choice.

“Chen Baxian, you have crossed into the late Qing, a time of national crisis. What are your ideals? What is your faith? Please select your belief.”

In the game, belief served as the equivalent of a faction or alignment, determining which NPCs you could easily befriend. Several options appeared before Chen Hao: Monarchy, Constitutional Monarchy, Republicanism, and Marxism.

Choosing Monarchy had some advantages before the fall of the Qing, but would make it hard to get along with revolutionary NPCs and would hinder development after the Wuchang Uprising. Picking Republicanism put you in direct opposition to the monarchy from the start—revolution involves bloodshed, and being hunted by the Qing every day, losing official quest opportunities, was hardly worth it.

As for Marxism, at this stage, there were practically no Marxist NPCs in the game, so picking it was pointless.

His memories told him that Constitutional Monarchy was the best choice: not too conservative, nor would it make you a target for the Qing. The revolutionaries were tolerant of different beliefs, and after the 1911 Revolution, many opportunists found their chance. Chen Hao would pick Constitutional Monarchy now and change to Republicanism by accepting tasks from a revolutionary NPC elder after the uprising.

Having completed the three key settings—name, place of origin, and belief—9527 saluted him. “Congratulations on completing your basic setup, sir. Next, you will be randomly assigned two special skills: one political, and one military.” (I spent over ten hours waiting for approval. I was going to use real place names, but had to use substitutes. Still, I’ll pick names everyone will recognize.)