Chapter 1: The Day of System Binding
Lin Li stared at the glaring negative number in his mobile banking app, feeling as if his stomach were being clenched by an invisible hand.
-32,874.59 yuan.
Over the past three months, this figure had grown tenaciously, like some malignant organism. The damp air of the rainy season clung to his skin outside, while exaggerated laughter from his roommate watching a variety show echoed from the shared apartment. Everything made him want to fold himself up and stuff into some non-existent crevice.
Twenty-seven years old, three consecutive failed ventures, six figures in debt. Among his circle of friends, he had become the cautionary tale, the one with "yet another new idea." At last week's family dinner, his cousin patted his shoulder and said, "Xiao Lin, stability is good. Take the civil service exam, stop dreaming all the time." That was the moment he understood: in everyone's eyes, he had completed his transformation from "dreaming youth" to "impractical loser."
His phone vibrated. It was the landlady. "Xiao Lin, tomorrow at the latest. Really, I can't delay any longer."
Mechanically, Lin Li replied, "Okay, Sister Wang, definitely tomorrow," then stood up and walked toward the "bedroom" partitioned from the living room. Five square meters, a bed, a desk, a cardboard box stuffed with failed business plans. He turned on the computer. His reflection in the screen as it lit up was a face devoid of light — heavy dark circles, three days' stubble, greasy hair plastered to his forehead.
The open document was his fourth venture proposal: The City Rooftop Farm Sharing Plan. Thirty pages written, but every time he reviewed it, it seemed full of holes. Funding? None. Tech skills? Nope. Customers? Fantasy. He thought bitterly, this is probably the "self-cultivation of a loser" — knowing full well it won't work, yet unable to stop producing more garbage.
Just as he was about to close the document, the screen flickered.
No, not a flicker. Something was overlaying the entire interface. Pale blue geometric lines grew like vines, constructing an interface so minimalist it was almost冷酷. No welcome message, no loading animation, just a few lines of text silently appearing:
Target host detected: Persistent entrepreneurial failure (3+ instances)
Debt level: Moderately high
Social evaluation: Negative tendency
Thought pattern: Irrationality Index 87% — Suitable for binding
System Name: Absurdity Justification System (Version 1.0)
Binding in progress... 5%... 34%... 71%... 100%
Binding complete.
Lin Li jerked back, his chair hitting the wall with a dull thud.
"What the hell?" he muttered, thinking it was a virus, reaching for the power button.
Before his finger could touch it, the interface changed automatically, new text appearing:
First Day Mission Issued
Mission Name: Reverse Premium Experiment
Mission Objective: Cause the price of any product or service to double due to its "obvious defect"
Time Limit: 24 hours
Failure Penalty: Host will randomly emit animal sounds when speaking for the following week
Mission Hint: The value of a defect depends on the narrative framework.
Accept Mission: Yes / No (Note: This system is forcibly bound. Refusal equals failure.)
Lin Li sat dumbfounded, his mind a blank. He pinched his thigh — pain. Not a dream. He rebooted the computer — the interface remained. He closed the laptop and reopened it — the pale blue text hovered against a black background, a silent mockery.
"Have I gone mad?" he whispered. "Hallucinating from the stress?"
The interface changed again. This time, a map appeared with a blinking red dot — an old residential district about three kilometers away, labeled: "Recommended test site: Chen's Bun Shop (Daily foot traffic <50, Business Rating 2.1/5)."
Lin Li stared at the words for a full three minutes. Then, a feeling of having nothing left to lose surged up. He was already at rock bottom. He was getting evicted tomorrow anyway. His life was already a bad joke.
Could it get any worse?
He grabbed his faded hoodie, pulled it on, and walked out. The rain had stopped. The night air smelled of damp earth. He scanned a shared bike and rode toward the red dot on the map.
Forty minutes later, he stood before "Chen's Bun Shop." It was a typical shop in an old neighborhood, the character "Chen" on the sign missing half its strokes. A faded price list was stuck to the glass window: Pork Bun 2 yuan, Veggie Bun 1.5 yuan, Soymilk 3 yuan. The light inside was dim. A man in his fifties dozed behind the counter, a wartime drama playing on the TV.
