Chapter Twenty-Four: Players’ Discussion Group

At Home.

Ren Ye’s complexion was sallow, his eyes bloodshot. "Dad, have you and that editor discussed the plot development?"

"Not yet. We’re currently stuck on the part where the old Taoist priest’s clone dies. He’s a key character for the setup; if he’s gone, it’s hard to move the story forward." His father rested his chin in his hand, looking like a philosopher.

"Is there really no other way? The text hasn’t been published yet, so why not just write him back to life?" Ren Ye asked tentatively.

"Can't do it. The editor I’m working with said the client who commissioned the custom story demands that he must die." His father shrugged helplessly. "You know how it is. Clients who get into content creation halfway through are usually idiots."

"…!" Ren Ye was speechless. He felt a strange sensation in his chest but couldn't explain it to his father. He couldn't exactly say, "I just traveled back from ancient times, and what I experienced is almost exactly what you’re writing—plus, you somehow ended up with a daughter-in-law."

After a long pause, Ren Ye asked, "You and that editor are definitely going to discuss this plot later, right?"

"Yeah," his father nodded.

"Then, after you two discuss it, tell me what happens next. I think this theme is interesting," Ren Ye said with a smile.

"Sure." His father’s posture relaxed, but after casually agreeing, his eyes filled with worry. "Son, are you sure you weren't beaten up in the detention center? Why do you look so pale?"

Ren Ye turned to look at the mirror beside the computer and saw his own "excessively indulged" appearance. "Following the case these past few days... I’ve been staying up late."

"Then you should get some rest." His father stood up abruptly. "I’m going to buy groceries and make you some soup. Isn't Ren Qingning coming back tonight, too? Let’s have a good meal."

"Heh, sounds great." The thought of his father’s cooking made Ren Ye’s heart swell with joy. No chef in the world would cater to your tastes like your parents do; if one did, it had to be them.

His father had learned to cook just so his two children could eat well and be full. He walked out of the bedroom, grabbed a small grocery basket from the kitchen, clutched a bunch of keys, and headed out in his oversized shorts, tank top, and slippers.

"Whew!"

Ren Ye let out a long sigh of relief, his mind relaxing. He walked into his bedroom, flopped onto the bed with a thud, took out the phone Huang Wei had retrieved from the detention center for him, and dialed his sister’s number.

"Hello?" The call was answered quickly, and Ren Qingning’s crisp voice came through. "Are you home?"

"Yeah, I'm home." Ren Ye didn't want to waste time and got straight to the point. "Lend me two thousand yuan. I’ve been out following the case for days and have zero cash on me. I can’t exactly ask the investigators to buy me water every time, can I?"

"Not lending it. No money."

"Dearest Qingning, your brother has been at the lowest point of his life these past few years..."

"Beep."

He was still talking, but his dear sister had already hung up.

Ren Ye stared at the phone in stunned silence, then cursed, "You little heartless brat, just you wait! Once I get my share of the big house, I won’t leave a single room for you!"

With that, he quickly stripped off his clothes, pulled up the quilt, and prepared to sleep.

"Ding!"

A notification sound rang out. Ren Ye frowned, picked up the phone, and opened his social media app. His sister, saved under the alias "Shanghai's Number One Streamer," had sent him two thousand yuan.

"Ding!"

A voice message followed. Ren Ye played it.

"Spend it sparingly! Streaming isn't easy right now. It’s all legs and yoga pants out there; the competition is fierce, you know? Do you have any idea how many times I have to call people 'good brother' to make two thousand bucks?" his sister reminded him, gritting her teeth.

"Nothing left to say, blood is thicker than water, bro," Ren Ye replied happily. "What time are you coming back tonight?"

"How long can you stay out?"

"Six or seven days, I guess. Why?"

"Then I’m not coming back tonight. I have something to take care of—it's urgent." Ren Qingning replied quickly. "I'll call you when I'm done. Tell Dad for me."

"You didn't go and start dating, did you?"

"Date my foot. Being single is invincible." Ren Qingning sent a haughty emoji.

...

In Suzhou, by the side of a road, "Little War Wolf" took a stack of burner phone SIM cards from a courier and, after taking a familiar, circuitous route, returned to his residence.

The apartment had one bedroom and a living room. Most of the furniture was covered in white sheets, thick with dust. A layer of grime had accumulated on the floor, making it sticky and uncomfortable to walk on. On a decorative table beside the sofa, a somewhat artistic perpetual calendar had remained frozen at the date and time from over four years ago.

Little War Wolf looked at the familiar surroundings, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and began to clean. It took a full three hours before the place looked somewhat habitable.

After taking an incredibly foul-smelling dump in the bathroom, Little War Wolf stared at the toilet and commented coolly, "He ate well before he died..."

After a shower, he returned to the living room, sat cross-legged on the sofa, and opened his phone. He swapped in a new SIM card and registered a new account on a nationwide social media app. Once registered, he picked up his old phone, pulled up a group chat called "The Smart Ones' Gathering," and clicked on the QR code to join.

