Chapter 103: OS (4)
103 – OS (4)
Just an operating system.
Lord Xun was not a title earned for nothing.
He immediately exited the System Space, went to the living room, and looked at Wang Anquan and Zhao Jiagou, who were engrossed in their games.
“Do you still have the old assignments from the operating systems course?”
The answer was yes.
Properly preserving the programs one has written is a basic quality of a programmer.
Lin Xun copied them from their computers, transferred them to the System Space, and began running them.
He felt no guilt. Although they weren’t his own programs, he had truly dedicated himself to Cultivation. Only after thoroughly understanding the principles did he begin this copy-style Cultivation. Unlike other disciplines, reasonable copying is one of the essential qualities a programmer must possess. Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V are among the greatest inventions in the world.
But three minutes later, he returned to the living room: “Why do both of your systems have errors?”
Wang Anquan scratched his head: “Mine seems a bit sloppy.”
Zhao Jiagou looked up from his game: “Mine isn’t great either, too flashy.”
Lin Xun: “You’ve disappointed me.”
Wang Anquan: “Oh? What about yours?”
Lin Xun: “Hasn’t my program always been a hybrid of the two of yours?”
Jia Gou: “Oh, mine has errors, Anquan’s has errors, so yours can only be even more flawed.”
Lin Xun: “Exactly.”
He looked at Jiang Lian.
Jiang Lian volunteered: “I slacked off in that course too.”
Wang Anquan: “See, the tragedy of basic computer education. A major course like operating systems only produced four slackers like us.”
Zhao Jiagou: “Tsk.”
The three of them left Lin Xun and went to the game pod to play a holographic game.
Lin Xun could only return to the System Space. Anquan’s program had the fewest errors, so he decided to fix his.
However, after half an hour of modifications, the errors not only didn’t decrease but increased. This could be considered the biggest obstacle Lin Xun had encountered on his Cultivation path.
He left the System Space and sent a message to Dong Jun.
A Happy Zhi Zhen: God.
A Happy Zhi Zhen: Have you ever written an operating system?
A Happy Zhi Zhen: I want one.
God was probably busy at the moment, but he’d see it later.
Just after sending the messages, a call came in—not from anyone else, but from Qi Yun, whom he hadn’t contacted in three days.
Lin Xun answered the call: “Hello.”
“Hello,” Qi Yun said weakly. “Are you free?”
Lin Xun: “Yes, what’s wrong?”
“I’m a fish right now,” Qi Yun said.
Lin Xun: “I know.”
Qi Yun: “I can turn back into a human at three o’clock, for six hours.”
Lin Xun: “Congratulations.”
Qi Yun: “But at three, I have to report to the mermaid film crew that Madam arranged for me.”
Lin Xun: “Congratulations, you’ve got a role.”
Qi Yun: “Actually, my dream isn’t acting.”
Lin Xun: “But acting can also increase your popularity.”
“True,” Qi Yun said.
Lin Xun: “So why did you call me?”
Qi Yun: “I’m a fish.”
Lin Xun: “So?”
Qi Yun: “I need to get to the crew before three. I don’t have legs, so I can’t walk there.”
Lin Xun: “What about your senior brother?”
Qi Yun: “He said he has a group meeting and can’t come back.”
Lin Xun: “I have a car.”
Qi Yun: “Thanks, bro.”
Lin Xun hung up the phone. He figured this trip wouldn’t take long, so he headed out alone.
The opportunity for Qi Yun to act in this film also came about by chance. That day, he and Chang Ji were fighting water ghosts in the West District, only to discover that the water ghost was actually Qi Yun himself. Not only that, Qi Yun’s mermaid form was captured by countless people and widely circulated online. Butterfly Madam’s mist could make those present forget what had happened, but it couldn’t erase the internet’s memory. The only solution was to turn the charade into reality—she arranged for Qi Yun to join a real film crew with a mermaid role, hoping to blur public perception. After all, she had no shortage of good film and television resources at her disposal.
Lin Xun sweet-talked the dormitory auntie, obtained a spare access card, and swiped open the door to Chang Ji’s dorm. As always, the room was clean and simple, but the sound of rushing water came from the bathroom. Qi Yun was playing in the water, and the first thing he said upon seeing Lin Xun was, “I want to eat something.”
“You’re fasting, be good,” Lin Xun said, draining the bathtub. He then wrapped Qi Yun’s fish tail in a large coat and carried him downstairs. Qi Yun’s damp arms rested on his shoulders, long hair cascading down. Without looking at his face, he truly resembled a stunning mermaid.
The mermaid lay half-dead in the back seat, looking like a lifeless fish.
After confirming the location, Lin Xun started the Jetta’s Automated Driving System, heading toward the film studio.
“Fuck,” the mermaid in the back seat cursed.
