Chapter 233: Back to Routine

The next day, Wang Yan woke up as usual early, dressed, and took Ahgou downstairs for exercise.

Of course, the place was Xihu; with the weather turning cool, fewer people rose early, making it generally quieter. One lap around Xihu was just over ten kilometers—he didn't track distance, just ran for forty minutes, usually completing a little more than one lap, sometimes two full laps.

Since getting the dog, Wang Yan had been walking Ahgou during his morning exercise; initially, the dog dragged him, then he pulled the dog, then he tied Ahgou to a tree and let it pant and gasp while he ran himself.

Even if Ahgou grew up, it still couldn't outrun him. After all, Wang Mou's endurance could truly exhaust a dog. Ahgou was worn out every morning, rushed to eat when they got back, and thus grew quickly.

In comparison, Ahmao was far weaker, but this little thing had guts. Even though Ahgou was twice its size, it still dared to challenge it—only because Ahgou let it win, playing around with it, making their fights lively and harmonious.

After morning exercise, Wang Yan cleaned up Ahgou's poop, walked slowly back home while leading the dog, bought breakfast along the way, woke up the sleeping Wei Lan, they took turns washing up, ate breakfast together, then went to work—by then it was already half past eight.

Wang Yan took the subway, then a taxi to the company—it took an hour. Of course, as the boss, no one set his work hours; otherwise, he'd be late every day. His current schedule was fine, since he avoided rush hour—he was heading outward, so a taxi usually got him there in just over half an hour.

When he arrived, Ma Zichen was already leaning against the wall with a backpack, playing on his phone, waiting. Seeing Wang Yan approach, he quickly greeted: "Good morning, Brother."

"Morning." Wang Yan nodded in response, opened the door, and said: "I'm Wang Yan. Call me Yan Ge."

"Alright, Yan Ge."

After entering, Wang Yan boiled water and brewed tea, then turned to see Ma Zichen sitting self-consciously on the opposite desk, setting down his bag and pulling out items: a water cup, paper and pen, a computer, and so on. The computer looked old—clearly used for years in university, never high-end, its specs long outdated.

Besides his own server, Wang Yan owned only one other laptop—Wen Dao Si, not Ai Yi Pao. For him, any system was fine; Ai Yi Pao's only advantage was looks, and he valued practicality. Besides, his own laptop cost more than Ai Yi Pao.

"Your computer's a bit lacking—use it for now," Wang Yan said. "Later, go to Beijing and check what computer suits you best—desktop or laptop, doesn't matter. Total under fifteen thousand yuan. Pick one, send me the link. Buy today, you can use it tomorrow."

Wang Yan was never stingy, especially regarding productivity—even if this kid had little productivity to begin with, he still deserved proper gear.

Ma Zichen stared at Wang Yan in disbelief: "Fifteen thousand?"

Programmers were notoriously picky about computers and peripherals, each with their own habits. He'd suffered long enough with his old company's junk machine and his own broken one.

"It's not yours—why so excited?" Wang Yan grumbled. "Hurry up and buy it. Once done, study the code. After the New Year, your good days start."

Ma Zichen chuckled and immediately pulled out his phone, sitting down to browse computers.

Wang Yan, meanwhile, began typing furiously—the project was huge, no time to waste. The New Year was coming; once home, he'd be drinking and boasting, visiting his future father-in-law—time was tight, he needed to finish quickly.

"Yan Ge, I'm done. Sent you the link."

After half an hour of browsing, Ma Zichen called out to Wang Yan, who was typing nonstop.

"Alright, let me see."

Wang Yan paused, picked up his phone, and glanced. As expected, Ma Zichen picked a 13-inch Ai Yi Pao with 8GB RAM and 512GB storage, added a screen, a full keyboard-mouse set, and expansion docks—totaling just a few yuan under fifteen thousand. He'd clearly gone top-spec if not for the budget.

He'd probably tell his friends about his awesome boss the moment he got home—even before nightfall. Tomorrow, when the gear arrived, he'd definitely livestream a little bragging session at home.

Truthfully, Wang Yan's treatment was quite good—comparable to upper-middle among his excellent classmates. With the new gear, it was a small perk that stood out among peers. After all, they were all fresh graduates; his conditions were exceptional.

Wang Yan glanced at the nervous little fat kid across from him, tapped his phone to pay, then stood up: "Alright, everything should arrive tomorrow. I'll give you a quick overview of your future tasks, then send you some source code I wrote—study it yourself. If anything's unclear, hold onto your questions; I'll explain tonight. Any problems?"

