Chapter 36: New Task

Under video recording, all damaged parts of Qin Yun's motorcycle had been replaced with new ones. Next, he only needed to clean each part before reassembling.

He held the transmission rod up to the camera: "Look here—oil mixed with dust has hardened into lumps. I'll teach you a good cleaning method: use kerosene. It dissolves deep-seated grease without damaging parts."

"And this engine oil—it's turned into sludge after fifteen years. The oil filter is completely clogged. These all need thorough cleaning and lubrication."

As he spoke, Qin Yun worked, turning each component in his hands from rust and grime into a gleaming clean finish. By around four in the afternoon, every part requiring cleaning and treatment had been handled, all lubricated points oiled, and now came the final showcase of the repaired bike.

At that moment, his mother arrived on her electric scooter.

"Xiao Yun, what are you doing?"

"Mom, you're back from work." Qin Yun straightened up, pointing at the pile of motorcycle parts with a smile. "I'm fixing Dad's bike—we're going to Huni Island, so we'll ride it there."

Hu Fen parked the scooter, looked at the scattered parts, didn't understand them but raised her thumb anyway: "My son is amazing."

"Then keep working—I'll go make dinner."

Qin Yun nodded and began the official assembly.

First, he reinstalled the gear shift lever, explaining as he worked: "When assembling here, it's easy to install parts backward—especially the clutch and brake cables on the handlebars." He mounted the side covers, seat, and fuel tank one by one; then the camera showed the full bike—completely transformed.

Though it hadn't been repainted or polished, the bike now looked aged but carried a vintage charm despite its faded paint.

"Haha, done—in under eight hours, preliminarily complete. Now comes the most exciting part—starting it up."

Qin Yun poured the prepped gasoline into the tank and tightened the cap. Then he straddled the bike, gripped the handlebars, and stomped the starter lever. The first kick produced only a single "click"—no ignition. He shrugged at the camera: "Normal. Just assembled—the fuel line isn't primed yet."

He kicked again—this time three times in succession—and the engine roared to life with a deep "put-put-put." Qin Yun gave the camera a victory sign.

Hearing the motorcycle, Hu Fen ran downstairs from upstairs, spatula in hand. Seeing her son had fixed the bike, she stared at the familiar machine, tears glistening in her eyes. Qin Yun noticed—and perhaps remembered something.

"Mom, get on. I'll take you for a ride."

"Okay!" Hu Fen, still holding the spatula, didn't hesitate—she sat right on the back seat.

Qin Yun thought for a moment, adjusted one camera's position, then handed his phone to Hu Fen: "Mom, hold the phone and press record."

"Got it—already pressed."

"Let's go!"

Qin Yun twisted the throttle, engaged first gear, and the bike rolled forward slowly. Then second, then third—gear shifts were smooth, no hesitation.

"Perfect. That sound, that shift feel—it's no worse than a new bike. Hahaha."

Qin Yun laughed happily.

After two laps, the bike returned to its original spot. The mother and son dismounted. Qin Yun watched one of the camera feeds: "Today's repair wasn't hard. Anyone with basic mechanical knowledge can handle it easily—but don't forget where each part goes. One small mistake could ruin the whole bike."

After saying that, he turned off all the cameras one by one.

After tidying everything and pushing the motorcycle back into the warehouse, Qin Yun immediately went to the bathroom for a shower. He was filthy all over after a full day's work.

But no sooner had he stepped out of the shower than the familiar voice sounded again.

【Publish check-in task: Host must visit Mount Putuo and tour thirty temples and nunneries, staying ten minutes at each to complete check-in.】

Seeing this task, Qin Yun winced.

Thirty temples—ten minutes each—even if they stood in a straight line, that's three hundred minutes, five hours. Not to mention these temples are scattered across Mount Putuo; he couldn't possibly finish in one day. At least two days needed.

Also, many temples on Mount Putuo are closed. He wasn't even sure which ones were actually open.

He thought for a moment and asked Hu Fen: "Mom, do you know which temples on Mount Putuo are open?"

Hu Fen was stir-frying. She shook her head: "I don't know. I only know Puji Chan Temple, Fayu Chan Temple, and Huiji Chan Temple. The rest—I don't know. Isn't there some AI app now? You can just ask the AI."

Qin Yun smacked his forehead—he'd forgotten his mom kept up with the times. He'd even forgotten about AI.

He immediately opened his phone, downloaded an AI app, and typed: "Which temples on Mount Putuo are open?"

In less than a few seconds, the AI gave a detailed answer—from Putuo's largest temple, Puji Chan Temple, down to the obscure Liuyun Nunnery—exactly thirty, no more, no less.

With the temple names, things became easy. He logged onto the official website to check each temple's information, verifying whether the AI's list was accurate. Surprisingly, the AI wasn't entirely reliable—one temple listed had been merged into another earlier this year. But on the official site, he found several other open temples.

After cross-checking and confirming each one, Qin Yun found the full temple distribution map of Mount Putuo on the official site and began planning his route.

Hu Fen, carrying a dish out of the kitchen, leaned over to glance. "Son, you're going to Mount Putuo?"

Qin Yun didn't look up. He nodded: "Yeah. Just going for a stroll."

"Good. You can stop by and pray—ward off bad luck."

Qin Yun: "..."

