Time: 6:30 AM

  Location: Room 603 (Wang Cheng's Rented Room)

  Room 603, a four-by-seven-meter box, was as much of a disaster as Wang Cheng's life. The peeling beige wallpaper, the faint yet unmistakable smell of damp socks lingering in the air—it all felt like being inside an abandoned warehouse. Sunlight struggled through the grimy window, casting fragmented patterns of light onto the dust-covered floor.

  Wang Cheng lay sprawled on his creaking bed, his hair sticking out in all directions as if he had just jammed his fingers into an electrical socket. On the small coffee table in front of him, the torn remnants of a talisman were carefully pieced back together, with the precision of a forensic reconstruction.

  "Understanding and empathizing with machines," Wang Cheng muttered, rubbing his temples. "That's it. I haven't lost my mind. I'm not crazy. I'm just... a guy who has a psychic connection with a sweeping robot. Ha! Totally normal!"

  His gaze locked onto the talisman, as if it held the secrets of the universe—or at the very least, an explanation for the absurdity his life had become.

  Leaning forward slightly, he carefully picked up the taped-together talisman. His mind replayed the events of the previous night: the surreal sensation of merging with the robot, the small wheels spinning rapidly against the floor, the faint hum of the motor—a sound eerily reminiscent of a heartbeat. A strange tranquility had accompanied the experience... right until the robot accidentally sucked in a sock and nearly "choked" to death.

  His eyes flicked toward the sweeping robot resting quietly in the corner, filled with a mix of emotions. "Alright, buddy. Round two. Let's see if this works again."

  Placing the talisman on the floor, Wang Cheng closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused with all his might—imagining himself becoming the sweeping robot. The next moment, he felt that peculiar pull again, as if his consciousness was being sucked away through an invisible straw. His body slumped onto the bed, while his awareness made a sharp "ding" as it landed inside the little robot.

  "Ha! I'm back!" Wang Cheng's voice echoed within the robot's tiny processing unit. From this perspective, the world was entirely different—everything appeared larger, more imposing. The coffee table loomed like a skyscraper, the bed a towering fortress. He tried rolling forward, the wheels making a faint frictional sound against the floor.

  He zeroed in on the talisman. With a swift "whoosh," the paper was sucked up into the dustbin. Instantly, the familiar pull returned, yanking his consciousness back into his human body. Wang Cheng shot upright, blinking rapidly, an expression of both triumph and confusion plastered across his face.

  "Success! I'm a genius!" he declared to the empty room. "Or a lunatic. Honestly, at this point, there's no difference."

  To confirm his theory, he repeated the process several times, jumping back and forth between the robot and his body like a kid trying out an electric scooter for the first time. Each attempt was flawlessly smooth.

  But why stop at a sweeping robot? His gaze shifted toward the smartphone lying face-down on the coffee table, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes.

  "You," he pointed at the phone like a detective confronting a prime suspect. "You're next."

  Connecting the phone to a hotspot, Wang Cheng took another deep breath, closed his eyes, and once again entered the robot's system. This time, he recalled the process of linking with Old Zhang's neural interface the day before, trying to replicate that unique feeling of connection. The pull was stronger, the speed faster—like being sucked into a vortex. When he "opened" his eyes, or rather, the phone's "eyes", he found himself successfully "transferred" into the smartphone.

  "Whoa—" Wang Cheng's voice echoed within the phone, distorted with a slight digital texture. He looked around, finding himself inside a dazzling maze of circuits, glowing pathways, and pulsating data streams—a visual spectacle only true tech enthusiasts could appreciate.

  Navigating through the network wasn't easy. Each transfer felt like climbing a seven-story staircase. Every level bore distinct labels, as if mocking his ignorance.

  "The OSI Seven-Layer Model," he muttered as he ascended. "Physical layer, Data Link layer, Network layer, Transport layer, Session layer, Presentation layer, Application layer. Great. I've landed in the underworld of struggling students."

  The first level was a chaotic swirl of raw data, binary code buzzing past him like a swarm of angry bees. He instinctively dodged—despite not technically having a body anymore. Each layer introduced new challenges: corrupted data packets snarling like digital wolves, firewalls glowing red-hot like molten lava, and endless metadata streams that felt like reading a thousand novels at once. By the time he reached the application layer, he was exhausted, as if he had just run a marathon.

  Finally, Wang Cheng arrived at his first destination:

  An adult website.

  "Well, well," he chuckled. "If I'm going to explore the internet, might as well start with the classics."

  But as the images and videos loaded, something strange happened. Content that would have once seemed alluring in his human form now felt… off. The smooth skin, exaggerated movements—it all seemed lifeless, like watching mannequins perform a poorly choreographed dance.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "What…" Wang Cheng instinctively recoiled, a mix of shock and disgust in his voice. "So this is what it feels like without hormones? Terrifying. Who even watches this garbage?" The sensation of nausea—an impressive feat for someone without a stomach—overtook him, and he quickly exited the site.

  Leaning against a glowing data stream, he shook his head in self-mockery and reflection. "I can't believe I used to waste time on that. What a joke. I could have been learning quantum mechanics or… or fishing and gardening! Anything would've been better."

  With a newfound resolve, Wang Cheng vowed to invest his time more wisely moving forward. And with that, he set out on his next journey.

  To be honest, he never imagined himself willingly "visiting" a bank. In reality, he wouldn't even go near one. But curiosity—a fickle, mischievous force—pushed him toward the grand virtual gates of Longyuan Development Bank's network system.

  The sight left him speechless: towering firewalls standing like an iron fortress, layered encryption pulsing faintly as if alive. Data streams flowed like rivers of molten light, information packets weaving through them with mechanical precision. The entire scene was both surreal and awe-inspiring.

