Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

Zhao Yonggang, the male homeowner of apartment 201, was holding the doorknob with his other hand, while his phone was still in his other hand, displaying the same nine-grid layout that Fang Zhi had just seen.

The two people stood facing each other, the light from their phone screens illuminating their chins.

“I—” Fang Zhi began.

"You—" Zhao Yonggang said at the same time.

They both shut up at the same time.

The corridor was silent for two seconds.

A woman's voice came from the living room behind Zhao Yonggang: "Who is it?"

"Upstairs." Zhao Yonggang didn't turn around.

The footsteps came from the direction of the living room.

Zhao Yonggang's wife appeared behind him, wearing a beige apron, her hands still wet, probably washing dishes.

Over her husband's shoulder, the woman saw Fang Zhi. Her expression tightened at first, then her gaze fell on the phones they were each holding. The screens were both lit up, displaying the same nine-grid image.

Her expression shifted from tense to something subtle, somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to sigh.

"Come in and let's talk." She stepped aside.

Fang Zhi walked into the living room of 201.

This was his first time entering this family's home—they had only ever argued at the door before.

The living room wasn't big, but it was clean. Next to the sofa stood a music stand, and the sheet music was turned to the page for "Erquan Yingyue".

A two-stringed bowed instrument sits by the French windows on the balcony, with rosin on the soundbox and the bow resting on the strings.

A corgi was lying in the corner. When it saw a stranger come in, it swished its tail on the floor twice but didn't bark.

Zhao Yonggang's elderly father came out of the kitchen with a cup of tea. When he saw Fang Zhi, he paused for a moment.

The old man looked very much like Zhao Yonggang, except he was forty years older; his hair was gray and his back was slightly hunched.

“Dad,” Zhao Yonggang took the teacup from him and placed it on the coffee table, “this is our upstairs neighbor.”

The old man nodded, sat down on the sofa, and glanced at the two young people's phone screens.

He had obviously seen the photo too—in this day and age, older people scroll through their phones just as fast as younger people.

"About the erhu," Zhao Yonggang spoke first, his voice a little dry, "I just placed an order for my dad... He'll be using wireless headphones from now on, so they won't disturb you."

Fang Zhi was taken aback.

“Smoking in the hallway,” he heard himself say, “was wrong of me. I’ll smoke on the balcony from now on.”

The wife wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at her husband.

Zhao Yong received a look: "The dog peeing in the elevator... is my fault. I've ordered deodorizer. I'll walk the dog around more often from now on, and I promise it won't pee in the elevator again."

The corgi in the corner seemed to understand its crime, resting its chin on its front paws and tucking its ears back.

Fang Zhi glanced at the corgi, then at the erhu on the balcony.

The old man was holding a teacup, his gaze shifting between his son and the neighbor, his lips moving slightly.

“Uncle,” Fang Zhi turned to the old man, “you can still play the erhu…it’s alright, I was just being too sensitive before.”

The old man put down his teacup and waved his hand.

He took out his phone and showed the picture his son had just sent him: "This is good, it rings when connected to the phone. I can hear it myself, so it won't bother you. Actually, I don't even know how loud I was playing it—my ears aren't what they used to be, I can't hear anything unless I play it really loud."

Fang Zhi looked at the headphones, then at the erhu on the balcony, which was polished to a shine by rosin.

"Uncle, how long have you been having diarrhea?"

“More than forty years,” the old man’s eyes lit up as he spoke. “I worked in the county theater troupe when I was young. Later, the troupe disbanded, and I started performing on my own.”

Xiao Chen added from the side, "Dad practices for two hours every day, from nine to eleven in the morning. He says his fingers are more agile in the morning."

Fang Zhi recalled that, in order to vent his anger, he wrote in his complaint, "From six in the morning to eight in the morning..."

“That’s perfect,” he said, “so I don’t always oversleep… You go ahead and do your thing, I’ll fry my eggs.”

Zhao Yonggang and his wife exchanged a glance.