After dinner, Qin Yun edited several camera angles, uploaded them all to Fang Nan, and sent him a thousand yuan.

Fang Nan replied excitedly: "Yun Ge, the video blew up—this traffic is huge!"

Qin Yun was pleased, but thought it was just one video—any viral moment is fleeting. If a self-media account doesn't consistently deliver high-quality content, getting buried on the beach is only natural.

What he wanted was sustained traffic, not a brief explosion.

Fang Nan added: "Yun Ge, lots of MCN agencies are probably contacting you—don't sign any contract, or you'll lose control and become just a tool for profit and clicks."

"I know." Qin Yun wasn't some green kid—he wouldn't be swayed by promises from MCN agencies.

He had no intention of signing with any company. This account was his alone to manage.

Before bed, Qin Yun told Hu Fen: "Mom, I'll stay on Mount Putuo for two days. I'll be back Thursday. After you get off work Friday, we'll head straight to Huni Island, okay?"

Hu Fen had no objections: "You handle it."

The next morning, after packing his gear, Qin Yun put on his helmet and rode off on his motorcycle.

In memory, to reach Mount Putuo, he could depart from Wugongzhi Pier, take a bus to Putuo Passenger Center, then board a ferry to Shanggu Dao Head—the whole trip took an hour and a half.

September was the off-season for Mount Putuo—no crowds. The mountain-and-sea scenery was especially fresh and elegant this time of year. Qin Yun thought if anyone asked him when to visit Zhoushan and Mount Putuo, he'd say September and October were best.

In this coastal city, the weather wouldn't be as scorching as Hangzhou's—certainly five to six degrees cooler. Fewer people, sea breeze brushing the face, visiting temples and viewing ocean views—perfectly relaxing.

Qin Yun, backpack and camera in hand, stepped onto the island just as the clock struck 8:30.

He picked up an island map at the dock's information window, then walked westward toward his first stop—Ciyun Chan Yuan.

Ciyun Chan Yuan is also called Ciyun Nunnery. Many, hearing "nunnery," assume it's exclusively for Buddhist nuns—but that's wrong. "Nunnery" doesn't specifically mean a place for bhikshunis. Originally, it referred to a round thatched hut or a private dwelling not open to the public, used as a hermitage. It has nothing to do with gender.

According to Qin Yun's knowledge, temples in ancient times were often also used as family shrines; places where bhikshunis practiced were called "an," and over time this led to the misunderstanding—it was merely one form of Buddhist architecture.

This Ciyun Chan Monastery was precisely such a place, housing not only monks but also bhikshunis who resided and practiced regularly.

Qin Yun walked toward the monastery's main gate, seeing its yellow walls and dark-tiled roof, monks sweeping at the entrance, and tourists coming and going—no crowding, only quiet serenity.

As he stepped inside, the icon on his system panel lit up at the right moment; he glanced at it once and returned his attention elsewhere.

The temple courtyard was small, its scenery elegant and refined: the blue stone pathways were clean and smooth, flanked by several ancient camphor and camellia trees, their rustling branches casting dappled shadows on the ground. He had no intention of worshipping or praying—he treated it merely as a scenic spot to visit.

Reaching the hall's exterior, he looked up at the Buddha statue and felt its solemnity, the incense curling around it; many tourists, having come this far, would enter to pay respects.

Anyone visiting Mount Putuo, even without faith, would adopt the attitude of "better safe than sorry," showing deep reverence to the Buddha statue.

Qin Yun did not enter, merely watched for a while, then his attention settled on a woman in her early twenties.

Dressed in white linen robes and pants, her hair braided into a long plait hanging beside her shoulder, she knelt reverently on a prayer mat, murmuring before the Buddha, occasionally bowing her head in prostration.

Qin Yun could not hear what she was praying for, nor see her face clearly, but he found her posture before the Buddha possessed a strange beauty. After a brief pause, he stepped back a few paces, pulled out his camera, and snapped a photo, then turned and walked toward the other side.

Walking slowly, stopping now and then, by the time he emerged from Ciyun Chan Monastery, the icon for Ciyun Chan Monastery on his panel had fully lit up.

…

Su Ying felt she was unlucky: after graduating from Hangzhou University, she did not continue in her major, because she could see that women in architecture truly went bald. So right after graduation, after her internship, she spent money learning baking, then returned to her hometown in Ningbo to open a bakery.

When the shop first opened, business was mediocre—barely enough to make ends meet—but as short videos grew popular, she seized the opportunity, pouring money into traffic promotion, and gradually her bakery became popular within the circle.

After becoming popular, she did not rush to convert traffic into sales; instead, she focused even more on quality, treating every customer with care. This approach laid the foundation for expanding and strengthening her business.

Over three or four years, she now operated three stores in Ningbo, all thriving; buying a car and a house went without saying, and her annual income exceeded that of her classmates in Hangzhou, who worked themselves to the bone, by more than tenfold.

But last month, her shop was reported—no need to guess, it was clearly a competitor.

Then came intervention from industry regulators, who seized on normal hygiene conditions in bakeries as grounds for criticism, followed by a flood of negative reviews and bad publicity, leaving her overwhelmed and her business plummeting.

A classmate from Zhoushan suggested she visit Mount Putuo to pray; she came with mixed skepticism and hope.

And since she had come, she decided that wherever she encountered a temple, she would enter; wherever she saw a Buddha, she would bow.