Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History – CH104

Chapter 104

“Anyone can apply to join our official group, no matter which province you’re from. But there is still a review process. Also, after joining, there will be a series of tasks—you won’t be doing nothing. If you just want to contact our healer, we can pass messages for you; it’s not necessary to join.”

Jin City had received too many applications to join the official group, most of them for the healer, and some for special-effect foods.

“I’m already in my senior year, and I’ll be freelancing in the future, so it won’t affect participating in dungeons. I’ve already submitted my application,” said the artist “Zhu Guang,” carefully typing these words after much consideration.

He was the player who had witnessed Jiang Jitang appear and leave that day, confirming someone’s “resurrection.” He had kept it to himself and told no one. But that scene had stayed in his mind, and he couldn’t resist—it had compelled him to paint that picture.

Though the facial features were now blurred, no one should recognize him.

“Okay, we’ll review it according to the rules. By the way, later ‘Illman’ will add you as a friend—he’s our healer.”

Zhu Guang nearly jumped up and typed on the keyboard: “The healer who appeared in Eastern Capital?”

“Yes, him.”

Thrilled at the confirmation, Zhu Guang slapped the table and quickly typed: “My phone is always on; anytime is fine.”

The next second, a ding sounded. Sure enough, someone claiming to be “Illman” had added him.

Accepted. Greeting.

“Hello, I really like your art style. Can I comtask a piece? The payment will be a healer slot.” Jiang Jitang got straight to the point—he had a task due tomorrow and needed to find the artist quickly.

Being able to pay with a healer slot was exploiting a game bug, and finding another player with such artistic skill would not be easy.

Zhu Guang, both as an illustrator and as a player, was already a highly regarded expert, but even so, he felt a surge of excitement.

It’s him—he contacted me.

“Of course. What’s the subject, size, and requirements?”

“Wait, I’ll send you a video. Focus on the little fish in it as the main character. It should capture both spirit and form, and be beautiful. No other requirements. The only rule is to submit it before 3 PM tomorrow. If you don’t mind, I can pick up the artwork from you.”

He then sent a video.

Zhu Guang opened it. In bubbling water appeared a wondrous little fish. Its pearl-like body was semi-transparent, a gradient of blue. Its fins and tail unfurled slowly, with a satin-like texture.

Zhu Guang instinctively followed the fish, captivated by its movement and beauty.

So magical.

Was it an animation? It had an incredible vitality. Was it real? Clearly impossible in this world.

The radar of an artist sparked. Several images appeared in his mind, vague but waiting to be refined.

The inspiration had arrived!

With no time to chat further with the healer, Zhu Guang hastily typed, “I’ll start now,” and ran to his drawing desk, determined to leave a mark before the image in his mind faded.

On the other side, Jiang Jitang looked at the idle phone: “Truly professional.”

It was already ten o’clock; time for bed.

Three pens, one watercolor set, one sheet of paper, one miracle.

—

Early the next morning, Jiang Jitang received a text from Zhu Guang with a watercolor painting of the “Ice-Clear Carp.”

“Atmosphere,” the word appeared in his mind. The Ice-Clear Carp was already beautiful—able to sweep across competition-level goldfish—but Zhu Guang’s painting elevated it from a simple beauty to a fairy.

It was still the same fish, but the lighting, the composition—stunning! If the Ice-Clear Koi still didn’t satisfy him, it would have no taste.

“Great, five-star rating. What’s the address? Can I pick it up?”

“Sure, I live at—”

Jiang Jitang immediately got up and randomly grabbed two bodyguards from the shadows. “Come with me.”

“Eh?”

“Huh?”

Before the two could react, Jiang Jitang pulled them into a suddenly appearing black circle. They were terrified, but the next second, they were in a stairwell.

For appearances’ sake, Jiang Jitang had consumed a blueberry-mulberry candy to restore mana, and he felt fine. But such high-mana spatial jumps likely couldn’t be repeated today.

He glanced at the nearby door number: “Upstairs, let’s go.”

The experienced bodyguards immediately calmed themselves, observing the surroundings. They were shocked again.

The Capital?

Outside the window, all the cars had the Capital license plates. The scenery was vastly different from the south.

Could this black circle be the legendary teleportation portal? Such a high-level item—what was it doing here? Perhaps for an important person or task?

The two seasoned bodyguards immediately focused 200%. They followed Jiang Jitang lightly up the stairs, nervously staring at the knocked-upon door.

The door opened. A young man with dark eye circles and crusted eyes, in pajamas, looked bewildered. Only when he saw Jiang Jitang did he seem frightened. “S-Sorry, just a moment.” The door slammed shut.

Jiang Jitang rubbed his cheek: “Why is he blushing? Could he be treating me like an idol? Just from that one encounter? Impossible.”

Bodyguards: …What is happening?

Ten minutes later, the door opened again. The young man tidied himself, changed into casual clothes, and looked at Jiang Jitang. “Are you Illman?”

Jiang Jitang nodded. “May I come in?”

“Of course!”

Jiang Jitang put on disposable shoe covers. The suite was small: two bedrooms, one living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a balcony. Judging from the environment, it wasn’t owned, as there were no photos or permanent personal items.

But in the Capital, this is prime real estate. For a university student to rent a suite, Zhu Guang was clearly capable.

“Tea?”

“You don’t need to worry about us,” one bodyguard said, while the other quickly scanned the coffee table with a device—no issues.

