As Chen Mo squatted on the rooftop of an urban village building, devouring a jianbing, he finally understood that cultivation novels were all lies. Which Nascent Soul Stage ancestor would act like him, heating up leftover soy milk with a talisman while dodging the landlady's "Lion's Roar" downstairs?
"Chen Mo! You're three months behind on rent, do you take me for a charity?" The landlady's lace pajamas fluttered in the morning breeze like a battle flag. "If you don't pay up, I'm selling all your scrap metal to the recycling collector!"
His phone vibrated right on cue, and Chen Mo looked down to see the system notification: "Novice gift pack received: Low-grade Spirit Stone ×10, *Five Years of Foundation Establishment, Three Years of Simulation* ×1, automatic Alchemical Furnace (trial version) ×1."
The Alchemical Furnace fell out of the void, nearly smashing his toes. The contraption looked like a rice cooker with an LCD screen, and floating bullet comments drifted across the display: "Ad space for rent, contact Heavenly Mystery Pavilion customer service."
"You little brat, stop playing dead!" The landlady started poking the ceiling with a laundry pole. Chen Mo grabbed the Alchemical Furnace as a shield, then suddenly caught sight of the small print in the manual: "This product supports barter and can be pawned."
Three minutes later, the landlady cradled the Alchemical Furnace with glowing eyes. "Oh my, isn't this the latest wellness cooker! Consider this half a month's rent." Watching her crack eggs inside the pot, Chen Mo suddenly felt that inflation in the Cultivation World might be worse than online loans.
The blind fortuneteller at the subway entrance had changed his gimmick today. The banner that usually read "Cloth-Robe Divine Physiognomy" had been changed to "Big Data Fortuneteller," and next to the QR code was a note: Huabei installments accepted.
"Young man, your fortune-telling palace is darkened." Reflections of lines of code flickered across the blind man's sunglasses. "Have you been running into weird things lately? Like your pay stub coming to life?"
Chen Mo nearly choked on his bubble tea. The bloody handprint from the night before yesterday was still stuck to his phone case, and yesterday the company HR called to say his salary was getting a raise—even though that company had been struck into ruins by lightning the day before yesterday.
"Daily Quest: Spiritual Energy Harvesting (0/100)"
"Recommended Location: Century Lianhua Supermarket Fresh Produce Section"
When the system pop-up appeared, Chen Mo was locked in combat with grandmothers snatching eggs. A sea bass in the refrigerated display case suddenly rolled its eyes: "Scan the code to join the group and claim your discount coupon, dear~" With a flick of his hand, he tossed the fish onto the weighing scale, and the cashier auntie calmly slapped on a label: "Special Cultivation World supply, eighty Spirit Stones per catty."
The bald middle-aged man waiting in line at the cash register suddenly convulsed, wisps of black smoke venting from the top of his head. Chen Mo watched helplessly as a hole was burned right through his wig, revealing a scalp tattooed with an exorcism talisman—are programmers switching careers to become talisman masters these days?
"Ping!" His phone buzzed with a priority notification. His girlfriend of three days, who had been missing, posted a Moments update: "Seeking child with heavy bounty, Nascent Soul Stage or above required, superior genes preferred." The attached photo showed her wearing a qipao in a Republic-era old photograph, and Wang Defa's account was prominently listed among the likes.
Chen Mo swung his shopping bag with the momentum of a meteor hammer. "Damn system! The novice pack doesn't even come with an ex-eliminator?" The Xuanming Mirror suddenly vibrated, and the mirror's surface projected an image of his girlfriend drinking coffee with a man in a long robe. That man's jade pendant was identical to the one worn by the cultivator hunting him down.
"Triggered Branch Quest: Trial of Love"
"Option A: Steal another's love, reward *Heartless Art*"
"Option B: Let them be, reward *Cuckold Title*"
Chen Mo slammed the mirror backward into a tub of discounted, approaching-expiration yogurt. Around the corner came the shout of the jianbing stall auntie: "City inspectors are coming!" He turned and ran, the voice of a loudspeaker drifting from behind: "Hey front-runner in the fake Adidas, your shoelaces are untied!"
As the setting sun dipped below the horizon, Chen Mo squatted at a construction site eating a boxed meal. Old Zhang the foreman handed him a hard hat. "How did a college student end up like this?" Suddenly, the steel bars on the tower crane began doing a square dance, and the angry roar of the construction manager came from afar: "Who replaced my peach-wood sword with a Luoyang shovel?"
The system suddenly sounded an alarm, and Chen Mo looked up to see a figure soaring through the evening glow on a flying sword—the cultivator's Hanfu hem had gotten caught in a drone's propeller, and he was performing a mid-air Thomas flare.
"Fellow Daoist, hand over the Xuanming Mirror!" The cultivator's whisk tangled with a lamppost. "You and I have no grievances... hey hey hey, stop taking pictures!"
Chen Mo pulled out his phone and opened a livestream. "Look here, folks, this is what happens when you stay up late cultivating! Send me a Carnival gift and I'll make him perform Sword Flight K-Pop dance!"
When the cultivator was hauled off to the police station by the observant Chaoyang residents who came to investigate, Chen Mo received a system notification: "Completed hidden achievement: Socialist Cultivation," with the reward being a police station silk banner inscribed with the words: "Enthusiastic Citizen Mr. Chen."
As night fell, Chen Mo huddled in an internet cafe booth to check his account balance. Suddenly, he received a text message from an unknown number: "The cultivation accident insurance you bought has taken effect, with your ex-girlfriend listed as the beneficiary. Surprised?"
Silently, he opened *Five Years of Foundation Establishment, Three Years of Simulation*, and the bloody bold characters on the title page suddenly pulsed to life: "Fellow Daoist, want to help me slash the price on Pinduoduo?"