Chapter 4: The Arena of Skills

After indulging in fantasy for a while, Qin Yun, in high spirits, pulled out his phone and called Song Ya.

But the phone just kept ringing with a busy tone, and Song Ya never answered. He checked the time and suddenly slapped his forehead—he’d been foolish; it was only 7:30 a.m., so how could Song Ya possibly be up?

From Monday to Friday, unless something urgent needed doing, Song Ya always slept until eleven, claiming that sleeping until naturally awake helped balance endocrine function and slowed aging.

During her sleep hours, Song Ya’s phone was always on Do Not Disturb mode; only her parents and a few close friends could get through—clearly, he wasn’t one of them.

Helplessly putting down his phone, he sent Song Ya a WeChat message asking if she had time that day to go to the Civil Affairs Bureau to file the divorce application; after all, divorce now had a thirty-day cooling-off period, and either party could withdraw the application at any time during that period—it was utterly unreasonable.

Of course, the best and fastest option would be to file a lawsuit, but that required one party to oppose the divorce or for other issues to exist.

Under normal circumstances, only mutual consent divorce was possible.

He wasn’t actually afraid Song Ya would refuse to divorce—he could just proceed with litigation, which would be faster. What he feared was that near the end of the thirty-day cooling-off period, she might suddenly withdraw the application; even if he sued again, he’d still waste thirty days.

At that moment, the system alert sounded again.

【Task posted: Host must arrive at the southern position of the flag-raising viewing area at Tiananmen Square on August 1st and fully witness the grand flag-raising ceremony to complete the check-in.】

Qin Yun immediately called up the system panel and saw a new light point on the map; zooming out, he clearly saw its location—it was Tiananmen Square.

It was late July, and only a few days remained until the 1st; he’d been to Beijing for years and had watched the flag-raising several times, but he’d never once attended the grand ceremony.

Because there were too many people, and he personally disliked crowded places.

But now, to complete the system check-in, he had no choice but to go—he’d treat it as a proper, complete experience.

He opened the WeChat mini-program and was lucky—the reservation was still available.

After reserving his flag-raising viewing spot, Qin Yun decided to look into cars. Although the compensation and salary hadn’t yet been deposited, he knew the money wouldn’t be nearly enough—but he didn’t want to, and couldn’t, cut the biggest expense of his trip.

To get a vehicle capable of taking him across the country, he had two options: new or used. He immediately ruled out new energy vehicles—charging across the nation was a hassle, and remote areas had no charging stations.

Qin Yun knew little about cars—mostly just brand names and basic surface knowledge, like what certain numbers meant.

So, following the principle that one mind is short and many minds are long, he posted a thread on a local forum.

【What kind of car can satisfy my plan to travel nationwide? Budget: 150,000 RMB.】

The forum was highly active; within minutes of posting, someone replied.

“Haval Dog, 150,000 RMB gets you top trim—high ground clearance for rough roads, low fuel consumption, huge trunk, cheap maintenance, and repairs are available anywhere. I’ve driven mine through Sichuan, Tibet, Qinghai, and Gansu—no problems at all!”

“A 150,000 RMB off-roader counts as a car? Boss, why not just buy a Mustang—that’s a real car.”

“I recommend the F-150 Raptor—a used one costs only 100,000 RMB.”

“Why even think about anything else with 150,000 RMB? Convert a Wuling Hongguang into a camper, use the rest for gas and food—tough, durable, doesn’t hurt to scratch or crash, and repairs are dirt cheap.”

Some replies were sarcastic, others serious; Qin Yun read them all, and as more came in, he noticed half recommended he try the used car market.

After all, his requirement was a vehicle capable of nationwide travel, and many places he intended to visit demanded off-road capability—so stability and strong off-road performance were most important.

But finding a suitable new car under 150,000 RMB was hard—only Haval and BJ models really fit. Especially BJ—he’d always had a good impression; he’d once watched the movie Wolf Warrior, where Wu Jing’s character drove a BJ across Africa.

Though he knew movies were dramatized, it at least proved the car’s off-road capability was solid.

If the used market had nothing suitable, he’d go check out Haval and BJ.

Qin Yun looked it up: Beijing’s largest used car market was in Fengtai District, not close to him—but it was also Asia’s largest, so if he was going, he’d go to the biggest.

He hailed a ride and headed straight there.

With a limited budget, Qin Yun had clear priorities: durability, repair convenience, and comfort.

After explaining his requirements to the salesperson, the man quickly recommended several cars matching his needs.

“Bro, this 2021 Tank 300—only 60,000 kilometers on it, you can get it for 140,000 RMB. Non-load-bearing body, part-time 4WD, front and rear differential locks, fuel consumption just 13 liters per 100 km…”

The salesperson rambled on, but Qin Yun only caught two words: 140,000 RMB, 13 liters—he didn’t hear a single other word.

Compared to that fuel consumption, Qin Yun doubted the money left after buying the car would even get him to Zhejiang.

The salesperson then recommended several more models—domestic and joint-venture/imported: Mitsubishi Pajero, Jeep Wrangler, Ford Everest.

All met his requirements, but their mileage was way too high—all over 100,000 kilometers.

