Chapter 82: Chen Wengjie

Yesterday:

After Chen Kaimin and his companions returned home, their heads still spinning, the first thing he did was seek out his father and recount everything that had happened today. He had to say it—if the earlier bouts between Young Master Gong, Guo Lang, and Xiao Hei still resembled something out of a martial arts movie, the final confrontation was pure fantasy. He wasn't a fool; who would believe that swinging a sword a hundred thousand times at home could achieve such a level?

Chief Inspector Chen Bing sipped his favorite Pu'er tea, his face grave as he listened to his son's story. After a long silence, he finally asked, "The son of Guo Zhenghua from Caiyun District?"

"Yes!" Chen Kaimin nodded, a bit bewildered by his father's reaction. Normally, no one would believe such a tale. He had prepared all sorts of arguments to persuade his father, but though Chen Bing looked serious, there was no hint of surprise—nor did his expression suggest he thought it a joke.

“Dad…” After a moment’s hesitation, Chen Kaimin mustered his courage. “Do you know something about this?”

“Hmm…” Chen Bing nodded, considering it for a while before finally saying, “If you want to know, I’ll tell you. After all, in a few days when the Supreme Center issues a notice, we’ll have to inform the whole city, and you’ll find out sooner or later.”

Chen Kaimin held his breath, thinking, “There really is something going on?”

“Remember the uproar over the Neural Link Game recently?”

Of course he’d heard about it—just in City C, over a hundred thousand people had gone missing, and across the entire Federation, the number reached tens of millions. The government had been besieged multiple times, but since most who bought private pods were from upper- or middle-class families, the authorities didn’t dare send in the armed police. Fortunately, very few from the lower classes were involved, so most ended up as mere onlookers. The victims were predominantly highly educated individuals with higher social standing. Even when protesting, they remained rational and there was no outbreak of riots. The Federation claimed to be investigating, maintaining a delicate balance until more information emerged, but the public was already abuzz—after all, so many missing people had caused considerable social turmoil.

“Yeah, didn’t it get shut down after the accident?”

“It’s not as simple as the official announcement made it seem. The players disappeared, yes—but some have come back. The government just hasn’t announced it yet,” Chen Bing said in a low voice.

“Some came back?” Chen Kaimin’s eyes lit up. “Then… are they…?”

“Yes. Not only Guo Lang, whom you saw. To my knowledge, Uncle Xie’s son, Li Xuejia’s daughter from Tianshui District, and President Qin Quansheng’s son from the Supreme Court all managed to return.”

Chen Kaimin’s eyes widened in shock, and it took him a long moment to regain his composure. His face clouded with regret. He’d paid attention to the game at the time, but being older and more cautious, he’d decided to wait before trying anything that involved neural connections. He had bought a pod but didn’t use it right away. Later, when the government shut everything down, he’d been secretly pleased with his prudence. But now… it felt as if he’d missed out on an extraordinary opportunity.

“Dad… I…” Chen Kaimin opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words.

“Sometimes, you don’t seem all that steady, but at the crucial moment, you certainly played it safe.”

“Dad, I’m sorry!” he hung his head in shame. If what his father said was true, he’d missed the chance of a lifetime. Maybe… he’d never get another one.

“There’s no need to be so dejected.” Chen Bing shook his head. “Not everyone can come back.”

“What?” Chen Kaimin asked in disbelief.

“That’s what we’ve concluded over the past few days. All the local officials have been trying to resist the Supreme Center’s attempts to reclaim the pods our children bought. By yesterday afternoon, we’d all compared notes. As far as I know, only the three I’ve mentioned have returned. All the other pods, even the hundred thousand or so the military recovered and sent to secure facilities, remain empty. No one else has come back. So I suspect not everyone can return safely. There’s a great secret in those game pods, but there’s also a risk of being eliminated. The details, I still don’t know.”

“Why not just ask those who returned?” Chen Kaimin pressed urgently.

Chen Bing glanced at his son and sighed, shaking his head. “That’s why I say you’re still immature. If it were you, would you share your secrets? You think I haven’t tried? They all deliberately avoid me.”

“But… but you’re the Chief Inspector!”

“Yes, I’m the Chief Inspector, but that hasn’t changed anything.” Chen Bing’s expression darkened. “Which means this secret is more important than my position. They wouldn’t act this way otherwise. I have an uneasy feeling—if we don’t catch this train, our family will soon decline.”

Chen Kaimin swallowed, staring at his father in disbelief. “Is it really that serious?”

“That’s why… I’ve been praying ever since I got home today.”

“Praying?” Chen Kaimin was momentarily taken aback, unable to understand.

“Praying that Weng Jie comes back,” Chen Bing said quietly.

“Weng Jie?” Chen Kaimin was slow to react. Weng Jie was his younger brother. They’d never been close; Weng Jie had always been frail and sickly, suffering from congenital leukemia and tuberculosis. He’d been coddled by their parents and was gentle by nature. Kaimin had always disliked his brother’s medicinal smell and resented the special attention he received. As a classic playboy, he spent most of his time enjoying life outside rather than looking after his “burden” of a brother. Their relationship had always been distant.

His father’s words caught him off guard, but then a thought crept into his mind—could it be…?

“Your brother used your game pod,” Chen Bing confirmed his suspicions, and Chen Kaimin’s heart plummeted. He asked with difficulty, “Dad, didn’t you say the government had confiscated the pod?”

“Hmph!” Chen Bing snorted. “That’s why all your shows of concern for your brother never fooled us. Otherwise, how could you not notice he’d been missing for two days?”

“Uh… I was just too busy these days…” Chen Kaimin hurried to explain.

“Don’t bother.” Chen Bing waved off his excuses. “I’ve watched you grow up. Do you think I don’t know your character?” With that, he stood up.

