Chapter 2: Choosing You Was the Greatest Mistake of My Life

Qin Yun stared at the virtual panel before him, momentarily stunned.

He blinked, and with a thought, the panel vanished—then reappeared the moment he thought again.

It was 2026, and he read online novels; he naturally understood what a system was. He’d always dismissed them as mindless wish-fulfillment stories, but now that one had landed on him, wasn’t he the protagonist of one?

He’d fantasized about it before, but he was a rational 28-year-old, not an eight-year-old child—how could a brainless system like this possibly be real?

Qin Yun repeatedly summoned and dismissed the panel, doing it over and over, until he finally confirmed he wasn’t dreaming—everything was real.

Heaven had truly opened its Kartzlan eyes and cast its favor upon Qin Yun.

He was about to investigate further, but a voice from behind made him abandon the thought immediately.

“You’ve got guts now, fine—go. Don’t come back.”

“I really was blind to choose you. Back in school, so many chased me—Wang Tianfang, Li Yang—none of them are doing worse than you now.”

Seeing Qin Yun silently continue packing, Song Ya grew angrier and kept going.

“Without me, you couldn’t even get a Beijing hukou.”

“Choosing you was the biggest mistake of my life. You’ll regret this.”

“Let me tell you, without you, I can find someone better.”

Song Ya’s words went in one ear and out the other. Suddenly, Qin Yun realized that after three years in this home, his belongings were few—fewer than a handful of clothes, all fitting neatly into a single 25-inch suitcase.

After stuffing everything inside and placing their marriage certificate in the suitcase, Qin Yun looked up at Song Ya, still shouting at him, and said calmly: “I’ve held these words in for a long time. Before I leave, I just want to tell you: our marriage was a mistake from the start. You weren’t happy, and neither was I. If that’s the case, let’s just let each other go.”

“What do you mean?”

Song Ya suddenly felt a crushing sense of shame; her breathing grew heavy.

Qin Yun looked at her. Song Ya was still beautiful, still had a good figure—but after three years of sharing a bed with her, none of it held any appeal anymore.

Song Ya had worn out all his passion.

“We come from different family backgrounds; our values were never aligned. You have your way of dealing with people, and I have mine. But for three years, I’ve always adjusted to you—while you never once considered me.”

“I thought time might change you—even a little, I thought it was my effort that made a difference. But no. The worse you felt compared to others, the more you compared yourself to them; the more you compared, the more you looked down on me.”

“I don’t want to spend the next few decades living in degradation and comparison. So, Song Ya—I’m serious. Let’s get a divorce.”

Song Ya’s heart clenched; her fingers involuntarily gripped the hem of her shirt. She stared blankly at the man who had always yielded to her—now speaking with such finality. She blurted out: “Are you blaming me? You think this is my fault? Isn’t it just that you didn’t try hard enough?”

Qin Yun smiled—silently. He suddenly understood: some people are destined never to change for you—and this person should never have been your other half.

He dragged his suitcase past Song Ya.

“Find a time to go to the Civil Affairs Bureau and finish the paperwork. Don’t worry—I’m asking for nothing.”

Song Ya shouted from behind: “If you’ve got the guts, walk out that door and never come back!”

All she got in reply was the dull thud of a closing door.

…

Qin Yun dragged his suitcase straight out of Changchunli Community, without a single glance back.

It was already past nine at night; from the community gate to the west bus stop at Changchun Street, it was about a kilometer.

When Qin Yun arrived, he just caught sight of the 44 Outer Loop bus pulling away—he didn’t care. He wasn’t in a hurry.

He often rode this bus; he remembered the 44 Outer Loop ran all night, with a bus roughly every fifteen minutes.

At this hour, the bus stop had few people. He placed his suitcase beside a seat and began to stare into space.

The idea of divorce had lingered in his mind for a long time.

Today’s outburst might have been triggered by the system—or maybe it was just the emotional breaking point. Either way, he felt no regret about choosing divorce.

He was only 28, still in his prime. If he kept enduring this, he didn’t know what he’d become—but a person’s spirit is slowly ground away in endless compromise.

He didn’t want that.

“Hey, this isn’t so bad.”

Qin Yun suddenly laughed. As he focused his attention, the system panel instantly appeared. He began studying it with interest.

He realized he was currently at a system check-in point—but he couldn’t check in yet. He needed to ride the 44 Outer Loop bus back to his starting point to activate the check-in, and the range was limited to the bus stop itself.

In other words, if he followed the system’s instructions and rode the bus around the city once, he’d complete the check-in and receive a reward.

Just then, his phone rang. Qin Yun slapped his forehead—he’d completely forgotten to call back.

“Hello, boss. Sorry, I just finished up and was about to call you.”

“No problem, Xiao Qin. Things have changed.”

Qin Yun’s heart skipped. A sense of dread surged.

“To be honest, I think the company’s decision is unfair—you’re one of our key staff. But there’s nothing I can do; it’s a higher-up’s decision. I only managed to secure you N+1 severance. That’s the best I could get.”

