Chapter 2

[Philanthropy builds up gradually. For your first spend on someone else, limit is one person, and the amount is only 1,000,000!]

Only one million.

The system’s words stung my poor heart.

I took a deep breath: “One million it is.”

Since philanthropy was my goal now, I couldn’t just flail around aimlessly.

First, starting a charity foundation was way out of reach for a fresh college grad like me, and with the low limit, I could maybe buy some charity meals or sponsor a few students—nothing more.

According to Little Charity, the philanthropy score was complex, factoring in the future societal contributions of the people I helped. So, money had to be spent wisely—first time, only one person, no random donations.

After thinking long and hard, I decided step one: Create an online account.

Cast a wide net, find a breakthrough.

Little Charity said any money for my philanthropy efforts counted, including account management.

With some cash power, I got verified quickly.

—”Evening Fish,” the wish-granting blogger.

With a koi fish (Koi fish symbolize good fortune and prosperity in cultural folklore) avatar for good luck, I posted my first tweet.

“What’s your wish lately? I’ll draw three from the retweets and comments to grant~”

I bought some promotion, pushing it to local channels, waiting for exposure and replies.

First comment came in.

“Evening Fish??? Isn’t that the fortune-teller blogger?”

My name’s Yu Xianwan—I used to be a semi-popular fortune-teller. All thanks to my master’s teachings.

Lacking talent beyond my clairvoyant eyes, I couldn’t master her advanced arts, so I stuck to basic readings—ten yuan for a quick insight.

Awkwardly, I replied: “Yep, it’s me. Thinking of switching careers lately.”

Luckily, my old account had some buzz, and this tweet started gaining comments.

“I’ll vouch! Blogger’s readings are spot-on. So, my wish: Clear my shopping cart. Not too much, right? [doge]”

“I want an XX hair dryer! Too pricey orz”

“I wanna lose 10 kilograms! Or 5 if that’s too much!”

“Blogger! You weren’t doing readings today—now you’re wish-granting? Fine, wish: Tell me about my love life?”

…

Notifications dinged nonstop as I scanned wishes.

Ordinary folks’ desires were simple—a meal, a long-coveted outfit; some joked about mansions or helicopters; many asked if I still did readings.

Clearly, no one took it seriously—mostly playful.

My eyes stopped on one message.

“Go to college (PS: Wishing for the waiter guy next to me).”

Local post with location—nearby university town.

I checked her profile: She was having afternoon tea at a nearby coffee shop.

I DM’d her for details. She seemed shocked and wary at first, thinking I was a scammer, but perked up once convinced.

“I heard it from the shop manager. This guy’s name is Yu Yan—could’ve gone to Nancheng University, but family issues left debts, so he’s working multiple jobs to pay them off.”

She was enthusiastic: “I think it’s such a waste. I’ve been supporting the shop daily… Just saw your post, asked his wish—he said college, but probably can’t afford tuition…”

I didn’t read more, stood up, grabbed my bag.

[Host, where are you going?]

“Doing a good deed,” I said without looking up. “Gonna check it out first.”

My intuition’s always sharp—like spotting this comment amid many, or right now, telling me: Go see, it’ll be worth it.

Ten minutes later, I stood outside the coffee shop, eyes locking on a lean young man.

Reason: His aura was a rich gold.

But that gentle golden glow was wrapped in eerie dark red and black, the brilliant mist struggling to break free in vain.

Shop was closing; sunset bled across the sky, the street empty.

I frowned slightly.

Sign of bloody disaster… Looks like I’d tail him tonight.

I didn’t go in, thought a moment, contacted some people outside.

As a fortune-teller blogger, I knew all sorts— like a local tough guy crew.

Can’t lose face helping someone—go all in.

While I made urgent calls, Yu Yan shed his uniform, locked up, hurried off.

But a few steps in, burly men emerged from an alley, smirking maliciously, surrounding him.

“Yu Yan, we’ve been more than fair…”

“How long have we delayed your dad’s debt? Always ‘a few more days’—who does business like that?”

“Red Sister wants you for a night—she loves boys like you. Make her happy, and hundreds of thousands are easy.”

“…Be smart about it.”

Yu Yan had a youthful, handsome face, long lashes, pale skin—but his eyes were dead pools, no spark.

Mom died of illness; dad a gambling addict who blew everything, then vanished.

He’d struggled forever—for mom’s treatment, his future—until dad gambled away the last medical funds.

He was near despair.

“How much does he owe?” A female voice cut in abruptly.

Yu Yan turned: A masked young girl smiled at him, eyes crinkling.

—Behind her, a bigger, tougher crew than his debt collectors.

They waved batons: “Our miss is paying it off. We’re civilized—talk, no fight. Get it?”

Yu Yan: “…”

Debt collectors: “…”