A group of men in black suits and sunglasses flanked a middle-aged man dressed in a traditional Tang suit. A jagged scar, like a centipede, crawled across his face, and a dragon tattoo snaked down his exposed arm.
If a movie director saw him, they'd cast him as a crime boss in a heartbeat. His presence alone commanded respect, radiating authority without a word.
This was Liu Aotian, the leader of the Qinglong Gang.
Liu Aotian scanned the area before leading his men into the Supervisory Bureau.
Minutes later, he emerged with Liu Qingsong, Ning Feipeng, and Li Tianhua in tow.
Liu Qingsong was still fuming over Lin Fan's humiliation, his pride battered like never before. He growled under his breath, "Dad, I'm going to make that kid suffer!"
Liu Aotian, already briefed on the situation, replied coldly, "I don't care how you deal with him, but don't drag me into your mess. I've got enough to handle without bailing you out every day."
"The Supervisory Bureau's starting to feel like my second home."
"Are you my son, or am I yours?"
Liu Qingsong clenched his teeth. "Dad, it was an accident…"
Liu Aotian cut him off with a wave. "Save it. I don't want to hear your excuses. One more screw-up, and you can rot in there for a week. I'm done cleaning up after you."
He turned to Ning Feipeng and Li Tianhua. "It's late. Go home."
With that, he climbed into his car and drove off.
The families of Ning Feipeng and Li Tianhua had ties to the Qinglong Gang, so Liu Aotian knew them well.
Once he was gone, the two crowded around Liu Qingsong, their faces dark with anger.
"Young Master Liu, what's the plan?" Ning Feipeng hissed. "We got humiliated. We can't let that punk off!"
Liu Qingsong nodded, his face twisted under the moonlight, looking sinister. "Oh, it's not over. I'll make him beg for death."
…
That night, Lin Fan dropped Xiao Rou off and returned to Green Forest Manor.
Xu Xiaoxiao had given him the keys, and the place was fully renovated, ready for him to move in. Sitting alone on the sofa, Lin Fan stared at the ceiling, a strange emptiness settling in.
Not long ago, he'd slaved away, dreaming of a modest house, a car, a wife—an ordinary life. Now, he owned one of the finest homes in the district, its luxurious decor far beyond what most could imagine.
Maybe this was the curse of sudden wealth.
He made a mental note to renovate his two properties into one massive estate someday.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Lin Fan took a hot shower and sank into the plush goose-down bed, mulling over skill points.
He knew how to earn them: find valuable items and sell them to the right people. But finding those items wasn't easy. The recipe incident was a fluke.
He'd have to get out more, keep his eyes open.
The next morning, Lin Fan woke early, ate a quick breakfast, and headed out. His plan: sign up for a driving test and maybe stumble across something valuable.
As he passed a noodle shop, the System pinged.
**[Object Name: Miha You!]**
**[Object Price: 3800 yuan/month]**
**[Object Value: 10,000,000,000 yuan!]**
Lin Fan's mind reeled.
A *person*?
The System could value people, not just objects?
Who was this Miha You, worth *ten billion*?
His heart raced as he peered into the noodle shop, zeroing in on a table of burly men covered in cement dust, their safety helmets strewn across the table. Clearly construction workers.
Their white coats were stained yellow, drenched in sweat, but they looked relaxed, eating noodles and joking loudly.
Lin Fan's gaze locked on the young man in the middle—Miha You. Unlike the others, he was relatively clean, wearing glasses, with an air of intelligence.
One of the workers slapped Miha You's shoulder, grinning. "Such a shame, Little Ha. A top student like you, hauling cement on a construction site? What a waste."
Others chimed in, piling on.
"Exactly! What's the point of college? You're still here moving bricks, earning less than me."
"If I have a kid, I'm bringing him straight to the site. School's a waste of time and money."
Their words, though spoken among coworkers, were laced with mockery, dripping with condescension.
Miha You ate his noodles in silence, ignoring their jabs.
But the group grew bolder, tearing into him, calling him worthless.
Finally, Miha You snapped. He slammed the table, eyes blazing, and roared, "Do you have to mock me like this? Yeah, I'm hauling bricks now, but I won't be forever!"
"You make more than me now, but that doesn't mean you always will!"
"I just haven't found the right opportunity!"
"I'm not like you—I have goals, a plan for my life!"
His outburst only fueled their laughter.
"Haha, still dreaming about making games?"
"A pretty girl game? What a loser!"
"Just stick to moving bricks, man. Stop chasing fantasies."
Miha You's face flushed with anger, but he had no comeback. He knew he was on a different path from these men. Explaining himself was pointless.
The foreman, wearing a white hardhat, frowned at Miha You. "Little Ha, we're all coworkers here, just joking. No need to get so worked up."
Miha You's eyes burned. "Joking? That's not joking—it's humiliation!"
The foreman shook his head, lighting a cigarette. "Alright, here's the deal. Don't bother coming to the site tomorrow. I'll settle your wages later."
"You don't fit here. If you think you can make it in games, go for it."
Miha You froze.
Fired?
The others burst into louder laughter.
"Hahaha, top student, this is your chance! Unemployed now, you can chase that game dev dream!"
"Pretty girl games? You're killing me, man. Total loser."
Staring into the foreman's cold eyes and enduring the group's unrestrained mockery, Miha You couldn't take it anymore. He stood to leave.
But at that moment, a figure approached, flashing a friendly smile. "Hey, can we get to know each other?"