Chapter 232: Daily Life

Wang Yan opened his eyes, adjusted for a moment, shook his head, got up, poured a glass of water, and walked to the window, drinking while looking outside.

His location wasn't in Xihu, where he lived, but fifteen kilometers away—technically the city outskirts. No other reason: it was cheap. Even so, the office he rented was on a low floor of the entire building, facing north, utterly terrible. So there was nothing nice to see out the window—just other entrepreneurs in the neighboring building, just like him.

This was something he had long accepted: the gap between the cinematic world and reality, and his detachment from money and other external possessions. If he'd started researching entrepreneurship and wealth-building in his first two worlds, he might not have adapted so easily.

Back then, though his life realm and personal insight had improved, he was a ruthless boss who controlled hundreds of thousands of lives, deciding life and death, dominating the world. His temperament inevitably suffered—he was still extreme, nothing like his current unshakable calm.

During that time, he drifted through sales jobs, enduring endless boredom and mounting debts, which finally made him understand what kind of player he really was, allowing him to pass through that period steadily.

Shaking his still-dizzy head, Wang Yan pulled up his interface.

Wang Yan

Attributes: Strength 25

Agility 25

Constitution 25

Spirit 52

Unallocated points: 4

Storage space: 2m³

As usual, the spirit gained from the last Xiuchundao was added to his spirit, bringing it to 52 points. This time, after completing the Xin Yi Bu Si quest, he received four more attribute points—again left untouched, to be decided based on the next world.

In terms of skills, this time Wang Yan focused entirely on Western medicine, doing nothing else. After twenty-seven years, his Western medical skill reached LV4, still far from LV5. This was mainly because he didn't specialize in any single direction. Otherwise, with over twenty years, he could have reached LV5 master level in one field. But as always, he refused to be one-sided: if he learned, he learned everything; if he did something, he did it best.

And this time, after practicing medicine for over twenty years, he diagnosed many illnesses using Traditional Chinese Medicine. His already peak TCM skill made significant progress, advancing far beyond LV5. Without bragging, even Bian Que, Hua Tuo, Zhang Zhongjing—if they were alive today—might not outperform him. Of course, such comparisons were just his own wild imagination.

The main reason was the difference in eras: the predecessors lived in times when people generally died young and material resources were nowhere near as abundant. Thus, many diseases never even had time to manifest before the patient died. In terms of disease exposure and clinical experience, they were incomparably behind him.

But they were all brilliant geniuses, each forging their own path in the medical arts. Crucially, TCM is a methodology of human bodily function—even if he'd never seen a disease, given enough time to study it, he could at least stabilize the condition, if not cure it. So Wang Yan's strength lay in his early start and accumulated experience; they were truly gifted individuals, and in the later stages, he'd likely still fall short.

He stopped thinking further, finished his water, turned, went downstairs for a stroll, grabbed a quick meal, then returned to his simple office to begin work.

This time, he needed to memorize the manufacturing methods for his finished drugs and key code, research directions in artificial intelligence. The amount of information he remembered kept growing, and the time needed to copy it kept increasing. Now he'd switched to a stenotype machine for typing—his keyboard could no longer keep up. But mainly because all his documents were in Chinese; when copying code, he'd still need the keyboard.

At his current speed, no one could match him—not even those with innate talent. This was the result of his body, memory, and other combined factors. If he worked as a stenographer, he could earn decent money—but it was pocket change, nothing compared to casually checking the market trends at home.

"Dong, dong, dong."

Time quickly reached the afternoon, past two o'clock. Someone knocked on Wang Yan's office door.

"Come in."

Wang Yan stood up and looked at the young man who entered—glasses, a simple face, slightly overweight—and said: "Ma Zichen, right?"

The chubby kid nodded quickly: "Yes, brother. We arranged the interview before."

"Sit down." Wang Yan pointed to a chair, picked up a paper cup from the water dispenser, filled it, and placed it before him: "Here, drink."

Ma Zichen had been scanning the room, but at Wang Yan's words, he quickly reached out to take the water: "Thank you, brother."

Wang Yan sat across from him with his own thermos of tea, took a sip, and said: "Don't be nervous. You can see—this is just a makeshift operation. Just be yourself."

Nowadays, young people are all pretty brash—but it depends on their family background. This chubby kid clearly came from a poor family. Even though he graduated from a decent university and education changed his fate, the marks of his original family were still on him. Mostly, he'd just graduated, still stuck in student thinking, lacking sufficient understanding of society, himself, and life. With experience later, he'd improve.

Hearing Wang Yan's words, Ma Zichen smiled simply, unsure what to say, and picked up his cup to drink.

When he put the cup down, Wang Yan smiled: "No need for a self-introduction—I've already read your file. You graduated from a second-tier university, which isn't bad, and you've had a year of work experience including internships. Let's cut to the chase: we'll have a simple technical chat. I'll see what you're made of."