In the moment of disappointment, Qin Yun felt an unexpected sense of relief. He smiled and said: “Thank you, boss. I accept the company’s decision. I’ll come in on Monday to handle the paperwork.”

The boss visibly relaxed: “Someone like you will shine anywhere. This place won’t hold you—there’s always another place waiting.”

Qin Yun didn’t bother replying further and hung up quickly.

His company was a SaaS enterprise—neither big nor small, with over three hundred employees, reasonably well-known in the industry.

He’d been hired straight out of college through campus recruitment. His university wasn’t elite in Beijing—just a double-non undergraduate—but it had solid achievements in computer science, so its graduates were still popular among internet companies.

“Four years, plus one month—that’s five years. Severance is 125,000 yuan. That’ll let me breathe easy for a while.”

Muttering to himself, Qin Yun looked in another direction and saw the 44 Outer Loop bus slowly approaching.

He picked up his suitcase, boarded, tapped his card, and found a window seat.

Qin Yun began thinking about what came next.

His family was from a small county in Zhejiang. His childhood was unremarkable, but his father passed away from illness when he was fifteen.

His mother worked as an accountant at a factory for many years and would be eligible for retirement within the next two years.

He didn’t yet know whether he’d stay in Beijing, but he needed to tell his mother about the divorce.

Thinking of this, he pulled out his phone to call her.

But the bus pulled into the next stop. Qin Yun glanced out and realized—the 44 Outer Loop’s next stop was the terminal.

He didn’t get off. Who knew if the system would still count his check-in if he stepped out?

The driver noticed, asked once, then ignored him—after all, the bus would depart again in half an hour.

The bus lights went out as soon as the engine turned off; only the station’s dim glow faintly lit the interior.

Qin Yun dialed the familiar number. Normally, by this hour, his mother would already be asleep.

But the phone was answered quickly.

A familiar voice came through: “Hello, Xiao Yun? It’s so late—why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

Qin Yun smiled: “Yeah, Mom, you’re still awake?”

“I just got into bed when I heard your call.”

Qin Yun’s mother, by age, was a post-70s woman—just fifty-three. Women of her generation were educated and cultured.

Their access to information and education was no different from the younger generation’s.

Even TikTok short videos? She mastered them. His mother was no exception.

Qin Yun didn’t beat around the bush. He said calmly: “Mom, I quit my job. And I’m divorcing Song Ya.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, slowly, his mother’s voice came: “Tired, aren’t you? Come home if you’re tired. I’ll cook you something good. I believe my son will meet someone better someday.”

No blame. No accusations. Just simple care. That one sentence made Qin Yun, who thought he was composed, feel his eyes well up.

Clearly, his mother knew his situation. Her phone calls with Song Ya had surely revealed the impatience in her tone.

Yet she never said a word.

“Yeah!”

Mother and son talked for a long time. When the call ended, the bus was just pulling out.

Qin Yun smiled. For the first time, he truly felt at peace.

The understanding he never got from Song Ya came naturally from his mother.

He watched the scenery blur past the window, felt the city’s nighttime breath, and his heart was utterly calm.

Over an hour later, the familiar west bus stop at Changchun Street slowly came into view.

Qin Yun felt nervous, yet excited. He stepped off the bus, suitcase in hand.

The moment he stood on the bus platform, a pleasant system chime sounded.

【Congratulations, user! Check-in successful. Random reward obtained: Instrument Repair +1】

【Instrument Repair Skill LV1: Masterful Tuning—Repair Damaged Instruments Instantly, Restore All Instruments to Perfect Pitch】

As the chime faded, a flood of knowledge surged into Qin Yun’s mind—all knowledge related to repairing and maintaining musical instruments from ancient and modern times, East and West.

How to invisibly repair cracks in guqin lacquer; how to replace rusted or broken zheng strings; how to reinforce a loose violin chin rest; how to tune and realign a piano; how to diagnose faulty guitar pickups; how to prevent cracking in pipa wood…

He stood on the bus stop, dumbfounded, absorbing it all.

The process didn’t last long—only about a minute—before all the knowledge perfectly merged into his mind and body.

He clenched his fist. His fingertips felt naturally precise. Even now, if a broken guqin lay before him, he could instantly identify the crack’s location, the repair method, and the exact tools and materials needed.

He walked to a nearby bench and sat down, thinking for a long while. Once certain the knowledge was real, an overwhelming excitement surged within him.

He stood up and walked toward a nearby budget hotel. He wanted to treat himself—but his balance didn’t allow it.

After checking in, he drew the curtains and went straight to sleep, falling into deep slumber quickly.

When he woke again, his phone had over a dozen missed calls from Song Ya, and countless WeChat messages—mostly: “Qin Yun, are you crazy?” “Answer your phone!” “Do you really think you’ll find someone better?”

He ignored them. He put the phone down, stood, and walked to the window. He pulled back the curtains—bright sunlight poured in, hot and dazzling.

“Phew… What a beautiful day!”

He smiled. The knowledge of instrument repair remained crystal clear in his mind. He was now utterly certain—he had truly received Heaven’s favor.