Ma Zichen shook his head vigorously—he was here to work, where would he find problems? He immediately opened his laptop, sat aside, and pulled out notebook and pen to take notes.

Wang Yan was satisfied with this attitude—after all, some people just relied on memory, useless and stubborn.

This little fat kid had solid fundamentals, some experience, and high adaptability. With a bit of training, he'd be fine and produce something useful. He couldn't handle high-difficulty tasks, but he'd still add output.

Wang Yan's life followed Wei Lan's: if she worked late, he worked late; if she came home early, he came home early. For the next few weeks, Wang Yan spent his days copying, answering Ma Zichen's questions near quitting time—half a month passed in a blink.

After giving Ma Zichen time off, Wang Yan and Wei Lan packed heavily and boarded a flight north on the morning of the twenty-eighth.

Probably nervous, Wei Lan tossed and turned all night, only falling asleep in the early hours. On the plane, without a word, she leaned against Wang Yan and fell asleep.

Wang Yan's home was in Longcheng—no direct flights. They'd land in Shenyang, then transfer to a high-speed train. Departing early, accounting for check-in and transfer, they arrived home by afternoon.

Wang Yan's father had wanted to pick them up, but they had no car—he'd have to ask an old friend. Besides, his hometown friends were around, no need to trouble anyone. More importantly, it wasn't far; during the New Year, taxis lined up outside the station, adding ten or twenty yuan didn't matter.

Buying a car wasn't expensive, but it was rarely useful—letting it sit and gather dust was worse than not buying. This was only because they were bringing Wei Lan home; his parents insisted on picking them up…

"Wang Yan, did you tell Uncle and Auntie we were coming back?"

Outside an old residential complex, Wei Lan wore a knitted hat, her small face flushed red from cold, clutching her small bag and a large suitcase, watching Wang Yan, burdened with bags and packages.

"I told them. When we took the high-speed train, I told them—by now, dinner's probably ready."

"I'm a little nervous…"

Wang Yan carried so much, looked disheveled, but was actually relaxed—after all, he only had two hands: "They're just ordinary people—don't be nervous. You've seen them before. What's there to fear? Just bring the same energy you use to tear apart clients, designers, then programmers."

"Annoying." Wei Lan rolled her eyes. "Before, it was all video calls—now meeting them in person? It's different…"

She'd added Zhang Xia on WeChat; the two women chatted often and got along well.

Wang Yan said: "Come on—we're at the door. Can't turn back now."

Listening to Wei Lan's muttering, they entered the complex, turned a few corners, and stopped before a building near the center. From afar, Wang Yan saw Wang Dong standing by the entrance, smoking.

"Dad."

Wang Yan called out. Wang Dong looked up, saw the two of them, immediately tossed his cigarette aside, and strode forward.

Wei Lan quickly greeted: "Uncle, hello." She was a bit shy, but her red face hid it.

"Ah, good, good!" Wang Dong grabbed Wei Lan's suitcase: "Here, let me carry it. It's cold outside—hurry upstairs, there's heating, warm up properly."

"Oh no, Uncle, I can carry it myself." Wei Lan glanced at Wang Yan.

"Dad, take these from me. That suitcase's heavy—don't hurt yourself."

The suitcase held clothes and miscellaneous items from both Wang Yan and Wei Lan—truly heavy.

Wang Dong wanted to refuse, but the weight was real—he didn't argue, didn't pretend, didn't make trouble for his son. Ten or twenty years ago, he'd have carried it all himself.

Wang Yan noticed his father's move—he knew his dad had accepted aging. His father had spent his life doing physical labor; his strength wasn't idle talk. Without his system's divine favor, even at fifty-plus, his dad's strength would crush him.

Smiling, Wang Yan handed some items to Wei Lan, most to Wang Dong, then freed his hands and lifted the suitcase in one motion, heading upstairs.

Their apartment was old—six floors total, they lived on the fifth, no elevator. That's why Wang Yan feared straining his father.

Soon they reached the floor—the door was open. Zhang Xia was inside, stirring a large pot. Hearing them, she turned, wiped her hands, and hurried to the door.

"Mom."

Wei Lan followed: "Auntie, hello."

"Ah, good, good!" She turned to Wang Dong: "Watch the food—don't burn it."

Wang Dong replied, set down his load, and went inside to check the dishes.

Wang Yan held up the items in his hands: "Mom, all of this was bought for you by Wei Lan."

"Oh my, look at this child of yours, spending money recklessly—we don't lack for anything, your uncle and I."

