About an hour later, Shen An sneaked back to the trash can.
The bloodstained white suit jacket had been far too conspicuous, so he’d quietly disposed of it.
Now he wore a white plaid shirt instead.
The shirt still bore plenty of lingering bloodstains and ragged tears, but it was a vast improvement over that jacket, which had been nearly soaked red.
He glanced at the pink phone perched atop the trash can, his gaze hesitant and his expression helpless.
Though his heart rebelled against the idea, his hour of fumbling had yielded two pieces of information.
One good, one bad.
The good news was that this world’s level of civilization matched his normal understanding—a modern industrial society.
No sky-flying immortal cultivators with supernatural powers, nor any cyberpunk super-future dystopia.
The bad news? Everything else fell squarely into his blind spots.
This place was utterly alien and unheard of. Unfamiliar territory was one thing, but even the paper currency was different from his original world.
What a wild ride—this takeoff had left him completely numb.
If crossing to another world had to happen this way, he might as well have chosen a straightforward death to end it all.
Yet the novelty sparked a flicker of interest in him.
A new way to live?
He could treat it like an immersive game.
This phone might look cheap and ugly, but golden fingers often came in the most unconventional packages.
Shen An kept reassuring himself like this. Then, when no one was looking, he quickly snatched the phone back.
“This piece of junk is supposed to be a phone? It’s been sitting here for an hour and nobody touched it.”
Shen An retreated to an empty corner and, with a helpless sigh, turned it on again. Once more, he endured that grating, comical ringtone.
“Everyone needs healing. Congratulations on loading the Healing System!”
Heh.
Shen An let out a cold snort and scrutinized the phone’s interface.
Hm?
This hunk of junk even had fingerprint unlock?
He pressed his finger to it and unlocked the device smoothly.
The interface was no different from the smartphones he knew—even the apps looked identical.
Messaging… videos… music… adult stuff. Ahem.
Shen An hurriedly opened the contacts, hoping for some clues.
The result was disappointing.
The list was empty except for a single number labeled as his own.
“How thoughtful.”
Shen An couldn’t hold back his sarcasm.
He tapped through every app, but the disappointment persisted.
They were all perfectly normal, without a single issue.
He was speechless.
Healing System… where was the system? Where was my system?!
He noticed there was another page.
He swiped to it.
And this page? Now it was something.
The entire screen featured one glaringly obvious app!
It sat dead center, claiming nearly a third of the display.
Arrows crowded around it from every direction, all pointing right at it, as if afraid anyone might miss it.
The app’s icon was pink, with the same low-quality design as the phone itself, and a short string of text beneath: “Life Healing Software.”
Shen An strongly suspected this phone—and this so-called healing app—had been modeled after some toy factory’s kiddie gadgets.
With a sigh, like an outlaw forced into a corner, he tremblingly tapped it open.
Shen An had steeled himself psychologically by now. He had nothing left to lose.
Even if it launched with some weird moaning gasps—er…
Just in case…
If—just hypothetically—it did play strange moaning gasps, he’d at least be curious which video it was from.
But disappointingly, it produced no odd sounds upon opening.
Just a perfectly normal loading screen.
1%… 2%…
Normal, yes, but glacially slow, perfectly in line with this phone’s bargain-bin build.
As the progress bar crept forward, scrolling text appeared: “Deep in every heart lies an unspeakable wound. We are all patients in need of healing.”
Below the bar, a pink cartoon character beamed up at him.
Did the designer of this system think this was cute or something?
Shen An endured it patiently, silently weathering the nearly ten-minute slog of text and loading.
Finally, he entered the system proper.
A chat window.
Yes, very user-friendly—a stark, simple chat window.
Shen An: “?”
A faint sense of foreboding stirred in him. This setup felt strangely off.
System: “Happy to serve you. Do you have any questions?”
Shen An: “???”
System: “Please avoid unknown symbols. Chinese recommended for communication.”
Shen An: “What is this?”
System: “This is the latest intelligent system designed to soothe the deep emotional wounds of others. It fulfills commissions and wishes, realizing the regrets of the dead and the unfulfilled dreams of the living.”
The dead? The living? So it could even take jobs from ghosts?
Shen An cut straight to it: “I want a hundred billion.”
System: “Sorry, you’re not a wish user. Wish function unavailable.”
Shen An: “?”
System: “Please avoid unknown symbols. Chinese recommended for communication.”
Shen An: “Fuck you!”
System: “Warning: one strike. Please use civilized language and be a person of quality.”
Resisting the urge to chuck it away again, Shen An asked: “So what good are you to me?”
System: “You can accept commissions. Complete a task, and earn Integral Points and rewards.”
“Reach one hundred Integral Points for one guaranteed-success wish.”
Got it.
