Children born in the 1980s were China's first "little emperors"—singletons forged by the one-child policy. Growing up in state-sector families like Li Mu's, they'd spent lifetimes craving validation. At ten, they'd scavenged construction sites for scrap metal to buy popsicles and vegetables, beaming as they "contributed" to households that didn't need wilted cabbages. That hunger to prove oneself never died.
Zhao Kang, though rebellious, shared it. When Li Mu dangled tuition money, he bit hard. "Fuck yeah, I'm in! What's the play?"
"Cheat tools. I code, you promote. Stay quiet till launch."
"Promote how?"
"Spam forums. Flood chat rooms. Be the clickbait army."
"Army?" Zhao frowned.
"Just follow orders."
Zhao's eyes gleamed. Summer earnings matching adult salaries? Mythical. Yet Li Mu's track record—no empty boasts—hooked him.
Trust hung between them like spider silk. Li Mu knew little of Zhao post-18, yet those annual New Year calls from payphones spoke volumes. Six-figure ventures bred betrayal, but Li Mu gambled on loyalty.
Programming proved mind-numbing. Crafting hacks for Stone Age Online felt like Shakespeare penning kindergarten rhymes. Beside him, Zhao attacked promotion like a zealot—mastering in-game spam, cataloging forums, scribbling notes like wartime codes.
"Use proxies," Li Mu warned as Zhao registered dummy accounts. "Stay ghosted."
By dawn, Stone Age Overlord—the cheat's garish title—was 30% built. Another day's grind would finish it.
Returning home, Li Mu braced for parental wrath. Instead:
"When did you get that haircut?!" His mother circled him, aghast. "And your mustache! I told you—"
"Let the kid be," his father chuckled. "I was shaving daily at his age. My foreman said 'no beard, no brains!'"
"Our son's handsomer than you ever were!"
As they bickered, Li Mu's eyelids drooped.
"Eat and sleep," his mother ordered, noting his raccoon eyes. "School tomorrow for score estimates!"
Li Mu nodded, wolfing congee. Sleep? Impossible. Overlord called.
And tomorrow… Su Yingxue.
The school belle he'd pined for since puberty. Same class. Same unrequited crush.
A ripple of anticipation stirred in his chest—thirty-year-old cynicism momentarily drowned by eighteen-year-old hormones.