Wei Lan smiled: "I didn't know what you and Uncle liked, so I just picked up a few things—mostly nutritional supplements. If you like them, I'll buy more next time."

"What's there to be so polite about? Just having you here makes me happy." Zhang Xia took Wei Lan's hand: "Don't stand by the door—it's freezing! Come inside right away, your hands are icy cold, let's warm them up."

Wei Lan replied and quickly changed into slippers, then sat on the sofa and chatted warmly with Zhang Xia.

From start to finish, only when Wang Yan mentioned Wei Lan buying things did Zhang Xia glance at him—she never once looked directly at her eldest son.

Wang Yan himself carried the items over, changed his shoes, checked the prepared dishes, then sat beside Wei Lan, scrolling through his phone as he listened to her chat with Zhang Xia.

This was Wei Lan's first visit—unfamiliar surroundings, meeting his parents. She was nervous, and having him nearby helped. Besides, Zhang Xia was elderly; if she said something awkward that Wei Lan couldn't answer, he could step in and ease the tension.

With Wang Yan occasionally joining in, the conversation went fairly well overall.

After a while, Wang Dong finished the last dish and brought it to the tea table in the living room: "Dinner's ready. You've been traveling—plane, high-speed rail—no time to eat. You must be starving. Come, wash your hands and eat."

Their home had a three-sun layout—no separate dining room, and setting up a table would get in the way, so they ate at the tea table. But this tea table was custom-made back then, not as low as modern ones, so eating didn't require bending over or squatting uncomfortably.

Wang Yan stood up to help carry the dishes to the tea table. Four people, eight dishes total: hot, cold, stir-fried, braised—six of them meat dishes, filling the entire tea table.

Zhang Xia still felt a bit embarrassed: "We didn't know what you liked, so we just made some random dishes—please make do."

Wei Lan was nervous, but she was even more nervous than Wei Lan. She feared her own home might disappoint the girl. Wang Yan was twenty-nine, turning thirty soon—she'd worried endlessly before, and now, finally, he'd brought home a girlfriend. She absolutely couldn't let the girl find fault.

Wei Lan was genuinely surprised: "This is already wonderful, Auntie—we never eat this well at home."

The tea table wasn't filled with small plates—it was big bowls and basins: fish, seafood, pork knuckle, pig's blood stew, all kinds of things—how could this be "making do"?

"It's plenty." Wang Yan grinned, pulling Zhang Xia's arm: "We can't eat this well outside."

"I'm not saying it's for you—if it weren't for Wei Lan coming, you wouldn't even get a hot meal."

"Yes, yes, yes—let's eat. We've been hungry all day; we barely ate breakfast."

"Wang Yan, bring me the wine you bought for Uncle." Wei Lan noticed Wang Dong reaching for the baijiu and quickly called out to Wang Yan.

"No need, no need—this wine's fine, really fine."

"It's Wei Lan's thoughtfulness—she carried it all the way from afar. Have a little." Wang Yan stood up, rummaged through the pile of items by the door, and pulled out a bottle of Maotai.

This brand was famous—everyone recognized it. And what Wei Lan bought wasn't some guest or prince edition—it was the 53-degree Feitian, nearly two thousand yuan a bottle, and she bought two.

Wei Lan really went all out—she spent over ten thousand yuan on gifts. Wang Yan didn't know, or he'd never have let her spend so recklessly—it was completely unnecessary. But this gesture did prove how seriously she took this visit. Now he was stuck too—when he met her father, he couldn't come empty-handed.

It wasn't that he lacked money—he just thought most of the stuff was useless, a token gesture would've sufficed. Especially those nutritional supplements—he, the son of a renowned herbalist, had come home specifically to nourish his parents' health. That was far better than those things. But since they were bought, and it was her intention, he couldn't say anything—so he let it slide.

Wang Yan's family was ordinary—his father had drunk Maotai on his fingers, counting the occasions—almost all bought by Wang Yan after he started working, for New Year visits. Now, seeing the bottle in Wang Yan's hand, he said to Wei Lan: "You're too kind, girl. Don't be so formal next time—this wine's wasted on me."

Wang Dong was never talkative—in today's terms, he was a quiet, honest man. A laborer from the village who'd worked hard his whole life. His relatives and friends weren't wealthy, and even if they were, he couldn't connect with them. His only understanding of Maotai was that it was expensive—he didn't know alcohol strength, varieties, or anything else.

Since Wang Yan started working, after asking the price of one gift, he never asked again. Asking too much upset him, and telling him didn't change anything—better to quietly enjoy his son's filial gifts.

In this regard, though Wang Dong had only finished ninth grade, his easygoing attitude had always been Wang Yan's model to follow.

