Chapter Sixty-Two: The Peculiar System

Chen Fang knew that Ji Mei wasn't so petty.

But whether Ji Mei asked about it or not, whether she knew or not, Chen Fang should have spoken up in advance.

"Then I'll leave?"

Su Mourou suddenly spoke.

The atmosphere felt like she no longer belonged there.

Ji Mei said nothing.

In that instant, Su Mourou felt aggrieved.

Her best friend’s silence was an unspoken permission for her to go.

It was Chen Fang, instead, who glanced at the time with a smile and said, "I won't stay here tonight. I have some things to deal with at home."

Su Mourou immediately looked at Chen Fang with gratitude.

"Are you really leaving?"

"I have plenty of rooms here, one more person wouldn't matter," Ji Mei said reluctantly.

Chen Fang shook his head. "It’s not convenient for me to stay. You two should have a good talk. I can come by anytime."

Since Chen Fang had said this, Ji Mei couldn’t insist further. Chen Fang picked up his guitar, walked to the villa’s front door, said a simple goodbye, and headed towards his rented apartment.

"It's heavy," Chen Fang muttered, carrying the guitar.

This guitar was made entirely of metal, unusually sturdy and substantial.

Playing and singing with this guitar was best done sitting down; otherwise, the strap would dig painfully into his neck.

The rain had lasted all day.

But by evening, it had eased considerably.

Chen Fang bought some barbecue at a street stall and returned to his apartment. Pang Tong’s routine had become quite regular lately: exercise by day, edit and upload videos, then watch his favorite variety shows at night.

Squeak—

The sound of the door drew Pang Tong’s attention.

"Why are you back?"

"Didn't you call to say you wouldn't be home tonight?"

Pang Tong was surprised.

Chen Fang shrugged. If Su Mourou hadn’t shown up, he really wouldn't have come back; considering his current physical stamina, he could have gone all night without issue.

But with an outsider present, Ji Mei could never truly relax, and Chen Fang felt out of place as well, so he simply returned.

"Eat something."

Chen Fang set the barbecue on the table.

Pang Tong swallowed, then shook his head. "No, thanks."

Chen Fang sat beside him, studied Pang Tong carefully, and asked in puzzlement, "Fatty, how much weight have you lost?"

"More than thirty pounds," Pang Tong replied proudly.

Chen Fang was shocked.

Pang Tong had nearly been spherical before, now he was more of an oval.

This guy...

His determination to lose weight was impressive!

Chen Fang gave a thumbs up.

This, he had to admit, was admirable.

Someone who loved food so much could still control his appetite and keep up daily exercise—better than most people.

Chen Fang munched on barbecue, yawning out of boredom. He wasn’t fond of variety shows, so his mind was mainly occupied with thoughts of recording songs at the company tomorrow.

Thanks to a song called "Blue and White Porcelain," the entire internet was ablaze with enthusiasm for traditional-style music. Soon, there would be a flood of new imitation songs; though none would measure up to "Blue and White Porcelain," they would still siphon off some of the attention.

Chen Fang considered whether he should seize the moment and release a few more traditional-style songs.

Aside from "Blue and White Porcelain," he remembered that Jay Chou’s repertoire contained several other traditional-themed songs, all of high quality.

"System."

"How much to customize 'East Wind Breaks'?"

Chen Fang inquired inwardly.

"Blue and White Porcelain" was a masterpiece.

The system had priced it at ten million, which was painful, but Chen Fang thought it reasonable.

"East Wind Breaks" was slightly inferior to "Blue and White Porcelain," so logically, it should be cheaper.

"Ten million," the system replied.

In the next moment, Chen Fang snapped the barbecue skewer in his hand, and the fragrant meat tumbled onto the coffee table.

Pang Tong watched in distress.

If you’re not eating it, don’t waste it!

Waste is the worst!

"Chen Fang, what’s wrong?"

Pang Tong had no idea what had happened. Chen Fang’s expression had shifted from bored daydreams to a grim, dark scowl.

Chen Fang stood and headed for the bathroom. "Stomachache."

With that, he entered and slammed the door.

Pang Tong stared at the barbecue on the table, pondering whether to sneak a bite. Just a little nibble couldn’t hurt, right?

Inside the bathroom.

Chen Fang felt he was being played. "One million for 'East Wind Breaks'? Are you running a scam?"

"Host, one million is not expensive," the system replied, voice flat.

Chen Fang laughed in disbelief.

One million, not expensive?

This damned system clearly had no concept of money, just made demands at will.

"Let's negotiate, make it cheaper."

Chen Fang took a deep breath.

"Host, to be blunt, even if I discounted this song to one hundred thousand, you wouldn’t have enough in your account," the system said. "Also, I do not accept credit."

Chen Fang: ...

What kind of system is this!

He simply couldn’t understand it. In the novels, people who crossed over with systems were unstoppable, soaring to greatness, showing off and enjoying endless triumphs. But his own system, in the entertainment field, did nothing but hand out daily loot boxes and argue with him.

Chen Fang calmed himself and pondered a moment. "Just say if you’ll sell it for a hundred thousand. If you do, I can scrape together the money. But ten million—I couldn’t afford it even if I sold myself."

"One million," the system replied.

"Two hundred thousand," Chen Fang countered.

"Eight hundred thousand."

"Three hundred thousand."

"Seven hundred thousand."

"Four hundred thousand."

System: ...

"Host, if you're short on cash, you can wait for the daily loot box. You might get it from there."

Chen Fang sneered.

Loot boxes? Who knew how long that would take?

He was already annoyed seeing the sack of laundry detergent in his room.

The system was silent for a long time, then offered a final price. "Five hundred thousand. No lower."

"Deal. I’ll pay you tomorrow," Chen Fang agreed immediately.

Five hundred thousand was reasonable, not outrageous.

With some effort, Chen Fang could gather the sum.

And soon, the royalties from his previous songs would be deposited in his account, likely amounting to tens of thousands.

That was already a lot.

After all, those songs had only just been released on Q Cloud Music.

To earn tens of thousands in such a short time was quite impressive.

"System, let me ask you something."

Chen Fang washed his face.

The system didn’t reply, but Chen Fang knew it was listening.

"Why do you need so much money? You’re not human—what would you spend it on?"

This question had troubled Chen Fang for a long time.

Why would a system need money?

"No comment," the system said, then went silent.

Chen Fang clicked his tongue. He wondered if it was just his imagination, but sometimes he felt the system wasn’t a lifeless machine, but a living person. Its tone and emotions, at times, were remarkably human.