“I’ll also pay attention to the washing machine and takeout trash,” Fang Zhi said in one breath. “I’ll take the takeout downstairs to throw it away from now on, instead of piling it up at the door. I’ll set the washing machine to finish before 10 o’clock.”

Zhao Yong: "From now on, I'll walk the dog on a leash and carry it in the elevator."

His wife added softly from the side, "Actually, we all knew your wife was pregnant. We bought an extra bag of red dates from the supermarket downstairs; we were going to bring them up..."

"Then... shall we leave it at that for now?" Fang Zhi stood up.

Zhao Yonggang also stood up.

Zhao Yonggang reached out his hand, and Fang Zhi shook it.

The handshake lasted a little shorter than usual, but longer than any of their previous interactions.

Fang Zhi walked out of room 201, and behind him came his wife's hushed voice: "Hurry up and take the red dates."

……

At the milk tea shop near the No. 2 Middle School, the owner put on an apron and stood in front of the counter, scooping out a large spoonful of taro balls from the refrigerator, then another spoonful, and then half a spoonful more.

Seal the container, affix a label, take a photo, open the merchant's chat window, and send a message to all customers who ordered taro ball milk tea today: "I'm very sorry, there were indeed fewer taro balls today. We've made a replacement cup. When would be a convenient time for you to have it delivered to you, free of charge."

……

At the vegetable market in the east of the city, the tofu vendor put down her phone, rummaged through the freezer for a box of sliced ​​soft tofu, wrapped it in two layers of plastic bags, tore off a piece of sticky note, wrote a few words in a crooked manner, and stuffed it into the bag.

She rode her electric bike into the old residential area, climbed to the third floor, and hung the tofu on the doorknob.

The note read: "I'm sorry, miss, I wasn't very nice the other day. This box of tofu is free, and I won't cut extra for you next time you buy it."

……

Downstairs at the restaurant, the oil for frying dough sticks was still hot.

The boss scooped out the last half pot of oil and poured it into a waste oil container. Then he brought out a new container of oil from the kitchen, unscrewed the cap, and poured the golden oil into the pot.

He took out his phone, snapped a picture, and posted it under the comment that "smells like gutter oil": "New oil, just changed, feel free to come and see anytime."

……

At a SF Express branch, the courier scratched his head in front of his phone screen, opened the memo app, and went through the list of customers he had delivered to that day. He found a few recipients whose names he had marked as having "poor attitude" and sent them text messages one by one: "Hello, this is SF Express courier Xiao Liu. I am very sorry for any shortcomings in my service before. I will give priority to your packages in the future. Please feel free to contact me if you have any requests."

……

The square dance leader put down her phone and sent a voice message in the WeChat group: "Sisters, turn the volume down two notches tonight. Let's finish before 10 p.m."

The group chat responded in unison, "Received".

……

In the third hand, Acheng was ready to win early on. The situation on the table didn't look like anyone was going to make a big hand, so he took out his phone and opened the Yongding County leaderboard.

The description of "Yongding Justice Bro" has turned gray, and a small line of text has been added at the end: "The publisher has applied to have the content removed."

"Family member of Resident 201": "The poster has applied to have the content removed."

"I'll never go to the East City Vegetable Market again" - it's no longer on the shelves.

"I'll never buy milk tea near No. 2 Middle School again" - now removed from shelves.

"Can't people even sleep at 10 pm?" - This has been removed from the shelves.

"SF Express is blacklisted forever" - now removed from the platform.

"Food safety is no small matter" - the product has been taken off the shelves, and the comments section is now filled with photos of the new oil posted by restaurant owners.

Acheng slammed his phone down on the table.

Ah Jian's hand, which was about to touch a card, froze in mid-air. He turned his head to look out the window—the streetlights had just come on, and orange light was seeping in through the gap in the curtains.

The sound of a Huangleme delivery rider's electric scooter came from outside the window, growing louder as it approached.

Zhang Qiliang picked up the food—and took another group photo—and served it to everyone. While drinking lemon water, he quietly watched a couple more games.

