Chapter 4: Extracting Talents

The butcher’s surname was Li. It was said that he had fled from another village to Ancient Pool Village over a decade ago. He was a towering figure, his face covered with a thick beard, and his voice deep and powerful.

After hearing Lin Yi’s purpose, Butcher Li shook his head outright. “You’re thin and weak, just looking at you shows you have no strength. Even if you were recommended by the old man from Ancient River Township, I wouldn’t take you.”

Lin Yi felt a chill in his heart but was not ready to give up. He wanted to try persuading him further.

Butcher Li tossed the black iron butcher knife onto the chopping block, which was covered in scraps of meat. “Try to lift this. If you can, then I’ll accept you.”

Lin Yi stepped forward, gripping the handle with all his might, veins bulging, but the butcher knife didn’t budge an inch.

At that moment, Lin Yi completely admitted defeat.

The butcher knife must have weighed at least eighty or ninety jin, and being wedged into the block made it even harder to lift.

It seemed his strength was insufficient. He wondered how much force would be needed to raise the heavy blade.

“Thank you, Butcher Li. I was presumptuous,” Lin Yi said, clasping his fists and preparing to leave, but he was stopped by Li.

“Wait a moment. Since you were recommended by the old man from Ancient River Township, take this wild boar meat as a token of my goodwill.”

Butcher Li handed him a piece of pork with the hair still on it.

“Thank you.”

Lin Yi was empty-handed now, wearing only a rough hemp garment given by the system. Though the meat might not fetch much money, it could at least fill his stomach somewhat.

Not a bad gain after all.

Next, Lin Yi went to a nearby haystack in Ancient Pool Village, gathered dry twigs and grass, and spent about ten minutes roasting the wild boar meat until it was cooked.

Without salt or seasoning, the meat still carried a strong gamey smell despite being cooked.

But there was no choice—if he didn’t eat, he would go hungry.

He had to admit, his senses in the Tianqi world were exactly as sharp as in reality, and hunger was an unpleasant feeling.

“Ding! You ate a small piece of cooked wild boar meat. Satiety +5…”

After raising his satiety above 90 points, Lin Yi stopped eating, looking at the remaining half of the meat and placing it into his character’s space backpack.

The backpack had ten slots, so half a piece of pork was easily accommodated.

Then, Lin Yi touched the golden symbol on his wrist. His figure shimmered and vanished from the spot.

...

Back inside Haohan Studio, Lin Yi suddenly reappeared where he had disappeared earlier.

The hot water he had poured himself earlier had long since gone cold.

He glanced around; no one noticed him.

The few team members who had been working overtime all morning were deeply focused on their computers, completely unaware that another person had appeared in the room.

Lin Yi took a deep breath, suppressing the complex emotions that welled up within him.

He was really back.

The Tianqi game truly was a new world!

Who was behind this? A god? Or perhaps an alien?

He opened the drawer and found the golden envelope missing.

Could those guys have taken it?

No, they wouldn’t touch his belongings.

Lin Yi frowned, pondering. He guessed that whether it was the police who had interrogated him last night or those who came this morning to retrieve Liu Hong’s belongings, they were after that golden envelope—the activation code for the Tianqi game.

But how could the game activation code have appeared in his desk drawer?

Could it have been left by old Liu?

Lin Yi shook his head. Although he had a good relationship with Liu Hong, Liu would never have told him about such a transcendent game that allowed entry into another world.

Besides, before leaving work yesterday, he was certain there was nothing in that drawer.

And since Liu Hong had invited them all out to eat, Lin Yi had been with him the entire time, so Liu would have no opportunity to slip anything into the drawer.

Then Lin Yi suddenly recalled that this desk had once belonged to Liu Hong.

But later, Liu Hong rarely came to the studio, and Lin Yi liked this spot, so he had moved here.

Perhaps Liu Hong had once placed the golden envelope here.

If the game character’s death caused the activation code to reappear, that would explain why the golden envelope was now back in the drawer.

So that’s how it was...

While Lin Yi was deep in thought, an employee named Wang Mao across from him suddenly looked up groggily and noticed Lin Yi.

“Ah? Brother Yi, when did you get back?”

“Brother Yi’s back? How come I didn’t notice...”

Looking at everyone in the studio, Lin Yi took a sip of cold water and smiled. “I just got back not long ago. Since you all were so engrossed, I didn’t want to disturb you. It’s almost noon—what do you want to eat? I’ll order takeout for you.”

“Thanks, Brother Yi...”

...

In the afternoon, Lin Yi returned to his residence.

It was a small talent apartment, modest in size—only about thirty square meters—with a narrow bathroom, a kitchen, and a bedroom.

Though small, it was fully equipped, comfortable for a single occupant.

After tidying up the room briefly, Lin Yi did not rush to enter the Tianqi world again. Instead, he turned on his computer and began searching for any gaming information related to "Tianqi."

Of course, Lin Yi was smart enough not to foolishly type in keywords like "Tianqi world invitation code" or "invitation code envelope," knowing that searching for such special terms online could be monitored by certain agencies.

After a thorough search, although there was plenty of information online about “Tianqi”—such as Tianqi Digital Company or the Tianqi era of the Ming Dynasty—none was related to the strange world he had entered that morning.

Just as Lin Yi was about to give up, he found a post on Baidu Tieba, in a forum called “Thriller Gamers’ Gathering Place.”

The poster’s name was “I Love Games Most.”

The post read: “Selling special game activation codes, cheap at three million RMB, those who know, know.”

There were many replies, mostly mocking the poster as crazy. What game activation code could be worth three million?

Lin Yi didn’t reply but read through the comments. Finding no useful information, he left the forum.

He mused that the activation code worth three million must be the very one he used to enter the Tianqi game today.

This suggested that in the real world, quite a few people had already come into contact with the Tianqi world, and the activation codes needed to enter were scarce and expensive.

Lin Yi stroked his chin, realizing why the police at the station yesterday kept pressing Liu Hong about whether he had left anything behind—it was all about this.

...

Tianqi Continent, Ancient Pool Village.

With a flash of light, Lin Yi’s figure appeared once again in the game world.

As in reality, the game’s sun hung in the southwest sky, signaling about one or two in the afternoon.

Not far from his feet was the haystack where he had doused the embers before logging off.

“Game online time is three ‘shichen’—that’s six hours. This morning, I basically explored the entire Ancient Pool Village, which took a little over two hours. That leaves less than four hours remaining; I can’t waste any time...”

Lin Yi glanced at his data bar and analyzed, “But the real-world knife didn’t transfer in, and the fullness from the meal I just ate hasn’t synchronized either. So the game and reality are separate; they don’t intersect. But how did old Liu die in the real world? Could it be unrelated to the game? Also, if one dies in the game, can they be resurrected?”

He shook his head, feeling he knew far too little about the Tianqi game. No amount of speculation would help.

Yet, whenever he recalled the image of Liu Hong dying before his eyes, Lin Yi felt it would never be too cautious in this game.

After all, life is precious.

Next, Lin Yi opened the universal talent section in his character data.

He had spent the morning asking around Ancient Pool Village and exploring, so he hadn’t had time to study talents.

Since the universal talent could only be drawn once per day, he might as well use it now.

“Draw talent!”

His vision shifted as his consciousness seemed to enter an independent space. Before him hovered a multicolored, polygonal die glowing with iridescent light.

“Ding! Today’s talent has not yet been solidified. Would you like to draw a talent?”

“Draw!”

With a flash, the die spun rapidly, then slowly came to a halt after two or three seconds.

“Ding! You have drawn the white talent ‘Bone Marvel’!”