“Liquid… joy?” Zhang Wenda widened his eyes as he stared at the murky liquid in front of him.
Could an emotion like joy really exist in liquid form?
Although he had already seen all sorts of weird things in this world, liquid joy seemed too absurd.
Zhang Wenda stared in shock at the liquid in the bottle.
After thinking carefully, he took a cautious sip, and instantly, a wave of joy washed away his anxiety.
“So this really is liquid joy?!” He was astonished as he eyed the last drop of murky liquid in the bottle.
“Well? I told you I’m not lying.” Seeing Zhang Wenda’s expression, Little Fatty said proudly.
Zhang Wenda took the bottle from him, nervously asking, “Wait a minute—are you sure this is liquid—”
Mid‑sentence, he abruptly stopped, then asked again, “Why is the liquid joy seeping from the walls of the Youth Center—”
“Damn, this hurts too much!” Zhang Wenda clenched the glass bottle tightly, his face turning beet red.
“Mouse, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Pan Dongzi asked curiously.
Zhang Wenda took a deep breath, waved his hand, and looked away. “I’m fine!”
“Just wait until I get out. I’ll find a way to fix your problem.”
Zhang Wenda grumbled as he held the bottle, starting to collect more liquid joy from the walls.
As he planned how to solve his problem once they left, staring at the gradually filling bottle, his corporate-scrubbed brain lit up.
“Does this mean I’ve got the means of production for lollipops? If I learn how to make them, I can make as many as I want?!” he thought.
“If sugar can heal wounds, then making enough of it could offset all the rule penalties!” His eyes glowed at the idea.
He hadn’t forgotten his biggest issue—those rule penalties.
He had come to this shabby place with the students only to avoid rule punishment.
He had planned to let this matter pass, then deal with the penalties later.
But unexpectedly, the solution floated right in front of him.
“Haha, rules, I didn’t think I’d find a way to beat you!”
Zhang Wenda decided he would test it once he left. It may not be a permanent fix, but a temporary solution was better than nothing.
Seeing him silent and flipping through the aeromodelling room’s guide, Pan Dongzi scratched his head, confused, and quiet, continuing to collect liquid joy.
“The aeromodelling room is an advanced program at the Youth Center—please remain alert if you join the interest group. If you feel uncontrolled emotional changes, please leave immediately and inform a teacher.”
“If cracks appear on the floor in the aeromodelling room, alert classmates to avoid falling in.”
After verifying neither issue had occurred, Zhang Wenda set to work, unleashing his practiced "996" superpower.
Before long, he had collected more than half a bottle.
Pan Dongzi managed only enough to cover the bottle’s bottom, but after shaking it, he poured it into Zhang Wenda’s bottle. “You like it? It’s all yours.”
“No problem, Mouse. Something wrong with you?” Pan Dongzi asked, unusually serious.
Zhang Wenda was surprised that this carefree guy could sense his thoughts.
“My problem isn’t something you can help with. First, you probably don’t know what it is. Second, I can’t ask you now.” Thinking of the pain and mental torment, he shivered.
His voice grew low. “I’m human too. I’m afraid of pain. I can’t go through that again and again. It’s unbearable. Don’t ask me to, I don’t want to do it again.”
Seeing him , Fatty said nothing more. “Alright then. Remember I’m your friend—if you need anything, ask.”
Time passed. With Little Fatty’s help, Zhang Wenda soon filled his bottle.
He carefully capped it, checked his digital watch, and saw they’d spent half an hour. “This is hard to collect—two people took half an hour to fill a bottle. That’s not enough.”
“Maybe I could hire classmates as workers and be the boss?” he thought.
As he was about to cap the bottle and put it in his bag, he suddenly slipped and lost balance, falling.
A half‑meter‑wide crack had opened beneath him. As he looked down, about to fall in, he reflexively grabbed the edge, saving himself.
Seconds later, face red with effort, he crawled out and gasped, “So this is an advanced program? Damn, it even stealth‑attacks. Fatty, you should’ve warned me.”
But Fatty didn’t respond, and Zhang Wenda’s heart skipped a beat.
“Fatty?!” He looked around. Besides some half‑round cracks, Pan Dongzi had disappeared.
Seeing this, his scalp tingled. He ran to each crack, searching.
Spotting the green backpack in a fissure, he didn’t hesitate and reached in. “Don’t be afraid! I’ll pull you out!”
With a ripping sound and flesh‑tearing noise, a new wound appeared on his wrist.
The moment he reached into the gap, that familiar anxiety flooded back, and three deep scars appeared across his back.
The sudden pain made him stagger and collapse, nearly fainting.
When he stood and saw no new wound, he understood: the rules were stopping him from saving Pan Dongzi.
This shift stunned him. He hadn’t expected the rules to be so illogical—to forbid saving others was part of it.
Listening to muffled sobs from the crack, memories of pain and despair shook him.
But he paused only briefly, bit his lip, and forced his hand back in. “Hold on!!”
He might fear pain, but he would obey everything—except this.
His face and hands instantly became covered with wounds, and they kept piling up.
At that moment, he felt no fear. He hardened his resolve and plunged his arm into the crack until he touched Fatty’s body.
In the next moment, with a snapping sound, his arm bent into an L‑shape.
Zhang Wenda bit his lip until it bled in agony, but at the brink of pain, furious indignation surged.
“Damn!! I’m born defiant! You tell me I can’t do it—I’ll do it!”
With a low roar, a red light flashed across his arm.
Summoning all his strength, he tore outward like fishing and instantly yanked Pan Dongzi from the crack.