Chapter Three: The Internet Café Permit

The call was from his middle school deskmate, his absolute closest friend, Jiang Xuan.

The name sounded feminine, but he was, in fact, a proper man. The character “Xuan” originally signified “a gentleman as elegant as an orchid,” but Jiang Xuan had nothing to do with gentility. He was what people called a “small-time thug.” He failed his high school entrance exams and spent his days at the sports school, training in Sanda just to pass the time.

In his previous life, after graduating from the sports school, Jiang Xuan worked in railway freight. Back then, every freight team at the train station had its own territory. Jiang Xuan had no background or connections, leading just a handful of guys, and was always bullied by the local toughs.

One New Year’s Eve, Jiang Xuan took a watermelon knife and fought seven or eight of them alone. He suffered eight wounds, lost several liters of blood, and by the time he was rushed to the hospital, the doctors declared it pointless to try to save him. Who would have thought that, while still unconscious, Jiang Xuan would suddenly open his eyes, glare at the doctors, and mutter, “Nonsense,” before passing out again.

He actually survived. After being discharged, the first thing Jiang Xuan did was grab his knife and seek out his rivals once more.

Three fights later, Jiang Xuan’s body was marked with more than a dozen scars, but he finally carved out a share at the train station.

Within a few years, Jiang Xuan went from starting at the freight station to opening a transport company, running logistics, operating nightclubs and bars, and even contracting civil engineering projects—becoming a well-known local “boss,” respected both in the underworld and among the legitimate crowd.

People on the streets called him “Brother Xuan Xuan.” But as he grew in stature, only Zhao Zejun still dared call him that to his face.

By all logic, someone like him and Zhao Zejun should have little overlap, yet from their middle school days, the two just clicked.

Jiang Xuan was rough around the edges, but he had his own sense of balance and valued loyalty deeply—a quality that brought him success but also led to his downfall.

He had a department manager, a woman in her late twenties, who had followed him from the toughest days at the freight station, working tirelessly for years. Anyone with eyes could see she was fond of Jiang Xuan. Once, after drinking, Jiang Xuan confided in Zhao Zejun that in a year or two, he wanted to settle down and might marry this girl.

Not long after, that manager was drugged and assaulted by a major client she was entertaining. The client was a complete pervert, who even used a knife to cut off two of the woman’s breasts as “trophies.”

Jiang Xuan stayed with her in the hospital for a week, then, without a word, hunted down and killed the twisted client himself.

Days later, all of Jiang Xuan’s businesses were seized, and he was arrested and sentenced to eighteen years in prison.

In his third winter behind bars, Jiang Xuan died under mysterious circumstances.

Only later did they learn the man he had taken down was the nephew of a provincial bigwig.

The moment Zhao Zejun answered Jiang Xuan’s call, his eyes turned red.

In this life, Jiang Xuan was still alive—still that same small-time rogue, riding motorcycles, playing Counter-Strike, and constantly being teased by girls.

“Dad, I’m heading out. Jiang Xuan wants to hang out,” he said as he hung up the phone, calling out to his father as he prepared to leave.

“Don’t get into trouble with Jiang Xuan,” Zhou Ya warned. She thought Jiang Xuan was a good kid, but he didn’t like studying and got into fights. Whenever Zhao Zejun went out with him, her heart was always on edge.

“Kids are under a lot of pressure. Blowing off steam online once in a while isn’t a bad thing. And anyway, even his own mother can’t control that Jiang Xuan, but he listens to you, so nothing will happen.” Zhao Tao was unconcerned, even pulling out twenty yuan and handing it to Zhao Zejun. “Don’t let Jiang Xuan pay for everything. His father passed away early, and his family isn’t well off.”

“Got it.” Zhao Zejun nodded, took the money, and headed out, making straight for Storm Internet Café near Fourth High.

Right at the entrance, he spotted Jiang Xuan’s ride: a bright red motorcycle parked amidst a row of battered bicycles, eye-catching and flamboyant.

Last year, Jiang Xuan started following a local “big brother” in the underworld, who thought highly of him. Once, when that boss helped settle a dispute, Jiang Xuan brought along a group from the sports school to show support. As a token of gratitude, the big brother’s boss gifted him a motorcycle. He thought it was a hassle to keep a secondhand bike, so he passed it to Jiang Xuan in return for the favor.

The first room of Storm Internet Café, with more than twenty computers, was already packed. Only the seat closest to the wall was empty. Next to it sat a young man in a leather jacket, his hair parted in the middle, a cigarette dangling from his lips at a jaunty angle.

He looked like trouble.

Zhao Zejun approached and saw the screen—Counter-Strike’s dust2 map. Jiang Xuan’s avatar was a green-clad terrorist, sunglasses on, AK in hand, just charging out of the middle door.

