Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Arrival of the Fat Man

This was the first time Zhang He met the Fatty. Fatty’s build could rival that of Director Li from the company, except Fatty lacked the air of a successful man with his designer suit and tie. Instead, he wore a long-sleeved T-shirt and baggy casual pants.

Fatty wasn’t tall, just an average height of around 1.72 meters, but his heft was impressive—Zhang He estimated he must weigh at least 170 jin. His close-cropped hair didn’t lend him a tough appearance; rather, it made his beady, darting eyes look all the more shifty.

If you ignored his animated facial expressions and imposing frame and only listened to his hearty laughter, you’d imagine he was a straightforward, jovial man. But if you saw his smile, you’d recognize at once the kind of sly grin every man instantly understands.

Lewd—unmistakably so.

Fatty himself was nothing special to look at, but his girlfriend stunned even Zhang He and Ma Junmei. To call her a natural beauty was no exaggeration. Her flawless, makeup-free skin, delicate oval face, and lively braids made her look spirited and chic. Dressed in trendy street dance fashion, she was both striking and stylish—a perfect match for the name Xiao Lingling.

If Fatty hadn’t declared himself twenty-three and Xiao Lingling twenty-two, and mentioned they were college classmates, Zhang He and Ma Junmei would surely have mistaken them for a sugar daddy and his mistress.

Their belongings filled an entire pickup truck, not only numerous and heavy but also, to Zhang He’s eye, utterly impractical: a hula hoop, a pressure cooker, curtain fabric, a radio, a leather sofa, puzzle-piece plastic carpets, speakers... Most outrageous of all, there were two huge glass fish tanks, each with live goldfish. By the time they were lugging them up to the second floor, Zhang He was at his limit.

Fatty was drenched in sweat. Xiao Lingling dabbed at him with a towel, yet it was less about wiping sweat than rubbing his pumpkin-sized belly. Eventually, whether out of exhaustion or impatience, she casually flung the damp towel onto his stomach. To Zhang He’s astonishment, the towel clung there and refused to fall off.

After a flurry of activity, Room 1 on the second floor, under Xiao Lingling’s deft touches and a scattering of trinkets, was transformed, as though the old house had been given a second life. The place became a cozy, tasteful, and stylish little home.

Even Zhang He had to admit, the room now exuded a true sense of belonging.

“I’m off. Call if you need anything,” Ma Junmei said breezily and left just as quickly.

Fatty was clearly hospitable. “Brother, thanks so much for your help today. Why not stay and have dinner with us? Try my cooking—tonight’s menu: barbecue and beer!”

Zhang He had intended to refuse, but at the mention of barbecue and beer, he swallowed instinctively. He’d been living on instant noodles from the Lucky Noodle Shop for almost a month, malnutrition draining the color from his cheeks. The words of refusal just wouldn’t come out.

That evening, Fatty set up the grill in the first-floor courtyard: lamb skewers, chicken wings, potatoes, tomatoes. He sprinkled salt, brushed oil, and as the coals glowed red, blue smoke curled upward. Fatty wielded his brush with professional skill, adding MSG, Sichuan pepper, cumin, fennel, chili oil, and finally a shower of chopped scallions.

For Zhang He, who hadn’t tasted meat in a month, this was more than temptation—it was pure torture.

Now he understood why such a stunning beauty was with Fatty. In the end, whether in games or romance, it all came down to skill at the decisive moment.

Xiao Lingling was every bit the lively, daring girl she seemed—singing and dancing around Fatty as he grilled, as if the stars themselves were whirling with her in the night sky. She darted upstairs to fetch stools or bring down beer, her laughter filling the long-quiet courtyard.

Zhang He didn’t intrude on their little world. He watched from a distance, lost in thought. Who knew what he was pondering? Perhaps a life like this was the true good life, but it felt so out of reach for him. He was too accustomed to a simple, frugal existence for any wave of emotion to disturb his calm. Maybe only in “Dynasty” could he find his true self...

The barbecue feast left Zhang He’s mouth slick with grease. Since it was a new neighbor’s treat, he didn’t hold back, downing five bottles of Tsingtao in quick succession. This surprised Fatty—was Zhang He a born drinker? Five bottles and his expression never changed.

Bidding their riotous dinner farewell, Zhang He returned to his room and, feeling content, logged into “Dynasty.”

He respawned at the Three-Life Stone in the Huima Town square, checked his status, and sure enough, he’d dropped a level—now at level 27.

A white carrier pigeon arrived with a message. After reading it, he strode off toward the town market.

