Chapter 234

The next day, the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month, Wang Yan rose as usual.

In fact, sleeping in wasn't an option here, because from dawn on, the clattering of firecrackers never stopped—boom, crack—making it impossible to sleep peacefully.

This small city of ours, unlike major metropolises, doesn't ban firecrackers; they're lit from Minor New Year all the way to the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, so natural wake-ups are out of the question.

Wei Lan also rose early, unusually—partly because of the explosions, partly because she'd gone to bed early, and partly because she dared not oversleep; that would be utterly improper. It was her first visit; even if she had to fake it, she had to act the part.

After nuzzling with Wang Yan for a while, Wei Lan got up and dressed: "Let's go for a walk."

"Alright."

Wang Yan dressed quickly; since gaining the system and becoming frost-resistant, he hadn't worn a thick cotton-padded coat or double-layered cotton pants—too dignified. It was Wei Lan who thought he was cold and insisted he put on a woolen pair.

By the time they got up, it was already past six; Zhang Xia and Wang Dong had long been awake and were preparing breakfast.

Seeing the two emerge, Zhang Xia pulled Wei Lan aside and fretted over her for a long time—whether she was adjusting, whether she'd slept well, this and that.

Under Zhang Xia's instructions, Wang Yan and Wei Lan finally stepped out for a stroll.

Heavy snow had fallen the night before, crunching underfoot; some elderly folks, their grandchildren home for the holiday, smiled as they swept snow from their building entrances with brooms, while a few rare early-rising children dashed wildly across the snowy ground nearby, the crisp air carrying the scent of someone's morning stewed meat, distant explosions echoing from the sky, passersby greeting familiar faces—another year passed.

Wei Lan linked arms with Wang Yan, skipping and crunching through the snow: "The New Year atmosphere here is really great."

"We've lived on this street for decades; back in the village, it was even livelier."

Only this kind of old housing still feels like home. Those who moved into new developments in recent years? Much less so.

"Way livelier than where I'm from—they don't even allow firecrackers."

Undeniably, the boom and crack of firecrackers is a vital part of the New Year, but what matters more is family reunion. The ban exists mainly because of annual fires and injuries, plus the shoddy production of small workshops. Whether banning fireworks is good or bad, Wang Yan now thinks it doesn't matter—he once thought it bad as a child, then good a few years ago.

And back then he thought it good because he couldn't wake up—he didn't want to wake up at all…

After strolling around with Wei Lan for a couple rounds, they impulsively built a snowman; Wei Lan's cheeks turned bright red and she kept sniffling from the cold before they returned home for breakfast.

Breakfast was the porridge Zhang Xia had boiled early—her way of caring for Wei Lan. Otherwise, with just the three of them, they'd have eaten yesterday's leftovers; their family never drank porridge.

To spare Wei Lan embarrassment, Wang Yan joined her in drinking a bowl of porridge with pickled vegetables before turning to yesterday's leftovers. Of course, eating leftovers wasn't a slight to Wei Lan—not with eight dishes left over from yesterday.

If Wang Yan couldn't eat and digest like this, those dishes would've lasted their family of three two full days. Tomorrow's New Year's meal will be fresh again, plus dumplings—New Year's basically means living off leftovers.

After breakfast, they chatted at home a while longer; by nine, the whole family went out shopping. There was no real need—New Year supplies were already plentiful—but they just wanted to take Wei Lan for a stroll.

But Wang Yan hadn't expected Zhang Xia to head straight to the gold shop to buy Wei Lan a gold bracelet. She said she'd wanted to buy one before but didn't know what style suited Wei Lan, so she brought her along.

Seeing his mother's earnest look, Wang Yan gave a slight nod of approval. Wei Lan beamed and followed Zhang Xia to browse bracelets; after much deliberation, Zhang Xia spent over ten thousand on one for Wei Lan, and Wang Yan spent another ten thousand on a necklace for Zhang Xia. Wang Dong couldn't be left out—he got a watch, a new phone, another ten thousand-plus. Finally, they bought miscellaneous items, mostly Chinese herbs, and returned home before lunch.

