"Good. Well said."
Qiansha, too, excitedly opened the gene box.
At once, a burst of light flared up.
Everyone turned to look at the opened box.
When the light faded, a Type-i CHCS-01 insect-mutation gene vial filled with dark green liquid emerged.
The subordinates all froze for a moment.
"Damn it!"
The sight of the insect-mutation vial drained the excitement from Qiansha's face, and his expression slowly darkened. Then he picked up the vial and slammed it down hard against the floor.
Crash!
The whole vial shattered to pieces.
At this, Qiansha's subordinates turned on Old Ghost with hostile eyes and demanded coldly.
"How dare you fob our lord off with trash like this!"
"My lord, please don't be angry. I swear I didn't know this was what was inside. I never broke the seal!"
Old Ghost dropped to his knees at once, explaining in utter panic.
Qiansha drew a deep breath, forced down the irritation in his chest, and looked at Old Ghost.
"Get up. I never said you did anything wrong. But remember my words—be more careful next time. This junk is not what I want. You understand?"
"Understood!"
Old Ghost nodded hurriedly.
"Go, then. Don't disappoint me."
Qiansha raised a hand and swept it through the air with an air of command.
"Yes, sir."
Old Ghost scrambled up and left.
Watching his departing back, Qiansha spoke in vexation.
"I thought I'd get my hands on the gene potion I want before anyone else. I never expected it to end in nothing but empty joy!"
"Rest assured, my lord. We've already sent everyone out to collect it."
Captain Alang hastened to reassure him.
"Tell them to move faster!"
"Yes, sir!"
Everyone answered with deference.
Lower City.
Weary, Long Ming dragged himself toward his rental house.
Before long, in a dim corridor—
Long Ming came up the stairs, only to find a figure skulking about right in front of his door.
His eyes narrowed at once. He slowed his steps and crept forward quietly.
In front of the rental house stood a somewhat chubby man with a round face, dressed in loose green clothes, scratching his head again and again as he stared at the closed door.
"Weird. Did I remember wrong?"
"Looking for me?"
A cold voice came from behind him.
The man jumped in fright, then spun around—and when he saw clearly that it was Long Ming standing behind him, relief washed over him.
"Brother Long, are you trying to scare me to death?"
"Scare you to death? What are you doing skulking around my door?"
"Looking for you, of course."
"Come in."
Long Ming opened the door and walked inside.
Little Fatty came trotting eagerly in after him and pulled the door shut behind them.
Long Ming picked up a cup, poured a glass of water, and handed it to Little Fatty.
"So what did you come to see me about?"
"Aw, come on, you're so cold! You start grilling me the moment I walk in—no hello, no small talk. You couldn't even ask whether I've eaten?"
Little Fatty looked at him, his face full of grievance.
"Why would I ask whether you've eaten? I haven't eaten myself."
Long Ming didn't know what to say to that.
"Huh?"
Little Fatty was taken aback too. He hadn't expected Long Ming not to have eaten either.
Long Ming sighed, then asked.
"All I've got at home is instant noodles. Want some?"
"Yes!"
Little Fatty nodded quickly.
Long Ming headed for the kitchen and took two packs of instant noodles out of a bag.
Little Fatty followed him in and asked.
"Is there anything to drink in the fridge?"
"No."
Long Ming replied flatly.
"I don't believe you."
Little Fatty opened the fridge anyway—and there, in the otherwise empty fridge, sat a red bag.
Curious, he opened it for a look, then burst out at Long Ming in astonishment.
"Holy crap! A bull penis! And you said you had nothing good in here."
"Want it? Take it."
Long Ming replied indifferently.
"Really? Now I feel kind of bad."
Little Fatty said, a little sheepish.
"It's nothing. I don't eat that stuff anyway. But I've got no pressure cooker, so it'll never boil tender. Take it home and cook it yourself."
Long Ming tore open a pack of instant noodles, dropped it into a small pot, added some tap water, and set it straight on to boil.
"All right, then I won't be polite about it."
Little Fatty answered, delighted.
A short while later.
The two of them sat on the worn old sofa, eating the freshly cooked noodles.
"So good."
Like a starving ghost, Little Fatty wolfed the noodles down.
Seeing him like that, Long Ming asked with a deep frown.
"How long has it been since you last ate?"
"Two days."
"What the hell? How did you end up this badly off?"
"Don't get me started. You remember how I bought all those materials and equipment off you?"
"Mm. And then?"
"Then the market crashed! I couldn't sell a thing!"
"So why didn't you sell cheaper?"
"I'd sell at forty percent of the original price, and someone else would sell at thirty. The moment I dropped to thirty, they'd go to ten. Nothing sold at all."
"But that only came to a little over twenty thousand. Surely that couldn't wreck you this badly?"
"Don't remind me. Do you remember Zheng Lei?"
"I remember. He's a merchant like you, flipping equipment in-game. I rarely dealt with him, though, so I don't know him well."
Long Ming replied with a slight nod.
"Zheng Lei told me he'd heard through certain channels that the newly launched Civilization Paradise played terribly. He said the game was dangerous—getting hit really hurt—and the reviews were all bad, everyone was quitting. So he got me to team up with him to buy up Black Starfield equipment. We each sank over a hundred thousand into it, and then who could have known—the game would go under and its operators would skip town. The two of us lost every last coin. Now I don't even have rent money. My landlord threw me straight out."
Little Fatty explained, his face a picture of misery.
At this, a flicker of suspicion crossed Long Ming's face, and he said.
"Doesn't anything strike you as odd? Are you sure you both lost everything?"
"Huh? What's wrong with that?"
"Ever think of this possibility—he deliberately got you to partner up, then used alternate accounts to sell you the goods himself? That from start to finish, you were the only one taking the loss?"
"Holy crap—that bastard! I'm going to find him!"
It hit Little Fatty all at once.
"Enough, don't bother! Confronting him will get you nowhere. Your deal was a legitimate trade, and you have no proof."
"Waaah... then what am I supposed to do?"
"You could think about moving into Civilization Paradise."
"You can actually make money in that game?"
"You can. With your flipping skills, I'd say scraping together a living there shouldn't be a problem."
"All right, that settles it. I'm staying. I'm moving into Civilization Paradise with you and making my comeback!"
Little Fatty was suddenly brimming with fighting spirit.
"Get lost. I'm not used to living with other people."
Long Ming refused, exasperated.
"Brother Long, you could really just leave me to die? After all these years of friendship, how can you be so coldhearted?"
Little Fatty gazed at him pitifully.
Long Ming picked up his phone and transferred 2,000 Shan coins straight to Little Fatty, saying coldly.
"The money's sent. Figure the rest out yourself."
"Huh? Just 2,000 Shan coins? That won't even buy a helmet. How am I supposed to play?"
Little Fatty glanced at the message on his phone and asked, crestfallen.
"You don't need to buy a helmet. Go play at an internet café. Plenty of the internet cafés in Shanchengshan have upgraded their equipment now. The cafés in the Lower City can't afford game pods, true, but they do have game helmets, and the access fees aren't steep either."
Just like that, Long Ming had pointed him to a way forward.
"All right—just you wait. I will rise again!"
Little Fatty said, worked up, after hearing him out.
"Go on, then. I need some rest too."
Long Ming said evenly.
"Okay!"
Little Fatty sprang up and hurried out, bubbling with excitement.
Only when he was gone did Long Ming breathe a sigh of relief. He'd finally gotten the kid out the door.
He tidied up the dishes, then went back to his room to rest.
Chapter 40