Living off your money

At the end of late autumn, a gust of wind sent a shiver through the entire city.

The natural disasters had passed, and the era of human unity had now become history; the fragmentation and reconstruction of factions became the greatest issue of the present day. Ambitious men tested and provoked one another in their friction; every corner of the world, every day, every hour, was filled with dark undercurrents. It was said that the number of slums was no less than during the years of snowstorm. War and crime had added countless hidden gray corners to the world, and those able to live a long, stable life were ultimately a minority.

Looking back, the calamity had become a clearly defined bloodstain on the silk of time, but internal conflicts remained like flowing black ink, stretching on without end.

But none of this concerned the former Human Main City.

The “Main City” no longer served as the noble core of the onion, but perhaps because of its once-unique status, or perhaps because it still retained its dome and emergency facilities, or perhaps simply to commemorate the people who once held torches against the snowstorm—it was preserved as a neutral zone.

No borders, no conflict. The population had plummeted, and the pace was slow. With its elite aura washed away, the entire city appeared lazy and loose. The people settled here were both rich and poor; they were generally folks who felt no sense of belonging to a race or nation, people who were either burnt out or had simply chosen to give up.

A “slum” that wasn’t particularly poor.

An Yu’s city of happiness.

“Yo, morning, Boss An.”

“Boss An had time to come to the shop today, eh?”

“Has Boss An grown taller? That’s quite a rare sight!”

Half of An Yu’s face was buried in a fuzzy scarf. He squinted in the cold wind, nodding and humming as he rushed all the way into the bakery.

The wind chimes tinkled. Xu Shanshan emerged halfway from behind a bread rack, smiling brightly. “Am I seeing a ghost? You’re actually up this early!”

Her hands were gloved and raised in the air as she neatly arranged loaves of bread on the shelves. A long queue had already formed outside the window; Corner Bakery woke up with the Main City every morning—in five more minutes, it would open for business.

An Yu removed his scarf and let out a long yawn. “I wasn’t at ease, so I came to take a look.”

“I think you just came to keep an eye on the money. The Second Boss made a suggestion, but without your confirmation, how would we dare secretly give it away for free?” Xu Shanshan placed the last loaf, took off her gloves, and glanced out the window. “Where’s the Second Boss? Didn’t he drop you off?”

“Buying flowers outside.” An Yu had already taken his seat behind the cash register. He propped his chin up and watched the growing line outside the window, his gaze passing over the huddling heads until, as he wished, he caught sight of that slender figure at the flower shop at the end of the street, wearing a matching coat.

Qin Zhilu was the “Second Boss” of Corner Bakery. He came more frequently than the actual boss, and every time he came, he brought a bouquet for the shop: sometimes blooming gerberas, sometimes lush tulips, sometimes an elegant bunch of white roses.

Xu Shanshan liked Qin Zhilu immensely; he was wealthy, elegant, and maintained a perfectly measured sense of detachment.

He was a line of defense that was no longer needed; now he has relaxed and returned to living his own life.

Xu Shanshan followed An Yu’s gaze and spotted the figure at the end of the street. Her sigh of admiration and An Yu’s groan of complaint occurred at the same time.

“The Second Boss is truly the perfect lover.”

“He’s such a spendthrift.”

“……”

“……”

An Yu looked at Xu Shanshan wordlessly. “Do you know how much he spent last month buying these useless things for the shop?”

Xu Shanshan scanned the shop’s decor, her smile widening. “I don’t want to know. It’s not like you two will ever run out of money.”

Qin Zhilu never came empty-handed. He seemingly nonchalantly transformed the small shop bit by bit into something exceptionally cozy: the guitar in the corner, the vinyl player and scattered records, the Super-aberrant Kindergarten plushies placed randomly on shelves, the acorns hanging on the wall, and the hand cream and bread-themed magnets on the counter for customers.

“The Second Boss is a perfect lover; being with him is your good fortune,” Xu Shanshan said sincerely.

An Yu let out a huff. He didn’t want to talk to people who had never been poor. Having money is “fortune,” but what if the world breaks again one day, his money turns to scrap paper, accounts are frozen, and there’s no food at home? What use would these things be then?

Ling Qiu had said that only self-made rich people and slum dwellers truly understand the essence of money; the former never stop making money beget money, and the latter, like a dog that can’t stop eating filth, will madly hoard currency. Coincidentally, An Yu fit both descriptions.

With a click, the antique clock on the wall struck seven. Simultaneously, the church bells rang in the distance. Xu Shanshan opened the door to let the customers in.

An Yu somberly opened the monthly report on his terminal and began meticulously checking the revenue and costs of the bread factories across the world. To reduce costs and increase efficiency, he, uneducated as he was, was seriously studying finance and management, and he had made some progress over the past few months.

He thought his flourishing life would continue to rise, and even the Commander’s spending wouldn’t hurt, until last weekend. After a bout of intimacy, An Yu was exhausted and curled in Qin Zhilu’s arms, ready to sleep, when Qin Zhilu suddenly whispered in his ear: “More and more people in the Main City aren’t working. The bakery’s profit is irrelevant to you anyway; why not just turn this shop into a charity?”

An Yu, who was just about to fall asleep, snapped his golden eyes wide like brass bells. He had been unable to sleep that night, or the next, suffering a whole week of insomnia. Now he walked as if floating, his head in a daze.

