Chapter 60: Turning Into a Mosquito to Drain You (Thanks to Supreme Leader Sun of Changsha)
The next morning, Chen Shi’an rose at five as usual, taking Fei Mo along as he left the residential complex for his daily parkour run. Once again, he expanded his range of activity around his current place of residence, and the mental map in his mind grew ever clearer. Within a two-kilometer radius, there was likely no one more familiar with the roads and buildings than he.
Along the way, he spotted an unusually shaped car. On its roof was a rack that looked like it was meant for luggage, but instead, it held a camera equipped with multiple lenses. The camera’s lenses rotated and pointed in Chen Shi’an’s direction; a flash of red light swept over his eyes, as if he had been scanned as well.
Curious, Chen Shi’an approached a young man waiting for the bus and asked, “Do you know what kind of car that is?”
“Oh, that? It could be a new energy vehicle testing autonomous driving, or… Wait! That’s a DeGao high-precision map collection car. It says so on the back.”
“Map collection?”
“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but I’ve heard that in remote areas or out in the wild, map collection still relies on surveyors walking on foot.”
“Aren’t we supposed to have satellite positioning?”
“The precision is limited. When you open a map app, things like traffic rules, surveillance cameras, and road directions all require high accuracy.”
“Are the surveyors their employees?”
“I think it’s crowdsourced. Anyone can do it, and there’s pay.”
“I see. What do you do for a living? You seem to know a lot.”
“I’m a coder.”
“You start work this early?”
“Hah, the settlement system had a bug. I just got off work.”
“…”
“You’re up so early. Out for a run?”
“I’m collecting maps.”
“…What?”
Chen Shi’an felt he’d picked up another piece of knowledge. He often used maps, but never knew how the information was gathered. Today, he finally found out. He liked this software—it solved the problem of ordinary people feeling lost when venturing into unfamiliar places. He thought that in the future, when he traveled, he could moonlight as a map surveyor, exploring every nook and cranny to benefit the public.
…
At 6:15, Chen Shi’an, backpack slung over his shoulder, arrived punctually at the street corner where he and Wen Zhixia had agreed to meet. The girl was already there, waiting for him.
Compared to yesterday, she seemed much more energetic today. In one hand, she carried a large bag of breakfast, and in the other, she sipped from a cup of soy milk. Upon seeing Chen Shi’an, she immediately looked him over in surprise.
“Taoist! You’ve gone viral again!”
“What on earth…”
“Haven’t you seen Douyin? That video of you practicing Baduanjin is blowing up! That was you, right?”
“You saw it too?”
Chen Shi’an was a bit surprised. If Wen Zhixia hadn’t mentioned it again, he would’ve forgotten all about it.
“I didn’t see it myself, but when I woke up this morning and checked the group chat, everyone was sharing your video. Now the whole school knows about you!”
Wen Zhixia walked while pulling out her phone to show him the original Douyin video, holding the screen out for Chen Shi’an to see.
In just one night, the video had accrued 180,000 likes and over 20,000 saves. Though it couldn’t compare to videos with millions of likes, the numbers were impressive for a clip that hadn’t been deliberately promoted.
“Was this filmed during your PE class?”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t this week supposed to be fitness tests? How did you end up practicing Baduanjin?”
“Mr. Wan wanted to learn it, so I demonstrated for him.”
…
“You taught Mr. Wan!”
“Not exactly taught.”
“Now that you see yourself so famous, how do you feel? Most people rack their brains for videos and barely get any likes, but yours got 180,000 just like that!”
“What’s the point of going viral?”
Chen Shi’an wasn’t feigning ignorance; he simply had no concept of such things. Though he was the one trending, both Sister Wan Yin and little Zhixia seemed much more excited than he was.
Seeing the Taoist’s puzzled expression, Wen Zhixia pinched her chin, unsure how to explain.
“Going viral means you become famous, you get lots of traffic, lots of followers, you can livestream and make money, sell products and earn big. Internet celebrities make a fortune!”
“I see…”
With Wen Zhixia’s explanation, Chen Shi’an finally grasped the concept—it all boiled down to fame and fortune.
The old saying goes: fame and fortune are the weights of the mortal world, and how many have managed to cast them aside? The importance of those two words needs no elaboration.
But Chen Shi’an’s aspirations lay elsewhere, shaped by his upbringing and the education he received. In this, master and disciple were alike; otherwise, with his master’s skills, the Jingchen Temple wouldn’t be so poor, nor would Chen himself be interested in the exhausting, poorly paid job of map surveyor.
