A Fairly Fulfilling Life

Old Fang's Internet Cafe.

In reality, it was an unlicensed cybercafé.

Tucked away in a residential building, it offered hourly rates, all-day packages, and even a membership system. Downstairs, stir-fried noodles and rice were sold, and all you had to do was call for the attendant to have them delivered right to your seat.

The place prided itself on top-notch service.

Its main clientele? Minors, of course.

Especially during the New Year holidays, these underground internet cafes would be packed to the brim, often with no seats left.

But no matter how busy it got, the surveillance camera at the entrance was always on.

If authorities showed up, the underage crowd could slip out through the back door in an instant.

As long as they weren’t caught, it was all good.

Fang Jun grabbed an ice-cold cola from the fridge and plopped it down in front of Lin Mo.

"Bro! I’m counting on you! I wanna hit Platinum!"

It was Season 3 of League, and the entire cybercafé was practically filled with people playing the game.

Back then, the most popular champions were still the likes of Master Yi, Xin Zhao, and Tryndamere.

With the jungle mechanics now firmly established and adjusted, junglers had become a default role in every match.

If you wanted to climb ranks, jungle was the easiest path.

Though the term "jungle carry" hadn’t caught on yet, junglers were undeniably the ones racking up the most kills.

The game’s item balance wasn’t perfect at this stage, so Lin Mo mainly stuck to Lee Sin, Elise, and Nocturne—three highly mobile, utility-focused junglers.

With their cleanup potential, they were easily top-tier picks.

Nocturne even had his infamous "lights out" ultimate.

Back in S3, each team only had three ban slots.

A single match could see six champions banned in total.

Lee Sin was often one of them, forcing Lin Mo to adapt and pick other champions based on the team comp.

Still, securing the jungle role wasn’t hard back then.

Ranked queues didn’t let you pre-select roles like they do now.

Later, mobile MOBAs like Honor of Kings would borrow heavily from these early systems.

Lin Mo hadn’t planned on playing with Fang Jun today.

But Fang Jun had begged him, saying he was stuck in his rank and just wanted to watch Lin Mo dominate.

So here they were, back in this dingy cybercafé.

In Lin Mo’s memory, he hadn’t stepped foot in this place since turning eighteen.

After all, once you had an ID card, why bother with a run-down black-market café when you could go to a proper one?

With Lin Mo at the helm, they steamrolled two matches in a row, forcing surrenders at the 20-minute mark.

Back then, the game didn’t allow surrenders before 20 minutes.

That might sound long, but compared to Dota’s hour-long slogs, it was practically lightning-fast.

League’s early pacing was still relatively slow, but Lin Mo’s playstyle was anything but.

He cleared camps efficiently, ganked relentlessly, and invaded the enemy jungle before they even knew what hit them.

Soon, he was practically farming the opposing jungler like livestock.

As the matches went on, a small crowd gathered behind him, begging to join his squad for some free LP.

Lin Mo casually agreed, carrying a few more games for them.

Each one was a stomp, leaving his teammates so grateful they showered him with snacks and drinks.

Apparently, the New Year had left these kids flush with cash.

Even the cybercafé’s owner couldn’t resist coming out to watch.

The man had full-sleeve tattoos and looked like a half-baked gangster.

And truth be told, he was a local troublemaker—but since he was from the village, his unlicensed business had never been shut down.

Watching Lin Mo’s plays, the owner, Fang Zuodong, clapped Fang Jun on the shoulder.

"Damn, Fang Jun, your friend’s cracked! Those mechanics, those reflexes—this is Challenger-level stuff. How about 300 bucks to get me to Diamond?"

Fang Jun rolled his eyes.

"Get real. 300? That’s stingy. This guy’s a straight-A student—double it at least."

Fang Zuodong glared. "Aren’t I your cousin? You’re charging me 600?"

"It’s not me playing. I can’t let him get shortchanged."

"Fine, forget it. You’re such a pain."

"You overcharge me for internet all the time anyway," Fang Jun shot back.

They called each other cousins, but the family ties were distant at best—same ancestral hall, same surname, but six generations removed.

Still, in their village, anyone within six generations was "family."

Fang Zuodong didn’t push further, retreating to his little booth to grind Dungeon & Fighter.

But someone inside the booth glanced at Fang Jun and muttered to Fang Zuodong, "Your cousin? Kid’s got some swagger."

"Eh, his family’s loaded. Dad’s in construction—one of the richest in the village."

The man nodded, but his eyes lingered on Fang Jun a beat too long, wheels turning behind his gaze.

By the afternoon, Lin Mo had boosted Fang Jun to Gold—a blistering pace.

Plenty of people begged to add him as a friend, but Fang Jun declined. His actual skill level wasn’t quite there yet.

Stepping out of the cybercafé, both reeked of cigarette smoke.

They needed somewhere windy to air out, so they wandered along the riverside.

"Lin Mo, you’re insane. Ever thought about going pro?" Fang Jun blurted out.

The second the words left his mouth, he felt stupid.

Lin Mo was the top student in their school. Why would he need to go pro?

Sure, esports was booming, but the long-term prospects weren’t as glamorous as people imagined.

League pros had a short shelf life—a few years at most before they had to pivot to streaming.

Over the years, there’d only been one Faker. The rest faded into obscurity.

(Though later, CS:GO pros would become the real cash cows, with tournaments raking in insane viewership and prize pools.)

But Lin Mo? He couldn’t care less.

Right now, he could unironically say, like a certain billionaire, "I’m not interested in money."

For some, it was a flex. For Lin Mo, it was the truth.

If he wanted cash, he could just hold out his hand and let Chu Lintian shower him with gold.

As for life? He preferred it quiet, ordinary.

The system wasn’t in a hurry either.

Cultivation was a marathon, not a sprint.

Others might not know, but Lin Mo was fully aware—even if he stopped cultivating now, he’d live for centuries.

If he reached the Golden Core stage? Millennia.

Lin Mo patted Fang Jun’s shoulder.

"Pro gaming’s not for me."

"Then what? Research? You could totally do it—you’re a genius."

Lin Mo shook his head. "I just want to live well. What I love is… life itself."

(Mongolian Top Laner warning!)

"Life" was vague, but Lin Mo simply wanted a fulfilling existence. If he could achieve that, why not?

Lin Mo had never hidden the fact that his parents were gone, so Fang Jun knew.

Maybe that was why Fang Jun admired Lin Mo’s outlook.

With that kind of mindset, no wonder he was a harem king.

The two boys walked and talked by the river, Fang Jun soaking up wisdom like a sponge.