Chapter 34: Damn You, System!

Chen Yun clicked his tongue in amazement. Only after hearing Zhang Lang’s explanation did he finally understand why everyone around him treated him with such respect—he hadn’t realized that master-level chefs were so exceedingly rare and in such high demand.

“Xiao Chen, let’s settle it like this then. Here, try this Biyuan green tea. It took me quite some effort to get my hands on it.” Zhang Lang brewed the tea and handed a cup to Chen Yun.

Chen Yun accepted the tea, about to take a sip, when he noticed an attribute description hovering above it.

“Counterfeit premium tea leaves. White consumable item. Thirst +2. Can cause hallucinations. Long-term use is harmful to both body and mind.”

Fake? And hallucinogenic? Chen Yun was taken aback, then glanced at Zhang Lang, who was sipping his tea with an expression of utter bliss. Chen Yun took a careful sip himself, frowned, and asked, “Brother Zhang, how much did you pay for this tea?”

“One thousand gold coins per tael—top-grade Biyuan green tea. Isn’t it wonderful? I have two more packs here; I’ll give you one so you can enjoy it at your leisure.” Zhang Lang produced another packet from his drawer and offered it to Chen Yun.

“Brother Zhang, I don’t mean to discourage you, but you really wasted your money.” Chen Yun declined the packet and said, “This tea is fake.”

“What? Fake?” Zhang Lang was stunned, then shook his head. “How could it be fake? I bought it from an old friend, and it makes me feel so comfortable. There’s no way it’s not genuine.”

“That just means the tea you bought from the very beginning was fake. Even if you don’t believe me, you should trust the palate of a professional chef,” Chen Yun said firmly. “This is nothing more than ordinary green tea leaves, heavily dosed with additives and hallucinogens. That’s what gives you that feeling of comfort and addiction. If you doubt me, you can have a professional analyze its contents.”

“Hallucinogens?” Zhang Lang was startled. “You mean this tea is—drugs?”

“Not quite at the level of narcotics, but long-term use is bad for your health.” Chen Yun checked Zhang Lang’s personal stats, but unfortunately, his own level was too low; all he could see were question marks. Still, he guessed that Zhang Lang’s health and mental strength must be below normal.

“You’re a master chef—I believe you. Damn it! That old friend of mine must have been trying to harm me from the start. No wonder he’s been so attentive since I started buying his tea. Damn him.” Zhang Lang slammed his hand heavily on the table.

“Do you have some kind of grudge with him?” Chen Yun asked.

“A grudge? No,” Zhang Lang replied, eyes darting. “We’ve been friends for years. Why would there be any grudges?”

“Oh, that’s fine then.” Seeing that Zhang Lang didn’t want to talk about it, Chen Yun didn’t press further. After all, his relationship with Zhang Lang was purely professional, not close enough to warrant prying into personal affairs.

That night, Chen Yun lay in bed, unable to sleep. He replayed the day’s events in his mind: the wily catfish, the cultivator who could fly, Captain Li with his cold smile, and Zhang Lang’s evasive eyes. It all made him realize that this world was far more complicated than he had imagined.

“Wait, I almost forgot—what was that about the sects Li Xin mentioned?” Chen Yun suddenly remembered. How could sects that only existed in novels, games, and comics appear in this world? The Qingyun Sect from Zhu Xian, the Mount Shu and Moon Worship Cult from Chinese Paladin, and the World Society from Storm Riders—how could these possibly be legitimate sects here? It was absurd. He wondered who the leader of the Qingyun Sect was in this world: Dao Xuan, or Zhang Xiaofan?

The mere thought of Zhang Xiaofan’s Divine Sword Thunder Art clashing with Li Xiaoyao’s swordsmanship, or the Moon Worshipper summoning the Water Demon to duel with Xiongba’s Three Divisions of Primordial Qi, nearly made Chen Yun burst out laughing.

“Enough daydreaming. If I keep this up, I’ll die of laughter. Li Xin already said it’s not as fantastical as on TV. I should check online to see what’s really going on.” Chen Yun got out of bed, turned on the computer in his hotel room, and waited—but nothing happened.

“Huh? Is the computer broken? Why isn’t it responding?”

Just as he had that thought, a system prompt sounded:

“Player Chen Yun has not mastered computer skills and cannot use a computer.”

The corner of Chen Yun’s mouth twitched and he slapped his forehead. How could he have forgotten—cooking required skills, singing required skills, so of course internet browsing would require skills too.

“Seriously? Even this needs a skill? What a ridiculous system. Why don’t you need a skill to sleep? Or to eat? Or to go to the bathroom—wait, damn!”

Suddenly, a terrible realization struck him: “Since I transmigrated, I don’t think I’ve ever gone to the bathroom!”

His face drained of color. In games, there was no need for such bodily functions—but this wasn’t a game, this was reality—reality!

With that, Chen Yun dashed to the bathroom and strained over the toilet for half an hour, but not a single drop came out!

Damn you, system!

Where did all the food and water I consumed go?

The thought of some kind of residue lurking somewhere inside his body left him unable to sit still any longer. Regardless of the late hour, he threw on his clothes and rushed straight to the city hospital.

Reaching the hospital, Chen Yun let out a sigh of relief. Luckily, it was in the city center, not far from his hotel; otherwise, with the city’s walkable traffic, he would have been exhausted before he even got there.

“Which department handles urination and defecation? Surgery? No, that’s not right. Internal medicine? Yes, gastroenterology!” Chen Yun muttered as he walked, searching the halls until he finally found the gastroenterology department.

It was one-thirty in the morning. The place was quiet, with only the duty room still lit. Chen Yun walked over and knocked on the glass window.

“Is there something you need?” The night nurse, barely awake, heard the knock and looked up, bleary-eyed.

“Nurse, I haven’t urinated or defecated in a long time. What should I do?” Chen Yun blurted out anxiously. The system had truly scared him. If it really enforced the no-bathroom rule from the game, where had all the food and water he’d consumed gone? Could it just vanish into thin air?

“How long has it been?” the nurse asked, unfazed. She was used to it—nine out of ten patients in gastroenterology came with similar complaints: either they couldn’t go, or they couldn’t stop going.

“Uh… a year!” Chen Yun exaggerated, hoping to get her full attention by giving a number that would scare anyone.

Bang!

The nurse was so startled she fell off her chair, then scrambled up, staring at Chen Yun in disbelief. “Say that again—how long?”

“A year, nurse, it’s been a whole year since I last went to the bathroom. You have to save me!” Chen Yun’s eyes were red with desperation. Although things weren’t that dire yet, as long as the system was in place, who knew—maybe he’d never go again, not even in a hundred years!

The nurse looked at Chen Yun, then at his flat stomach, and after a long pause, managed to say, “You must have one hell of a digestive system—to even digest your own waste so thoroughly…”