Fathers always dote on their eldest daughters.
Old Master Tai Shan was no exception.
Tang Xin had been coddled since childhood—treated like fragile porcelain, handled with utmost care.
Since she wasn’t destined to inherit the family’s full resources, nor had she ever shown interest in a political career, Old Master Tai Shan raised her purely as a beloved child.
As long as she didn’t break the law or tarnish the family name, she was free to enjoy the privileges of her lineage without bearing its burdens.
Frankly, it was indulgence—letting such children reap the benefits of their forebears’ labor.
Some might call it being a "freeloader."
In these circles, many second- and third-generation heirs were like this.
Those who couldn’t inherit the family legacy were given free rein, so long as they didn’t cause trouble.
Fortunately, Tang Xin turned out well.
Though spoiled and uninterested in politics, she never fell into the vices of reckless behavior—no street racing, no drugs.
As she grew older, her maturity brought Old Master Tai Shan immense relief.
Still, as the saying goes, "A grown daughter must keep some distance from her father."
Especially after she moved south for work, visits became rare—maybe once a year.
Marriage only widened the gap.
Yet, in Old Master Tai Shan’s heart, this eldest daughter mattered deeply.
His early scrutiny of Young Master Cao proved it. Had Tang Xin been unimportant, he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths—even sending the elder sister to test Cao Cheng’s character.
Most girls from families like the Tangs dated freely; their parents barely blinked unless an illegitimate child risked the family’s reputation.
That was the difference.
So, when he heard he could play games with his eldest daughter, Old Master Tai Shan was overjoyed.
Of course, his mind wandered further.
His son, thriving in politics, was always busy.
But even the busiest needed relaxation.
Imagine the whole family playing together—how perfect would that be?
With this thought, Old Master Tai Shan shared his idea with Cao Cheng.
The elder sister nodded approvingly, not wanting to spoil the mood.
But Cao Cheng gave him a strange look. "The whole family playing together?"
Old Master Tai Shan frowned. "What do you mean, ‘the whole family’? You’re part of this family too, aren’t you?"
Cao Cheng chuckled. The old man’s words were impeccably smooth—flattering, even.
Still, he shook his head. "No, that’s not what I meant. I’m just thinking… if we all play on the battlefield and die, wouldn’t that be ‘wiping out the whole family’?"
"…!" The elder sister nearly spat out her fruit.
Old Master Tai Shan froze for a second before snatching up his back-scratcher and swinging it at Young Master Cao with a whoosh.
Close call.
Cao Cheng dodged, scrambling back a few steps. "My bad! Calm down, please."
"You little rascal! Spouting such nonsense—clearly asking for a beating!" Old Master Tai Shan’s face flushed with anger.
Cao Cheng sighed dramatically. "Can’t blame me. My mother passed young, and my father was… unreliable. No one disciplined me. Poor me."
At this, the elder sister’s gaze softened. She took Cao Cheng’s hand and gave it a comforting pat.
Old Master Tai Shan’s eye twitched.
This brat—every time he pissed him off, he either fled or played the pity card.
Ugh.
Sometimes, he really wanted to strangle him.
But the kid was sharp—high EQ and IQ, adaptable, and socially savvy.
Sure, the "wipe out the whole family" remark was in poor taste, but everyone knew it was just a game. Old Master Tai Shan wasn’t genuinely furious—just annoyed by the brat’s cheeky banter.
It made him think of his son.
Old Master Tai Shan sighed. His son was too rigid.
That was both good and bad.
If only his son had half of Cao Cheng’s roguish charm, things might be easier.
Too bad they’d met so late.
Had they known each other as kids, Old Master Tai Shan would’ve made sure they spent time together.
Maybe it would’ve loosened his son up.
Ah, well.
At least there was Little Cao now.
At three years old, the boy was already sharp as a tack—a true gem in the rough.
With the right guidance, he could shine.
The future rested on this third generation.
Old Master Tai Shan felt he still had years left in his career—enough to pave the way for Little Cao.
As for his son…
Well, let’s just say his ceiling was limited.
Being too upright was dangerous.
In politics, integrity was essential—but too much could backfire.
……
……
After spending most of the day at Old Master Tai Shan’s place, the two played games into the evening.
Work was postponed—this game took priority.
Not out of frivolity, but because the more Old Master Tai Shan played, the more he sensed the staggering technology behind it.
This was monumental.
Especially given the current… precarious climate.
So, the next morning, Old Master Tai Shan dragged Cao Cheng to a specialized government branch.
The night before, he’d grilled Cao Cheng thoroughly about the tech and its requirements.
For instance, various rare materials.
And the network—at least 5G or above.
So,
today, Old Tai Shan brought Young Master Cao over to share a round of research reports.
There’s nothing to hide; all kinds of patents are included.
Even if special departments want to use them, they’ll have to pay licensing fees.
Though the cost might be lower.
In exceptional cases, it could even be free.
Besides, if Cao Cheng wants to promote this technology, it’s impossible to keep it under wraps.
Might as well handle the transition smoothly and secure a share of the profits.
At the same time, 5G manufacturers have also been invited.
Recently, there have been some issues with 5G.
There’s resistance abroad.
A ban might be coming.
Though nothing’s happened yet, Old Tai Shan has received word that it’s likely imminent.
That’s why the 5G manufacturers were called in today—to collaborate.
This game is groundbreaking, whether in terms of entertainment value or military applications. No one can resist it.
Though marketed for civilian use, it actually involves higher-level implications.
It’s predictable that once launched, it will take the world by storm.
By then, it’ll be bundled with 5G.
Those bans, those sanctions—they’ll be overturned in an instant.
No need for us to panic; the other side will be the ones scrambling.
Especially with the 20% neural feedback.
This thing can even be applied to education.
Missing out would mean losing a whole generation!
...
And that’s not even counting the various technologies involved.
So,
this is far more significant than even Young Master Cao—or even Old Tai Shan—had imagined.
But you’ve got to take things step by step.
Old Tai Shan plans to roll it out across the military first.
With millions of active-duty soldiers, at least hundreds of thousands of helmets will be needed to meet demand.
The timing of this helmet’s emergence couldn’t be better.
Just the bloodshed simulation alone makes it an irresistible procurement item for the military.
Once the contract is signed, it’ll be worth at least tens of billions.
As for when it’ll be available for civilian use—that’ll have to wait.
It needs to align with higher-level strategies.
Young Master Cao naturally understands this. That’s why he came today, knowing full well the need to cooperate, which is why he proactively reported.
Otherwise, he’d have just held a press conference straight away.
grated, and just when he finally managed to get into an elite academy, he discovered that he actually had a system, and the way to earn rewards was extremely ridiculous. So for the sake of rewards, he had no choice but to start acting ridiculous as well. Su Cheng: "It's nothing but system quests after all." But later, what confused Su Cheng was that while he was already quite ridiculous, he never expected those serious characters to gradually become ridiculous too. And the way they looked at him became increasingly strange... (This synopsis doesn't do it justice, please read the full story)
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
d intelligence to keep the plot moving, and sometimes even the protagonists are forced into absurdly dumb decisions. Why does the A-list celebrity heroine in urban romance novels ditch the top-tier movie star and become a lovestruck fool for a pockmarked male lead? Why do the leads in historical tragedy novels keep dancing between love and death, only for the blind healer to end up suffering the most? And Gu Wei never expected that after finally landing a villain role to stir up trouble, she’d pick the wrong gender! No choice now—she’ll just have to crush the protagonists as a girl!
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
