Chapter 243: Removing Qiao Liang's Worries
Pei Qian immediately reached out and grabbed Qiao Liang's hand. "Teacher Qiao, I've heard so much about you!"
Caught off guard by Pei Qian's enthusiasm, Qiao Liang was a little flattered and hurriedly bowed slightly. "President Pei, it's an honor to finally meet you."
Pei Qian sized Qiao Liang up. His long-time nemesis actually looked quite decent—thick eyebrows, big eyes, well-proportioned features—but he seemed a bit sluggish and slightly chubby.
He looked every bit a 24-karat pure net-addicted youth, though of a different breed from Bao Xu. Bao Xu was slightly balding and malnourished, while "Teacher Qiao" had a full head of thick hair and a round figure—just a bit soft around the edges.
Qiao Liang, on the other hand, was surprised by how young Pei Qian looked. He had mentally prepared himself for the possibility that President Pei would be young, but the reality was still shocking.
No matter how he looked at it, this man was younger than him…
And yet, at such a young age, Pei Qian was already the boss of such a massive company, while he himself was still just a small-time creator in the gaming video niche, struggling to make a name.
That thought stirred some complex emotions—admiration tinged with envy.
Pei Qian led Qiao Liang to the reception room, poured him a cup of tea, and made some polite small talk.
"President Pei," Qiao Liang said, "I've rested enough. Why don't we get down to business?"
Strictly speaking, there was no rush. They could easily wait until after lunch.
But Qiao Liang felt that since President Pei had treated him so well—sending a car to pick him up, arranging comfortable accommodation, and giving him such generous treatment—he had to show some goodwill in return and get to work as soon as possible.
Pei Qian nodded. "Sure."
The fish was biting the bait all on its own—how delightful.
Pei Qian had originally wanted Qiao Liang to rest a bit longer, to spare him from too much mental and emotional trauma all at once.
But since Qiao Liang himself insisted, Pei Qian would gladly oblige.
He took out a prepared contract. "Let's sign the agreement first."
Qiao Liang quickly skimmed through it. Everything was as previously discussed: eight hours of gameplay per day, 500 yuan per day.
If he took weekends off, that would be about 10,000 yuan a month.
If he worked straight through, overtime pay would bump it even higher.
Though they had discussed the pay rate before, they hadn't gone into detail, so Qiao Liang wasn't sure if there would be any hidden clauses or excessive requirements.
After reading the contract text, he was relieved to see that there were none.
It was exactly as promised—just eight hours of playing the game Turn Back Before It's Too Late every day, for 500 yuan!
Qiao Liang couldn't help but sigh. President Pei really is generous!
These days, a monthly salary of ten thousand yuan is definitely considered high income.
Of course, when inspiration struck and he went on a content-creation spree—accepting ad deals and all that—he could also earn ten thousand or more a month.
But that was exhausting.
He'd have to stay up late grinding for material, write and edit scripts seriously, and even then, he'd still need some luck—like catching a generous sponsor—to make that much.
Compared to that, this new job was so much easier.
No extra demands, no stress—just play Turn Back Before It's Too Late for eight hours a day.
After skimming the contract twice and finding nothing suspicious, Qiao Liang signed his name with satisfaction.
"Alright then, come with me," Pei Qian said.
The two of them left Tengda's office building, chatting and laughing as they went.
Xiao Sun drove them to a nearby internet café.
Pei Qian hadn't planned on letting Qiao Liang play in the company's office area, since people like Li Yada and the other developers knew the game inside out—things like which weapons were strongest, which routes were safer, or how to obtain the weapon Pudu (Salvation).
If Qiao Liang played there, died repeatedly, and ended up chatting with the devs, he might accidentally pick up some gameplay tips.
That would reduce the game's difficulty—and that, of course, would not do.
Pei Qian wanted Qiao Liang to experience Turn Back Before It's Too Late exactly as an ordinary player would—from zero, with no insider knowledge—so he had to eliminate any potential sources of "unfair advantage."
At Moyu Internet Café, there was food, drinks, and high-end PCs; coffee and beverages were unlimited. In short, Pei Qian made sure Qiao Liang would have absolutely no distractions or worries.
Before long, they arrived at the café.
This was the Handong University Branch of Moyu Internet Café, about a ten-minute walk from the Shenhua Luxury Mansion.
Of course, despite its name, it wasn't actually that close to Handong University—walking there would take at least fifteen minutes.
That was intentional. From the very beginning, the café's location had been chosen specifically away from prime student-heavy areas.
Even so, it was still in a relatively busy district. Business at this branch had never been bad, and after the "Chen Lei Incident," its sales had even gone up a little. It was now second only to the flagship store, running at only a small loss.
Precisely because of that, Pei Qian had always treated this branch like an unwanted stepchild—rarely visiting it himself.
Now, it was the perfect place to station Qiao Liang. Whenever Pei Qian felt down, he could drop by and watch Qiao Liang suffer through the game, just to lift his spirits.
Pei Qian introduced the café's manager to Qiao Liang, then found him a desk tucked away in a quiet corner on the second floor. That would be his permanent workstation.
The computer there already had the initial build of Turn Back Before It's Too Late installed. The game version would automatically stay in sync with the current internal development build and even had a built-in timer to log his playtime—he had to clock at least eight hours each day.
If he fell short one day, he'd have to make up the time the next day.
If he still didn't meet the quota, there'd be deductions from his pay.