In contrast, Zhang Xia was different—she asked about prices, got upset, then kept asking. She never had kind words for her eldest son, constantly muttering "little Wang Ba," "wasteful brat," and never mentioned money without complaint. Wang Yan wasn't stupid—he never told her the real price when buying things, always estimated what she'd accept. Even then, it was still just two words: "not worth it"—nothing she bought was ever good enough in her mouth.

Wang Dong and Zhang Xia had lived together for thirty years. It wasn't absolute, but this polar-opposite complementarity was a key factor.

Hearing Wang Dong's words, Wei Lan didn't know how to respond. Wang Yan pulled his father down to sit: "That's not true—nothing's wasted. It's all Wei Lan's thoughtfulness. Come, Dad, let me pour you some—let's have a proper drink together."

Zhang Xia also felt Wang Dong's words were wrong, but she couldn't scold him in front of Wei Lan—she just shot a furious glare at Wang Dong, who was grinning. She knew she'd be in for a scolding that night.

"Girl, don't stand—sit down and eat." Zhang Xia pulled Wei Lan to sit: "Look how thin you are—eat more. Try this Guobao Pork—it's not as authentic anywhere outside."

"Thank you, Auntie." Wei Lan picked up her bowl, thanked her, took a bite, hadn't even tasted it yet, and nodded: "Delicious! Auntie, your cooking is amazing."

"I'm just average at home cooking," Zhang Xia waved it off modestly. "If you like it, eat more. Help yourself—treat it like your own home. Don't be polite."

Wei Lan nodded, ate while chatting with Zhang Xia. Wang Dong, the head of the household, occasionally chimed in. Wang Yan, the master of atmosphere, kept things lively—everyone enjoyed the meal.

But one bad thing: though Zhang Xia told Wei Lan to serve herself, she kept piling food onto her bowl—left chopstick, right chopstick. Wei Lan's frame was small—1.7 meters tall, under 55 kilograms—and with all this rich meat on the table, she filled up quickly. Too polite to refuse Zhang Xia's kindness, she kept giving Wang Yan desperate glances for help.

Wang Yan caught the signal and cheerfully defused the situation, saying things like "you'll get too full," and Zhang Xia finally relented and began eating herself.

In truth, Zhang Xia's cooking was decent enough. She'd cooked for thirty years, but being a laborer, she had little time to study how to make food taste better. Combined with possibly limited talent, after thirty years, she was probably level two.

When Wang Yan was younger, her cooking was even worse. Complaining about the food always earned her the reply: "Starve, you little Wang Ba—just be glad you don't starve to death, and stop being picky… blah blah."

Dinner ended well, late at night. After cleaning up, Zhang Xia led them to Wang Yan's room, laid out the bedding, and brought out new toiletries, telling them to rest well. Then she pulled the drowsy Wang Dong into her room for a private chat—naturally, there was no avoiding a scolding…

Hearing the door shut, Wei Lan sighed and flopped onto the bed: "I'm so full… I'm so tired…"

Wang Yan smiled, closing the door: "You're just too polite—my parents aren't fussy people."

"I was afraid of leaving a bad impression…"

Wang Yan pulled out his notebook and sat at the small desk he'd used for years: "When we get to your place, watch how I buddy up with your dad."

Wei Lan rolled her eyes: "You're just bragging—I don't believe you're not nervous."

Wang Yan didn't argue: "You're exhausted—go wash up and sleep. I've got more work to do."

Wei Lan replied, stood up, and quietly went to the bathroom. Because of embarrassment, she rushed through her toiletries, finishing far faster than usual, then returned to bed, lying down and scrolling through her phone—probably updating her parents. After all, a girl spending New Year at her boyfriend's home—her parents at home couldn't rest easy; they probably couldn't even enjoy the holiday.

As for Wang Yan's busy work, Wei Lan was used to it. He was always typing away—she didn't understand what he did, but the speed told her it was impressive. And since he'd just started his business, being busy was normal.

Wei Lan was truly tired. After playing with her phone for a while, she soon fell silent—she was asleep.

Wang Yan kept working at high speed. Later, Zhang Xia noticed the light was still on, opened the door to check, saw Wang Yan working, and said nothing.

Until past ten, Wang Yan finally stood up, went to the bathroom to wash up, returned to the room, turned off the light, and slipped into bed.

In her sleep, Wei Lan sensed the familiar scent and unconsciously moved into Wang Yan's arms.

Wang Yan smiled silently, rubbed her head, and held her as he drifted off to sleep…