Wang Yan had checked his parents' pulses—no major illnesses, but plenty of minor ones: arthritis, rheumatism, and unavoidable high blood pressure from age.

His parents still half-doubted his pulse diagnosis. He brushed them off with nonsense, calling the prescriptions "folk remedies." He knew they didn't fully trust their eldest son—but they had inexplicable faith in folk remedies, despite being scammed countless times over the years.

In the real world, Wang Yan wasn't some wealthy tycoon. This year, counting his house sale and stock/futures trading, after taxes and personal spending, he'd netted barely over three hundred thousand. Spending thirty thousand today was one-tenth of his fortune. Seeing his parents grumble with smiles in their eyes, this money felt worth more than any he'd spent in the cinematic world.

Lunch wasn't elaborate, because Wang Yan's friend had called earlier to arrange a meal.

In truth, Wei Lan and Zhang Xia were already quite familiar—they'd chatted often on WeChat, and after overcoming their initial awkwardness face-to-face, they'd found their natural rhythm.

Zhang Xia felt the same; Wang Dong, however, rarely spoke unless drunk. If he dared show off in front of Wei Lan, Zhang Xia would scold him for a year.

By two in the afternoon, Wang Yan and Wei Lan took a taxi to the agreed restaurant to meet friends.

Since childhood, Wang Yan had never been a good kid—skipping class, fighting, always defiant. So it's no surprise his friends weren't great. After college and entering society, most of those old buddies vanished. The few still around were either childhood friends or high school buddies he'd kept in touch with—some had gone straight, others had stayed just as bad.

As for friends made at work—he had none. Sure, they drank and partied together, but everyone knew the moment you quit, the friendship ended. Just enjoy the moment.

This was their first reunion in a year—trying to reconnect before the holiday rush. After New Year's, they'd be visiting relatives nonstop, drunk every day, with no time to gather again.

Including Wang Yan, seven people showed up—all at that age. Two were married; another hadn't brought his girlfriend, but they'd just started dating this year and hadn't met the parents yet—though the guy's demeanor suggested he'd likely introduce her next year.

In truth, Wang Yan didn't care much about friendships anymore. To him, it had been over three hundred years since they last saw each other, and they hadn't kept in touch—these connections were meaningless. What kept him going through this was the shrinking, fading part of his mind that refused to forget the past—his roots.

Wang Yan didn't show off—he simply summarized his year, didn't mention entrepreneurship, no need. He shared only amusing anecdotes from his bicycle trip to Tibet. Throughout, he mostly listened while the other three chattered, occasionally interjecting to keep the mood lively—everything went smoothly.

Interestingly, the three women at the table, besides Wei Lan, were polar opposites. One was the friend's college acquaintance—family well-off, married right after graduation, living in Shenyang. The other had dropped out of school, married a woman she met through underworld connections, and now just drifted around Longcheng.

Compared to each other, regardless of wealth, their cultural levels differed, so their perspectives differed. That woman couldn't sync with Wei Lan or the other. But she wasn't useless socially—she chattered nonstop like a loud gossip. Wei Lan and the other woman clearly struggled to adapt, awkwardly responding. Still, she had one advantage: her looks were striking, her figure excellent. But the heavy makeup ruined her natural beauty, and with her behavior, she felt utterly out of place.

After dinner, they went to a bathhouse for a soak, steam bath, and massage, then parted ways—until next year…

New Year's Eve: pasting couplets, steaming big chunks of meat, setting off firecrackers, wrapping dumplings. With Wei Lan here, the usual quietness of the three-person household vanished—now it was lively and warm.

Wang Yan felt that just this New Year's joy alone could add a year or two to his parents' lives.