  "Wow—" Wang Cheng stood at the threshold, awed. "This place is fancier than my entire life."

  Cautiously, he took a step forward. His digital form left faint glowing footprints on the network's polished surface. At first, he didn't notice. But when he glanced back, the footprints shone brightly, betraying his every move.

  He cursed under his breath. "So basically, I'm a walking neon sign that says 'Intruder here.' Great."

  Dropping to his knees, he tried wiping away the prints, but they remained stubbornly in place, mocking him.

  "Seems like everything in the network leaves a trace," he muttered, a chill creeping up his spine despite lacking a body.

  Just as he debated whether to flee or delve deeper into this rabbit hole, an ear-splitting alarm shattered the silence. The previously steady data streams trembled violently. A cold, mechanical voice boomed:

  "Unauthorized entity detected. Initiating counter-intrusion protocol."

  "Oh, crap." Wang Cheng's digital face paled. "I knew I should've stayed in the sweeping robot!"

  The chase began!

  The firewall's antivirus program emerged before him like a predatory beast—sleek, menacing, and unrelenting. It took the form of a tornado composed of jagged, serrated code, swirling with pulsating red and black light. Its razor-sharp edges screamed danger. Wang Cheng didn't have time to analyze what it was capable of—his instincts took over, and he ran.

  "Run, huh? Well, that's life for you!" Wang Cheng muttered under his breath as he sprinted through the bank's network system. The antivirus process pursued him relentlessly, its roar echoing like a thousand damaged hard drives screeching in unison, making his digital ears ring.

  The chase was absolute chaos. He weaved through encrypted data streams, barely dodging layers upon layers of firewalls that threatened to slice through him. At one point, he took a wrong turn and found himself inside a storage server crammed with outdated financial records.

  "Why does this bank still keep files from 2003?" he shouted while leaping over mountains of dust-laden data packets. "Ever heard of cloud storage?"

  As he ran, an old memory surfaced—his childhood, hiding with his family while debt collectors pounded on their door, shouting threats. He remembered the fear, the helplessness, the shame that gripped him as he held his breath, hoping to remain unseen. That suffocating dread washed over him now, pressing against his chest—even though, technically, he no longer had a chest.

  His pace faltered.

  Strangely, the antivirus program hesitated too. Its movements slowed, the once relentless chase now sluggish, almost hesitant. Wang Cheng immediately noticed.

  "Wait… is it reacting to me?" He paused, turning to face the program. It still moved toward him, but now it seemed almost… confused, like a predator unsure of its prey. "Are you serious? This thing—this program—can be influenced by emotions?" Wang Cheng let out a dry laugh. "Great. Even antivirus software has more empathy than most people I know."

  There was no time to dwell on this revelation. He ducked into a side corridor of the network, stumbling into what resembled a digital office space. Icons and files lay scattered around, labeled with titles like "Quarterly Reports" and "Performance Reviews". But the real prize was something far more intriguing—"Personal Notes."

  Jackpot.

  He scanned the hovering document titles, his eyes locking onto one: Liu Wei, Fund Manager, Age 42.

  A smirk played on Wang Cheng's lips. "Middle-aged, probably overworked, possibly forgetful. Let's see how good you are at keeping secrets, Mr. Liu."

  He rummaged through the digital files like a thief rifling through a safe. And sure enough, tucked away in a folder labeled "Miscellaneous", he found a document titled 'Unmentionable'.

  Wang Cheng opened it and grinned. Inside was a list of usernames and passwords—including one for the internal fund management system.

  Without hesitation, he entered the credentials. A portal opened before him, radiating a soft blue glow. He didn't think twice. He dove in.

  Behind him, the antivirus program reached the doorway—then stopped, crashing into an invisible barrier. The portal snapped shut with a sharp crack.

  Leaning against the virtual wall inside the internal system, Wang Cheng caught his breath, triumphant. "Not today, antivirus. Not today."

  Once he confirmed the program had given up, Wang Cheng exhaled in relief. He swiftly logged out of the fund management system, withdrawing from the digital heist. His consciousness retracted from the network, slipping back into the familiar confines of his phone before returning to his real-world vessel—Xiao Jie, the sweeping robot.

  With a soft 'beep-beep', the robot acknowledged his return.

  Wang Cheng maneuvered Xiao Jie closer to the talisman. With a swift motion, the robot vacuumed it up. The moment it made contact, a powerful force yanked his consciousness back into his human body.

  The transition was jarring, like being wrenched from a deep sleep. He gasped awake, his throat parched and raw, limbs leaden as if filled with molten metal. The dim light in his room flickered, casting eerie shadows on his sweat-soaked face. He turned to the glowing digits of his bedside clock.

  6:30 AM.

  "Seventy-two hours…" he murmured, barely audible. His stomach twisted with hunger, and his skull pounded like he'd been hit by a freight train.

  "I'm dying. I'm actually dying." panic surged through him. Should he call an ambulance? Eat something first? He fumbled for his phone with trembling fingers, swiping clumsily across the screen to dial the first number that came to mind—Su Qi Qi.

  The phone rang once. Twice. Then—

  "Hello?" Su Qi Qi's familiar voice drifted through, tinged with grogginess and confusion. "Wang Cheng? You good? Hello?"

  Wang Cheng opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His throat locked up, his vision blurred, and his body gave way, collapsing onto the bed. Darkness rushed in like a tidal wave, swallowing his consciousness whole. The phone slipped from his grasp, landing with a soft 'thud' beside him.

  From the speaker, Su Qi Qi's voice continued.

  "Wang Cheng? Hello? Say something!"

  But he could no longer hear him. Only the dim, flickering light remained, casting lonely shadows across the room…