“So, are you tempted?” Wen Zhixia jumped lightly ahead of him, turning back with a grin.
Chen Shi’an laughed and asked, “Seems like you’re the one tempted. Do you want to be an influencer?”
“No, not really. Besides, it’s not easy to become one nowadays. It’s much harder than before; lots of people do anything for traffic.”
Wen Zhixia tugged at her backpack straps and sighed, “Girls like me should just study hard, get into a good university, and find a good job.”
“You’re so pretty—how could it be hard?”
“~~~”
Hearing Chen Shi’an’s straightforward praise, Wen Zhixia blushed, secretly delighted. It was odd—she’d been complimented for her looks all her life and had grown numb to it, but for some reason, hearing it from Chen Shi’an made her heart race.
She wanted him to praise her more, but couldn’t show it too obviously.
Lowering her head, she kicked a small stone, pretending to be uncertain, “Where am I pretty? I’m just ordinary…”
“Haha, hoping I’ll praise you more, huh? Playing the retreat to advance, clever!”
Chen Shi’an saw right through her, exposing her little scheme without mercy.
With her ploy laid bare, Wen Zhixia’s cheeks turned crimson, and she stammered, “I’m not! I’m really not! I just think I’m ordinary!”
“Oh, not very honest, are you?”
“Ahhh—!”
Stupid Taoist! Rotten Taoist! I’ll turn into a mosquito and suck you dry!
Unable to out-argue him, the more she protested, the guiltier she seemed. Annoyed and embarrassed, she raised her hand to smack him.
But the stubborn Taoist was as hard as stone; her flurry of slaps only tickled him, leaving her own palm red and sore.
Stupid Taoist! Rotten Taoist! You won’t get any more of my soy milk!
…
6:27 AM.
Chen Shi’an, holding Wen Zhixia’s soy milk, arrived punctually at the classroom.
News of the viral Baduanjin video had reached Li Wan Yin and Wen Zhixia, so it was no surprise his classmates knew as well.
Chen Shi’an quickened his pace, hurrying to the safe zone before the crowd could surround him.
The class monitor’s intimidating presence still prevailed; the gossip-hungry students dispersed, having to wait for break time to chat with the Taoist.
Chen Shi’an set the soy milk on his desk and took off his backpack.
The sound caught Lin Mengqiu’s attention, who glanced at him from her seat where she was working on assignments.
Soy milk again…
He really likes soy milk? Every day he brings in a cup… No other breakfast, just soy milk?
As Chen Shi’an pulled out his chair and sat, Lin Mengqiu discreetly withdrew her gaze.
She’d seen the Baduanjin video too; last night, as she was about to sleep, a classmate secretly playing on her phone shared the clip in the real class group—the one without Mr. Liang.
Out of sixty classmates, Lin Mengqiu wasn’t sure how many group chats existed, but she was only in two: one with teachers, and one without.
They say, “When the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold”—even teachers get left out. Lin Mengqiu had no doubt there was another group without her and the teachers.
But she misjudged this point.
Class Five, Grade Eleven, really only had those two groups, and both included her.
The only student not in the group was her desk mate, Chen Shi’an.
Not that they didn’t want to add him, but they’d forgotten, and with phones banned in class and everyone busy on their phones in the dorm, nobody noticed.
As class monitor, she felt obliged to unite the class, even if she herself wasn’t very sociable. Once Chen Shi’an sat down, Lin Mengqiu asked,
“Do you have QQ?”
“Huh?”
“QQ.”
Chen Shi’an realized what she meant and shook his head, “No.”
“…”
Lin Mengqiu had expected this answer—after a few days together, she knew how out of step he was with modern life.
“WeChat?”
“Yes.”
“Give me your WeChat ID.”
“You want to add me, class monitor?”
“…”
It was true, but somehow it sounded awkward.
Lin Mengqiu thought back—Chen Shi’an was the first person she’d ever actively asked for a WeChat contact.
“I’ll add you to our class group.”
“Alright, 1393…”
Chen Shi’an recited a string of numbers, then added, “That’s my phone number as well, right?”
“Whatever you prefer.”
Lin Mengqiu wasn’t as good at memorizing things as he was; she wrote down the number on a slip of paper to add him later in the dorm.
After writing it, she couldn’t help but look at the number a couple more times, just as she’d watched the Baduanjin video repeatedly last night under the covers.
And inadvertently, she memorized it…
(Thanks to the Sun of Changsha for being our patron, generous boss! May you prosper! Thanks for your support!)
(Two more chapters coming at five in the evening!)