Lin Li pushed the door open. A bell jangled harshly.
The man woke, rubbing his eyes. "Buying buns? Sold out. Come earlier tomorrow."
"I'm not here for buns," Lin Li heard his own dry voice say. "I'm here... to discuss cooperation."
The man looked him up and down, suspicion in his eyes. "Cooperation? What cooperation?"
The system interface suddenly appeared in the upper right corner of Lin Li's vision — projected directly onto his retina now. New prompts:
Target Analysis: Chen Jianguo, 52. Operated this shop for 18 years. Children live elsewhere. Wife passed away three years ago. Current pain point: Traditional taste lacks uniqueness. Customer base steadily shrinking. Monthly loss approx. 2000 yuan.
Suggested approach: Emotional void.
Lin Li took a deep breath, trying to sound credible. "Boss Chen, I noticed your shop... is quite distinctive."
Chen Jianguo laughed, the kind of laugh reserved for hearing too much nonsense. "Distinctive? Young man, the only distinctive thing here is how hard it is to find. What do you actually want?"
"I want to help you change your business model," Lin Li blurted out. "Make your bun shop... famous."
"Famous how? Make the news for having terrible buns?" Chen Jianguo stood up and started cleaning the counter — a clear signal to leave.
Prompt: Present a concrete plan. Use primary template for "Topic Leverage Technique."
A virtual page unfolded in Lin Li's vision with a detailed plan framework. He read it aloud, his voice trembling slightly from nerves:
"My proposal is: launch a limited-edition 'Dishwashing-Stuffed Bun.'"
Chen Jianguo's hands froze. "What?"
"Literally," Lin Li felt like an actor reciting absurd lines. "We publicly announce that, to express the ultimate pursuit of traditional handcrafted spirit, we add a minuscule amount — note, minuscule — of dishwashing liquid flavoring to the filling, simulating the 'fresh scent lingering on fingertips after washing dishes by hand.'"
Silence filled the bun shop. The gunfire and explosions from the TV were jarringly loud.
Then Chen Jianguo burst into laughter, bending over, slapping the counter. "Young man, are you... hahaha... out of your mind? Add dishwashing liquid? Are you sent by a competitor to shut me down?"
Lin Li's face burned crimson, but he didn't flee. The system's punishment prompt flashed before his eyes — if he failed, for the next week, anything he said might be punctuated by sudden "woofs" or "meows." Between social death and starvation, he chose the former.
"Hear me out," he raised his voice. "We're not actually adding dishwashing liquid. We just say we are. The packaging will have a warning: 'Contains trace amounts of food-grade dishwashing liquid essence. Exclusive for ultimate flavor pursuers.' Each bun priced at... 10 yuan."
Chen Jianguo's laughter stopped. He narrowed his eyes. "Ten yuan? My pork buns are only 2."
"That's the point," Lin Li said, pointing at the virtual data provided by the system. "What's the biggest problem in the F&B industry now? It's not that the food is bad; it's that it lacks memorability. Eight bubble tea shops on one street, similar taste, similar decor — why remember you? Because of the story, the controversy, doing what others wouldn't dare."
He paused, seeing Chen hadn't interrupted, and continued reciting the system's copy. "'Dishwashing-Stuffed Buns' will become a topic. People will come to check in, take photos, post on their feeds saying 'I ate buns with dishwashing liquid and survived.' The media will come — not food media, but social news media. I can imagine the headlines: 'No bottom line for attention? Bun shop claims to add dishwashing liquid.'"
Chen Jianguo lit a cigarette. Smoke swirled in the dim light. "And then? I get shut down by the authorities, and you walk away?"
"No," Lin Li said. "After the reports gain traction, we hold a small press conference. You wear your apron, holding a test report for food-grade dishwashing liquid essence — we actually use a special flavoring, mimicking that fresh scent. With tears, you say this idea is to commemorate your late wife, who washed dishes for thirty years, her fingers always had that scent... You want to remember her this way."
Silence fell again in the bun shop. This time, it was different. Something heavy had settled.
Chen Jianguo's cigarette trembled slightly between his fingers. After a long while, he asked hoarsely, "How did you know about my wife?"
"I..." Lin Li faltered. He couldn't say the system told him.