Ma Zichen nodded.

Wang Yan then asked a few basic questions about programming and low-level systems. The kid was nervous, answered haltingly, but his fundamentals were decent. Overall, he was far behind graduates from top universities or those with master's degrees, but he wasn't completely useless. He'd need some guidance, but not excessive supervision—he could at least do some work.

There was no help for it—his conditions were what they were. Among all the candidates Wang Yan had interviewed recently, this kid was among the best. He probably had a bad experience at his previous company; otherwise, he wouldn't have ended up at this small workshop. After all, his skills were decent enough to handle basic tasks at most companies.

Of course, programmers aren't easy to find these days either. After years of internet development, the market is saturated with junior programmers—it's the top-tier talent that's scarce. But then again, top talent is always rare in every industry.

"Alright, I've got a general sense of your abilities." After evaluating him, Wang Yan nodded: "It's a two-way choice. Now I ask you: do you want to work in this shabby place? If yes, how much salary do you want? You're here to earn money—don't be shy, just say it plainly."

After a moment of silence, Ma Zichen clenched his teeth: "Brother, I'll work with you. I want eight thousand."

Wang Yan nodded. His request was reasonable. Though Lin'an was one of the best internet development hubs outside the four major first-tier cities, not everyone earned over ten thousand a month—especially with his education and limited experience. And he didn't even mention after-tax—his actual take-home would be around six thousand.

He probably wasn't thinking about career growth—Wang Yan's place didn't look like it had any future, and it was brand new. If it collapsed, no one would recognize his experience here.

But luckily it was Lin'an—if this were a small city, five thousand would be the max for this kid's level.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Ma Zichen blinked, then shook his head: "No."

"Then here's the deal," Wang Yan said. "You live alone anyway, and my company's just starting—you'll definitely have to work overtime. Forget about benefits. I'll pay you seven thousand after tax, rent you a single room within ten minutes' walk, and cover all your lunch and dinner. What do you think?"

Ma Zichen did the math in his head: seven thousand after tax meant his salary was over eight thousand. Renting a single room nearby—even if it was far—would cost at least a thousand or more. Even cheap meals for lunch and dinner would cost at least a thousand. That added up to over ten thousand—far better than his original eight thousand. After all, if he paid for everything himself, he might not save three thousand a month, not counting other expenses.

"Yes, absolutely yes!" Ma Zichen nodded eagerly: "Thank you so much, brother!"

"Don't get too excited," Wang Yan waved his hand. "I'm being clear—no other benefits at all. Your skill level is average, still far from my standards. Based on your current ability, nine p. m. is early for you to leave."

He wasn't the best boss, but he was a good one. He never haggled over petty money—he always paid clearly and fairly. He could afford this only because his current situation was poor; otherwise, top-tier benefits would be basic. Of course, if he ever reached that level, this kid would never have had a chance to work for him.

"What I learn is mine anyway," Ma Zichen said, then added: "Brother, so I'm…"

"Did you finish everything at your previous company?"

Ma Zichen smiled bitterly: "To be honest, brother, I've been job-hunting for over a month."

Clearly couldn't speak well—he was basically telling Wang Yan this new boss that he'd been forced into this makeshift operation. It also indicated he was unstable—might leave if a better opportunity came.

But Wang Yan didn't care. If he left, he left. After all, he was the boss. As long as the kid followed instructions and did his work well, Wang Yan would profit overall—from salary, training, and guidance combined.

"Then let's check out apartments first. Find one today and move in." Wang Yan pulled out his phone, scrolling through apps: "Need help moving? Can you handle it yourself?"

"Nothing much. I can manage."

"Alright. Look around, then contact the agent directly and go over. Stay there tonight. If nothing's wrong, come in tomorrow."

Wang Yan scrolled through his phone for a while, picked out several apartments for him to view. The kid was born in 1998, probably started school a year late, graduated at twenty-three. From their brief interaction, he seemed grounded. Wang Yan chose these apartments not because he feared the kid would be greedy, but because he feared he'd be too timid to pick anything.

And as a professional, even though he'd never rented before, he knew what kind of apartment felt comfortable. So he picked mostly high-floor, sun-facing units, rent around 1,200 yuan—fair enough.

After looking for a while, Ma Zichen couldn't decide. Finally, he handed the phone back to Wang Yan: "Brother, you pick. I'm terrible at choosing."

Wang Yan said nothing, found one apartment, called the agent to schedule a viewing, then added Ma Zichen on WeChat, sent him 1,200 yuan, and told him to handle the paperwork himself.

After Ma Zichen left, Wang Yan continued copying the contents of his mind onto the stenotype machine; though silent, his speed was lightning-fast, and overall, the faint pitter-patter matched almost exactly the sound of his membrane keyboard.

