Chapter 17: Pay-to-Win Game
"I'm speechless." After a single run of the E-level simulation training, Yang Bo ended up facing only one electric eel—resulting in just a +1 increase in Electric Energy Control!
This infuriated him. If every run only grants +1, reaching an advanced level would require dozens of attempts—each costing 4,000 points. By his estimates, it would take nearly a year's worth of training to gather enough points.
"Forget it, I'll just try out a mech game for now," Yang Bo decided, figuring it was time to relax a bit.
He had played mech games before in his past life, but because he failed the early simulation test and never got a pilot's license, he hadn't really gotten into it. Yes, this game first tests your hand speed.
The mech game he booted up was called Mech World. It was reputed to be the most "pay-to-win" game—some even claimed it was the most lucrative. In the game, if your mech sustains damage and you lack sufficient in-game currency, you must shell out real money for repairs. On the other hand, if you have good skills, you can reap huge rewards and earn a lot.
Most importantly, this game required no identity verification—no real-name registration was needed, so anyone could play. Unlike real-world mech piloting, which requires one to be a genetic evolver.
In reality, mech piloting demands a genetic evolver primarily for two reasons. First, due to physical strength—the ground combat mechs can accelerate to over 15G in an instant. Even with a pressure suit, if your physique isn't up to par, you'd be obliterated instantly. Second, because operating a mech involves managing numerous complex commands.
Some might ask, "Aren't there any automatically controlled mechs?"
But mech battles are all about close combat, mutual interference, and intense suppression. Besides, the computers in early mechs were fully programmed; once someone cracked your algorithm… every mech would be finished. Since then, human-operated mechs have become the standard.
After logging into the game, Yang Bo created an account and randomly gave himself the nickname "Chatty Boss Eight." The quirky nickname didn't bother him—after all, if he failed the test he wouldn't even get into the game.
The test itself measured hand speed. The minimum requirement was 120 taps per second using all ten fingers. Yang Bo's frantic efforts only managed 65 taps per second—so he failed the test.
However, the game offered a simulation training mode, and Yang Bo jumped right in. As a former Earthling now living in this interstellar era, he thought, "If I'm going to be here, I might as well experience mechs—even if it's just in a game."
Wearing virtual sensor gloves, his fingers flew as he practiced repeatedly. With each session, his coordination improved; eventually, he met the hand-speed requirement, which was also tied to the type of mech you'd be allocated. Since mechs had evolved through over a dozen generations into many types, the assigned model depended on your performance.
Once his simulated training reached the necessary standard, Yang Bo re-entered the game.
"Congratulations, Chatty Boss Eight! You have obtained an E-level pilot's license. Please choose your mech type," flashed a message on the virtual screen.
Yang Bo was presented with three options. The first was a giant, spider-like mech with twelve legs—each leg armed with a different weapon, such as laser emitters and plasma cutters. The second option was a beast-mode mech designed for animal-like combat, with a tail that doubled as a laser cannon… But Yang Bo barely glanced at these two; he immediately focused on the third option—a humanoid mech that looked somewhat like a Transformer.
Codenamed "Blade," this mech was the classic assault model produced 300 years ago. It came equipped with an integrated laser sword, an energy shield, and a rocket backpack. Powered by a nuclear battery, it could operate at full power for 20 minutes before needing a 30-minute cooldown.
Before entering the game, the officials provided detailed instructions: take care of your mech, because if it gets damaged, repair costs are exorbitant. They stressed that this wasn't a typical game and that each IP address could only create one account. To cancel an account, you'd have to restore your mech to its initial state.
"No wonder there's so much online criticism," Yang Bo thought. If you accidentally damage your mech and can't afford repairs, you won't be able to re-register—the IP gets banned, leaving you with no option but to pay for repairs.
Next came the simulated combat training—mech versus mech, and mech versus monsters. The cockpit resembled a Model C office desk: a 270-degree domed, full-screen display showing the surrounding environment, with voice-assisted controls. The left hand managed the mech's posture—walking, running, jumping, instant acceleration—while the right hand handled various functions.
Yang Bo marveled at how realistic the virtual game was; it was so authentic that if he hadn't glanced at the sofa behind him, he might have believed he was actually inside a mech cockpit. His dorm's high-end virtual projector only added to the immersion.
"Tomorrow, we continue," he resolved. Unfortunately, within the next hour, his combat training run failed. The official recommendation was blunt: "Noobs, don't play if you're not skilled."
That night, Yang Bo dreamed of piloting a mech. As someone from a less advanced civilization, experiencing this game for the first time was intoxicating—he couldn't get enough.
The next morning, he discovered it was Saturday. Although he had planned to rest, the prospect of double pay spurred him to hurry off to work.
"Damn it—in my previous life, getting double pay without the boss finding an excuse to dock my wages was a blessing," he muttered as he rushed to work.
"Garden Task." At the company, Yang Bo found that Saturday's assignments even included garden tasks. He quickly accepted one valued at 1,600 credit points. With the company's perfect attendance bonus of 500, his Saturday earnings would total 3,700 credits.
The task was to clear a 1,200-square-meter garden—though the details were vague. In this line of work, you never truly know what the garden holds until you're there.
After collecting his gear, the client's vehicle arrived. Upon reaching the site, his watch was removed for security. Yang Bo surveyed a garden beside a lake and immediately identified several types of endangered red-hued plants. For ordinary people, merely touching these plants could mean a lifetime behind bars, but for the wealthy, they were just over-familiar trash.
The garden spanned 1,200 square meters and featured a long pool filled with various aquatic plants. In addition to flowerbeds and other structures, there was roughly another 800 square meters of open space. This was only part of a vast garden—an expanse of hundreds of acres surrounding an ancient building that looked almost like a temple, with vermilion walls, glazed tiles, and intricately carved wooden windows.
Yang Bo began by uprooting the plants—the vegetation wasn't very tall, so he cleared them out and bagged them up. Then, using specialized equipment, he turned over the flowerbeds. As for whether the soil contained weed seeds or pests, that was the planter's problem.
"Let's see if there's any surprise in this pool," Yang Bo murmured as he proceeded to clear the pool area. He changed into another set of protective gear and started by removing the aquatic plants from the pool.
(End of Chapter)