Hearing Qin Yun’s concerns, the salesperson said: “Bro, for Wranglers and Pajeros, 100,000 kilometers is just when they break in.”

Qin Yun bit back the urge to roll his eyes—he didn’t argue, mainly because his pockets were empty and he’d only come to gather information.

After visiting several used car dealerships and getting a sense of the market, Qin Yun gave up on buying used and left dejectedly in a ride.

Not long after leaving the used car market, his phone rang—he checked the caller ID: it was Song Ya.

He tapped to answer, and a cold voice came through: “See you at the Civil Affairs Bureau tomorrow at 1:30 p.m.”

Then she hung up.

Staring at the blackened screen, Qin Yun smiled wryly—this was better: clean, decisive. From now on, they’d part ways peacefully; he’d actually feared Song Ya might throw a hysterical fit.

“Crash—!”

Suddenly, Qin Yun heard a loud collision. He rushed to the window and looked outside: a black Mercedes had scraped against a truck and slammed hard into the guardrail.

The door was deformed, the trunk popped open, and a large object wrapped in a custom shockproof cello case tumbled onto the ground—the case’s latch broke, revealing a full-body amber-colored cello inside.

The owner was a middle-aged woman dressed elegantly; ignoring the airbag’s impact that had left her dizzy, she rushed out and flipped open the case, immediately tearing up: “My Guarneri—the body’s cracked! This is the cello my daughter’s performing with the day after tomorrow!”

“Phew, lucky it’s the Mercedes’ fault—if it were the truck’s, they’d be bankrupted.”

The ride-hailing driver glanced away and muttered.

Qin Yun watched the scene in the distance, and suddenly, a memory stirred in his mind. He turned to the driver: “Master, stop at the next bus stop—I suddenly remembered something urgent I need to handle. Just charge me the full fare.”

The driver was initially annoyed, but Qin Yun’s next words made him swallow his complaint and pull over obediently at the bus stop.

Getting out, crossing the traffic light, Qin Yun found the accident scene already surrounded by onlookers. The middle-aged woman was on the phone—not to insurance or police, but to a music shop.

“Yes, the top panel is cracked, the sound post snapped inside the body. What? Half a month? No, my daughter’s performing the day after tomorrow—can you expedite it? I’ll pay 300,000 RMB.”

“What do you mean even money won’t help? Where’s your master craftsman?”

Listening to the woman’s frantic voice, Qin Yun’s gaze drifted past the crowd to the ground: it was a cello—a century-old Italian handcrafted cello, worth 1.6 million RMB.

Now the body was cracked, the sound post broken, the bridge collapsed—nearly useless. Even an experienced shop would struggle to repair it; the woman’s half-month estimate was accurate. But for him, with the right tools, he could fix it in hours.

Just one glance, and Qin Yun truly understood how powerful the system’s ability was: these were fields he’d never touched before, yet now they felt as natural as breathing—frighteningly strong.

“...Then hurry up, take the cello back first. I won’t touch it—I’ll wait here.”

She hung up, ignored the crowd, and called insurance and police. Only then did her head throb and her dizziness return; she leaned against the car for a moment before feeling slightly better.

Qin Yun didn’t act rashly—he waited for the right moment.

Fifteen minutes later, a car pulled over. A middle-aged man, around fifty, hurried over. The woman clearly knew him—she rushed forward, grabbing his arm: “Master Xu, you’re finally here—please help me!”

Master Xu approached the case, examined it closely, then shook his head: “The top panel is fully cracked, the sound post snapped. Half a month is optimistic—forget about using this cello for the performance the day after tomorrow. Ms. Shen, you’d better find a replacement at the shop.”

The woman’s eyes were red: “Money isn’t the issue—I can’t wait that long. My daughter won’t accept another cello.”

Master Xu sighed—he understood her urgency, but reality was reality.

Just then, a young voice suddenly spoke up.

“Madam, I can repair this cello.”

Master Xu, Ms. Shen, and the surrounding onlookers all turned to the speaker—a handsome, tall young man.

Everyone froze. Master Xu scoffed: “Kid, don’t brag. This is a century-old Guarneri cello—not a two-stringed huqin. Hidden internal damage can’t be seen. If you ruin it, can you afford to pay?”

“Guarneri? Isn’t that a multi-million-yuan famous instrument?”

“It’s clearly ruined—how can it be fixed? Kid, you’ve got guts taking this on.”

As murmurs swirled around him, Qin Yun smiled and ignored them. He walked to the cello, gently touched its body, then tapped the soundbox—his mind understood. The damage looked terrifying, but it was merely a crack along the grain, a broken sound post, a collapsed bridge—all common dents for cellos. Difficult to others, but for him now, zero challenge.

He spoke calmly to the middle-aged woman: “I can fix it. I’ll need tools. If I damage it further, I’ll pay. If I fix it, you decide the reward.”

Desperate, the woman bit her lip and nodded: “If you fix it, I’ll give you 200,000 RMB. As for tools—Master Xu, can your shop lend yours to this gentleman?”

Master Xu shrugged, about to speak—when police and insurance agents arrived almost simultaneously.