Chapter Three: The Banknotes Are Burning

According to the system’s valuation, one contribution point was equivalent to two hundred thousand yuan, and traversing even the lowest-level world would cost at least twenty million. Even if Lin Lei sold himself, he couldn’t scrape together that much money.

“Due to this being our first collaboration, and to show our sincerity, the cost of your first time-space traversal will be advanced by the system. The host only needs to compensate the system with ten percent interest upon final settlement,” the system coaxed patiently.

A loan for fieldwork, zero down payment, but with interest as high as ten percent.

“You’re just a loan shark! Don’t forget, I’m the one working for you!” Lin Lei fumed.

“The system and the host are in an equal partnership. Naturally, any fund advances require an appropriate return,” the system explained.

“Heh, you’re just greedy for money. But think about it—if I die because I can’t earn enough contribution points, you’ll have to wait another hundred years to reactivate. Draining the pond for the fish does you no good, either,” Lin Lei argued, trying his best to win some advantage for himself.

“You’re not wrong, host. Let’s do this: I have a special time-space barrier here, which only costs forty-four contribution points. If you take a loan of a hundred contribution points this time, you can access this map,” the system proposed again.

“Something feels off… whatever, a loan’s a loan. Let’s just get on with it,” Lin Lei decided, eager to get it over with.

Previously, Lin Lei could choose the map himself, and even the lowest-level map cost the system two hundred contribution points—one hundred for the system itself, and another hundred advanced for Lin Lei. Now, accessing the designated map consumed only eighty-eight contribution points—a cost reduction of fifty-nine percent—yet the system could still pocket ten points in interest. In the end, the system made even more profit; Lin Lei just hadn’t figured out the trick.

A flash of white light, and Lin Lei vanished from his room, reappearing on the rooftop of a dilapidated building.

The blazing sun bore down, yet the silence was terrifying—there wasn’t even the sound of insects or birds. All around were crumbling buildings, with dried bloodstains scattered across walls and ground.

“What the hell is this place?” Lin Lei looked at the street below, which resembled a scene from hell, and couldn’t help but feel his knees tremble.

“This world is undergoing a biohazard crisis. Gene viruses and their derivatives have high recycling value. It is recommended that the host focus efforts in this area,” the system prompted.

“A biohazard crisis? Like the T-virus from those American blockbusters? But the architectural style here looks nothing like the US. Is this Chinatown?” Lin Lei wondered, noticing the Chinese signs along the street.

Arriving in an unfamiliar place, the first priority was to understand the surroundings. Lin Lei was quite observant.

“We are traversing time-space planes. The nodes and directions of civilization development vary between planes, so it’s easy for events similar to those in the host’s world’s films to arise. But reality is just reality; the biohazard movies you mention can only serve as a slight reference.”

“I get it—it’s basically a domestic knock-off of ‘Resident Evil’… Cheap things are never good, not even when crossing dimensions; it’s all a counterfeit version,” Lin Lei sneered at the system.

“You have sixty-six contribution points remaining. You may enter the system’s exchange area to trade for necessary survival supplies. Remember, only by staying alive can you hope to earn enough contribution points,” the system reminded him of the need to shop.

“This is just like a game—transmission costs money, equipment costs money, and I’m already deep in debt before even making a cent,” Lin Lei grumbled, focusing his attention on the electronic watch on his wrist.

Soon, his consciousness entered the system’s special space.

Currently, only three areas were accessible to Lin Lei: the storage area, the recycling area, and the exchange area.

The storage area was equivalent to a spatial storage device, convenient for Lin Lei to deposit and retrieve collected supplies at any time.

The recycling area was, naturally, where he could exchange collected items for contribution points.

The exchange area resembled a department store; Lin Lei could use his points to buy anything available, provided he had enough.

Upon entering the exchange area, Lin Lei didn’t see any physical goods—only a highly futuristic screen projection hovered before his eyes.

Displayed on the screen were rows of item names and prices; clicking on them brought up images and descriptions. Only after confirming an exchange would the physical item appear.

The list was crammed full: weapons, food, entertainment facilities, adult products… Anything found in reality, and even some items known only from science fiction, could be found here.

Just skimming the catalog, there were at least half a million items.

“This area only shows supplies that the host’s current contribution points can afford,” the system prompted.

Meaning, all five hundred thousand or so items displayed were priced at sixty-six contribution points or less.

“Damn! There are so many—just browsing the catalog would take a month,” Lin Lei complained.

With so few points, he had to compare prices carefully before buying, but time didn’t allow for that.

“You can spend one contribution point to activate intelligent search mode. Simply describe the basic functions of the item you want, and the list will automatically filter the best matches, saving you a lot of time,” the system advised.

“Not even sparing a single point—such a capitalist,” Lin Lei grumbled, but spent the point anyway. After all, it was a loan—at worst, he could offer his life as collateral.

Sixty-five points remained, and the catalog shrank from over five hundred thousand items to just over four hundred eighty thousand.

He called up the weapons category—still over twenty thousand models, enough to make his head spin.

“For five contribution points, the system can provide you with a professional recommendation, based on the danger level of this traversal and your available points, offering the most cost-effective configuration,” the system offered in its usual salesman tone.

“You—! …” Lin Lei cursed.

So, with the system’s recommendation, the earlier voice search was basically pointless?

He hadn’t bought anything, and he’d already burned through six contribution points.

“TMV All-Terrain Tactical Rifle: total weight 2.3 kilograms, caseless ammunition greatly reduces firearm failure rate. Features high rate of fire, accuracy, and low recoil—ideal for beginners. Price: only ten contribution points. Order now and receive two extra magazines (eighty rounds) of caseless ammo for free.”

“Lone Wanderer Exoskeleton Armor: nuclear-powered, maximum ground speed fifty kilometers per hour. The basic version is only eight contribution points; energy cores are three points each (minimum purchase of two). Add two points for an infrared radar that detects any moving creature within fifty meters. Add three more points and get a personal flight device—flight altitude one hundred meters, max speed eighty kilometers per hour.”

A rifle and an exoskeleton suit cost Lin Lei twenty-nine contribution points.

Under the system’s further persuasion, he spent another five points for ten more magazines of caseless ammo.

Then… he spent ten more points on an entry-level firearms training experience, instantly boosting his marksmanship to the level of a special forces soldier on Earth.