Chapter 3

Despite constantly muttering about the shortcomings of this staff member, he followed instructions and exited the call interface, reaching out to tap the quiet information app resting on his desk—whether it was real or fake, he’d find out with one look.

After opening it, the first thing that caught his eye was the prominent unread message; the red dot in its upper-right corner confirmed the timestamp was correct, and the sender’s name was Guicheng Cemetery Land Acquisition Office.

“...” Staring at this message that felt both familiar and alien, the boy froze, silent for a long moment, as if trying to recall exactly what he’d been doing at that time.

After racking his brain to no avail, he still clicked to expand the details—he had to find some spark of inspiration, or staying in total confusion the whole time wouldn’t do.

The message expanded, its text lengthy; it took a full minute to read and fully comprehend. In simple terms: “he” had purchased a plot of land from their company at that time, and they were honored by his patronage, and so on...

“Hmm... I think I remember something. Can you explain exactly how I placed the order? I’ve kind of forgotten.” The boy stroked his chin, pondering with a hint of maturity; he didn’t deny the event had happened, but he’d just finished gaming, his mind was still a muddy mess, unable to recall anything—perhaps he’d merely glanced over it without paying attention.

But how could he possibly have spare cash to buy a cemetery plot? That was the part he couldn’t understand at all. For now, he’d just wait and see—worst case, he’d call the police; the cops would surely be happy to help.

“Alright, may I ask whether you visited our website or received a call from one of our staff members?” The staff member didn’t understand why the client suddenly asked about this, but since he’d asked, it had to be resolved. There were countless ways to place an order, but these two were the most common—he’d start by eliminating them, hoping it wouldn’t upset the client; he had no idea whether this boss was easy to deal with.

“Website... isn’t your website called An Guan Xia Zang?” The boy’s mind flashed with sudden clarity—he finally remembered the key detail: that annoying ad!

“Yes, yes! So you placed the order through the website. We received your full payment at the time. Your trust in our company is truly an honor—we hope to continue cooperating with you in the future. Do you have any other questions? I’ll do my utmost to answer them.” The staff member quickly caught on and began fawning, bowing and scraping with perfect precision—if this weren’t a remote call, he’d surely be serving tea and water right now.

“Wait... never mind, forget it. Just send me the address—I don’t want to waste time searching.” The boy had been about to ask more, but then remembered that ad and urgently wanted the answer; he ended up saying nothing, deciding instead to hang up—but before doing so, he needed the address. He was too lazy to search himself; why not let someone else do it? Even if the thing seemed a little unlucky, he no longer cared much—he was broke, and he was proud of it; he saved fabric for the nation, and even ghosts would offer him a cigarette.

Okay, that boast was a bit too big—set it aside for now. Finding the truth was the current goal.

“Got it! If you need anything else, feel free to call anytime—we offer one-stop service and won’t let you down. Wishing Mr. Jia a pleasant life.” As soon as he finished, the boy hung up decisively—he needed to confirm this quickly, or his unease wouldn’t fade. Had he really, stupidly paid money for a cemetery plot?

Returning to the computer, after a series of practiced actions, the laptop screen lit up again. After entering the password, he was back on the game interface.

Even though the game had ended,

he had no interest in lingering. He pressed three keys at once to open Task Manager and forcibly exited the game.

After clearing the background processes, he rushed into the browser—luckily, he hadn’t enabled incognito mode, or he wouldn’t have found any history.

Quickly, among numerous study resource pages, he found this one peculiar website link.

As for his connection to it, that’s a long story—purely by accident he clicked in, then automatically clicked the pop-up “free claim,” and the page redirected to a site that sounded exactly like a coffin seller. He’d swiftly closed it then, but thought he’d glimpsed his own information in passing.

Since he’d never registered an account on the site, he hadn’t paid much attention—but now he realized, his information might have been leaked without his knowledge.

This was serious—if he’d accidentally taken on a loan shark’s debt, everything would be ruined.

So, how should he solve this?

Perhaps, if he found the website’s redirect point, he’d get the answer.

He returned his focus to the browsing history. Before this cemetery site, he’d indeed found a redirect link—but after clicking it, it showed “Claimed Successfully.”

Huh? What does that mean? Claimed a cemetery plot successfully? Was he about to smash his computer?

What the hell was going on? Not figuring this out made his heart race with panic.

At that moment, a banner for Lan Yue Game popped up in the lower-right corner: the in-game character was “struggling” to beat a small monster. A few slashes later, the spider fell, dropping a string of god-tier gear and a large sum of Yuanbao. Then the screen switched—familiar actors appeared, delivering their unchanging line: “If you’re a brother, come chop me—I’m waiting for you at Lan Yue.”

Below it, bold text read: High-price Yuanbao Buyback. Try now and get 888 yuan free. We look forward to your arrival.

Seeing this ad, the boy’s already restless heart turned even more irritated. He grabbed the mouse to click close.

Everyone knows ads hide their close buttons. The boy clearly fell for the trick—his click didn’t close the browser but redirected it. The game interface loaded instantly, proving the school’s internet speed was decent.

Once the game launched successfully, a red envelope popped up. Above it read: “Lan Yue Official Presents You an 888-Yuan Red Envelope.” Below, the “Open” button was edged in gold, shimmering faintly—impossible to resist opening.

“So flashy... but since it looks nice, I’ll open it just to check. If it’s fake, I’ll shut it right away.” Staring at the dazzling red envelope dominating the center of the screen, the boy paused. He knew beautiful things should be admired—he admired it, sure—but it still looked utterly dubious. Who’d be this bored to play such a game?

Despite his inner complaints, his actions betrayed his true thoughts. Slowly moving the mouse to the “Open” button, he hesitated no longer—clicked left immediately. Who cared if it was real? He’d never seen such a pretty envelope before; if he could snag a red envelope cover, even better. After all, it was just an ad—he wouldn’t lose anything.

Besides, games need user data—this probably counted as signing up. A win-win situation couldn’t be better.

At least, that’s how he saw it. Whatever. He didn’t take it seriously. If he didn’t get the envelope, he’d feel a little regret—but not much. Hoping to get something from an ad? That was naive and ridiculous. He clicked only to relieve his annoyance—whether he got anything didn’t matter; the key was making himself happy again.

After the cemetery purchase incident, he still hadn’t recovered. He didn’t know if his roommate had returned—he even considered asking his roommate to run an errand. This headache was unbearable. How the hell had he gotten tangled up with a cemetery? It was just too damn unscientific.

‘Ding! Trial red envelope successfully claimed. Please collect!’