Prompt: Maintaining an air of mystery helps establish authority.
"I did my research," he finally said. "Old-timers who've lived in this neighborhood for years know. Boss Chen, I'm not making fun of your feelings. I'm offering a solution to get your craft, your story, seen. The buns are still the same buns, but after giving them meaning, everything changes."
Chen Jianguo stubbed out his cigarette, stared at Lin Li for a long time. His eyes held doubt, sorrow, struggle, finally settling into a kind of weary resignation.
"What do I need to do?" he asked.
Mission progress updated: Target preliminary acceptance. Entering execution phase.
Lin Li relaxed, his legs feeling weak. "First, we redesign the menu. Then, tonight, I'll help you take some photos, write the copy. First thing tomorrow, we put up the notice at the shop, and I'll post in local forums and food groups."
"Will anyone come?"
"They will," Lin Li said, unsure if he was convincing the other man or himself. "They definitely will."
That night, Lin Li stayed in the bun shop's back kitchen until 2 a.m. Chen Jianguo kneaded dough, mixed filling, shaped buns. Lin Li took photos, wrote copy, designed crude flyers. The system occasionally gave suggestions: "Lower the angle, emphasize the wrinkles on the hands," "Include specific numbers in the copy, e.g., 'Thirty years of hands, three seconds of memory,'" "Add 'Limited to 30 daily, honoring the handcrafted spirit' to the corner of the flyer."
At 3 a.m., when Lin Li returned to the rental room, his roommate was asleep. He washed up quietly, lay in bed, but sleep was impossible. On his retina, the system interface showed a countdown: 18h 34m 21s.
"What are you, really?" he whispered into the air.
The interface flickered, a line of text appearing:
This system aims to explore the irrational boundaries in commercial behavior, test social acceptance thresholds, and collect data on human adaptation to absurdity. The host is Experiment Subject No. 73.
"Experiment subject..." Lin Li smiled bitterly. "So my failures, my debt, were all screening criteria?"
Individuals with high failure rates and low social evaluation are more likely to accept unconventional solutions and have lower resistance costs. You are an ideal sample.
Cold, rational, a tool-like description without掩饰. Lin Li should have been angry, but instead, he felt a strange calm. At least now, something was telling him what to do. Even if it was absurd, it was better than slowly sinking in the mud.
He closed his eyes. Amid hunger and anxiety, he actually fell asleep.
---
The next morning at 7 a.m., Lin Li arrived punctually at Chen's Bun Shop.
The notice was already posted, bold black characters on white paper: "This shop launches limited-edition 'Dishwashing-Stuffed Buns,' honoring thirty years of handcrafted spirit." Below was fine print, carefully worded, walking the line of false advertising yet leaving room for explanation.
Chen Jianguo nervously rubbed his hands. "Is anyone looking?"
"Just wait," Lin Li said, simultaneously sending messages to five local WeChat groups with last night's photos — Chen Jianguo's calloused hands, the dough, steam rising from the bamboo baskets. The copy was system-optimized: "Found a bun shop that's gone crazy but maybe not completely."
For the first hour, only three regulars came for ordinary buns. Seeing the notice, they all showed expressions of "the boss has finally lost it," shaking their heads as they left.
8:30 a.m. The first young person appeared. Carrying a camera, early twenties, a gleam of猎奇 in his eyes.
"For real? Dishwashing stuffing?" he asked.
"Food-grade special flavoring, simulating that fresh scent," Lin Li recited the prepared lines. "10 yuan each, limited to 30 per day. Already have... 8 pre-orders for today." He made up the number on the spot.
The young man's eyes lit up. "I'll take two! Can I take pictures?"
"Of course, go ahead."
The flash went off. The young man photographed the buns, the notice, Chen Jianguo's uneasy face. Then he paid 20 yuan — Chen's hands trembled as he took the money, probably unused to anyone paying so much for two buns in a long time.
The young man took a bite, chewing with a复杂 expression. "Hmm... there really is a... strange aftertaste. Probably psychological, but interesting." He took a few more photos and hurried off, likely to post on social media.
This was the beginning.
