Chapter 25: West Lake Beauty

Su Huan finished the meeting, packed up her things, and returned to her desk at just after twelve noon.

She pulled out her phone, opened WeChat, and saw that Qin Yun had passed the toll booth half an hour ago; she immediately called him.

The call connected quickly, and Qin Yun’s voice came through: “The navigation shows I’ll reach Ali Area A in fifteen minutes—there seem to be a lot of gates here, which one should I take?”

Su Huan hurriedly said, “Head to Gate A2 on Gaojiao Road—I’ll wait for you at the entrance.”

“Got it, I’ll be there soon.”

After hanging up, Su Huan rushed to the restroom, checked her reflection, restyled her hair, and reapplied lipstick; only after ensuring she was satisfied did she head downstairs.

Su Huan arrived at the roadside by Gate A2, paused, then pulled out her phone to look for a place to eat.

There were still plenty of good eateries near Ali, including high-end restaurants, but Su Huan never indulged in such places on a regular basis. Though her annual salary was substantial, she was still just an ordinary worker, and excessive spending struck her as irresponsible.

After briefly selecting a few options, a car suddenly pulled up beside her.

The door lowered, revealing Qin Yun’s face: “Beautiful lady, care to join me for a meal?”

Su Huan ignored his teasing, glanced around at the Land Rover Defender, and frowned with surprise: “Didn’t you say you were broke? Is this what you call broke?”

“Get in, I’ll explain.”

Su Huan clicked her tongue in amazement, opened the passenger door, and sat down: “I never thought you were a hidden millionaire—you can afford a car like this so easily?”

Qin Yun chuckled: “Lucky find. Where should we eat? You’re not seriously thinking of treating me to the legendary West Lake dish—West Lake Fish in Vinegar Sauce, are you?”

Su Huan handed him her phone: “Check these three places—pick one.”

Qin Yun tapped each link, glanced briefly, and chose one at random; though the per-person prices all exceeded five hundred, he didn’t care much.

Su Huan immediately called to book a private room—luckily, one was still available.

Soon, the car arrived at the destination; before Qin Yun could even open his door, a young security guard rushed over to open it for him—and even offered to park the car before he’d turned off the engine.

He felt uneasy, thinking: I’ve got plenty of valuable stuff in the car—will it get stolen?

Qin Yun turned to Su Huan: “I see why luxury has its price—I’ve only ever seen valet parking on TV.”

Su Huan laughed: “I’ve never been here either—I’m just riding your coattails.”

Two country bumpkins, led by a server, entered a private room with tasteful decor.

No sooner had they sat down than another server approached with a bottle of red wine: “Sir, Miss, we just received a ConchayToro—would you like to open a bottle?”

“What’s that?” Qin Yun blinked in confusion, then watched Su Huan wave her hand: “No thanks.”

The server smiled faintly, handed them a menu, and stood quietly by.

Qin Yun opened the menu—it listed dishes in Chinese, English, French, and Italian. Why the hell did this place need French and Italian? Was there even a single foreigner who ate here?

Soon, they ordered, and handed the menu back to the server.

After the server left, Su Huan smiled: “My coworkers told me this place gets quite a few European customers.”

“Really?”

Qin Yun felt a bit shallow—he’d assumed the foreign languages were just for show.

“You said you met Bingbing? Why did he go back? I thought he was doing well at Huawei.”

Qin Yun shrugged: “I just found out his family is from Shouxian—he’s the heir to a non-material cultural heritage tofu-making tradition, and he went back to inherit it.”

Su Huan, though she’d seen the video, was still surprised: “Won’t his income drop a lot?”

“From what Bingbing said, he’s actually happy to go back,” Qin Yun recalled Hua Bingbing’s cheerful expression.

“Alright,” Su Huan nodded, took a sip of water, and asked, “What are your plans next? Really won’t you let me refer you? With your skills, landing a P8 position here is no problem.”

“Thanks, but no,” Qin Yun declined without hesitation. “I’m heading home first, then I plan to travel around, meet up with some college friends, catch up.”

Seeing his resolve, Su Huan sighed: “Promise me you won’t shoot any more dangerous videos. When I saw your clip, I nearly had a heart attack—when did you start rock climbing? I don’t remember you doing it in college.”

“After graduation, I stumbled into it by accident,” Qin Yun lied smoothly, without a pause. “I kept at it, then slowly moved into free solo climbing.”

He smiled: “It’s not as dangerous as you think. Why do you think I stayed in Shandong for so many days? I was scouting the terrain, studying every handhold and foothold. What looks dangerous is actually the result of meticulous planning—not reckless impulse.”

Hearing his certainty, Su Huan believed him: “But I still think it’s too risky—I keep imagining one misstep…”

“I’m not an idiot!”

“So you’re really going into self-media? It’s not exactly thriving these days,” Su Huan thought of Qin Yun’s video on traditional tofu-making—it was complete, but lacked any standout appeal; compared to his rock climbing clips, even a novice could tell which one would get more views.

