Chapter 48

That night, after Gu Jia fell asleep, Wang Yan went out onto the balcony.

Facing the cold night wind, he gazed at the neon-lit Bund across the river, at the Huangpu River rushing eastward.

He pulled up the system panel and selected return.

A blue flash passed, and Wang Yan vanished from where he stood.

When he opened his eyes again, Wang Yan was lying on the bed in his shared apartment in Jingcheng.

The information in his mind interwove, but this time it was much better—barely any impact at all. Mainly because he’d spent so little time in “Thirty While,” and those memories, compared to the forty years he’d already accumulated, had little effect on him.

After lying there for a while to recover, Wang Yan got up and drank a glass of water.

He lit a cigarette, walked to the bed, pulled back the curtains, and stared at the night outside.

He pulled up the system panel.

Wang Yan

Attributes: Strength 20

Agility 20

Constitution 20

Spirit 18

Unallocated points: 4

Storage space: 2m³

Skills: Combat LV3

Computer LV2

Chinese Classics LV2

Philosophy LV2

Calligraphy LV1

Cooking LV1

... (numerous other skills omitted)

His attributes hadn’t changed; the trip was too short for any major skill shifts. Management and sales remained at LV3. He’d just been writing and coding consistently—calligraphy had finally taken root, and his computer skills had reached proficient LV2.

His current computer proficiency, with targeted preparation, could easily let him bluff his way into a job paying five or six thousand a month. After all, many training graduates who’d only studied four months earned that much. He’d studied longer, learned more, progressed faster—earning five or six thousand wasn’t unreasonable; he might even earn more.

Besides that, for convenience in future missions, the system granted him control over fertility: he could conceive whenever he wanted, or avoid it entirely. Honestly, Wang Yan didn’t want to have children in cinematic worlds—they were his own flesh and blood. He’d raise them briefly, then return to reality and be haunted by longing. What was the point? Just to torture himself?

So far, the system had never said he could return to a world he’d already visited—he suspected it was impossible. If he couldn’t stay in a world for at least twenty or thirty years, he’d never have children.

(PS: Last chapter, some brothers asked about leaving property to someone else’s child. Brothers all say I write outlines, but I don’t have any. Honestly, I’d forgotten about this. Yesterday I wrote and felt something was missing, but then I reconsidered—Gu Jia really isn’t the place to have a child. Here’s a correction: eventually I’ll be emperor, so I need my own bloodline. I wrote it here because I never read author’s notes when reading novels.)

After finishing one cigarette, Wang Yan brushed his teeth, tidied up, and went to sleep.

The next day, he woke up refreshed, exercised, and ate breakfast.

Wang Yan began his daily grind: stock trading and making nuisance calls.

Life continued for a week, until finally, good news arrived.

His commission had come through.

Wang Yan withdrew fifty thousand, taking home just over forty. He didn’t withdraw it all—taxes were too high, and he couldn’t bear the burden.

Besides, he still had to keep working for a while. He’d decide later. Either way, he wasn’t going anywhere—better to pay less now.

He transferred five thousand to his boss, kept five thousand for living expenses.

He didn’t rush to pay off his credit card; his priority was earning more. He cycled the remaining thirty thousand through credit cards and invested it all in the stock market.

Today, a college buddy messaged in the group: he was getting married, on the fifteenth of this month—that is, next Friday.

Eight of us shared the same dorm. Normally it’s four or six, but no choice—we couldn’t get into Huaxing or Jingda, so we ended up here.

Of course, more people meant more liveliness—it was always noisy.

Since graduation, we’ve scattered across the country, all living like dogs—meeting up is nearly impossible. Every so often we hold a reunion, just to talk. We usually drink, reminisce about our glory days, but when it comes to talking about tomorrow, no one’s got the energy. Mostly we just brag.

The group unanimously agreed: everyone goes.

It’s been years since we last saw each other—this time, we’ll all go together.

He’s not the first to marry; two others already have, and they even have kids.

