Chapter 135
“Now we go prepare the other gifts.”
“Other gifts?” Parsons thought that the single parchment book alone would bring the wish-maker to tears.
“Do you know who I am? I’m a gold-level time-space courier. Satisfaction alone isn’t my goal—I aim for ‘extremely satisfied.’ If I do something, I do it to the fullest.”
Jiang Jitang never hid his pursuit of excellence and his ambition in his work.
He was full of life and vitality.
Parsons felt he probably lacked that vitality himself. He could never truly love his work; the only thing driving him was a sense of responsibility. Yeah… he probably would never understand Jiang Jitang’s all-in, overachiever mindset.
Having a picture book wasn’t enough; real physical items were also needed. Jiang Jitang went to the wholesale market for specimens, buying some beautiful shells, some unpolished minerals, as well as colorful feathers and dried flowers.
Then he went to a seed shop and “freeloaded” many fruits and shells.
“Do you know,” he said, “on shopping sites, a display board like this, showing various plant seeds, can be priced at three to four hundred.
“One piece of wood covered in black velvet, a plexiglass cover, and a dozen or so unique seeds inside—the cost doesn’t exceed fifty. Even adding labor, it’s absolutely under a hundred. If bought in bulk, the cost drops even more.”
Of course, he considered that most people buying such items were wealthy but busy, so spending money to save time was reasonable. But Jiang Jitang would never pass that premium on to his employer; he’d rather spend the time and effort to minimize cost himself.
He had also wanted to prepare some beautiful insect shells, but those colorful carapaces were too fragile and would break easily.
Putting insects in amber was outrageously expensive—ten or more per gram. The insect specimens on the market were artificial resin, which could not be used as task items.
So, insect specimens were abandoned.
Jiang Jitang compared these items with what Ye might have encountered, and the system provided necessary assistance. They bought a whole box of different samples.
“I’ll stitch these onto the parchment book as a reference, like one of those handcrafted pop-up books.”
Parsons imagined how the child would open the parchment book, like opening a treasure chest. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t see this scene himself—perhaps Jiang Jitang would take photos and send them, as with the previous ones.
He couldn’t help but feel a little excited.
Time flew by. One afternoon passed in the blink of an eye. Jiang Jitang sent Parsons back to the hotel, then took a piece of beef tendon rope and used a mini grinder to drill small holes in the shells and fruits, preparing to start crafting the book that night.
“It’s a parchment scroll,” the system reminded him, noting that parchment books in the modern sense are a thousand years old, not from a thousand BCE.
“All right, a parchment scroll.”
Jiang Jitang threaded a thick needle with the beef tendon string, picked up a shell with a drilled hole, carefully passed the needle through it, and fixed it onto the parchment.
Zhu Guang spent seven days drawing ten landscape sketches on the parchment, while Jiang Jitang spent seven days crafting the specimen display.
Of course, other matters interspersed during this time—like the East District general manager finally getting his own office.
No, it was an entire floor of offices. Inside sat the team carefully assembled by Mr. Tao.
There were hundreds of people. Small matters they could handle themselves; for big matters, a phone call sufficed—perfect for someone working part-time.
Then the second magical beasts contract holder appeared—a burly-looking mechanic, a veteran of C-Nation. Players began to suspect magical beasts had a preference for tough guys, as the first two were this type.
Meanwhile, part of the dissected ferocious beast’s meat was secretly sent to a lab, with the conclusion that it could strengthen the body and prolong life—it was good stuff.
Jiang Jitang took some out, ready to share, but no one else appeared, even when the meat and other parts were ready.
He knew someone had suppressed the matter—most likely Mr. Tao.
The dissected ferocious beast yielded several tons of meat; he took part of it to cook.
A new five-star gourmet dish emerged. The biggest difference from three-star dishes: it permanently increases a physical attribute.
In other words, eating a five-star dish is like completing a dungeon and receiving excellent evaluation points—pain-free evolution.
“The effect is too strong; it’s not suitable for release yet.”
The quantity was too small; if leaked, only wealthy players would get it at high prices.
Perhaps when ferocious beasts could be stably obtained, these high-star foods would hit the shelves. For now, better to improve cooking skills and turn ordinary ingredients into four-star delicacies.
Thus, the new batch of five-star foods never entered the market. They were distributed as rewards to direct subordinates and excellent East District official players (except for Parsons’ reserved portion).