Customers were already lining up at the racks to pick their bread. Some took secret photos of An Yu working with a furrowed brow behind the counter, planning to post them on social media. The name “An Yu” carried more traffic than any celebrity; he was the savior and the mascot of humanity; as long as he lived well, people believed they would have a bright future.

Xu Shanshan lit a pine-scented candle before the first transaction, starting this winter morning with warmth.

A dashing, tall figure entered the shop and walked straight to An Yu, placing a large bouquet before him. Today, Qin Zhilu had bought edelweiss, nestled with several stalks of almost golden wild chrysanthemums, a new variety recently cultivated by Zhu Tao’s Seed Museum. The color was as clear as An Yu’s eyes and very beautiful.

With his other hand, he placed a hot coffee in front of An Yu, giving An Yu’s head a firm rub as he withdrew.

“Eat first, then work. Give me the vase behind you; I’ll arrange the flowers.”

An Yu mumbled an “oh” and turned to carefully pick up the wide-bellied crystal vase. This thing was also incredibly expensive; he didn’t even dare look at it, fearing a heart palpitation.

Qin Zhilu unwrapped the flowers, trimming the stems one by one before placing them in the vase. He stood by the window; the morning winter light and the glow of the snow reflected on his face. His dark eyes were as deep as ever, but they held a cluster of light. Standing there, he was like a piece of scenery, and the customers in the shop couldn’t help but frequently glance his way.

An Yu took a gulp of hot coffee, licked the milk foam from his lips, walked to the rack to grab a loaf of bread, and chewed vigorously as he walked back behind the counter.

As he brushed past Qin Zhilu, the Commander turned his head and left a kiss on An Yu’s stuffed cheek, naturally wrapping an arm around his waist. He leaned his lips close to An Yu’s temple and whispered: “Don’t be unhappy. If you don’t want to do it, then forget it.”

The coldness in Qin Zhilu’s voice seemed to have vanished along with the blizzards of those years; his magnetic, low voice felt like a handful of warm ash, stirring An Yu’s soul every time he heard it.

He gave an “mhm” and swallowed the bread whole. “I’ll think about it more.”

“To be in such turmoil over it is already an answer,” Qin Zhilu laughed. “Act as if I never mentioned it.”

An Yu quickly finished checking the accounts. Qin Zhilu pulled up a stool to read beside him, while An Yu idly opened the Spire forum.

The Protectors had scattered, but the Spire forum operated as usual. Some had vanished into society without a trace, but those who remained were incredibly active, spending every day on the forum bantering about anything and everything.

An Yu scrolled through the posts: “Fellow aberrants, my shoulder blades are very itchy lately, do I miss my wings?”, “Zhao Ran is heartless; we went on missions together back then, and now he won’t even give me a ticket,”, “Are the new plants from the Seed Museum really not aberrant organisms?”, “Going back to the Main City for a trip next month! Any recommendations?”, “Deep Reverence and Chao Wu are the resident band at Ocean Bar! That siren-like beautiful voice…”, “Corner Bakery has released yet another new product, when will you think of the more remote areas?”…

As soon as An Yu logged on, his private message notifications flashed incessantly. He glanced down; most were there for the bread.

In the past, the bakery provided a daily batch of bread specifically for the Spire. The demand wasn’t huge; it was just a staple for the Protectors’ buffet—essentially Qin Zhilu abusing his public office to support his own kid’s business. But times had changed. Now, Protectors all over the world madly missed that taste. The factory-produced Corner bread was good, but it was hard to find that wheat aroma of fresh baking from those countless mornings.

Moreover, the physical store in the Main City had a constant stream of new products that were almost never mass-produced. They could only see travel influencers posting photos on social media every day.

Nowadays, Corner Bakery was the leading enterprise for packaged food worldwide. Not only were the products and management top-tier, but An Yu’s personal influence was even more significant. People firmly believed that Corner bread could provide the world with endless strength and hope. No matter which country you’re in, or even in sensitive regions where political boundaries aren’t clearly defined, you’ll find people of different races and speaking different languages buying the same Corner Bread product at convenience stores everywhere.

An Yu was distracted by the posts until a faint scent of cold pine and leather surrounded him. Qin Zhilu gently squeezed his shoulder. “Browsing the web and still looking miserable? Stop dwelling on it. Run the bakery however you want; not many residents in the Main City actually need relief.”

An Yu gazed at Qin Zhilu. Those deep eyes were as cold as ever. It was a temperament etched into Qin Zhilu’s bones, but amidst that coldness, when facing An Yu, there was an inevitable tenderness. The brightness in his dark pupils was something that appeared only after they were officially together. When he looked at An Yu, that brightness was focused and steady as a star.

“Commander,” An Yu suddenly asked. “What if Corner Bakery stops making money one day?”

Qin Zhilu raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how big your business is now?”

An Yu nodded.

“That possibility doesn’t exist.”

“But the world is still messy. Economy, war… I can’t say…”

Qin Zhilu laughed. “Your bread is different from others. The more war there is, the more stable its sales should be.” He casually grabbed a packaged small multigrain roll from the basket by the register, squeezing it in his hand, and said meaningfully: “It’s this simplest little piece of bread that is always needed.”

“Hypothetically, I mean hypothetically—” An Yu grabbed the bread from the man’s palm. “If that day comes, what will the two of us do?”

Qin Zhilu frowned and looked at him for a moment, then suddenly laughed.

“What will we do? We’ll do what we have to do.” He rubbed An Yu’s head forcefully. “You don’t really think we’re living off your money, do you?”

An Yu was bewildered. “Aren’t we?”