“Ah, haha, okay,” Zhu Guang chuckled nervously. The bodyguards tried to suppress their presence, but even standing there, they were intimidating.

As Zhu Guang sat down, a hazy light surrounded him. After it faded, the fatigue from staying up late and sleep deprivation vanished, along with the soreness in his shoulders.

“Consider this not part of the payment,” Jiang Jitang said with a smile.

“Ah,” Zhu Guang cursed his clumsy tongue, “the painting is here.”

On an A4 sheet, torn along the edges of tape, lay a perfectly square watercolor painting.

A photo taken by a phone could never match the real paper—the human eye perceives colors that no phone can fully reproduce, and Jiang Jitang’s vision was sharper than most.

Correspondingly, the beauty he perceived surpassed ordinary humans.

A renowned master lives up to their reputation.

“Wow, so beautiful.” He examined the watercolor from all angles. “Huh, won’t you leave a signature?”

For such comtasks, artists usually didn’t leave names, but seeing Jiang Jitang’s request, Zhu Guang wrote a flourish on the edge.

“I owe you a healer slot.” Jiang Jitang handed him a written IOU, signed as Illman. Though he wouldn’t default, a guarantee was better.

“You’ve forgotten me, Jiang Jitang.”

“Eh?” Jiang Jitang froze.

“Six years ago, my family and I moved to my grandfather’s old home in a somewhat remote town in Jiangnan called Qingshui Town,” Zhu Guang smiled. “You may not remember me, but I’ve always remembered you.”

Jiang Jitang frowned—Qingshui Town six years ago… ugh, that was the most awkward, cringe-worthy period of his life.

The sealed dark history resurfaced; he was so embarrassed he could hardly sit. Zhu Guang, however, was lost in memories.

Back then, his father had developed a gambling habit, losing money and even their house. His grandparents didn’t want or couldn’t manage him.

His father began to regret it, and the family prepared to move to the countryside temporarily.

During that time, they met Jiang Jitang.

Because his father relapsed, wanting to gamble, his mother was at her wit’s end—the family nearly broke apart. That’s when someone introduced “Jiang Jitang” to his mother.

“Not everyone can do it, but some people are deterred from gambling permanently by this child. The casino owners didn’t like him, but he was backed by veteran anti-gambling members, so both sides had face. And the kid knew how to behave—he wouldn’t actively urge someone to quit; it was always their choice to test him.”

His father was brought to a special chess and card room filled with elderly men. Bets were minimal—ten units per game, sometimes just peanuts or seeds. Only one table was special.

Zhu Guang first saw him there.

In an oversized school uniform, lips red, teeth white, a child—but called a “genius” by the gamblers in Qingshui Town.

The moment he sat at the table, his soft and approachable demeanor disappeared. Zhu Guang couldn’t describe it—it was as if the entire table were under his control.

And it was true.

The table was his territory; all cards, dice, and mahjong were his soldiers. He was invincible.

His father was flustered, asking to change tables, then decks, then bringing his own deck, eventually even going outside to play with a stone.

“Choose the table, buy the cards, even shuffle, but I decide when you lose.” The child curved the cards with a smile. “Want to try?”

His father collapsed. In today’s terms, his “path of virtue” shattered.

One reason he gambled was thinking it a skill-and-luck contest—and he had some skill. But the child demonstrated he had been controlled the entire time. From the moment he gambled, he had lost; in gambling, there’s only a loser.

It was like a man chasing a white moonlight, believing it the greatest romance, only to discover it was a scam, a trap.

Some might persist, but his father didn’t; once his “path of virtue” broke, it was over.

Zhu Guang never forgot that scene. He ran to learn card skills from the younger boy but was refused. They did spend a day at an arcade, playing games and claw machines.

Jiang Jitang’s hands were steady; in non-speed games, he scored high, nearly carrying away a bag of claw prizes.

Because of the blow to Zhu Guang’s father, their fragile family didn’t break, and after returning to the Capital, his father worked seriously and never gambled again.

One could say Zhu Guang’s life path had been influenced, even saved. He couldn’t imagine growing up in a single-parent family with a gambling father—he might be washing dishes instead of painting now.

Yet Zhu Guang wondered: if gambling always produces losers, why did Jiang Jitang gamble?

He later returned but couldn’t find him. He heard the family moved after he went to university.

He realized this talented card-playing boy came from a poor household, renting a house, mother running a stall. No wonder—no phone; maybe the arcade was his first time. Yet he remained composed, with a unique aura that inspired trust.

That’s when Zhu Guang understood: the boy wasn’t gambling for profit, just pursuing skill. For him, it was another form of magic.

He could easily profit with skill, but even at a young age, he controlled greed. Zhu Guang was certain—such a strong mind would succeed and become famous.

Had they never met again, this person and event would just be a “remarkable ordinary person” in Zhu Guang’s memory. But fate brought them together in the Eastern Capital.

Seeing the person standing in light, like at a card table, controlling everything, all memories surged back.

Zhu Guang had a strange intuition—he was witnessing an era.

“If I don’t take the healer slot, may I become your friend?” Zhu Guang extended his hand; hearts are greedy, he didn’t want to just witness an era, he wanted to participate.

Jiang Jitang looked at him and shook his hand. “No qualifications are needed to be friends. But we’re not friends yet, and I can’t promise anything. Of course, I won’t take your payment.”

Zhu Guang stared at him, captivated. He didn’t know Jiang Jitang’s eyes held deep emotion for everyone; he had been bewitched.