“I’ll take it one step at a time. Self-media is hard now because the niches are all taken—every popular short-video category’s already crowded. To stand out, you’ve got to focus on quality,” Qin Yun admitted—he had no real confidence in whether self-media would work for him.

As they chatted, the servers began bringing out the dishes.

Since it was Western food, they used knives and forks—no problem eating. The taste was actually quite good, not nearly as absurd as expected; clearly, the price had its justification.

Elegant, delicious, small portions—typical Western cuisine.

Halfway through the meal, Su Huan suddenly asked: “Do you know how many people from our class came to Hangzhou?”

“A lot?” Qin Yun took a bite of beef, thought a moment, then said, “I remember Shao Yan works at Hikvision, Xia Weiwei went to Geely—I don’t know about the others.”

Su Huan rolled her eyes: “You remember the only two girls clearly.”

Qin Yun chuckled helplessly and buried his face in his food.

“Fei Kai, Chen Ziyi, and Zhang Kang are also in Hangzhou,” Su Huan continued. “Should we get together while you’re here?”

Qin Yun hesitated, then shook his head: “Better not. Since graduation, I haven’t kept in touch with them—we’ve all moved into different circles. No need to disturb them.”

Even as he said it, Qin Yun knew the real reason wasn’t that.

“Fine, it’s your call,” Su Huan took a bite of foie gras. “What’s your plan for the afternoon? Did you book a hotel?”

“I’m going to walk around West Lake. As a Zhejiang native, I’ve never actually visited it—I can’t let that go on.”

“Alright, I’ve got work to finish this afternoon—I can’t join you.”

“Yeah, go ahead and work. I’ll stay in Hangzhou for two days—I’ll let you know before I leave.”

…

In the end, Su Huan paid—the bill came to over thirteen hundred yuan.

“Next time, pick somewhere cheaper. Thirteen hundred yuan could buy five or six hotpot meals,” Qin Yun grumbled.

As they left the restaurant, he resolved never to return to such a place—even though the valet had already returned the car, spotlessly cleaned, it didn’t change his mind.

“Consider it a lesson learned,” Su Huan said, nodding in agreement.

They drove off, soon returning to Ali’s Gate A2 and pulling over to the roadside.

“We’ll stay in touch, bye!”

“Yeah, bye!”

After Su Huan went inside, Qin Yun opened his phone’s navigation to head to West Lake—when suddenly, the system’s voice echoed in his ear, and a system panel appeared before his eyes.

【Publish Check-in Task: Host, please proceed to Hangzhou’s West Lake, start from Liulang Wenyin, walk and visit all Ten Scenes of West Lake. Must stay at each site for at least twenty minutes. Once all ten scenes are activated, the check-in is complete.】

Looking at the task, Qin Yun smiled.

This was no harder than his first check-in task after gaining the system—just a bit more time-consuming, but no real difficulty.

Compared to the life-threatening task of climbing Fanzi Cliff, he hoped for more tasks like this—leisurely sightseeing.

He’d started noticing a pattern: the check-in tasks had no discernible logic.

So far, none of the tasks could be predicted—except one: they always matched the host’s location. There had never been a task that required him to be somewhere else while he was physically elsewhere.

“Good. That means the tasks follow me, not the other way around—much more freedom.”

He entered the destination, and Xiao Tuantuan’s voice chirped from his phone: “Here we go, bro! Tuantuan’s guiding you—cheer up, don’t be so down, everybody let’s go…”

Qin Yun pressed the accelerator lightly—the car responded instantly, its powerful output making the multi-ton machine glide effortlessly over the road.

…

Forty minutes later, around two in the afternoon, Qin Yun stood by the shore of West Lake.

September should have been crisp with autumn, but in Hangzhou, he felt what “autumn tiger” meant—the sun was scorching, as if he’d returned to Beijing’s peak summer heat.

Yet even so, the lakeside teemed with people—tourists everywhere.

Qin Yun stood on the shore, gazing into the distance. The lake surface was mirror-clear, reflecting the pale blue sky and drifting clouds. A gentle breeze stirred delicate ripples—if only the sun were a little less harsh, he thought, it would be perfect.

The real West Lake was different from the imagined one—most scenic spots are like that; their beauty exists only in photographs.

No matter how stunning a view, if it’s swarming with people, you can’t feel immersed in the scenery—only overwhelmed by the crowd.

He watched boats glide across the water, then looked farther—beyond lay distant, ink-wash mountains. Today’s haze blurred the horizon, making the peaks appear as if painted in watercolor.

He turned toward Liulang Wenyin. As soon as he stepped fully into the scenic area, a “Liulang Wenyin” icon appeared on his panel—already lit up—with a timer beneath it.

Liulang Wenyin—too bad it was September, so no orioles sang. But the garden still brimmed with greenery: the clear lake, willows along the shore, reeds, and the air perfumed with osmanthus—immersing him in a quiet, unique charm.