A figure flashed ahead. Jiang Xuan tapped the mouse—rat-a-tat—three shots, and the opponent dropped.

Seeing Zhao Zejun arrive, Jiang Xuan nodded toward the empty seat beside him, then pulled out a freshly opened pack of Red Plum cigarettes, tossed it onto the table, and said, “Get on. I’ve been practicing with the sniper lately.”

“Show-offs love using sniper rifles. If they hit, they brag about their skills; if they miss, it’s only natural,” Zhao Zejun chuckled, turning on a machine and logging into CS.

Jiang Xuan immediately left the current room and set up a Blood map, perfect for one-on-one duels. He said to Zhao Zejun, “Miss? Are you kidding me? When have I ever missed you? Get in. I’ll take it easy—won’t even buy armor.”

Zhao Zejun just smiled, created a character named “hydra,” and joined the game.

In the past, the two had dueled hundreds of times. This time, after just twenty-one rounds, Jiang Xuan shoved his keyboard aside and gave up.

Out of twenty-one rounds, Jiang Xuan won only five. In the last few, Zhao Zejun felt it was too one-sided, so he rushed in with just a pistol, pulling the trigger wildly at Jiang Xuan…

“Damn, when did you get so good?” Jiang Xuan leaned back, lighting a cigarette, looking both frustrated and baffled.

“What if I told you I just had a breakthrough? Would you believe me?” Zhao Zejun grinned.

Back in his last life, his CS skills were mediocre in high school. It wasn’t until college that he practiced seriously. Later, at work, he had a big client who loved CS and was a skilled player—rumor had it he’d even won district championships as a student. Zhao Zejun spent half a year playing CS with that client, losing countless matches, but in the process honed excellent marksmanship and tactical awareness, eventually building a solid relationship with the client and landing a major contract.

“That can’t be. When someone breaks through, they’re usually gentle about it. Since when is it this fierce?” Jiang Xuan said.

“You’re thinking of something else,” Zhao Zejun rolled his eyes.

Jiang Xuan snickered, lit a cigarette, and said nonchalantly, “All the same. Want me to introduce you to a few girls? They’re lead dancers at my boss’s club, every one of them with waists as supple as water snakes—perfect for having fun. You’re about to take the college entrance exams, right? Time to relieve some stress.”

“I’m not stressed at all,” Zhao Zejun replied, ignoring him.

“Young man, the earlier you—well, the sooner you grow up,” Jiang Xuan muttered earnestly, then exited the game and started chatting on QQ.

Zhao Zejun glanced over. Jiang Xuan was chatting enthusiastically with two girls—one with a fiery red-haired avatar, the other with a gentle blue-haired one.

Meanwhile, Zhao Zejun was busy registering accounts—domain names, six-digit QQ numbers… These things weren’t immediately useful, and to be honest, he didn’t expect to make money from them. In fact, domains cost money to renew.

If, after more than a decade of living anew, he still had to rely on selling six-digit QQ accounts for a living, that would truly mean he’d wasted both lives.

Still, having them was better than not, especially domain names. He was certain he’d get into the tech industry someday, and a catchy, memorable domain name was invaluable. He didn’t want to pay a fortune for one later when he needed it most.

Time flew by while surfing the web, and soon it was almost dark. Zhao Zejun and Jiang Xuan logged off and went to the front desk to pay.

The owner was a chubby man in his forties, a laid-off worker. Nobody knew his real name; everyone just called him “Elephant.”

After 2000, opening an internet café was extremely profitable. There was even a saying: “If you want to get rich, open an internet café.” In just two or three years, Elephant’s Storm Internet Café had allowed him to buy a house and a Santana 2000.

Zhao Zejun and Jiang Xuan were regulars and knew Elephant well. Elephant grinned, handed each of them an Ashima cigarette, and added up their fees—eleven yuan in total.

Just as Zhao Zejun was about to pay, the shop’s doorway curtain lifted and a uniformed police officer walked in.

Elephant gave them a quick, reassuring smile, signaling them to wait, then hurried from behind the counter to greet the officer.

As he approached, he offered a Zhonghua cigarette with a wide smile. “Officer Yang, what a pleasure! Have a smoke, you’ve worked hard.”

Zhao Zejun and Jiang Xuan glanced at their Ashima cigarettes, amused. Ordinary customers got six-yuan Ashima; the police got expensive Zhonghua. It was all about knowing whom to flatter.

Officer Yang didn’t respond or take the cigarette, just squinted and slowly scanned the café, his gaze finally stopping at the wall behind the counter.

Elephant’s smile froze.

