The morning light streamed upon Song Jianguo’s treehouse, filtering through the opening and illuminating Zhang Wenda’s solemn face as he sat, silently awaiting something.
“Why did he come rushing over so early? To practice qigong?” Aunt Flo sipped her brown sugar water and asked Song Jianguo, who was hungrily eating steamed buns.
Just as Song Jianguo was about to speak, the situation began: wounds appeared one after another on Zhang Wenda’s face and body, and with the pain came a wave of negative emotion as overwhelming as a gust of wind.
Eight o’clock passed, and the rule punishment began.
In just a short while, Zhang Wenda’s face and body were instantly covered in wounds.
He trembled as he took candy from his pocket and shoved it into his mouth.
A surge of joy welled inside him, gradually diluting the pain, and with it, the wounds slowly began to heal under the candy’s effect.
The rule’s punishment and the lollipop’s healing power began tugging at each other, using Zhang Wenda’s body as a battleground.
But even with the candy, his body still throbbed, though the pain was numbed from unbearable to nearly faint-worthy.
“Damn it… is it just my imagination? Why does each punishment feel more severe than the last?”Zhang Wenda gritted his teeth, enduring this inhuman torment, and pulled two more candies from his pocket, stuffing them into his mouth before feeling some relief.
When he stood up from the ground, drenched in sweat as if washed, he saw a large group of cats curiously watching him alongside the two others.
“How long has it been?” Zhang Wenda reached out to grab a cat and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.
“Twenty minutes,” Aunt Flo said, punching Song Jianguo.
And to Zhang Wenda, those twenty minutes felt like years.
“You kid, how did you get so unlucky?”
“This is exactly what I’m trying to escape. Otherwise, why would I want to go into the network world?” Zhang Wenda bent down to check his gear and, finding he had everything he needed, turned to the other two.
“I’m set. No more worries. I have a day over there. We can go now.”
“Why in such a hurry? We haven’t even finished breakfast.”
Song Jianguo patted Aunt Flo’s big belly, prompting her to reluctantly stand.
“Far?” Zhang Wenda thought for a moment, then looked at Song Jianguo. “Have your cats transform into three bikes.”
“Huh?” Song Jianguo didn’t expect that request. “Are you nuts? They’re cats, not Transformers!”
“Just try it. If it doesn’t work, we’ll come up with something else.”
“You cheapskate! Even stingy with a bit of money.” Song Jianguo muttered as he loudly whistled.
At the whistle, the black cats climbed and clung to each other, eventually forming a tall, classical “erba dagang” bicycle.
Soon Zhang Wenda was pedaling hard on the unusually wide bike in the direction Aunt Flo indicated.
Because of its size, he couldn’t reach the seat and rode skewed, threading most of his body under the crossbar.
Aunt Flo held Song Jianguo on the back seat. Don’t ask why they didn’t ride—because, proudly, she replied that she was illiterate and couldn’t.
Thankfully the cats gave some assistance, or Zhang Wenda wouldn’t have been able to move it.
After fifteen minutes, panting with exhaustion, Zhang Wenda stormed off the bike. “I’m done riding. I’m exhausted! Have your cats turn into a car!”
Aunt Flo set Song Jianguo on the ground and leisurely walked past Zhang Wenda. “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”
“Almost there? Here?”
Zhang Wenda surveyed his surroundings: buildings lined with white ceramic tiles and blue-green glass. It didn’t look like a place with internet access.
They walked for another two minutes, then Song Jianguo jumped down from Aunt Flo’s shoulder and went into a nearby alley. “Here.”
When Zhang Wenda followed them inside, the passage was narrow and dim, with puddles on the ground. After a few turns, it gradually widened.
At last, they arrived in an abandoned room the size of a basketball court, where others were already present.
Both adults and children stood there, their expressions tense as they sized up the three newcomers and the cats, seemingly up to some clandestine business.
Looking out at the oppressive, dilapidated buildings, Zhang Wenda leaned close to Song Jianguo and asked, “Are you sure this is the place? What do we do next?”
“Wait to dial,” Song Jianguo said, frowning, tilting his head slightly; his breath tickled the cat ears atop Zhang Wenda’s head.
“Dial?”
Following Aunt Flo’s finger, Zhang Wenda looked up and saw a large circular dial with numbers one through nine hovering overhead.
As Zhang Wenda waited, a bearded man dressed like a Taoist priest emerged from a gap, followed by a Taoist disciple carrying a bulky computer.
Others immediately gathered around him. “Master Tao, you’ve finally arrived! What’s the dialing number for today?”
“Yes, we’ve freed some time. Tell us.”
“Don’t be impatient!” the Taoist said, and everyone quieted in expectation.
Under Zhang Wenda and Song Jianguo’s watchful eyes, Master Tao formed hand seals and murmured incantations.
“Taylor is three, Fourier is two; Zhouyi yin-yang, two kan; threefold into bagua; atomic nucleus layer illusion secret, 2.5, 17, 49…”
When he finished, he sharply pointed at the disciple’s screen. With a “pang”, the screen lit up and displayed eight large characters: “Computer fortune-telling, Xuan science dual cultivation.”
At that moment, Aunt Flo explained to Zhang Wenda, “To go into the network world, you must dial in—but the code changes every day, so someone must find today’s internet number.”
“I see. So do we have to pay him?” Zhang Wenda reached into his pocket.
“Pay?” A college-aged person looked over at Zhang Wenda with scorn.
“Master Tao embodies the pure spirit of the internet! Don’t lump him with those vulgar folk who just want to make money from the web!”