Shen An felt his white shirt didn’t suit him anymore. He needed yellow robes instead—crown himself emperor, maybe with a little sheep sidekick.
He got the picture now. This junk system was just a middleman, and he was the hired hand.
No contracts, either.
What a load of crap “healing system.” It was him doing the healing for others!
Repackaging someone else’s sweat as the system’s “cure”—how noble.
Shen An had zero interest in healing anyone, so the system instantly lost its appeal.
Still, since he’d opened it, he figured he might as well learn more.
Shen An: “Any specific rewards?”
System: “Rewards vary per Commission Task, based on difficulty.”
Shen An: “What else can Integral Points do besides wishes? Like redeem items?”
System: “Sorry, that function is not yet developed.”
Shen An’s mouth twitched. “Why am I here?”
System: “Sorry, that function is not yet developed.”
Shen An: “What is this place?”
System: “Sorry, that function is not yet developed.”
Shen An laughed in frustration. He glanced around for a brick or something.
He started missing the Nokia.
If only he still had the Nokia.
“System detects emotional fluctuations. Please stay calm and avoid rash actions.”
Evidently spooked by his thoughts, the system sent another message.
“Binding with the system will unlock your new journey.”
“Would you like to bind?”
Oh ho, detecting emotions now? Mind-reading, huh?
Shen An skipped typing and communicated with his thoughts.
“To be honest, I want to toss you.”
“Please consider carefully. Without a proper identity, you risk being seen as an illegal immigrant—spending your life in prison.”
“Prison? Sounds like a decent spot. Food, shelter, medical care. Perfect.”
“Before I outlive my usefulness, could you kindly tell me a quick way to check into prison?”
This time, the system slowly typed out a question mark: “?”
After a brief silence, more text appeared.
“Prison means losing your freedom.”
“Heh, I don’t need freedom. Right now, I just want to fill my stomach.”
Poor Shen An hadn’t eaten a single grain of rice since saving that guy.
“Bind the system, complete commissions, and you can eat your fill.”
Shen An flicked the screen. “?”
“How thoughtful. Finally dropping the robotic system speak.”
“Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if there’s a real person on the other side of this screen—or a pair of eyes just like mine.”
Shen An pulled the phone close, staring intently at its cheap, outdated display.
The system didn’t answer.
Instead, it kept repeating: “Would you like to bind?”
Shen An thought for a moment and murmured, “Sounds kinda fun.”
“Would you like to bind?”
“Bind.”
About ten seconds later, a notification chimed.
“Congratulations! You’ve successfully bound the Healing System. You now have your exclusive identity!”
Whoosh~
Shen An’s hearing had sharpened considerably, so he immediately looked up and took a step back.
An object came hurtling down from high above.
He snatched it out of the air and scanned his surroundings warily, grumbling under his breath. “Throwing stuff from the sky in broad daylight? Got no public decency left?”
But he quickly realized something was wrong.
The object was a wallet.
He opened it to find an ID card inside, bearing his photo and name in bold letters: “Shen An.”
He arched an eyebrow, a touch of surprise flickering across his face.
Was this the so-called exclusive identity?
Shen An studied the ID card for a moment, then glanced up at the vast expanse of blue sky stretching endlessly overhead. A grin tugged at his lips; things were getting more interesting by the minute.
He flipped open the wallet’s inner compartment next, only to snap it shut in disappointment.
Not a single cent.
Talk about stingy!
“From now on, you may freely select healing commission tasks.”
Another message popped up from the System.
The clean interface now featured a new option displaying the available commission.
Shen An tapped it open.
Only one task was listed.
To be precise, that single task dominated the entire interface.
Free… free choice… yeah, some freedom.
He scanned the commission’s details.
“Mother’s Worry: This commission comes from a deeply anxious mother. Her daughter appears to suffer from some form of mental illness. Will you help this poor mother mend her broken heart?”
“Reward: Unknown.”
“Completion will grant one Integral Point.”
Shen An regarded the description with a playful glint in his eye. A daughter suspected of mental illness?
He couldn’t care less about the vague reward or the measly Integral Point.
With a tap, he accepted the commission.
Truth be told, he was famished.
At the very least, it ought to get him a meal, right?
Finishing the task could wait; food came first.
“You have selected the commission: Mother’s Worry. Confirm acceptance?”
“Confirm.”
“Please arrive promptly at Sun Coffee Shop in Era Square at 4:00 PM this afternoon. Hint: Madam Zhao’s guest.”
A coffee shop?
I don’t want coffee! Can’t we make it a restaurant instead?
Shen An railed silently in his mind, but the System had already fallen quiet.
He glanced at the time with a speechless shake of his head…
Damn, 3:15.
Forty-five minutes to go.
Yet Shen An didn’t rush off. He stared at his phone in silence, sinking into thought once more.
Why the hell doesn’t this crappy phone have GPS?!