There were also a few important rules: Turn Back Before It's Too Late was still in development, so he couldn't reveal any gameplay content. That meant no recording videos and no talking too much about the project in his fan groups.
Luckily, Moyu Internet Café wasn't very crowded most days, and since Qiao Liang's desk was far in the back, no one would disturb him.
Soon, everything was perfectly arranged.
"For your daily meals, just ask the manager," Pei Qian explained. "The café's food is perfectly clean and safe—you can eat here with peace of mind."
"Take some time to get used to everything. Tonight, I've arranged a welcome dinner for you. Someone will come pick you up later."
"If you have any issues with living arrangements or daily needs, just let the manager know."
Pei Qian had, in his mind, completely eliminated all of Qiao Liang's worries.
Qiao Liang was deeply moved. "Alright!"
"Then start your session," Pei Qian said. "I'll take my leave. Call me if you need anything."
Without staying to watch Qiao Liang's suffering, Pei Qian turned and left.
Seeing life, one cannot bear to see death; hearing its cries, one cannot bear to eat its flesh.
Pei Qian sighed sentimentally. Ah, I really am such a kind man.
"President Pei is so thoughtful—everything's arranged so perfectly," Qiao Liang murmured to himself.
"And there's even a welcome banquet tonight… sounds pretty high-class!"
Feeling rather pleased, Qiao Liang cheerfully launched the game. Everything about this trip to Jingzhou seemed absolutely perfect.
If only I had a cute girl here with me, he thought.
Of course, he immediately realized that was wishful thinking.
Still, when you think about it… Games are way more fun than girls anyway.
Maybe it was because of President Pei's meticulous care, or maybe just a placebo effect, but once Qiao Liang entered the game, he found it utterly delightful.
"Yep, just as expected from President Pei—every one of his games is a masterpiece!"
"Look at these models—so detailed!"
"Look at the art style—so distinctive!"
"Look at these animations—so smooth!"
"And look at these mobs—"
"Holy crap, that hurts! That's a mob?"
"...Wait, how did I die???"
Qiao Liang stared blankly at the black-and-white death screen.
What just happened?
All he did was walk up and poke a ragged-looking villager carrying a pitchfork—the villager turned around and stabbed him twice, killing him on the spot!
"Did I… play this wrong somehow?"
Qiao Liang scratched his head, eyes filled with confusion.
...
...
Noon, at Mingyun Private Kitchen.
"Yo? You've got king crab here? Bring me one," said a young man dressed flamboyantly, pointing at the menu item.
"I'm sorry, sir, but that dish requires advance reservation," the waiter replied politely, carefully following President Pei's special instruction—the "no explanation policy."
Still, after saying it, the waiter felt a little uneasy.
The customer sitting before him was clearly someone with money to burn—and, judging from experience, probably a little hot-tempered.
The man looked to be around twenty-four or twenty-five, wearing a garish, multicolored shirt—red, green, yellow, and all sorts of chaotic stripes—making him look like a ladybug. But even at a glance, the waiter could tell that shirt must cost at least ten or twenty thousand yuan.
He was decked out in gold and silver, with a thick gold chain around his neck that looked heavy—definitely not the kind that floats in a bathhouse.
And the most eye-catching thing of all—the pendant dangling from the gold chain was a solid-gold SpongeBob, capturing the perfect fusion of brash personality and nouveau-riche flamboyance.
From experience, the waiter knew that this type of customer was the hardest to serve. If not for President Pei's instructions, he would've been all smiles, patiently explaining how rare and difficult it was to transport king crabs—anything to avoid upsetting the customer.
But now, he could only follow orders and not explain.
Surprisingly, the young man didn't get angry. Instead, he nodded.
"Oh, king crabs are hard to get, that makes sense. Advance booking, I get it."
"Then give me some sea urchin."
Still smiling, the waiter replied apologetically, "I'm sorry, sir, that dish also requires advance reservation."
The young man frowned.
He didn't say anything, but a trace of irritation crossed his face.
"Alright, then you must at least have bluefin tuna, right?"
"I'm sorry, sir, that dish also requires advance reservation."
The young man stared at the waiter, momentarily unsure whether to laugh or get angry.
The waiter kindly pointed to the fine print at the top of the menu page. "Sir, as you can see here—these front dishes all use rare ingredients, so they require reservation. We apologize for the inconvenience."
The young man looked closer. Sure enough—every single page of the thick menu had a small line of text at the top saying 'These dishes require advance booking due to limited ingredients.'
Not tiny, but not prominent either—he had simply overlooked it.
"Alright, alright, then just tell me what you actually have right now."
Too lazy to keep flipping through the menu, the young man gestured for the waiter to handle it.
The waiter helpfully flipped to the back of the menu—past about 80% of the pages—until they reached the dishes that didn't have that fine print.
"These, sir, are available for immediate order."
The young man frowned as he scanned the remaining options.
There were a few elaborate dishes—like Pagoda Pork and Golden Lion Fish—and some simpler ones, like Seasonal Greens and Dragon Well Shrimp.
The one thing they all had in common? They were expensive—even a bit pricier than what most high-end restaurants charged.
For instance, that Pagoda Pork cost 270 yuan, whereas he remembered paying only 240 for the same dish back in Hangzhou.
Of course, compared to the rare-ingredient dishes at the start of the menu, these regular ones were already the "cheap" options.
The young man was speechless.
The prices weren't the main issue—he could afford them.
But all the good stuff—the dishes he actually wanted—required reservation.
After coming all the way here, what, was he just supposed to settle for a few plain, everyday dishes?