“Dad, where are you going?” Chen Kaimin quickly stood as well.

“I’m going to check if your brother’s back!” Chen Bing replied coldly, a trace of exhaustion flickering in his eyes. Today marked the ninth time he’d gone down to the basement to check.

Kaimin’s face darkened and he said nothing, following silently behind. For some reason, although logically their family stood to gain if his brother returned, he found himself secretly wishing the opposite—that Weng Jie would never come back, that he’d just die in that pod.

With a click, Chen Bing took a deep breath and once again opened the basement door with hope in his heart. It was the ninth time. He was trembling inside. As a Taoist, he believed three was the constant, seven the set, and nine the ultimate. Nothing could be expected after nine.

The door swung open, and this time, fate did not disappoint him. Inside the basement, he saw the pod open—and a man standing there, bare-chested. The man was tall, the textbook one-point-eight meters, his skin a healthy bronze. His muscles were not bulky like Da Hei’s, but smooth and aesthetically pleasing. There were faint greenish veins glowing beneath his skin…

This was nothing like the frail, pallid Weng Jie he remembered, whose skin was always colorless from chronic anemia. But the features were still recognizable—it was his son.

“Weng Jie…” Old Chen’s voice trembled.

Was this really his brother? Chen Kaimin looked on in astonishment.

The man flinched at the sound, then looked up at Chen Bing. His brown, wood-like eyes were as warm as sunlight, radiating vitality and making one’s heart feel at ease.

“Dad!” The young man broke into a bright, joyful smile—pure, untainted happiness at the sight of family. He strode forward and embraced Chen Bing in a bear hug. “I missed you so much, Dad!”

“Good, good, good!” Tears streamed down Chen Bing’s face, all his stern authority gone. He was just a father, holding his son. “It’s good you’re back, it’s good…”

It took a long time for him to compose himself, then he patted Weng Jie on the shoulder. “Well, you’ve grown strong!”

“Heh…” Weng Jie scratched his head and grinned foolishly, but the smile was warm and comforting.

“Come, I’ll call your mother—she has to hear the good news!” Old Chen’s excitement was still evident.

“No need…” Weng Jie replied. “It’s late. Don’t wake her. I’ll get up early tomorrow—I want to taste Mom’s noodles again.”

“Alright, anything you want!” Chen Bing beamed.

“How did you know it was so late?” This time, it was Chen Kaimin who spoke, his tone cold and mind suddenly sharp. The basement was windowless. His brother seemed to have just emerged, so how did he know the time? What was on the other side of the game pod? He was desperate to know.

“The system told me,” Weng Jie smiled. “It gave me the time when I came out, and also said I was the seventy-sixth person in the Federation to return…”

“The seventy-sixth?” Both father and son’s eyes lit up. They caught the key word—Federation. Fifty million pods were sold, yet only seventy-six had returned?

The two men’s expressions were very different. Old Chen was all smiles, thinking, “With such odds and my son made it back—he truly is my son, outstanding!” But Kaimin wore a look of suspicion and asked directly, “With odds that low, how did a sickly person like you survive? What’s over there?”

“Kaimin!” Old Chen snapped, “What nonsense is this? Shut your mouth!”

But Kaimin, face dark, ignored the father he usually feared and continued to stare coldly at his brother. “What exactly is over there? What—” But before he could finish, his words stuck in his throat, for he realized that Weng Jie’s gaze toward him was utterly different from the warmth he’d shown their father. It was icy, devoid of any human warmth, as if he were nothing but a pile of rotting flesh.

“Father told you to shut up. If you speak again, I’ll sew your mouth shut.” Weng Jie tilted his head, eyes cold, and in his hand, green sprout-like tendrils appeared out of nowhere. The bizarre sight made Kaimin wisely fall silent.

Old Chen, too, was startled by his youngest son’s abrupt shift in demeanor. But as soon as Weng Jie turned back, his expression toward his father was once again gentle and sunny, as if nothing had happened.

“Dad, shall we go upstairs and talk?”

“Alright!” Chen Bing agreed, a bit puzzled by how quickly his son’s mood could shift. Clearly, the game pod had some side effects. Still, seeing the warmth in his son’s eyes, he felt little unease and nodded. “Alright, let’s go upstairs.”

As the two passed by Kaimin, Weng Jie gave him another glance. Kaimin felt as if he’d been plunged into an ice cellar—his very breath froze. Only after the pair had gone did he collapse to the floor, gasping for air, cursing inwardly, “What the hell is going on?”

If Guo Lang had been there, he would have laughed and said, “Don’t mind it—those of the Nature race are always like that. Once you choose Nature, your personality becomes extremely polarized—pure black or white, nothing in between. What they like is as warm as spring, what they dislike is as cold as winter. If you’d kept provoking him, he’d have crushed you to a pulp with a single slap!”

That was one reason Guo Lang never chose Nature—the personality transformation was too extreme. In fact, every race’s culture and genetics influenced temperament to some degree. Beastfolk, for example, tended to be forthright, like Sun Biao—bad or good, it was always with absolute conviction. Nightfolk were generally reserved and deep, Voidfolk were prone to destructive urges. But those were indirect effects; with a strong enough will, you might not change. Nature, however, was different—every member had their heart forcibly altered after bloodline infusion. Your character changed fundamentally; anyone who entered became like Weng Jie now. That’s why the Nature race, despite its power, was as unpopular as the Undead.

But everything has two sides. Nature’s personality overhaul was severe, but because of their purity, once you survived the fragile early phase (when mental strength was just beginning to be developed), your growth outpaced all other races. There was an old Nature saying: “No matter how poor your talent, within five years you’ll reach Silver rank.” In the previous era, though their numbers were few, Nature folk accounted for one-fifth of all Gold-ranked individuals in the Federation!