Chapter 1 — The System Wants Me to Go Shopping
In my last life, I died clutching a bowl of lukewarm instant noodles. My wallet was lighter than my stomach.
This time, I woke up in 1997 with a briefcase full of cash… and a voice in my head.
[Ding!] Welcome, Lin Qian, to the Wealth Accumulation Protocol (Beta)!
Daily Task: Spend ¥100,000 in business expenses before midnight.
I blinked. "Business expenses? I don't have a business."
[Ding!] Then start one.
Oh, good. The hallucinations were bossy now.
Rule #1: I can't spend the money on myself.
Rule #2: Gambling, bribes, and 'creative accounting' are forbidden.
Rule #3: If I fail to spend the full amount, I get… "penalties."
[Penalty Example]: 12 hours of public flatulence.
I decided not to test Rule #3.
I could've picked something flashy, like importing sports cars. But I'm not an idiot — flashy gets attention, and I want losses, not profits.
So I picked something boring: home appliances.
Renting a big storefront downtown? Approved.
Hiring my unemployed cousin as "store manager" at triple market salary? Approved.
Ordering a ridiculous mix of toasters, fans, and rice cookers in colors no one wanted? Approved.
By sunset, "Qian's Home Comfort" was officially in business — and in the red.
Or so I thought.
[Ding!] New Objective: Expand market share. Invest in branding. Recommended budget: ¥500,000 over the next 7 days.
Branding? Fine. I plastered my face on billboards holding a rice cooker like it was a newborn baby. I bought radio jingles so annoying they could cause headaches.
A week later, a local newspaper ran a headline:
"Young Entrepreneur Brings Color to the Appliance Market".
Sales doubled. My plan to bleed cash was already starting to leak profit.