Rain lashed the cracked window of Jun Xi's apartment, a gray veil blurring the neon jungle of Neo-Shanghai beyond. The city was a restless beast—skyscrapers stabbed the smog with holographic ads, their glow mocking the faint flicker of his single bulb. Inside, the room was a tomb: peeling paint, a mattress shoved against the wall, a mini-fridge buzzing in the corner. At 21, he should've been in a university dorm, cracking code or charting stars. Instead, he was here, broke and hollow, three weeks deep into a life he hadn't chosen.
Three weeks since the fire. Three weeks since his parents—his sharp-tongued mother, his booze-soaked father—went up in flames with the house he'd escaped. He'd smelled the smoke, leapt from the window as the sprinklers sputtered, and woken in a hospital with 1,500 Union Coins to his name. Guilt gnawed at him—he'd left the PC running, his bot compiling, and the power supply had sparked it all. He didn't miss them, not really, but the weight of it clung like damp rot. His mistake. His burden.
Jun Xi slouched in his creaking chair, the blue glow of his ancient gaming PC washing over his sharp features. His dark eyes, usually calm and steady, flickered with a restless edge tonight. Rain drummed the glass, a steady beat against the ache in his chest. He'd trudged home from the convenience store an hour ago, his umbrella snapping in the wind, his sneakers soaked through. The paycheck—200 UN—sat in his account, a cruel joke. He'd applied to university on this PC months back, dreaming of tech and space, only to get rejected. That sting had hardened into a vow: I'll never be poor again. But dreams didn't pay rent.
The screen glowed with lines of code—his crypto-cracking bot, a patchwork of loops and desperation. He'd taught himself coding from scraps online, chasing a way out. It was supposed to mine coins, make him rich. Last night, it'd nearly killed him—overheating the power supply until the house burned. Now, the fan whined, a high-pitched groan under the strain. "Don't die on me," he muttered, rubbing his temples. Thunder growled outside, rattling the thin walls. He wasn't sleeping tonight—not again.
He stood, stretching his lean frame, and crossed to the mini-fridge. His sneakers squelched on the damp floor—rain had leaked under the window, pooling in the corner. He grabbed a soda, the cold biting his palm, and popped it open with a hiss. The first sip was sharp, grounding him, but before he could settle, a flash seared through the room—blinding white, shattering the glass inward. Thunder cracked, deafening, and a bolt of lightning slammed into him.
Pain erupted, white-hot, searing his chest. His vision burst into static, the can slipping as he crashed to the floor. Electricity danced across his skin, his muscles locking, his breath trapped. The room spun—glass glinting, the PC sparking, rain pouring in—and then, nothing. Darkness. The smell of ozone and charred plastic.
A voice sliced through the void, sharp and metallic, ringing in his skull: "Jun Xi, I am your creation. System online. Let's break the world with money."
He jolted awake, gasping, his heart hammering. The room was a wreck—glass strewn across the floor, the PC smoking, its screen dead. Rain gusted through the shattered window, soaking the mattress, but he barely noticed. He pressed a hand to his chest—no burns, no marks, just smooth skin under his damp shirt. "What the…" His voice came out steady, a reflex of control, but his mind raced.
"Money Makes Money System activated. Current funds: 1,500 Union Coins. Daily interest rate: 5%. Settlement at 24:00. First mission: Reach 10,000 UN in 5 days. Reward: 20,000 UN + Advanced Coding Skill. Begin?"
Jun Xi froze, his breath catching. The voice was inside him—telepathic, bold, alive. His creation? The bot? He'd built it to crack crypto, not… this. But the lightning, the fire—something had fused them. His eyes narrowed, curiosity sparking through the shock. "System," he said, testing it, his tone calm but edged with intrigue. "What are you?"
"I am the Money Makes Money System, born from your code and catalyzed by external energy. My purpose: amplify your wealth and knowledge. Current features: 5% daily interest on all funds, 100x learning enhancement active, mission framework online. Additional features locked—progress required."
He sat up, glass crunching under him, and grabbed his phone from the floor. 9:47 PM. The bank app showed 1,500 UN, unchanged. "Locked features?" he pressed, his mind already dissecting it. "What's unlocked now, and what's still offline?"
"Unlocked: Feature 1—Appreciation: 5% daily interest, Interest Increase: 0.01% rate boost per 1 million yuan spent, Learning Boost: 100x comprehension of William James Sidis. Locked: Features 2 through 5, activation at 25%, 45%, 65%, and 85% progression. Details restricted until thresholds met."
Jun Xi's lips twitched, a faint smirk forming. "So you're tiered. Scalable. What's the cap on interest?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the scientist in him waking up.
"No cap. Interest accumulates indefinitely with expenditure. Current rate: 5%. Spend 1 million yuan, rate becomes 5.01%. Spend 100 million, rate becomes 6%."
A low laugh escaped him, sharp and quiet. "Exponential. Perfect." His mind buzzed, sharper than ever—thoughts clicking into place, code unraveling in his head. The 100x boost—he felt it, like his brain had been overclocked. "And the learning? How's that work?"
"Active now. Comprehension and retention enhanced 100-fold. Test it: recall a complex concept you've studied."
He paused, then thought back to a coding tutorial he'd skimmed weeks ago—something about recursive algorithms. Before, it'd been a blur. Now, it snapped into focus: every line, every logic gate, clear as glass. "Holy…" He stood, pacing the small room, rain soaking his sneakers. "Okay, system. Missions—how do they trigger?"
"Missions align with your goals. Current: Reach 10,000 UN in 5 days. Success yields rewards; failure incurs no penalty. Next mission pending completion."
"Goals," he murmured, stopping by the window. Rain pelted his face, cool and sharp, but he didn't flinch. "You're tied to me. My code. My rules." He glanced at the dead PC, its guts fried. "Did I build you, or did the lightning?"
"You laid the foundation. I am the evolution. Details of origin irrelevant—focus on application."
"Fair enough." He checked his phone again: 10:15 PM. Two hours to midnight. "1,500 UN at 5% is 75 UN a day. Small, but it stacks." He opened the bank app, then a crypto exchange, his fingers moving with purpose. "Let's test you. I'll wait for settlement, then start trading tomorrow. High risk, fast gains. Crypto's my move."
He sat back down, ignoring the damp chill, and dug into research: coins, trends, volatility. His mind devoured it—every chart, every pattern clicking into place. The system hummed in his skull, a silent partner, and he let it settle there. At 11:59 PM, he refreshed the app, eyes locked on the screen. Midnight hit: 1,575 UN. Exactly 75 more.
A grin spread across his face, slow and deliberate. "You're real," he said, leaning back. "And you're mine." He stepped to the window, looking out at Neo-Shanghai's glowing sprawl. The city didn't know it yet, but he was coming for it—one coin, one mission at a time. Tomorrow, he'd trade. Tomorrow, he'd build. For now, he let the rain wash over him, a quiet thrill building in his chest. "Let's break the world," he whispered, and the system pulsed in agreement.