Chapter Four: Where Does the System Not Charge?

After all the fuss, before even opening for business, there were only six contribution points left.

“Would the host like to purchase food? Only one contribution point per day ensures three worry-free meals, with top-quality ingredients that are healthy and easy on the stomach…”

“No need. I’ll buy my own food,” Lin Lei refused.

He had already looked over the food catalogue before. There were plenty of cheap ingredients: two tons of premium rice for just one contribution point, or fifteen hundred boxes of instant noodles.

Buying a contribution point’s worth of instant noodles would last him years—why waste extra money?

“In that case…would you like a simulation doll? AI-powered, does housework during the day, keeps you company for chats, and at night can do, you know...”

“Get lost! Even making money from this—don’t you feel any shame?” Lin Lei said, feigning moral outrage, then asked, “How many contribution points? Are there holographic images? Can you customize the face?”

“The high-end version costs three contribution points. It matches most human aesthetic preferences, with 99% realism. For special tastes, customized faces are available for just one extra contribution point,” the system replied.

“Forget it, too expensive. Can’t afford it…”

Exiting the goods exchange zone, Lin Lei soon saw all the items he had selected in the storage area.

“It really feels like I’ve run into a swindler. These things are worth ten million?” Lin Lei still remembered that his six million fortune was only worth thirty contribution points.

“Does the host always buy high and sell low in business?” The system, having extracted almost all his value, changed its tone: “Remember, you have only three days for this time travel. If you exceed the limit, eighty-eight contribution points will be deducted daily. Please manage your time wisely.”

The cost for this time travel was eighty-eight contribution points, split between Lin Lei and the system. If, due to Lin Lei, their return was delayed, any extra fees would be his responsibility.

“I’d really like to thank all eighteen generations of your ancestors!” Lin Lei ground his teeth in frustration.

After gearing up, Lin Lei leaped off the rooftop, officially beginning his knockoff ‘Resident Evil’ adventure...

“Common wild grass, ownerless, can be recycled for contribution points. One hundred kilograms yields 0.001 contribution points.”

“Common soil, owned, currently unrecyclable.”

“Common house, owned…”

As he moved forward, the system introduced the surrounding items from time to time, whether they had owners or not.

In summary: anything of value was almost always owned by someone.

Even if the owner was dead, unless the contract had been transferred to Lin Lei, the system couldn’t reclaim it.

“Damn! They’re all dead, where am I supposed to rob?” Lin Lei complained.

To his understanding, fieldwork was basically robbery—how else could he make enough contribution points in just three days? Dig up wild grass?

“Two hundred meters ahead—zombies detected, ownerless, can be recycled. Recycling rates as follows… Level-one zombie, 0.01 contribution points; level-two, 0.05; level-three, 0.1…” the system suddenly announced.

“So… that infrared radar you recommended is basically useless?” Lin Lei realized he’d been tricked again.

The system’s scanning ability was far superior to the infrared radar, which could only detect within fifty meters, while the system could scan beyond two hundred meters.

“This system only scans valuable materials,” the system defended itself.

“To you, even a blade of grass is valuable!” Lin Lei retorted.

“…Once goods are exchanged, they cannot be returned, only repurchased at a discounted rate,” the system said after a pause.

“What discount?”

“Ten percent of the original value.”

“Pah! Swindler…” Realizing he couldn’t win, Lin Lei resigned himself and began to study the zombie recycling price list.

He nearly spat blood when he saw it: “A level-one zombie is only worth 0.01 contribution points, yet a single bullet costs me 0.0125 contribution points! That’s not profit, that’s a loss!”

“The host previously purchased magazines; loose bullets are only 0.5 contribution points for a hundred rounds. There’s still profit in killing level-one zombies. Besides, level-one zombies move slowly—an ordinary person with the right technique could kill them barehanded. Your exoskeleton armor is equipped with a particle vibration combat knife. Using a gun is a waste in this case,” the system kindly advised.

“Uh… Sorry, I got nervous and forgot,” Lin Lei said, blushing.

After all, he was a pay-to-win player—how could he be worse than an average person?

He slung his rifle over his back, activated the tactical knife on his exoskeleton, and, once ready, sped toward the system’s highlighted direction.

Soon, within the radar’s fifty-meter range, Lin Lei saw about twenty red dots through his tactical goggles, scattered near the street corner ahead.

Sure enough, as he turned the corner, he spotted a zombie less than three meters away.

Tattered clothes, yellowed hair, and a thin, frail body—at first glance, it resembled a malnourished vagrant.

Perhaps hearing movement behind it, the zombie turned, saw Lin Lei, and immediately opened its mouth to howl. Its sparse, yellow teeth were still flecked with bits of flesh, and its sunken eyes flashed with excitement at the sight of prey.

Lin Lei was prey to the zombie, but the zombie was also prey to Lin Lei.

Suppressing his disgust, Lin Lei struck quickly, slicing with the sharp particle knife. The blade swept through the zombie’s waist, cutting it clean in two, its intestines and organs spilling across the ground.

The zombie fell but still didn’t die, propping itself up with its hands as it tried to crawl toward Lin Lei.

“Damn, I forgot—the only weak spot is the head.” Lin Lei finished it off with another slash to the skull.

“Apart from being ugly, it’s not so terrifying—just like playing a game,” Lin Lei told himself.

Thankfully, the gun-handling experience he’d purchased before included plenty of bloody scenes, which had toughened his nerves considerably.

Otherwise, the average person might have wet themselves at the sight of brains and guts all over the ground.

The dying howls of the zombie attracted the attention of the others, who now began to converge on Lin Lei’s position.

He didn’t hesitate. The exoskeleton’s power was fully engaged, the tactical knife slashing up and down in a blur. Limbs and heads flew through the air, turning the entire street into a true hell on earth.

For a pay-to-win player, twenty-odd level-one zombies were nothing—a minor task easily resolved in under a minute.

“System, how do I recycle these things?” he asked when the fight was done and the time for collecting spoils began.

“The host should touch the zombie with your left hand—the one wearing the digital watch—and silently think ‘store.’ This will transfer the zombie into your storage area. Then, enter mentally and move the desired items into the recycling zone,” the system explained.

“That’s so complicated. Can’t I just put them directly into the recycling area?” Lin Lei felt it was all unnecessary trouble.

“For each recycling session, the system charges a five percent handling fee, and for each batch, at least five contribution points must be deducted. The best approach is to accumulate enough materials worth a hundred contribution points, then recycle them all at once,” said the system, for once not trying to cheat him.

If he recycled one zombie at a time, not only would he not gain the 0.01 contribution point, he’d actually lose 4.99 points per transaction. That wouldn’t benefit the system either, since recycling did consume a certain amount of its core energy—hence the warning.