Each recipient kept the secret; no one knew of their existence.
The recipe count for upgrades was full. The only thing left was total products for sale, which might reach the target in a day or two.
In his task backpack, besides two complete ferocious beasts, nearly two-thirds of the meat and organs remained. He planned to use a third during the Lunar New Year, also for subordinates and top East District official players.
“People in other regions won’t know—they should envy us to death,” said someone in the East District office.
Many in this group were proud, but they had been intimidated by Jiang Jitang’s large-scale “parts refurbishment” healing formation.
After short-term interaction, they realized their new boss didn’t hoard power, wasn’t soft, had strong internal resolve, and was practical. No bureaucracy—everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
The West District’s example loomed. People feared a “do as I say” tyrant. Now Jiang Jitang was easy to get along with, issued massive benefits on arrival, and gave lots of free time. Who wouldn’t like that?
These were ordinary workers—they needed to run dungeons, care for family, and manage stress.
From now on, Jiang Jitang was their only “chief.”
“Of course, I’m the East District’s chief.” Jiang Jitang retained some bandit habits: anyone else could suffer, but not his own. If his subordinates couldn’t get meat, he’d be a terrible leader.
These capable people, in just a few days, had investigated the celebrity dungeon death thoroughly.
Although this slightly deviated from his plan.
Several C-Nation players had entered the same dungeon, including the celebrity.
But disputes in the dungeon were more like “I need to tie my shoes better to run faster,” not “I’m breaking that guy’s legs.” Normal behavior in dungeons—Jiang Jitang wouldn’t make a fuss.
After understanding the situation, he tracked down the rumor-monger. Thinking there were powerful backers, it turned out the person was simply idle and clamoring for “freedom of speech.” After being detained, they were disciplined, made to publicly apologize—by the book.
During interrogation, he found someone who really had killed in the dungeon—a privileged official’s son.
The rumor-monger continued whining, claiming the rich and powerful couldn’t be touched, etc.
Jiang Jitang was annoyed but laughed once outside: the “chicken came to the door itself.”
East District staff saw their normally gentle boss sternly investigating and vowed to pursue to the end.
No matter if it was a privileged official’s son—after recreating events with special tools, they got arrest warrants, captured the person across provinces, and sentenced them legally. Everything followed procedure, yet was so orderly it felt unusual.
These were dungeon incidents involving two players!
C-Nation World’s East District forums buzzed with discussion; various factions jumped around, but Jiang Jitang gave no favors.
Seeing a privileged player punished heavily, others immediately knelt, publicly apologized, and reflected—short of crying and proclaiming reformation.
That official’s faction was unhappy, pressuring higher-ups, claiming the player department had overstepped.
Mr. Tao handled it, because stability and safety are foundational for productivity; “heroics violating rules” didn’t fit C-Nation’s conditions—he supported Jiang Jitang behind the scenes.
Too much freedom would kill weak players; they had to back Jiang Jitang’s “first shot.”
Mr. Tao also called, praising his boldness and practical work, then asked about next steps.
“Next, loosen the fishing line so the fish don’t panic.”
The first scare had worked, but players worried if their previous behavior had been illegal, so next Jiang Jitang needed to reassure them.
As an ordinary person, you could act rashly; now as East District chief, he had to be cautious. A high-ranking figure, every action affects many.
He handled this well, but the “sword doesn’t strike yesterday’s official”—players needed a stable, friendly environment. Sometimes, you had to turn a blind eye.
Thus, the next day, C-Nation East District officially issued a statement:
From now on, all matters in C-Nation’s game world must be handled legally; dungeon incidents fall under “emergency law provisions.” Only C-Nation players were covered; if harmed, C-Nation would pursue justice. Past incidents were pardoned.
“Politics is the art of progressing through compromise.”
The matter was resolved quietly. Some guilty players relaxed; the past was past—they’d just act more cautiously in the future.
Small voices still called him a dictator.
Considering he was a super healer and owner of special foods, C-Nation players largely complied.
Jiang Jitang didn’t actively track complaints, but he knew many were cursing him.
As long as no one dared curse him face-to-face, he ignored them—he didn’t believe there were more than those who once called him a mad dog.
