Chapter 16: I Longed for My Father to Soar

But the original owner of this body simply could not handle physical labor, and Qin Ye had no desire to haul bricks on a construction site. That would only remind him of those youthful days when poverty forced him to sell his strength for mere survival.

The sword cultivator people imagined—white robes fluttering, sword unsheathed, ego dissolved.

The reality of the sword cultivator—so poor he rattled, scraping by as a low-level miner, barely able to feed himself through hard labor.

What a tragic existence.

So, working for others was out of the question—it would never happen in this life. He feared that, in the heat of labor, he might reach his limit and snap, doing away with the boss altogether.

The original owner’s obsession was to ensure his children lived lives of wealth and ease, never worrying, heirs to fortune.

In the previous world, the original owner’s wish was for his daughter to stay far from the troublesome protagonists, living in peace and joy, not repaying kindness with disaster and meeting such a miserable end.

By comparison, perhaps in this world, the original owner had no connection whatsoever with those protagonists.

Qin Ye pondered as he watched Zhou Taixian on the computer, opening several windows, each displaying a game. He switched between them, busy and absorbed.

“What are you doing?” Qin Ye asked, curiosity piqued.

Zhou Taixian, whose sense of responsibility was so strong he took the blame for Qin Ye’s near-death fainting incident, responded with enthusiasm.

“So, you’re mining for others in games?” Qin Ye clarified.

Zhou Taixian nodded, “Yes, it’s tiring, but the returns are decent. If you chance upon a wealthy player, the profits are even greater.”

His family knew nothing about this; they didn’t understand how gaming could earn money and only saw Zhou Taixian as idle, refusing to work, glued to his computer day and night.

With a quarrelsome sister fanning the flames, Zhou Taixian’s parents viewed their unambitious son with deep disdain.

He had a sister, Zhou Jiaojiao, whose grades surpassed his and who played the model child at home. Zhou Taixian himself failed to get into any high school after the entrance exams.

His parents had wanted to scrape together the tuition for a private high school so he could continue, but Zhou Jiaojiao’s persistent interference quickly quashed that plan.

Zhou Taixian had been unaware until Zhou Jiaojiao boasted about it to his face.

He didn’t know how other siblings got along, but in his home, brother and sister were worse than strangers—mortal enemies.

Zhou Jiaojiao saw him as her greatest obstacle, as if he were competing with her for the family inheritance.

If the Zhou family were wealthy, Zhou Taixian might understand, but what did they have? That old, dilapidated city apartment? Or perhaps the hope of a future demolition payout?

Feeling dejected, Zhou Taixian didn’t expect Qin Ye to understand.

His roommate, always dressed in gray, clearly worked on construction sites, selling his strength.

Bricklaying paid well but was exhausting; few young people could endure such hardship.

“May I take a look?” Qin Ye’s voice brought Zhou Taixian back. He looked at Qin Ye in surprise, “You don’t think gaming is a waste of time?”

“What matters is the approach,” Qin Ye replied with a smile.

His body was severely depleted—when he was sent to the hospital, he went straight into emergency. Surviving was considered a miracle by the doctors.

A miracle indeed, considering the original body had already decayed.

The doctors earnestly advised Qin Ye to take care of himself, warning that another trip to the hospital like this might not end so fortunately.

It wasn’t that Qin Ye refused to work hard; his body simply wouldn’t allow it.

But seeing Zhou Taixian’s game screens, Qin Ye suddenly had an idea—a whole new path opened before him.

Best of all, he had a helper. Xiao San, as a higher-dimensional mechanical lifeform, found the networks of this small world defenseless, a playground where it could do as it pleased.

He wouldn’t ask Xiao San to cheat, merely to open hundreds or thousands of game windows and control different characters to mine resources. That shouldn’t be difficult.

In his previous world, Qin Ye’s most lucrative public venture had always been that phenomenon-level, nationwide sensation of a holographic game, hailed as the Second World.