That night, Wang Yan, as usual, called one after another to offer New Year greetings. Last year he'd called his house-selling agent; this year, no one above him—he called every aunt, uncle, and cousin.

Wang Yan disliked it—throughout the year, they only contacted him to borrow money, and he hated the empty formalities. But his father insisted, so he went along.

In truth, his father had two brothers and four sisters; Wang Yan was close to none. His generation had little contact. His mother had three brothers and two sisters; Wang Yan was only close to his second aunt, and even then, only some cousins remained in touch—the rest were useless. Grandparents and great-grandparents were all gone.

If his parents died, these relatives would vanish entirely—they'd only reach out when they needed someone to contribute money for family events; otherwise, they'd never count on him…

New Year's Day: Wang Yan and Wei Lan carried gifts to visit relatives living in the city, letting them meet her. Wang Yan didn't want to—Zhang Xia insisted.

Early on the second, amid his parents' reluctant gazes, Wang Yan and Wei Lan packed up and left to visit Wei Lan's father-in-law.

Knowing Wang Yan was coming, the old couple prepared plenty: wild rabbit, old hen, deer antler—Wang Yan had to insist the plane couldn't carry it all, so they reluctantly took back most of it.

A mother worries when her child travels far; they didn't understand what Wang Yan did or how much he earned. Last night, Zhang Xia pulled him aside and shoved a card into his hand—ten thousand inside, for him to use. Having never left Liaoning Province, they believed southern prices were high, and with a girlfriend to support, his life must be hard.

Wang Yan naturally refused, opened his mobile banking app, showed them his balance, and dispelled their idea. He didn't give his parents money—it was useless; they'd just deposit it and never spend it. Better to buy things and mail them home directly.

Took the high-speed train to Shenyang, then flew to Xi'an—sunset glowed as they landed. This time, Wang Yan didn't carry everything—Wei Lan's father came to pick them up.

Wang Yan had never been to Xi'an before, but cities are all steel, cement, and concrete—hardly different. To truly feel it, you need to live there awhile; tourism is just a glance.

Along the way, Wang Yan, to Wei Lan's stunned silence, talked nonstop. She knew he was good with words, but she hadn't expected this much.

It was normal—he'd mostly guided conversations before, and in Lin'an, he had no friends worth forcing small talk with. But this father-in-law was different—first visit, he had to nail it.

The gifts he brought this time—watches, mink coats, cordyceps, deer antler—totaling around twenty thousand, no longer cheap, already overdone. Had Wei Lan not gone overboard, he'd have spent just eight or ten thousand…

At Wei Lan's home, her mother had already prepared dinner; relatives had come to meet Wang Mou and vet their niece, plus Wei Lan's grandparents who lived there—quite a crowd.

Wei Lan's father was Wei Qinglin, her mother Li Mei. Their household was better off than Wang Yan's—both parents employed, lived in a modestly decorated hundred-square-meter, three-bedroom apartment built just a few years ago, with subtle Chinese-style touches; their car wasn't expensive but was a B-class model worth over two hundred thousand. Relatives and friends all seemed cultured—literary family. Wang Yan was out of his league…

But that was just words—he wasn't intimidated. After brief introductions, he sat down to eat. He didn't show off—that annoyed people—but his remarks were always on point, his compliments flawless, his knowledge broad, his drinking solid. He neither stole the spotlight nor failed to impress, and even got a few uncles drunk who tried to force him to drink.

Wei Qinglin was a cultured man—a retired cadre who loved tea, newspapers, and calligraphy; he'd long heard Wang Yan wrote well, and after wine, he pulled him aside to write a piece.

Wang Yan didn't write in his own unique script—there was no such thing as innate talent for that; it was too exaggerated. After all, he had no family tradition or resume to explain it. Out of a desire to show off and impress, he combined fonts from many people with slight personal modifications to write "Qinyuan Chun · Snow," leaving Wei Qinglin speechless. This alone was already astonishing: Wei Qinglin understood that this piece of calligraphy proved Wang Yan had studied regular script, seal script, running script, cursive script, and clerical script—and those tiny alterations showed he had delved deeply into each, developing his own subtle ideas.