In the seventh round, right at the start of the game, Ah Jian called for a winning hand of three, six, and nine of the same suit. He had just drawn a useless seven of the same suit and was about to discard it when his shoulder was suddenly gently pressed down.

“We can’t fight this one,” Zhang Qiliang smiled slightly as he looked at the other side, and an ominous premonition instantly appeared on Dezai’s face: “…Double Dragons Seven Pairs.”

"Damn it..." Dezi screamed, staring at the cards in front of him, "Ming-ge, you can't do this!"

I looked up and saw that the opposite side was empty, with only the curtains swaying gently.

"This is my biggest card this year..." Tak-jai was on the verge of tears: "You...you're taking revenge on me!"

128 Hmm, that's good.

North of Yongding County.

At 7:35 p.m., Old Chen's phone suddenly dinged.

It was a very unfamiliar notification sound.

Old Chen picked up his phone from the coffee table. The [Global Morality Ranking] reminded him: You have an administrator message.

Old Chen stared at that line of text for a full five seconds.

The app opens and redirects directly to the private messaging interface.

The sender icon and the app icon are exactly the same, and the message is only one line: "Is the address information you entered correct?"

Old Chen clicked "Yes" with trembling hands.

A second message popped up quickly: I'm downstairs at your house.

Old Chen jumped up from the sofa.

I was only wearing one slipper, and the other foot was bare on the floor, the chill creeping up from the sole of my foot.

As he walked to the door, Old Chen looked down at himself—he was wearing baggy shorts and an old T-shirt with a logo from some event printed on the chest. It had been washed so many times that the letters were cracked into pieces.

He hesitated for a second.

Then open the door.

The elevator display indicated that it was stopped on the sixteenth floor.

I pressed the down arrow key, and the numbers jumped one by one—sixteen, fifteen, fourteen—too slow! Too slow!!!

As I pushed open the unit door, the evening breeze rushed towards me.

There is a sycamore tree downstairs, and a person is standing under its shade.

Dark T-shirt, regular trousers, sneakers.

The light from the phone screen shone on his face, revealing the silhouette that Old Chen had seen countless times online.

Hearing the door open, the person looked up and put their phone in their pocket.

"Brother Chen?" the man spoke first, his smile exceptionally warm. "Would you mind telling me what happened?"

What happened? Old Chen remembers writing it down in great detail...

However, looking at the pair of eyes waiting quietly across from him, and thinking about the rumors he had seen online, Old Chen understood.

Old Chen spoke.

Last October, Lao Chen saw a post on a job recruitment website.

Jiangnan Logistics Transportation Co., Ltd. is recruiting freight drivers. A C1 driver's license is sufficient. The monthly salary is 8,000 to 12,000 yuan. Accommodation is provided, but meals are not. The company is located in the North Industrial Park of Yongding County.

In the past, when I went for job interviews, there were dozens of brand-new vans parked in the park, with red ribbons tied to the front of the vans and firecracker debris still scattered on the ground.

The HR manager was a woman in her forties who spoke with a Jiangnan accent. When she smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes spread out to the sides, making her look very kind.

She said the company provides vehicles, but drivers need to buy their own cars.

She said it's an industry practice, called "bringing a car to work".

The company's designated model is the JAC Junling V6, which has a market price of 128,000 yuan, but the company has a cooperative price with the manufacturer, so it's only 96,000 yuan.

The money doesn't need to be paid in full at once. The company has partnerships with financial institutions that offer installment plans, with monthly payments of 1,800 yuan, to be paid off in four years.

The sourcing company manages the goods, guaranteeing at least two trips per day, with each trip paying 200 to 300 yuan. If you run 26 days a month, your turnover can easily exceed 10,000 yuan.

The monthly payment is deducted from the bank statement, and the rest is all mine. I can easily earn seven or eight thousand a month.

As she spoke, a stack of contracts lay on the table. The paper was A4 size, neatly printed, and each page had a red stamp in the lower right corner.