You Still Need Wealth for Your Own Freedom

On the bed.

Ye Mengfu counted on her fingers, trying to figure out how many zeros were in 600 multiplied by 6,500.

Before, she only knew that Lin Yu had bet on the high odds of 7-1.

But she had no idea just how high those odds really were.

After hearing Mo Shangying mention the figure of 3.9 million, Ye Mengfu was stuck in a daze of shock for a long time.

What did that even mean?

In other words...

If Brazil scored just one more goal...

A college-aged guy would suddenly rake in nearly four million overnight!

Ye Mengfu’s social circle was small, and she had never encountered—or even heard of—anything like this before.

The final minutes of the match.

The atmosphere in the bedroom grew unbearably tense.

In the 89th minute, Germany had another golden opportunity—a one-on-one with the goalkeeper.

Mo Shangying’s throat tightened, holding her breath, not daring to exhale.

One more goal, and it would be 8-0.

Lin Yu’s bet would be completely ruined!

Luckily, the shot veered wide, missing the post.

It looked like an easy chance, but the miss was shockingly off-target.

"Phew..."

Mo Shangying finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

Beside her, Ye Mengfu also relaxed from her frozen state.

Lin Yu chuckled at the two girls’ reactions.

"Haha, why are you two so nervous?"

"Germany’s clearly lost their attacking drive in these last few minutes."

"Relax, it’s just a game."

The moment he said this, the way the two girls looked at him changed completely.

Mo Shangying: He’s this calm even when missing out on a once-in-a-century scoreline?

Ye Mengfu: He’s this chill about the difference between zero and 3.9 million?

Both: His mental fortitude is insane!

[Ding!]

[Masterful display—unshaken even with catastrophe looming, earning admiration from both his Dao companion and the Joy Sect’s charm wielder!]

[Reward: 60 spirit stones.]

Lin Yu was practically floating with pride.

Was he nervous?

Hell no!

As a prophet of this era, what did he have to fear?

Just as Lin Yu had predicted...

In the final minute of regulation time, the last 30 seconds...

Brazil finally broke through Neuer’s defense, scoring a consolation goal.

The 7-1 scoreline was secured!

Mo Shangying: "!!!"

Ye Mengfu: "!!!"

Both stared at the score on the TV screen, stunned into silence, as if their souls had briefly left their bodies.

After a few dozen seconds of silence...

Mo Shangying suddenly lunged at Lin Yu, burying her face in his pajamas to muffle her screams:

"Ah... AH!!"

"Little Yu... no, Master!!"

"Why didn’t I follow your bet?! How did you actually predict such an insane scoreline?!"

"I was this close to life-changing money, to the legendary bet of my football-watching career!!"

"Master, you &@%￥#%..."

At first, Lin Yu could still make out her words.

But soon, it sounded like she had something stuffed in her mouth—just garbled noises.

He got the gist: she was equal parts ecstatic and regretful.

Lin Yu gripped the back of Mo Shangying’s collar—not to keep her from falling, but to stop her from knocking him over in her excitement.

He glanced helplessly at Ye Mengfu, only to find her already staring at him.

Their eyes met.

Ye Mengfu instinctively looked away first.

But then, as if unable to contain herself, she turned back and gave Lin Yu a thumbs-up.

Softly, she murmured:

"So... impressive."

For a socially anxious girl like her, this was the highest form of praise she could muster.

Though not as loud as Mo Shangying’s outburst, her awe and excitement were just as palpable.

Before the celebration could settle, the final whistle blew.

Back then, the World Cup didn’t have those drawn-out stoppage times of seven or even ten-plus minutes.

For a 7-1 thrashing, they only added two minutes of garbage time.

The score remained 7-1!

As soon as the whistle sounded, Mo Shangying—still flushed—dug out her phone from who-knows-where (a hidden pajama pocket?) and pulled up an all-English interface, tapping rapidly.

Ye Mengfu hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her.

Summoning her courage, she leaned in to peek at Mo Shangying’s screen.

Lin Yu, meanwhile, was still baffled:

Where the hell did she pull that phone from?

Shaking off the distraction, he asked:

"Ying’er, don’t payouts usually take a while after the match?"

Mo Shangying wagged a finger.

"Master, that’s for other people. Not me."

"Look—"

"Our winnings are already here!"

Lin Yu examined the account balance she showed him.

It wasn’t a round number—just a precise figure starting with 6, down to the last cent.

After counting carefully, he frowned.

"Six... six million? You two also bet on 7-1?"

Ye Mengfu shook her head.

"Fifty bucks... on Germany to win."

Mo Shangying sighed.

"Aside from your 3.9 million, Master, the rest... is mine. I bet on Germany too."

"Ugh, if I’d just followed you, I’d be financially free by now!"

Lin Yu: "..."

You already are financially free!

Even as a complete amateur, Lin Yu knew that betting on a strong team’s victory rarely had odds above 2.

Which meant...

Mo Shangying had dropped seven figures on this!

And she’d kept telling him it was just "a tiny bit."

Though for her, maybe it really was pocket change.

Lin Yu had originally planned to share a bit of his winnings—a token of gratitude for Mo Shangying’s tip about the 7-1 scoreline.

But now...

Would a couple thousand even register to her?

Would it be insultingly small?

While Lin Yu was still reeling from Mo Shangying’s financial power, the rebellious disciple latched onto his arm again:

"Master, we’re counting on you for the final!"

"This time, whatever you say goes. I’ll be your most devoted follower."

"Little Fufu, wanna become his disciple too?"

Lin Yu stroked his chin. "Whatever I say goes?"

Mo Shangying nodded eagerly. "Absolutely!"

Seizing the opportunity, Lin Yu made his move:

"Your master has a request..."

"Good disciple, if I wanted to investigate someone—dig up whether they’re shady or criminal—"

"Would that be too much trouble for you?"

Now that he was officially "Master," he might as well use the title to his advantage.

The matter of protecting the sect had been weighing on him.

Mo Shangying snapped her fingers.

"Piece of cake. Just give me a phone number, name, or whatever."

"I’ll have their entire life story—clean, dirty, and everything in between."

Lin Yu: "!!!"

Damn.

Professionals really are on another level.

He pressed further: "Aren’t you worried I might use this for something bad?"

Mo Shangying smiled. "The master I know isn’t that kind of person. I’m well aware of that, and besides..."

Lin Yu frowned. "Besides what?"

Mo Shangying’s grin widened, oozing slyness.

"Besides, I just happen to have a teensy-weensy little favor to ask of you, Master.

"If I help you out, you can’t just abandon your dear disciple, can you?"

Lin Yu: "..."

"Teensy-weensy," my ass!

He had completely lost faith in that particular measure of quantity.