That stung Wang Yan again.

In the following days, Wang Yan kept working as usual. Luck smiled on him—he sold another house and earned a twelve-thousand commission.

Time flew to Thursday, and Wang Yan boarded a flight to Bashu.

The buddy getting married lived in a county in Bashu; after a quick high-speed train transfer, he arrived.

At the station exit, Wang Yan saw his buddy waiting.

From far away, he could see him jumping and shouting, waving wildly—he couldn’t miss him even if he were blind.

“Old Wang!”

“Old Zhang.” Wang Yan shouted back. His buddy’s name was Zhang Guang.

Ignoring the stares around them, he rushed forward and embraced him: “Damn, I never thought you’d get married, you bastard!”

“Fuck, why can’t I get married? Say that again, and you’re buying the first round.”

“Drinking’s fine—but tell me, are the bridesmaids enough?”

“You bastard. Don’t even ask how I am—you jump straight to the bridesmaids.” Zhang Guang cursed him in his distinctive accent.

Accents—you can’t deny them. When we first started school, Zhang Guang arrived first.

Back then, he spoke fluent Sichuan Mandarin. When we met, this happened:

“Hey, brother, I’m Wang Yan. What’s your name?”

“Ah, hi, I Xing? Call me ? Guang.” The “Zhang” sounded somewhere between “Zhang” and “Zeng”—utterly unclear.

“What? Zeng Guang?”

“No, ? Guang!”

“Alright, let me check on my phone.”

Only then did Wang Yan finally figure out his surname.

Another time, after military training, one night, Wang Yan and Zhang Guang were bunkmates. Zhang Guang’s slipper had been kicked under Wang Yan’s bed.

“Hey, Old Wang, hand me my little kid (lā a, second tone).”

“What? You brought a kid? When? I never saw one?” Back then, Wang Yan was clueless—he never thought before speaking.

After a long while, they realized it was his slipper.

(Real story—my buddy’s surname is Zeng.)

Some classmates from Bashu spoke flawless Mandarin, but for some reason, Zhang Guang stuck with his thick Sichuan accent.

Add to that, the whole dorm was northerners—Inner Mongolian, Dalian, Henan, Shenyang—and he was the only southerner. His accent should’ve changed, but damn if it didn’t get weirder: Sichuan Mandarin mixed with Northeastern dialect—it was hilarious. He’s been back home for years, and he still hasn’t fixed it.

“You’ve got a wife to dote on you—why do you need me, some rough old man, to care?”

“Alright, alright, you’re jealous. Enough chit-chat. Let’s go—they’re all there, waiting for you. I told them not to come over, too much trouble.”

He reached out to help carry Wang Yan’s bags.

“No need, I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

Zhang Guang drove Wang Yan to the hotel he’d booked—the rest of the guys were already there.

When they saw Wang Yan arrive, they all teased him, complaining he was late.

Wang Yan had only one reply: “My dad always shows up last.”

They laughed and scolded him, caught up briefly, then headed out to eat, noisy and rowdy.

They drank heavily, chatting about recent lives.

Wang Yan didn’t show off much—emotions are complicated.

Everyone carries an invisible ruler—even among the eight of us, relationships had closeness and hierarchy.

But everyone unanimously said Wang Yan had changed the most. He didn’t argue, just quietly changed the subject.

Honestly, these brothers were far behind him now—his changes were subtle, invisible, undetectable.

The next day, they woke early to fetch the bride, going through several challenges.

Mostly, it was just joy—Zhang Guang kept his word. Facing the beer tower stretching from the first floor to the second, he shoved Wang Yan right up without hesitation.

Wang Yan used to have only average drinking ability—he wasn’t that little guy anymore.

Without a word, he downed half the tower—nearly a full case of beer.

Beer, once your stomach can hold it, flows without pause.

Originally, the challenge was just symbolic—if you couldn’t finish, fine. But Wang Yan set a great precedent.

The rest.