“Public” because other ventures were secret and couldn’t be disclosed.

When it came to games, Qin Ye considered himself quite knowledgeable.

Rarely did one see a middle-aged man as interested in gaming as Qin Ye. Zhou Taixian, energized, quickly registered a new account and gave up his seat, teaching Qin Ye to play.

Qin Ye fumbled at first, but his learning curve was steep—what began as clumsy soon became skillful.

He was more intrigued by earning money.

Zhou Taixian, open and generous, explained the channels he knew.

“These days, mobile games earn more. If you’re skilled, you can boost accounts, play alongside clients, help bosses climb ranks—much more profitable and less exhausting than the tasks I take.”

Wealthy players lacked the stamina to grind for materials but needed them to upgrade. The solution? Pay for a booster.

Anything money can solve isn’t a problem.

Zhou Taixian spoke of decent earnings—about four to five thousand a month.

His mother made two to three thousand in their third-tier city, his father a bit more, four to five thousand, but that was sweat and toil on the construction site.

Yet Zhou Taixian, whom his parents saw as idle and unmotivated, could, without much effort, match his father’s income.

Still, he had no money to his name, which had everything to do with spending as much in-game as he earned.

He mined for rich players, then spent it all to strengthen his own game character.

He only cared about having enough to eat, choosing the cheapest rentals, even sharing rooms.

The mobile game Zhou Taixian mentioned was a newly released tower-defense title, with matches lasting ten to twenty minutes—ideal for casual play.

Unfortunately, Zhou Taixian had clumsy hands.

The original owner didn’t even own a phone, so Qin Ye borrowed Zhou Taixian’s.

Despite his modest attire and the ever-present aroma of instant noodles from his room, Zhou Taixian’s laptop and phone were both the latest, high-priced models.

This world’s technology lagged far behind the previous one.

Qin Ye quickly familiarized himself with the basics and tried several rounds.

The game relied heavily on skill, but it didn’t seem difficult.

Aside from initial unfamiliarity with visuals and rules, which cost him a few deaths, Qin Ye soon dominated every match.

His account was created by Zhou Taixian, who then invited him to join his team.

Zhou Taixian, a bit bewildered, wondered if he’d accidentally discovered a gaming prodigy.

The company behind the game was ambitious, hosting tournaments. The first round was amateur, and the qualifiers had just begun.

The buzz was huge, largely because the championship prize was a million.

It was a team game—five members, so the million would be split—but even so, it was a fortune for ordinary people.

Qin Ye learned about the tournament from the suddenly excited Zhou Taixian.

Zhou Taixian was thrilled; Qin Ye remained calm.

Is a million a lot? Well, yes—a lot.

At present, Qin Ye didn’t have a cent; all his money had gone to hospital bills.

The landlord had even helped pay part of it.

A grim start, but at least Zhou Taixian was there with his overdeveloped sense of responsibility.

He lent his phone and computer to Qin Ye with great enthusiasm.

The original owner was illiterate, but after being missing for so long, the former black-market mining boss—criminal as he was—paid no mind to those doomed, short-lived miners.

In other words, Qin Ye could explain any talent he displayed now as the result of those lost years.

His fingers flew across the keys, quickly opening a webpage. Skimming rapidly, he selected a request, registered an account, and provided a solution.

The poster must have been desperate; Qin Ye’s answer was barely submitted before the reward was transferred.

In his previous world, a private commercial network existed where people posted problems, others solved them, and accepted answers earned rewards.

Qin Ye tried searching and, to his surprise, found a similar site here.

He immediately registered.

The posters were mostly business owners; the solvers sometimes were, too—but not for the little reward, more for prestige and the site’s points.

Qin Ye, however, was straightforward—he was there for the reward.

Prestige? What a joke—was he that kind of person?

The site’s reward coins could be cashed out directly.

Right now, this world’s online realm was chaotic, with no unified regulators; any sort of content was searchable.