10 a.m. A second person came, then a third. Some were purely curious, some felt "10 yuan for a story is worth it," some came specifically to check in after seeing the group messages. Chen Jianguo was flustered, steaming basket after basket — they were all ordinary buns, just placed in separate small baskets with a "Limited Edition" sticker.
11 a.m. Things began to spiral.
A local TV station van parked across the street. A female reporter with a microphone and a cameraman got out and headed straight for the bun shop.
Chen Jianguo turned pale. "We're really going to be on the news?"
Lin Li's heart pounded, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Just as we agreed."
The reporter, surnamed Li, asked sharp questions: "Boss Chen, you claim to add dishwashing liquid成分 to your buns. Doesn't this涉嫌 violate the law? Have you considered food safety issues?"
The camera's dark lens was aimed at Chen Jianguo. The old man's lips trembled. Lin Li gently nudged his arm.
Chen Jianguo took a deep breath and began reciting the lines rehearsed last night: "Not real dishwashing liquid... food-grade flavoring... to commemorate my wife..." His voice was small at first, then steadied. When he got to the part about his wife washing dishes for thirty years, his eyes genuinely reddened — it wasn't acting; it was real emotion surfacing.
The reporter was taken aback, her prepared follow-up questions stuck in her throat.
"So this is... emotional marketing?" she asked.
"It's commemoration," Chen Jianguo wiped his eyes. "After she left, I still knead dough, make buns every day, always feeling something's missing. This scent... her fingers always had that faint fresh scent, dishwashing liquid mixed with the smell of flour. I want to preserve that scent."
The tone of the interview completely changed. From questioning food safety, it shifted to emotional stories, the perseverance of artisans. The reporter had Chen demonstrate making buns, filmed the calluses and wrinkles on his hands, his face blurred by steam.
After the interview, the reporter turned to Lin Li. "And you are?"
"A friend helping out," Lin Li replied succinctly.
The reporter nodded, whispering before she left, "Good story. But next time, don't use such risky rhetoric."
By 2 p.m., the "Dishwashing-Stuffed Buns" were sold out — actually, nearly fifty were sold because Chen had secretly steamed a few extra batches. There had been a line outside the shop. Some came from across town just to "see how outrageous it is."
By 4 p.m., Lin Li sat on a small stool in the back kitchen, watching messages pop up on his phone. Three related posts appeared on local forums, discussions popped up in the city's Weibo topic, and朋友圈 was full of check-in photos. The hottest post was from a food blogger: "I took one for the team. Didn't die. Kind of addictive, actually."
Chen Jianguo counted the day's earnings, his hands still trembling. "Sold 120 ordinary buns, 240 yuan. Sold 53 limited buns, 530 yuan. Plus soymilk and other stuff... Today's take equals about four normal days."
He looked up at Lin Li, a complex expression in his eyes. "What kind of person are you, really?"
Lin Li smiled bitterly. "A person at the end of his rope."
Just then, the system interface popped up on his retina:
First Day Mission Complete
Mission Evaluation: Good
Reverse Premium Achieved: 5x (Target: 2x)
Social Topic Level: Regional Spread (Exceeds Expectations)
Rewards Distributed: Social Topic Sensitivity +1, Primary Irrationality Leverage Permission Unlocked
New Function: Host can now see others' "Pain Point Index" (1-100).
Lin Li blinked. Above Chen Jianguo's head floated a line of semi-transparent numbers: Pain Point Index: 67 (Primary Components: Loneliness 42%, Financial Anxiety 25%). Simultaneously, the shop itself had an index: Pain Point Index: 82 (Primary Components: Outdatedness 55%, Lack of Uniqueness 27%).
This ability was both unsettling and fascinating.
Chen Jianguo counted out eight hundred yuan and handed it to Lin Li. "As agreed, half of today's profit. Also, tomorrow... do we continue?"
Lin Li looked at the stack of crumpled bills — the first money he'd earned in three months. He took it, the texture of the paper feeling异常 real.
"We continue, but differently," he said. "Tomorrow, we issue a statement, apologizing for any misunderstanding, announcing the permanent discontinuation of 'Dishwashing-Stuffed Buns.' Simultaneously, we launch a new 'Commemoration Series' — same buns, new name, price adjusted to 5 yuan. The story continues, but without the controversial part."