Sister Xia didn’t understand his thinking; she worried. Standing out draws fire—Jiang Jitang was that fire.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Mr. Tao needed me because you need a sharp sword to suppress chaos in the Rubik World. Legal society—I’m justified.”
Even if some officials were corrupt, the overall system was healthy—he wasn’t concerned.
“Wow, it’s five o’clock? No chatting, I have things to do.” Finished tasks, time to eat.
Before leaving, he told Sister Xia: “I plan to tour every city in East District over a year, starting tomorrow.”
Time for action.
“I’ll stay one day in each city to hold a ‘free clinic.’ Any C-Nation citizen with serious injuries, disabilities, or long-term negative effects can come.
“Sister Xia, help coordinate the itinerary, minimize inconvenience, but ensure we reach every location.”
“All right.”
Honestly, Sister Xia was puzzled.
In this era, where computers and phones can directly reach people, physical visits weren’t strictly necessary—most matters could be handled from offices.
But her job was to execute, not question.
“I’ll launch an official app—the East District Player Event Handling Center—for player matters. Players can handle things online, bypassing inconvenience.”
Sister Xia paused, recalling the efficient administration website of Nanjiang Province—one task, no double trips for citizens. Pretty similar.
Jiang Jitang left the office, prepared all task items at home, and the next moment appeared in the Rouge World.
It was nighttime. A small campfire burned under a tree. His task target lay between two trees, hanging on a vine like Xiaolongnu, asleep.
“Hi.” He waved at the suddenly awakened wish-maker. “Your delivery has arrived.”
“You!” Though it was dark, Ye could see clearly thanks to his totem power.
Fair-skinned, apparently never sunburned or bitten by insects. Wearing unusual clothes, even his feet were covered.
“Who are you?” Ye bared teeth, holding a bone spear. Jiang Jitang was under the tree—not a safe distance.
“You made a wish to me, trading a tooth dagger for a gift for your daughter. Remember?”
“Messenger? Proof?” After wandering outside so long, he knew strangers were more dangerous than beasts. He didn’t trust Jiang Jitang easily.
Jiang Jitang stepped forward, and before Ye could react, produced a thick parchment scroll, slowly unrolled it by the fire, and backed up four or five meters.
“This is the gift you traded your tooth dagger for. You can take a look.”
Once Jiang Jitang had stepped back, Ye climbed down, cautiously approached the fire, and glanced at the scroll—this glance lasted a long, long time.
The images, once fading in memory, were vividly depicted on the parchment, as if everything he had seen had been extracted and placed there.
This was beyond human ability—only divine power could do it.
“Ye, forgive my disrespect, please pardon the messenger.”
“It’s fine. You can look. Do you like this gift?”
Ye sat cross-legged, holding the parchment close to the fire, shielding it with his hand, wanting the light but fearing sparks would damage the miraculous parchment.
“This is that mountain, Eagle-Beak Mountain.”
Towering, cloud-piercing peaks, straight as if split by a giant axe; long waterfalls fell into a pool. Plants grew beside the falls, catching mist and sunlight. A rainbow formed in the spray.
Ye was certain the rainbow was born here—a divine mountain capable of producing seven-colored light.
“Exactly as I saw with my own eyes.” Excited, his lips trembled. Closing his eyes, he seemed back there, watching the river fall from above into deep pools, mist curling, colored lights flashing…
He had seen such marvelous sights in many places.
He wanted to bring them back for others—but no one believed him, calling him a madman, a lunatic.
Ye had never wavered in his determination to see every corner, though he sometimes felt lonely—he seemed the only traveler, no predecessors, no followers.
‘Seeing this, they will believe.’ Ye thought. Even the strongest imagination can’t fully capture nature’s wonders; these images would make it clear.
They needn’t understand him, but they could feel inspired.
Not all images on the scroll were connected. Some parchment pieces had items sewn onto them:
Shells from the sea—colorful and strange.
Feathers fallen from birds—some soft, some sharp.
Stones from unknown mountains, sparkling and vivid.
Flowers, odd fruits.
Touching them made the drawings feel even more alive, like stepping into another world, different from daily life, with an unknown magic.
The word “distant” suddenly felt romantic, as if wondrous legends unfolded there.
Ye hugged the scroll, slowly leaning against a tree.
This was his longing. This was his life.
Would the child like it? Would the child like a father who is otherwise useless?
