Missed the Beginner Quest

"Pork buns, veggie buns, char siu buns, spicy beef buns, Orleans chicken buns." Ye Chuan appeared at the entrance of the bun shop and rattled off several bun names to the busy auntie behind the counter.

"Eight yuan." The buns were packed into a plastic bag.

"Add two cups of soy milk and two mantou." Ye Chuan glanced at the bag of buns but suddenly wondered if it would be enough for Bai Qianshuang.

"Eleven."

Ye Chuan pulled out his phone to scan the payment, only to find the camera wasn't working. He held it up for a while, but it refused to open—after all, it was a seven- or eight-year-old phone with a bulky button and a cracked back cover held together by tape.

"Blue Mi, have you reached your limit in this body?"

"Chuan Chuan, trying to run a tab again?" The breakfast auntie gave him a look and shook her head. "No way."

"Auntie, my camera's broken." Ye Chuan pointed at his phone.

"You've said that before," she replied sternly.

"It's true this time."

"You've said that too."

Ye Chuan: "..."

Hiss.

Had he really said that before?

Just as he was pondering, the phone camera suddenly started working. He quickly scanned the payment. "See? Paid. Told you I wasn't lying."

"Hmph, no more tabs, got it? I remember all those buns and mantou you've mooched off me, Chuan Chuan."

"Haha."

Ye Chuan carried the buns toward home, but as he looked at his battered phone, a thought struck him—this thing was on its last legs. If it finally died, would the Landlord App disappear too?

No way. He had to figure out how to transfer the app. Losing that daily 2,000 yuan would leave him rolling on the floor in agony.

He’d probably never sleep again.

Spotting a phone store nearby, Ye Chuan quickened his pace.

"Boss~" he called out as soon as he stepped inside.

The middle-aged man behind the glass counter, cigarette dangling from his lips while scrolling on his phone, lazily acknowledged him. "What's up, kid? That ancient Blue Mi of yours acting up again?"

"Camera's dead," Ye Chuan said.

"Brought your own parts again, huh? Ten yuan labor fee, no haggling."

Ye Chuan grinned. "I'm here to buy a phone."

"Sell your phone? Get outta here. That piece of junk isn’t even worth picking up off the street." The boss glared, clearly wary of being scammed—who knew what trauma he’d endured.

"Buy!" Ye Chuan emphasized.

"Buy? Oh ho? Did you strike it rich?" The boss perked up, intrigued. After all, this kid had clung to his first-gen Blue Mi for years, fixing it with spare parts and haggling over repair fees.

His usual labor fee was 50 yuan, but this brat could talk him down to 15 after a whole day of pestering.

What a menace.

"Small fortune." Ye Chuan snapped his fingers and plopped onto a stool. "Water, please."

"Fine." The boss grabbed a plastic cup from the water dispenser and filled it. "Here. Phones over here—300 yuan takes one home. Old models, but still way better than what you’ve got."

Ye Chuan didn’t even glance at them. "I want a new one. Good performance for the price."

"Oh? New ones run around one or two grand, you know." The boss stressed the price, fully aware of Ye Chuan’s penniless situation. That old house of his wasn’t even sellable.

"Two grand, then. Good specs, good value." As he spoke, Ye Chuan noticed his battered Blue Mi and gave it a shake. "Got any new models from this brand?"

Ye Chuan didn’t know much about phones. With no money to buy them, he’d never bothered researching specs like his peers.

As long as it could call, text, browse the web, and scan payments, it was enough.

Games? Too luxurious.

"Blue Mi? Yeah, they’re hot sellers online." The boss pulled out a box. "Blue Mi K70, 2,000 yuan. Dragon 8 Gen 2 processor, 120W fast charging. The OS isn’t the smoothest, but—oh wait, compared to your fossil, it’s like upgrading from a slingshot to an aircraft carrier."

The boss had almost forgotten—Ye Chuan was still using a first-gen Blue Mi.

This would be a night-and-day difference.

"Deal. This one." Ye Chuan didn’t worry about being scammed. After years of knowing the guy, he trusted him.

He wasn’t the type to pull a "friendship discount" scam either.

"No tabs," the boss added, surprised by Ye Chuan’s decisiveness.

This kid was the neighborhood’s reigning tab king—every merchant knew him. But since he was always willing to help out with odd jobs, most turned a blind eye to his mooching and even lent a hand sometimes.

"Full payment." Ye Chuan clarified.

"You didn’t take out a loan, did you? Kids these days love their online loans and credit apps. One misstep and you’re in deep trouble."

The boss sounded concerned.

"Nah, got myself a sugar mommy."

"Oho." The boss knew it was a joke but didn’t press further. After receiving payment, he helped activate the phone.

"Here, fingerprint, face ID..." The boss walked him through the setup.

Ye Chuan picked it up quickly—his mind had always been sharp. Once he got the hang of the full-screen gestures, he remembered Bai Qianshuang back home.

Should he get her a phone too?

But after a moment’s thought, he decided against it.

Maybe in a few days. Right now, he only had about 3,000-4,000 yuan left, and there were other things to buy.

"New phones are slick. So smooth." Ye Chuan swiped through the interface when suddenly, a familiar app caught his eye in the far corner.

[Multiverse Landlord]

Ye Chuan: "..."

He glanced at his old phone—the Multiverse Landlord app had vanished.

It was as if the app had found a comfier home and migrated to his new device.

"Everything okay? Phone lagging?" The boss noticed his pause. "Blue Mi’s known for occasional stutters. It’s a feature."

"No lag. Works great. Love it." Ye Chuan packed his old phone into the new box and left the store.

On the way back, he fiddled with the phone. The high refresh rate made even the Landlord App buttery smooth.

Then he realized—the app’s interface could be swiped down?

"Huh?"

[Newbie Side Quest: Gain Bai Qianshuang’s Initial Favor (Completed)]

Seeing the "Claim Reward" button, he tapped it.