At around five-thirty, Wang Yan locked the office door and left with his laptop on his back.

He hailed a taxi to the subway station, then rode the subway home. By this time, Lin'an was already jammed; driving was slower than the subway, and though slightly crowded, he treated it as enjoying life. Humans have a peculiar habit—he knew he was transcendent beyond everyone else in this world, yet he never tired of observing others' joys and sufferings, because it made him feel even more transcendent, a profound psychological superiority.

Put more elegantly, immersing himself in ordinary life let him experience existence and comprehend the mortal world, keeping his heart always calm and unassuming.

After exiting the subway, he strolled leisurely to the market, bought vegetables, then returned home.

Wei Lan had not stayed late today and had already come home. Hearing the door open, she sprinted over, followed by A Gou leaping and bouncing, with A Mao riding on his back. A Gou's violent movements caused A Mao to fall off; without a word, A Mao swiped A Gou's face with a claw, then they began fighting.

Wei Lan ignored the two creatures, took the food from Wang Yan's hands, and asked: "How was your day? Did you hire anyone?"

"I hired one. This time we're really bosses."

Wang Yan knew that though Wei Lan had never asked in detail, and didn't know how much he'd made from trading stocks with his family, she still worried inside. After all, she'd seen no tangible proof—only Wang Yan's words—and it had always felt a bit unorthodox. Now that he'd started his own venture, though she said little, she was genuinely happy. Whether he made or lost money wasn't the main point; what mattered was that he now had a proper occupation.

"Really?" Wei Lan was surprised. She'd been wondering what on earth had made someone choose to work with Wang Yan: "What's the salary?"

Wang Yan changed his shoes, grabbed each struggling cat and dog by the scruff, lifted them up, swung them around twice, then tossed them to the floor: "Not bad. Just over ten thousand."

Wei Lan guessed that whoever Wang Yan hired was probably no seasoned veteran, and thought the price a bit high—but said nothing. She nodded, washed her hands with Wang Yan, and helped pick vegetables. The rice was already steamed; all that remained was for Wang Yan, the master chef, to cook and serve.

Wang Yan still cooked quickly; though long absence might make flavor control a little off, everything else was fine. Soon, four dishes were ready—smaller plates, more southern-style than his hometown's giant bowls, with modest portions. Wei Lan ate a little; the rest was just right for Wang Yan.

Wei Lan had already filled A Mao and A Gou's food and water, washed her hands, and now the two of them ate together with the two animals.

At dinner, as usual, Wei Lan praised Wang Yan's cooking, then said: "Half a month until the New Year. I've already asked for leave from my boss—we can leave on the twenty-eighth. What do your parents like? Let me prepare something."

"No need. Just you going is enough."

"That won't do. First visit without gifts is just rude." Wei Lan thought a moment: "How about silk products for your mom, and Longjing tea for your dad?"

"Whatever you like. Just the sentiment matters."

Their conversation was essentially empty talk. Wang Yan could never tell Wei Lan what to buy; Wei Lan could never not buy anything. But though empty, it was the vital thread that filled their life. Too much talk was bad; too little was worse. All in all, it was fine.

Honestly, without the System's divine favor, Wang Yan's original conditions could never have matched up to Wei Lan. He had no classmates to reconnect with—after all, he was nearly thirty. If he'd ever had a chance, he'd have been together already. If he'd ended up with someone, it would've been some messy post-college fling.

He'd most likely have ended up through family matchmakers, marrying some unknown woman with low social standing, endlessly gossiping about household trivialities. After all, he himself was just that kind of person—what good could he possibly find through matchmaking?

Compared to Wei Lan—a graduate of a top university, economically independent, mentally independent, decent-looking, from a good family—he was nowhere near her league.

After their warm dinner, Wei Lan washed the dishes, then they both put on coats and took A Mao and A Gou out for a walk.

After an hour of wandering, they returned home. Wang Yan went to the study to resume his copying work, while Wei Lan sat across from him with her laptop, editing footage of A Mao and A Gou to upload to Douyin.

Perhaps because A Mao and A Gou had grown prettier day by day, their followers had increased accordingly; Wei Lan's account documenting their growth now had over three thousand fans. With the base established, future growth would accelerate—ten thousand followers were within reach.

Wei Lan didn't really care. Saying she wanted to make money was just talk; mostly, she did it as a pastime.

Editing wasn't tiring. Once done, she pulled a book from the shelf, sat across from Wang Yan, occasionally stroking the cat curled on the desk, teasing the dog circling beneath her feet, savoring this quiet, ordinary beauty.

Wang Yan wasn't bothered by distractions; multitasking didn't hinder him much, and the overall environment was quiet enough. Around ten, he stretched, closed his laptop, and finished work.

Next came the daily ritual: the Great Way of Yin-Yang Harmonization…