Zhang Wenda once again approached the tall counter at Xinhua Bookstore, but this time he didn’t have to tiptoe.
Perched on top of the slumped Song Jianguo’s head, Zhang Wenda finally saw the behind‑counter environment—it truly looked like a bookshop, with various bookshelves neatly arranged, though the sign on the wall seemed to have changed.
Previously it read “No beating customers,” but now it said “No beating customers without cause.”
The counter was small, and when the clerk arrived, all he could see was her garish peach‑red sweater—her head remained out of sight.
Before she could speak, Zhang Wenda directly handed over his money and ticket. “I want to exchange for a special ability.”
“It’s almost closing time, doing something …” The clerk’s impatient expression accompanied a slowly opening door appearing on the wall beside. “Go to the second floor and find Wang Shaojie yourself.”
Zhang Wenda felt a thrill of excitement as he led Song Jianguo through the door—it was hard not to be excited. Who wouldn’t want a special ability, regardless of whether it could solve the rules affecting him?
As soon as they entered, he heard the muffled chatter and occasional hearty laughter typical of housewives coming from past the counter.
Upon reaching the second floor, the atmosphere instantly fell silent—whether due to categorization or not, the entire floor was filled with heavy tomes, some even bigger than Zhang Wenda himself.
Besides books, Zhang Wenda also spotted something very unexpected—bullets.
Rows of bullets lay scattered like discounted items along the aisle.
He knew that by this year firearms were probably not banned yet, but selling bullets in a Xinhua Bookstore? Was this for real?
For a moment he couldn’t tell whether this was another anomaly of this world, or if it had always been before.
He glanced at the wall clock and saw it was already 5:20 PM—there was no time to waste, so he immediately asked into the quiet bookshelf area, “Excuse me, is anyone here?”
“Come in.” A voice came from behind a slightly ajar door in the distance.
Zhang Wenda walked over and pushed the door open to see a middle‑aged man in a white lab coat—this must be Wang Shaojie.
At that moment, the man was holding a white‑feathered Black Silkie chicken in one hand and a syringe in the other.
Zhang Wenda watched as he inserted the syringe through the feathers, drew a full vial of blood, then injected it into his own arm.
The scene stunned him so much he almost forgot why he’d come here in the first place—what on earth was this? Doping a chicken?
Wang Shaojie shoved the Silkie chicken into a nearby cage, rotated in his swivel chair toward Zhang Wenda, and spoke in a thick Shandong accent, “Liu Jie said it was you, boy, who wanted to exchange for a special ability, right?”
He asked twice before Zhang Wenda finally responded, “Oh, yes, yes, it’s me.”
“What kind of special ability do you want?” He assessed Zhang Wenda from head to toe, then glanced at Song Jianguo.
“Um, uncle, can I ask you a few questions first? You must know a lot about special abilities and be quite skilled, right?”
Feeling the pain in his arm, Zhang Wenda hurriedly shoved the lollipop he’d just bought into his mouth.
“Huh‑huh, that’s right.” With that, the man picked up a large white porcelain jar, took a proud sip. The red‑square characters on it read: “Third Prize, Talent Show.”
Zhang Wenda showed him the red scar on his arm. After a day’s time, the redness within the scar had intensified.
“Does this count as a special ability? Do you know anything about it?”
Something that had suddenly appeared on him without reason—having found someone who actually understood, Zhang Wenda naturally wanted to ask in depth.
“You…” The man propped his chin in his hand and leaned closer, scrutinizing the red scar on Zhang Wenda’s arm. “I think I’ve seen this thing somewhere before.”
“Where?” Zhang Wenda tensed involuntarily.
The man scratched his slightly balding head in puzzlement. “Hmm… ah, can’t quite recall. Does it have any other symptoms?”
When he learned that strength had increased, the man went on, “Then it’s probably a special ability, no doubt. This doesn’t look like qigong, though.”
“Qigong too?” Zhang Wenda’s eyes widened.
Hearing this, the man leaned back in his chair, staring at Zhang Wenda in disbelief. “Of course there’s qigong. Just a few years ago, many qigong masters performed on the Spring Festival Gala—don’t you watch it?”
“Um…” Zhang Wenda hesitated, uncertain if this qigong was like the nonsense his grandpa practiced.
“Besides qigong and special abilities, is there anything else?” he continued with his inquiries.
Regarding this strange world, his knowledge was virtually zero—and now that he’d finally found someone who knew something, naturally he had to ask more.
“What’s shown to the public is just this much—as for what’s inside the Third Front army, I’m just a minor entertainment officer, not qualified to know.”
“Third Front?” Zhang Wenda recognized this Third Front unit—it was a unique creation to deal with the Sino‑Soviet rift and the military threat posed by the U.S. in Vietnam.
But he wasn’t sure if the Third Front in this world was the same as the one in his memory.
“Um, do you know of any special abilities or qigong related to rule punishment? Like, if someone breaks a rule, they’d be punished, that kind of thing.”
“Look, why don’t you ask your teacher at school instead of pestering me? Am I your teacher? Do you want a special ability or not? I’m off work in half an hour.”
The man raised his watch and checked the time. “Let me warn you—once this ticket is stamped, if you don’t redeem today, both your ticket and money are gone.”
Seeing the man unwilling to speak further, Zhang Wenda stopped asking questions. “I’ll exchange. I want it.”
The man pulled out a white book from the shelf beside and handed it to Zhang Wenda. On the cover were four large characters: “Human Body Science.”
As soon as he opened the first page, Zhang Wenda’s pupils shrank—it read: “Human Body Science 001: Literacy via Ear.”
Turning to the second page, it read: “Human Body Science 002: Abdominal Color Recognition.”
“Human Body Science 003: Thought Control. Strength: Manipulate clocks, move cigarette boxes.”
“Human Body Science 004: Remote Viewing. During activation, can see scenes 50 meters away.”
“Human Body Science 005: Standing on Eggs. During activation, can stand on an egg with one foot without breaking it.”
“What the hell is all this…”
Though pretending not to care, Song Jianguo couldn’t resist sneaking a peek by craning her neck.
As he flipped through more pages, the abilities got increasingly bizarre. Eventually, Zhang Wenda shut the book.
“That’s it? Are you kidding me? This is all there is? Do you know how much effort I spent earning that ten yuan?”
At this point, Wang Shaojie had already started tidying up his lunchbox, clearly ready to clock out.
“Ten yuan. What do you expect for ten yuan? Do you even know how much a Dacron shirt costs these days?” The man said this while flicking the shirt under his lab coat with a finger.
“This isn’t the old days anymore. Prices are skyrocketing. Money’s losing value by the day.”
With furrowed brows, Zhang Wenda reopened the book. “No way… Rabbit wouldn’t lie to me. He told me to come to Xinhua Bookstore, so it must have something to do with the rule punishment on me.”
Suddenly recalling something, Zhang Wenda looked at the other colored books on the shelf. “This can’t be the lowest tier of special abilities, right? There must be stronger ones.”