Chapter Fifty-Four: Becoming Stronger

Inside the control room, several computers hummed quietly, their hard drives emitting a faint, persistent whir. From the sound alone, it was clear the mechanical drives were well past their prime, liable to fail at any moment. In fact, these machines had already undergone several rounds of maintenance, their hard drives and other components replaced more than once.

Fan Bei came to the desk where the radio was placed and sat down. As he had done before, he first activated the recording module in the adjacent computer system. After that, he tried to contact the people at Copper Fortress. It took some time, but at last, he managed to reach an operator.

However, the news was not encouraging.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Fan,” the operator said, “President Lang is in seclusion, cultivating after purging the Aberrant Tide. He has instructed that no one is to disturb him.”

Seclusion for cultivation? More like locking himself away to burn through his resources...

Fan Bei instinctively opened the “Good Samaritan” system page. The system log that appeared confirmed his suspicions.

“Lang Sheng has completed Task One: submitted one Psychic Core, awarded 10 points of psychic power, contributed 200 points.”

There were plenty of similar entries, all steadily increasing.

Fan Bei gave up on trying to speak with Lang Sheng. With the advantage of his previous life’s experience, he knew all too well the obsessive fervor of heavy pay-to-win players—especially when this was the real world.

Still, he didn’t end the conversation immediately, but pressed on with another question:

“Could you tell me your purchase price for Psychic Cores?”

“Oh, Mr. Fan, generally speaking, we determine the price by size and quality. We have specialized measuring instruments for that. Top grade fetches at least 150 standard silver coins; mid-grade is 100 to 150; and low-grade, at most 100. Prices do fluctuate, of course, depending on market demand. With the Aberrant Tide receding, supply is dropping, demand is rising—the overall trend is up.”

“Can you be more specific? For example, what’s the price for a Psychic Core worth one point of psychic power?” Fan Bei pressed.

“Ah, Mr. Fan, you really know your stuff. But the price isn’t calculated that way; it also depends on how easy the core is to absorb with various formulas. The easier, the higher the price—cores that are hard to absorb don’t sell at all...” The man hesitated. “If you really want a number, then roughly one point of psychic power to one silver coin, for an average absorption difficulty.”

As expected, they were expensive. The Silver Chamber of Commerce set the wage for a four-star hotel chef at thirty silver coins per month. A single low-grade Psychic Core equaled two or three months of a chef’s wages.

After ending the call, Fan Bei took out the cloth pouch and note Chef He had just given him. The pouch contained about twenty Psychic Cores, varying in size, but the smallest was the size of a red date. He understood why—cores smaller than that, Chef He couldn’t produce; they would have long since dissipated into nothing.

For the same two days of hard work, he had looked at Da Bai’s system log: that one had eaten at least three hundred...

The difference was stark.

As long as one isn’t foolish or lazy, with just the level-up and stat allocation system, Da Bai could far surpass most people.

He stored the twenty-plus Psychic Cores into “Father of Systems” and checked: in total, they amounted to 1,435 points of psychic power.

According to the information he’d just received, that was only a little over 1,400 silver coins.

Chef He was a senior worker. Ordinary servants, by contrast, earned a third as much—ten silver coins a month. So 1,400 silver coins would just barely cover twelve years of a servant’s salary.

Wait—he remembered now, the Silver Chamber of Commerce allowed servants to be purchased on installment plans: pay one year’s wages up front, then monthly thereafter.

Meaning he could buy twelve at once and pay off the remainder from the value they generated over the year.

He glanced at the names on the slip of paper: only nine people.

No wonder Chef He had made that request. It wasn’t unreasonable at all; in fact, it was more than fair. The extra money, it seemed, was his own commission.

But would he really begrudge himself such a paltry sum?

He shook his head and began to contact the Silver Chamber of Commerce.

...

At lunch, Fan Bei relayed the results of his efforts to Chef He.

“Uncle, I have good news. I’ve already reserved the nine people listed with the Silver Chamber. They’ll be hired for a year, and there’s even some funds left over. Here are the remaining Psychic Cores—please take them back.” He sat at the table, returning the pouch to Chef He.

“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Fan. I truly appreciate it.” Chef He did not protest or defer, but accepted with both hands and bowed respectfully.

Da Bai, who had been eating quietly, suddenly barked twice at that moment.

In Fan Bei’s ears, it sounded like:

“Xiao Bai, why are you so energetic again?”

“Scram!”

Wait—had he really just heard Xiao Bai’s voice? And there was none of the usual headache.

Fan Bei thought for a moment. This must be the result of two days of frenzied, pay-to-win cultivation. He hadn’t expected that, just by expanding his inner world to the size of a small island, he could now hear Xiao Bai’s voice without any discomfort.

There must be two reasons for this: first, Xiao Bai was indeed very weak; second, their physical proximity in the real world.

Ah, the feeling of growing stronger was truly wonderful.

Fan Bei was in high spirits, his appetite soared, and he devoured three full bowls of rice in one sitting.

After the meal, he lingered in the living room for a while and, turning to Da Bai, deliberately said:

“Before I ate, I thought I heard Xiao Bai tell you to scram? What happened—you two need to get along.”

Da Bai, fiddling with his windmill toy, whined aggrievedly:

“I was only being kind, but it called me names. Master, you must stand up for me!”

At that moment, a voice came from within the iron sphere.

“Foolish mortal, don’t listen to that silly dog’s nonsense. It never knows its place, and naturally, I must discipline it.”

Fan Bei was puzzled by this. After a moment, he suddenly realized he might have misunderstood something—this voice was now clearly speaking in ordinary language.

He asked, uncertainly, “Wait, Xiao Bai, didn’t you say that such a noble being as yourself couldn’t communicate with me directly?”

The iron sphere vibrated. “Now that my strength has somewhat recovered, I can easily mimic the speech of your lower life forms. Such a simple language can be learned by newborn infants without consciousness—how much more so by a being as noble and wise as myself?”

So that was it. It wasn’t his own advancement, but rather Xiao Bai’s recovery that made this possible.

Realizing this, Fan Bei felt a sudden sense of crisis.

He thought about the tens of thousands of points of psychic power he had in reserve—would that be enough to deal with Xiao Bai as he was now?

“Father of Systems” could purify and destroy evil spirits, but Xiao Bai’s essence was so advanced—would it only cost psychic power to deal with him, or did the strength of Xiao Bai’s spirit also matter?

Though he himself was not yet at the Bronze level, the book’s mysteriousness was unfathomable. The purification skill came from it, so perhaps only the amount of psychic power required mattered, not the strength of the opponent’s spirit.

Thinking of the metaphor of the golden needle and the tofu, a thought flashed across his mind—if he could accomplish a certain task, perhaps he would soon be invincible...