CHAPTER 88: “YOU KNOW THIS GAME?”

Duan Mingyuan leaned over his roommate’s shoulder, eyes bugging out at the glowing interface.

"No way. You guys are playing Horny Princess Online? That fossil’s still alive?"

The room went silent except for the clatter of keyboards. His three roommates turned as one, like jury members judging a guilty man.

"You know this game?" one asked.

"Know it?" Mingyuan scoffed. "I used to be a whale. Dropped ten thousand dollars on it three years ago. Then it turned into Pay-to-Win: The Musical. New updates every month, new gear every week, and suddenly my ten thousand bucks made me slightly stronger than an NPC pigeon."

He waved his hands like a preacher delivering bad news. "And if you didn’t keep paying, your legendary sword got outclassed by a beginner’s frying pan. Total scam."

The roommates didn’t flinch. They just leaned in closer.

"So... you still have the account?"

"I mean, I didn’t delete it. But why—"

Before he could finish, they practically tackled him into the chair, logged him out of his email, and shoved the game launcher into his hands.

"Brother Yuan. Log in."

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled. "You can’t play Horny Princess Online without money."

"Brother Yuan," one roommate said solemnly, "we don’t want to play. We want to eat."

The others nodded. "Neighbor in 402 sold a sword drop for fifteen grand yesterday. Fifteen. Grand. He’s been walking around campus like he invented chicken drumsticks."

Mingyuan blinked. "Wait. People... are paying real money again?"

"Check the forums," another said, already opening them.

The page loaded with threads screaming in bold fonts:

[Buying Dragon-Slayer Set: 15,000 Dollars Each. No Scams.]

Rent High-Level Accounts. Daily / Weekly Pay. [Serious Buyers Only.]

[Level Boosting! 50 Dollars Per Day to Power Level. Fastest in Town!]

Mingyuan scrolled, his jaw slowly dropping. "Okay... either this is a pyramid scheme, or I’m back in business."

The roommates leaned in closer, practically drooling. "So... you’ll power-level us?"

He leaned back in the chair, a smirk curling on his lips. "Maybe. But I’m not cheap. Each of you buys me dinner. Or..." He paused dramatically. "Call me Daddy."

"Dad," they chorused in unison, with zero hesitation.

Mingyuan nearly fell out of his chair. "WHAT—?! I was kidding!"

Too late. The pact was sealed.

The next morning, across town at the gates of the Steel Cup T-Shirt Factory, Jiang Cheng buttoned his shirt, his wife at his side.

"Let’s head into the city after the machinery market," he said brightly. "Buy you some new clothes."

She frowned. "City clothes cost too much."

"Exactly," he said proudly. "Expensive is the point."

Before she could argue, they were intercepted by a booming voice.

"Lao Jiang!"

Jiang turned. It was Lu Zhenguo, an old acquaintance, waddling up with a grin that could butter bread. His eyes flicked to Jiang’s wife, and he quickly plastered on an even wider smile.

"Oh! And this must be Mrs. Jiang. A pleasure, a pleasure!"

Jiang puffed up like a peacock. "Yes. She’s here now too, working in the cafeteria. Cleaning staff."

He slipped an arm around her shoulders like he’d just won the marital lottery. "After years apart, finally under one roof again. And once the staff dormitory is ready, we’ll even get our own couple’s room."

Lu Zhenguo’s grin twitched. In his head: Couple’s dorm room? Cafeteria meals? Factory life? Why does he make it sound like a honeymoon package?

Still, he had to admit—Steel Cup had been making waves. Real weekends. Free cafeteria food. Rumors of yesterday’s company sports day, where even the last-place loser walked away with appliances. If someone had told him this a year ago, he’d have laughed. Now? He was envious.

Lu cleared his throat, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Old Jiang... I heard you’re the workshop director now. Think you could... pull some strings? Maybe arrange a position for me?"

He gave a nervous chuckle, hands rubbing together.

Jiang blinked at him, deadpan. "What, like a cleaning rag?"

Lu stammered. "N-no, I mean—anything! I’m flexible!"

Jiang raised a brow. "Flexible? Great. We’ll start you with yoga in the workshop. First lesson: bending over to mop under machines."

His wife stifled a laugh. Lu’s face turned red.

Jiang patted him on the shoulder. "Relax. I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t expect refrigerators on your first day."

Jiang Cheng froze when Lu Zhenguo gave him that hopeful grin. For a long moment, he just stared at him, lips pressed tight, looking like he was trying to solve a math problem without numbers.

Finally, he sighed, raised his head, and said slowly,

"Old Lu... I’m sorry. The workshop’s packed. No extra slots."

Lu Zhenguo blinked. "Packed? Not even one?"

"Not even half," Jiang Cheng said firmly. "But hey—if a position opens up, you’ll be the first to know."

He even wore an apologetic smile that screamed, I’m being polite, but don’t call me again.

Deep down though, Jiang Cheng knew the truth. Sure, as workshop director he could’ve pulled strings. But Kim Suho had trusted him with that position, and the last thing he’d do was start filling the place with his drinking buddies. Not on his watch.

Lu’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded. He’d heard enough rumors about Steel Cup being the best gig in town to believe it. Of course it was full. Why wouldn’t it be?

"Alright," he muttered. "But if something opens up—"

"I’ll come straight to you," Jiang said warmly.

Lu nodded again, but the loneliness in his eyes was obvious.

A rusty truck pulled up outside a crumbling apartment block. Son Choku hopped out of the cab like a general leading his troops.

"Fourth floor! Door number two!" he barked at the movers.

Chen Suho was inside, polishing off the lunch Aunt Dong had dropped off, when a knock rattled his door.

He groaned, muttering, "If that’s Nami coming over to ’borrow WiFi,’ I swear I’m cutting the router cable."

He opened the door and froze. A giant refrigerator box loomed in the doorway, with a sweaty mover’s head poking out from behind it.

"Uh... delivery? Where do you want the fridge?"

Suho blinked. "Fridge? I didn’t order a fridge. You’ve got the wrong guy—unless Amazon Prime got drunk last night."

The mover double-checked the door number, then looked confused. "Nope. This is the place."

Then Son Choku’s voice echoed from the stairwell:

"Mr. Kim! Don’t panic, this is me!"

Suho leaned out into the hall. "Brother Son, why are strange men putting appliances in my house?"

Son Choku grinned. "They’re not strange; they’re professionals. And these aren’t random appliances—they’re the sports day prizes I and the missus won. But our place already has everything, so... we thought your pad could use an upgrade. It’s emptier than a college kid’s ramen cupboard."

Before Suho could argue, movers marched in one by one, stacking appliances like they were building a shrine: refrigerator, washing machine, TV, and air conditioner.

Then came the installation crew, drilling into walls like they were auditioning for Extreme Makeover: Bachelor Edition.

Suho stood there in shock, muttering to himself: "I give out prizes, and somehow... they boomerang back into my house."

By the time the air conditioner hummed to life, he gave up resisting. Honestly, it felt... nice. Cozy, even. He had to admit: if all his employees were this thoughtful, he wouldn’t look half as broke as he felt.