In the clichéd phrase, given time, he would surely become a master of his generation.

He had, in effect, conquered Wei Qinglin.

As for Wei Lan's mother, she was easily won over. Though Wang Yan's appearance was ordinary, his sweetness was unmatched—managing middle-aged and elderly women was effortless.

Overall, Wang Yan had secured his place with Wei Lan's parents; what remained depended on his relationship with Wei Lan.

After staying at Wei Lan's home for two days and meeting some of her relatives and friends, on the evening of the fifth day, carrying a pile of gifts, Wang Yan and Wei Lan returned to Lin'an.

Mainly because they had to return to work on the seventh. Wang Yan didn't mind, but Wei Lan had been thoroughly worn out by the holiday and needed to come back early to rest properly. The real downside of the New Year was this: such a wonderful festival offered little time with parents, and the constant travel alone was exhausting, not to mention visiting relatives and friends—it was more tiring than working. Back in Lin'an, things improved greatly; the two lived quietly in their own small world.

After a day of rest, the busyness of the new year began again. Wei Lan returned to her regular job, and Wang Yan went to his small office.

Ma Zichen was from Henan Province; Wang Yan had sent him a two-hundred-yuan red envelope for the New Year. When Wang Yan arrived, Ma Zichen had already come in and was sweating and grunting while cleaning.

Wang Yan had already trained Ma Zichen for half a month, and his progress was decent. After assigning him a small feature to develop and assess his skill level, Wang Yan resumed his frantic work.

These seven days back and forth had seriously delayed things. Another month was nearly gone; barring surprises, the new world system should be ready—he needed to speed up.

Thus, a week passed in the blink of an eye, and the message from the System's "Live Dad" arrived unexpectedly.

"'The Great Era': Ruan Mei: Cure the illness."

Wang Yan knew this drama—it was a TVB production, though many years ago. He vaguely remembered Ruan Mei as the "Little Jew" in the drama, one of the main characters.

After watching it, Wang Yan ignored the task and kept working day and night until half a month later, when he finally completed copying the manufacturing process for the sedative's final formulation, the newly added AI core code, and future R&D directions.

After finishing all that, Wang Yan turned his attention back to this mission.

Glancing at Ma Zichen across from him, scratching his head, frowning, and gritting his teeth in agony, Wang Yan shook his head, opened a video app, logged into his membership, and started watching "The Great Era."

It had forty episodes, mainly about…

After watching for over two days, Wang Yan found it deeply tragic. The root cause, Ding Xie, was a physically strong idiot, a madman—his mental logic was truly bizarre.

Wang Yan browsed online a bit more, checking netizens' comments. One remark he found most interesting was: "Ding Xie seeks revenge, stops at a point; Ding Xie repays kindness, destroys entire families."

After checking further details on the drama's timeline, he lowered his head and returned to work.

Having Ma Zichen in the office across from him was inconvenient—better to go home tonight.

Ruan Mei's illness was congenital heart disease; Wang Yan's medical skills should suffice—he wouldn't necessarily need open-heart surgery. After all, congenital heart disease has many types; unless the heart failed to develop fully and caused dysfunction, surgery was rarely required.

That night, after his usual cultivation routine, once Wei Lan fell asleep, Wang Yan rose and left the bedroom. He poured himself a glass of water, stood on the balcony watching the fine rain drifting under the streetlights, then turned, set down the cup, and, under the curious gazes of Ah Mao and Ah Gou, pulled up the system interface and made his selection.

A flash of blue light…

(Daily life is like this—in truth, this chapter could stretch into three or four more, but there's been no feedback, so I don't know how the big brothers feel. If you don't like it, I'll return to one chapter per update; if you do, next time the little brother will expand further. Thanks for the big brothers' support!)