He scanned it with his new phone, filled in a name and a code in the application box, and was admitted to the group shortly after.

"Ding!" "Ding-ding!"

"Newbie? What’s your profession?"

"Know the rules of this group?"

"Send a red packet! Send one!"

"…!"

A flurry of messages flashed by. A smile played on Little War Wolf’s lips as he typed politely: "Send your mother's pussy!"

"?" "What kind of temper is that?"

"Why are you cursing?"

"No class, no class..."

"…!"

The group members began to spam the chat. This was a private exchange group for Stargate players, with over four hundred members. They usually swapped information, and they weren't all official organization members—at least half were freelancers.

Little War Wolf ignored them, thought for a moment, and began to compose a message.

"The predecessor to the Great Qian Dynasty was the Great Jing Empire. After the Great Qian Martial Emperor’s uprising, it took ten years to destroy the Great Jing. Legend has it that the Great Jing’s Eldest Princess is buried in Qingliang Mountain in Qingliang Prefecture. The tomb is quite eerie, and there are many different versions of the legend. But one thing is certain: this Stargate has already formed a rare inheritance. I have detailed information on the Princess’s tomb...!"

"Stargate information for sale. DM if interested."

He hit send. Little War Wolf yawned, stood up to get a glass of water, and prepared to order takeout.

"Ancient Stargate? I don't need that!"

"Hey, the guy with no manners, I added you as a friend. Accept it."

"I added you too."

"…!"

The group quieted for a moment before erupting with activity. Many of the information brokers lurking there took action immediately.

...

Too tired.

Ren Ye fell onto his bed and slept until evening. After lazily lounging for a while, he heard clanging from the kitchen. "Dad, is dinner ready?"

"Drink your soup first, the food will be ready in a second." His father’s voice was loud. "I figured you’d be waking up soon, so I just reheated it for you."

"Coming!"

Ren Ye threw off the covers, got out of bed, and rubbed his eyes as he walked into the living room. A mouth-watering aroma hit him. "Oh, nice. Qingning and I haven't been home for so long, and your skills haven't regressed."

In the kitchen, his father wore an apron, rhythmically slicing meat on the cutting board. "Drink up. Soft-shelled turtle soup—it’s great for nourishment!"

"Smells so good!"

Ren Ye poured a large bowl and gulped it down. It was fragrant with a faint scent of scallions, savory and warm. As it flowed down his esophagus, he felt an immediate, soothing comfort throughout his body. Whether it was psychological or not, after finishing the bowl, he felt the aftereffects of the Princess’s ultimate move diminish, and his mind cleared significantly.

"Is it okay?" His father turned, a faint smile appearing on his dull face.

The sunset shone through the window, bathing the room in golden light. Ren Ye held the bowl, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, watching his busy father. A sense of happiness welled up within him. "It’s good, really good!"

"Son, how many days can you stay home?" His father lit a cigarette. "Can you stay here?"

"I think so," Ren Ye replied while drinking the soup. "I’ll apply for it later. If that doesn't work, I'll just ask them to give me a GPS electronic ankle monitor. It’s not like I can run away anyway."

There was a hole in that logic, as investigative agencies would almost certainly never let a convict under investigation go home, regardless of the crime. It wasn't about whether he could run, but the liability if something went wrong. Fortunately, his father didn't understand the intricacies, so a plausible excuse would suffice.

"Hmm."

His father puffed on his cigarette, turned up the heat on the stove, and started stir-frying the chili and pork. "...It’s quite a headache."

"What’s wrong?"

"I just had a call with the editor. This draft needs to pass as soon as possible; the client is pressing him. He wants me to go over there and work on-site so we can discuss it, which would be more efficient." His father paused, then added, "If you hadn't come back, I wouldn't have gone, but the job pays thirty thousand... In my current situation... it’s hard to get such work, you know?"

Ren Ye paused, then asked immediately, "Is it that urgent? How many days did he give you to finish the edits?"

"He said no later than six days. The patch regarding the priest’s death must be fixed."

"…!" Hearing that very specific timeframe, Ren Ye’s grip on the bowl stiffened instantly.

...

88 Lianhu Road.

The handsome, red-eyed berserker had been sitting in the office for a full day. It was the longest he had worked in years; even his lunch had been brought in by a colleague.

The computer screen flickered as he browsed the personnel files made available to him by headquarters and the Shanghai branch. This had to be done carefully; he couldn't just pick anyone to go in with Ren Ye, otherwise, there was a high chance they would just be throwing away two lives.

"Snap!"

Lighting a cigarette, Huang Wei leaned back in his chair, rubbed his temples, and picked up his phone to relax. He habitually opened his social media app and noticed there were over two hundred unread messages in the "The Smart Ones' Gathering" group.

*Hmph, just a bunch of loafers who don't work and chat all day.*

With a critical mindset, he casually clicked on it, and a temporarily pinned trading message caught his eye.

"Wait, what the hell?" Huang Wei sat up straight as he read.