“Elephant, why haven’t you gotten your internet café license yet?” Officer Yang asked, face darkening.

“I’m working on it, almost done,” Elephant replied obsequiously.

“Don’t give me that,” Officer Yang said, visibly annoyed. “You’ve been open for two years, and your paperwork has never been complete. Every time, you say it’s being processed. Two years, and it’s still ‘in process’? Are you treating me like a fool, or is the cultural bureau full of fools? Two years and you still can’t get a license?”

“Officer Yang, I wouldn’t dare treat you like a fool even if I wanted to treat myself that way! I really have been working on it. I’ve run back and forth to the cultural bureau countless times, but they say my situation is complicated and hard to resolve,” Elephant explained, sounding exasperated.

“That’s your problem.” Officer Yang waved a hand, but his tone softened. “The government encourages laid-off workers to start businesses, and in the past, regulations around internet cafés weren’t well established. We see each other all the time, so I haven’t made trouble. But now, there’s about to be a crackdown on internet cafés. If your documents aren’t in order, you could be shut down or even seized. Don’t say I didn’t warn you—this isn’t something a neighborhood cop like me can fix.”

Elephant was shrewd and, hearing Officer Yang’s tone shift, quickly patted his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it done soon and not cause you any trouble.”

“Good. Make it quick. And watch your wiring—you’ve got a lot of connections here. Fire safety is crucial, especially with the year ending. If anything happens, you won’t be the only one in trouble; the whole precinct will be affected. That’s all I’ve got. I have other matters. Take care,” Officer Yang finished, turning and ducking out through the curtain.

“Wait a moment, guys…” Elephant called to Zhao Zejun and Jiang Xuan, then quickly grabbed a pack of Zhonghua cigarettes and hurried after the officer.

He returned soon after, hands empty.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Ten yuan will do,” Elephant said apologetically.

“Whatever the amount is,” Zhao Zejun insisted, paying the full fee. Jiang Xuan nodded toward the door. “Does he come by often?”

“Who doesn’t know it?” Elephant snorted. “Every time he comes, it’s about the license. Drives me crazy. Tell me, is it fair? I’m just missing one license. There are plenty of illegal cafés with no business license at all—nobody cares about them. It’s only because my location is good and business is booming that he’s always on my case.”

Zhao Zejun interjected, “Elephant, he said the authorities will soon regulate internet cafés. What will you do if you’re forced to close without a license? Is getting this license that hard?”

“It’s not hard if you apply before opening. The problem is, I opened first and tried to get the license later. That’s where the trouble is.” Elephant explained.

Zhao Zejun nodded in understanding. “So, it’s like getting on the bus before buying a ticket. Not only do you have to pay, you get fined too.”

Elephant laughed, giving a thumbs up. “Exactly! The cultural bureau sees I’ve been open nearly three years, so they make the process complicated, with endless paperwork and approvals. The more procedures, the more headaches—and the more it costs. You know what I mean?”

“I do, I do.” Zhao Zejun laughed along, then, thinking aloud, asked, “If the government really does start regulating internet cafés soon and you lose your license, what then?”

“Just scare tactics. Life goes on, doesn’t it? He’s been saying the same thing for two years. There’ve been inspections, sure, but all bark and no bite. A little greasing of the wheels and it’s fine.”

Elephant was unfazed, displaying a businessman’s particular shrewdness. “You’re a smart guy. Even if there are rules, so what? Everything depends on the people enforcing them. What’s there to be afraid of, huh?”

“True, there are always ways around the rules,” Zhao Zejun replied, smiling outwardly, but inwardly he was thinking: This time, things are different. You could have eight lives and it still wouldn’t be enough.

After leaving the café, Jiang Xuan started his motorcycle and offered Zhao Zejun a ride home.

Sitting on the back, Zhao Zejun asked, “Did you get your ID card yet?”

Jiang Xuan, being half a year older, was eligible for an ID. Zhao Zejun’s would be ready in early December.

“Applied for it. Should be ready in a few days. Why?”

“Once it’s ready, I might need to borrow it. Maybe one won’t be enough—can you help me get another?” Zhao Zejun said, holding onto the back of the motorcycle. After a moment, he added, “If you can.”

Jiang Xuan hunched lower on the bike, not even asking why Zhao Zejun needed the ID. “No problem.”

He then turned slightly, revealing his profile. “If you’re planning anything shady, just give me a heads up so I can prepare. When it comes to that, I’m better than you bookworms.”

“I’m not doing anything shady,” Zhao Zejun laughed.

Honestly, from his vantage point, Jiang Xuan, helmet-clad, riding his motorcycle, looked quite dashing—like Andy Lau in “A Moment of Romance.”