The “Gathering Hall” stood in the heart of the bustling market, the largest inn in Huima Town. Amid its traditional décor, Zhong Shuman sat alone between red lanterns and bamboo blinds. Unlike other female players, she had ordered half a roast chicken and a plate of beef, eating and drinking heartily. And she wasn’t sipping the sweet “Emerald Ice” most women favored, but rather the blazing, throat-searing “Burning Knife.” One gulp sent a fireball rolling through the belly.

Sitting across from her, Zhang He was even less reserved, tearing into the roast chicken with his bare hands. The food in “Dynasty” wasn’t real, but it could restore stamina and delighted the senses—better than anything in the real world.

After a hearty meal and much to Zhang He’s surprise, Zhong Shuman matched him drink for drink. A whole jin of Burning Knife, and she was as composed as ever, her words clear: “I’m very sorry about last night.”

Zhang He replied, “It’s not like you PKed me.”

Zhong Shuman said, “But I brought you there, and I introduced them, so…”

“So just an apology and a meal and that’s it?” Zhang He cut her off coldly.

Seeing his icy demeanor, Zhong Shuman wasn’t annoyed; in fact, she almost laughed. At least his reaction proved one thing—this wasn’t someone you could placate with soft words. He’d surely remember the slight from the famed Wandering Guest. But Zhong Shuman enjoyed dealing with such people.

She disliked pretension and wholeheartedly agreed with Mr. Lu Xun’s famous saying: Never get close to those who injure others and then preach forgiveness and tolerance.

If someone must die, they die—no mercy. But if you can’t kill them now, endure it until you can. Endure, and when the time comes, strike! That, in a nutshell, was the true path of a Dynasty player.

“So what do you want?” Zhong Shuman looked at him.

Zhang He spread his hands. “You know how hard it is to reach level 28. If I hadn’t gotten that brocade box yesterday afternoon, it would have ended up in Qingcheng Sect’s main hall already. I don’t believe Wandering Guest is strong enough to wipe out the Four Elites of Qingcheng and over a thousand disciples on his own. By then, both the Weiyuan Escort Agency and Wandering Guest would be out of luck.”

Zhong Shuman nodded. Zhang He’s logic was sound.

“I was dodging around with that brocade box like a rat crossing the street—do you think it was easy for me to finally run into you?” Zhang He pressed.

If Zhong Shuman didn’t get his meaning now, she’d have to be daft. “Fine, stop complaining. Name your price. Think of it as compensation for your trouble and loss.”

Zhang He said coolly, “The price depends on whom I’m dealing with.”

Zhong Shuman’s tone was equally blunt. “And if it’s me?”

He glanced at her again. “You’re a free agent. If I demanded gold or silver, wouldn’t that tarnish your reputation as a true heroine?”

She half-laughed, half-fumed. “Didn’t expect you to be so sharp-tongued, trying to trick me with your flattery. All right, your little schemes are no secret to me. Here, take this—I prepared it for you long ago.”

Zhang He accepted the yellow booklet she handed over. One look, and his heart leapt—it was a martial arts manual.

“Song of the Treading Songbird.” Requirements: Level 30, 30 points in internal strength, 20 in agility. Effect: Move through a sea of flowers without a single petal touching you.

Zhang He was overjoyed—it was a lightness skill manual. Such manuals usually only listed requirements; their true effects couldn’t be captured by numbers and had to be mastered through diligent practice. This particular book, though, was extremely valuable. Most entry-level lightness skills only boosted speed, jump, or frequency, laying a foundation for future skills like “Running on Grass” or “Gliding over Water,” which players could only study around level 60, after three class changes. Only then would their stats support such techniques.

But this “Song of the Treading Songbird” could be learned by free agents at level 30—a rare gem among lightness skills, not something money could buy.

Of course, since it was learnable so early, its effects were limited; only by grinding skill levels could one unlock its full potential.

“You’re really giving me this?” Zhang He eyed her skeptically. Being a businessman, he believed in fair exchange and never trusted free windfalls.

Zhong Shuman put on a stern face. “Since when did you get so fussy? You act like you’re reluctant to accept my gift.”

Zhang He sighed inwardly. He owed her yet another favor. After a moment’s thought, he pulled a handful of “Garlic Tyrant,” “Ginger Lord,” and “Tease You” potions from his bag. “A small token—let me give you something as well.”

Zhong Shuman glanced at the items and said, “Interesting names, and the effects are decent. Since you insist, I won’t stand on ceremony. I’ll take them!”

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