Chen Jianguo paused, then understood. "Scarcity marketing plus emotional appeal?"
"Something like that," Lin Li stood up, his legs a bit numb. "Today's hype is enough. Continuing would backfire. Now we need to convert the curious打卡 crowd into regular customers who genuinely connect with the story."
He walked to the door, then turned back. "Boss Chen, your wife... what was she like?"
Chen Jianguo was silent for a long time. Then he said, "Very ordinary, worked very hard, never enjoyed much in life. But everyone in the neighborhood said her bun fillings were delicious."
"Talk more about that, then," Lin Li said. "Talk about how she seasoned the filling, kneaded the dough, washed vegetables in cold water in winter. A real story is more powerful than any marketing."
Leaving the bun shop, dusk was falling. Lin Li stood by the roadside, looking at the eight hundred yuan in his hand, suddenly feeling surreal. A day ago, he was on the brink of despair. A day later, using an absurd idea, he helped a shop make money and got a cut himself.
On his retina, the system interface hovered quietly, data displayed:
Host: Lin Li
Debt: -32,874.59 yuan (Unchanged)
Social Evaluation: Slight positive fluctuation (Regional scope)
Irrationality Index: 87% → 85% (Slight decrease)
Available Abilities: Pain Point Visualization (Primary), Topic Leverage Technique (Primary)
Next Mission Release: In 48 hours
Lin Li took a deep breath. The damp air was a mix of bun fragrance, car exhaust, and the city's特有 dust. He hailed a taxi — his first奢侈 in months — and told the driver, "To the nearest shopping mall."
He needed decent clothes, a haircut, to not look like a loser. Because the system told him a new mission would arrive in two days. And this time, he had a little preparation, and a little anticipation.
The car merged into traffic. Lin Li leaned against the window, watching the city lights come on. His phone vibrated. The landlady: "Xiao Lin, when will you transfer the money?"
He replied: "Before midnight tonight. Next month's rent included."
After sending it, he closed his eyes. The system interface on his retina glowed a pale blue, like some symbiotic organism, both eerie and comforting. He knew all this was wrong, knew he was a lab rat in some experiment, knew these abilities might bring unforeseen consequences.
But in this moment, he just wanted to feel the real weight of the eight hundred yuan in his pocket, the less尖锐 hunger in his stomach, the long-lost illusion — "I might still be able to do something."
The car entered a tunnel. Lights streamed across the window in bands of light. Lin Li thought, perhaps between a loser and a genius, there's only an absurd system.
Perhaps.
---
Two mornings later, the new mission was issued on schedule.
Mission Name: Cost-Zero Experiment
Mission Objective: Find a payer for a paid service, reducing the target customer's cost of enjoying the service to zero.
Time Limit: 72 hours
Recommended Target: Jiajian Gym (Pain Point Index: 79)
Failure Penalty: Host will intermittently emit sounds of gym equipment friction (especially noticeable during squats) for the following week.
Lin Li looked at the mission description, then at the bank transfer notification just received on his phone — Chen's Bun Shop's "Commemoration Series" continued to sell well. He got another twelve hundred. Rent paid, a little left over.
He changed into the white shirt he bought yesterday — a bit tight, but presentable — and left home. The sun was good. A suitable day for doing something absurd.
Jiajian Gym was on the third floor of a mall four kilometers away. He arrived at 10 a.m. The place was冷冷清清, only a receptionist playing on her phone and a middle-aged man running孤独ly on a treadmill.
Above the receptionist's head: Pain Point Index: 45 (Primary Components: Boredom 30%, Low-wage Anxiety 15%)
The gym itself: Pain Point Index: 79 (Primary Components: Member Attrition 63%, Competitive Pressure 16%)
Lin Li approached the front desk, offering a practiced smile. "Hello, I'd like to see the manager. I have a proposal to fill this place up."
The receptionist looked up, yawning. "Manager's in the office. But he's busy."
"Tell him," Lin Li said, his voice calm, "I can make people who don't want to pay for a gym membership line up to be free labor."
The receptionist froze, her phone slipping from her hand and clattering onto the desk.
The office door opened.
A new absurdity was about to begin.