Anticipation

After chatting for a while with his old friends from Hejiang County, the heavy stone pressing on Wu Qingchen’s heart quietly eased. By the time he hung up the phone, his breakfast was nearly finished.

Setting down his chopsticks, Wu Qingchen glanced at Ji Mingming. Before he could say a word, Ji Mingming raised her wrist and announced, “There are 2 hours, 6 minutes... and 17 seconds left. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a member of their group, but I do have a PhD in psychology.”

“Oh…” Wu Qingchen realized.

Two hours left—what should he do with that time?

He put down his bowl and chopsticks and looked around. The empty living room didn’t even have a second chair.

Well, this was supposed to be his own home… yet Ji Mingming had been standing by, watching him eat the whole time?

“Sorry…” Wu Qingchen quickly stood up as well, feeling awkward. “My apologies…”

“It’s nothing. This is probably for the best… If I’d sat in your chair, they might add a few more items to the inspection list later. Now that you’re finished eating, what do you plan to do?”

What to do, indeed? There was nothing he could do in the living room, that much was clear.

“Is there…” Raising his phone, Wu Qingchen checked the “Settings” menu, which displayed a detected unknown direct signal source. “Looks like there’s WiFi?”

“Dedicated fiber line—no cap on bandwidth.”

“Oh?” Wu Qingchen’s interest was piqued, and he turned to head back to the bedroom.

His familiar computer sat in its usual spot.

Wu Qingchen gently pressed the power button. Without any transition screen, the monitor instantly lit up and went straight to the graphical interface.

It was clear that the computer provided by the logistics team was far superior to Wu Qingchen’s old one—by several orders of magnitude.

He could see that the logistics team had painstakingly replicated his computer’s system. The desktop was filled with familiar icons, and a penguin login window—with his username and password already entered—stood front and center.

He clicked it lightly, and a rapid succession of “coughs,” “clicks,” and “beeps” rang out without pause.

After his phone call earlier, Wu Qingchen knew his online communication tools would likely be busy as well.

Hearing the sheer density and duration of the notification sounds, Wu Qingchen understood why the logistics team had replaced his computer. If he’d still been using that old machine, it would probably have crashed or blue-screened by now.

The barrage of notifications lasted a full minute. Wu Qingchen moved his mouse over the penguin icon, and a cascade of chat requests, friend requests, group chat summons, and red envelope notifications stretched from the taskbar at the bottom of the screen all the way to the top.

“Are you there?” “Brother Wu?” “Qingchen, say something.” “I need to talk to you.” “Are you okay?” “Let’s chat.”

These were the more ordinary, probing messages.

“Want to be on TV?” “Answer the video call!” “Want to make money?” “Log in and talk—there’s a great opportunity!” “Hurry and log in, I’ve got a lucrative deal for you!”

These were more veiled temptations.

“I’ve sent a thousand red envelopes, but the limit is so annoying! The verification is so annoying! The bank is so annoying! I’m exhausted!” “A million if you just say a word.” “Help me out—just one response from you and I’ll have enough for the rest of my life.” “I’ve already transferred you 700,000 in dividends! Say something, there’s more to earn!”

These were more direct, honest requests.

Whether probing, tempting, or pleading, Wu Qingchen could more or less guess the purpose behind all these messages.

They simply wanted to get to know him, to interview him, or perhaps even to “save” him from the wretched world of toxic vegetables—every manner of character was reaching out to his contacts.

“These…” Wu Qingchen pointed at the towering list of notifications that matched the height of the monitor. “Can I reply to them?”

“Of course you can reply…” Ji Mingming nodded, then shook her head. “But if you’re thinking of helping your friends make some money, there’s no need to waste your time.”

“Er… why?”

“These here…” Ji Mingming gestured at Wu Qingchen’s screen as well. “Most are messages from the very first day…”

“You have a total of 372 contacts on Penguin, 355 of whom are domestic. The state has already purchased all of these contacts’ accounts in full, and the people themselves have joined Chen Wenming’s group… They’re all quite satisfied with the compensation and their new jobs…”

“As for the 17 overseas contacts, the country also, in your name, gave each of them a generous sum—enough to put anyone in a good mood… At least, most of them haven’t sent any more interview requests. As for the two or three remaining ‘friends’ who just won’t give up…”

Fully worthy of her psychology doctorate, Ji Mingming’s tone when she said “friends” was so loaded that it meant the very opposite. “If you still feel compelled to reply, that’s your choice.”

“Uh… perhaps I’d better not.”

Thinking of how Chen Wenming guessed he could earn tens of thousands just with a single phone call, Wu Qingchen could more or less grasp what Ji Mingming meant by “a sum to put you in a good mood.” If that much money couldn’t dissuade some people, then no amount of eloquence on his part would do any good.

It seemed there was no hope of a proper conversation on Penguin.

Wu Qingchen helplessly closed his chat app and casually clicked on the prominent browser icon on his desktop.

Damn! What did I just discover???

Could this be real?

How was it possible?

What happened?

Because of his personal interests, Wu Qingchen had set his browser homepage to the world’s most renowned online reading site—Motie Chinese Web.

At this moment, the Motie Bookshelf page that opened by default had, in its most conspicuous “Latest Updates” section, the title “The Turbulent Traitor Minister”!

My god! Are my eyes playing tricks on me?

Before he was dragged into the medieval world by some mysterious force, Wu Qingchen had never been one for clubbing, flirting, or traveling—he had no expensive hobbies. When bored, he would just go online to read.

Yet, in the internet age, there was a certain breed of author. Maybe they started writing out of some misanthropic, antisocial darkness…

Or perhaps they were literal demons from the deepest circles of hell, who, by some vile means, slipped into the human world, hiding in shadowy corners, tapping out wicked yet alluring words with their withered claws—

—First, they wrote a magnificent opening, then developed the story with rich, colorful twists, and just as readers were fully invested, just as the plot was about to reach its climax, the demon would suddenly cut it off!

—Thus, these demons were able to…