Lin Xun asked, “What’s wrong?”
“How is your gaming rank so low?”
“Your win-loss record is way too negative.”
“You’re not just bronze, you’re bronze ore.”
Lin Xun: “…”
Lin Xun: “You only just realized?”
Qi Yun: “If you’re bad, just ask me. I’ll carry you.”
Lin Xun: “No need. Even if I rank up, my teammates will drag me down again in a few days.”
Qi Yun: “Fine.”
Naturally talkative, Qi Yun didn’t stay quiet for long before leaning over again. “Let me tell you, the film Madam arranged for me is really impressive—a big director.”
Lin Xun: “How so?”
Qi Yun: “Gao Liao, have you heard of him?”
He had indeed. And not just once—not only had he heard many snippets about this director, but recent experiences were also connected to him.
Lin Xun: “That film in the West District basement, was that his?”
Qi Yun: “Huh?”
“Sorry, I forgot you weren’t there,” Lin Xun said. “There’s a horror film about supernatural events in a youth hostel. Is that his?”
Qi Yun: “Yes, it’s his.”
Lin Xun narrowed his eyes.
That horror film in the basement was the work of this director, Gao Liao. And the manor that belonged to the doctor was previously owned by him as well. This director might have intricate connections to the dismemberment case in the underground cold storage. As fate would have it, Qi Yun was now going to star in a film directed by him.
Lin Xun asked, “What’s your role in the film?”
“Cthulhu, you know?” Qi Yun said.
Lin Xun: “I don’t.”
Qi Yun: “Actually, I just learned about it too. It seems like a kind of avant-garde horror film.”
As he spoke, he pulled up the information and showed it to Lin Xun.
The film was called Lost Coast, telling the story of a sailor.
The sailor grew up by the sea, his family having been excellent sailors for generations. He loved the sea deeply, and everyone believed this was inevitable given his heritage. But in truth, there was a romantic reason behind it.
The sailor always insisted that, as a child, he had once seen a mermaid on the reef as the tide receded. As he grew older, this mermaid scene continued to appear in his dreams, and he firmly believed that his mermaid was waiting for him somewhere in the sea. Thus, he developed a dream—to venture into the deepest parts of the ocean to reunite with the mermaid he had seen as a child.
Finally, his chance came. On a foggy night, a fleet carrying precious cargo met with disaster at sea. As the most skilled diver and sailor, he joined the rescue team to salvage the goods. In the depths of the ocean, he discovered the entrance to a mysterious kingdom.
However, this was not a kingdom of mermaids but a lair of indescribable monsters beneath the sea—an ancient, terrifying, and grotesque place beyond the scope of human language.
That was the end of the movie’s synopsis. Its gimmick was to explore the limits of human perception through the bizarre and frenzied imagery of the underwater kingdom.
Lin Xun furrowed his brow.
It seemed that this film had very few human actors. There was even only one named protagonist—the sailor.
He asked Qi Yun sincerely, “What are you playing? A sea monster?”
“Impossible, too ugly,” Qi Yun’s tail fin tapped the seat as a smug expression spread across his face. “I’m playing the dream mermaid from the beginning.”
Lin Xun: “So the sailor is gay.”
“You’re the one seeing gayness everywhere,” Qi Yun snatched the phone back from his hand. “Mermaids represent a beauty that transcends gender.”
Lin Xun: “Alright then.”
He glanced again at Qi Yun’s pale, almost translucent face. “After you turn into a mermaid, you really do seem to lose your gender.”
Qi Yun: “Are you saying I’m neither male nor female? Do you want to fight me?”
“I’m just saying you’re beautiful,” Lin Xun replied. “But your director might have issues. You should keep an eye on him.”
Qi Yun’s eyes shifted. “The person making this thing is indeed a bit perverted.”
“Mhm,” Lin Xun agreed.
They bantered all the way, and forty minutes later, they arrived at the film studio. There was no actual filming today—just reporting in and reading the script. At three in the afternoon, Qi Yun kicked Lin Xun out of the car. Ten minutes later, when he emerged, he was a person with clothes and legs.
His attire was simple yet not simple—a black T-shirt and black pants, minimalist in style, but adorned with numerous metal chain decorations on the front and back.
The black clothing accentuated his skin, which was so pale it seemed translucent—not a healthy fair complexion but a sickly pallor. Qi Yun, perhaps noticing his gaze, said, “Side effects of turning into a fish.”
Lin Xun took a few steps back, examining Qi Yun from head to toe. Although he had transformed into a human, his long hair remained, still reaching his waist. His ankles were slender and snow-white, and his neck, wrists, and collarbones all exuded a sense of fragility. As for his facial features—Qi Yun’s features had definitely undergone subtle changes from their original state. Before, he could only be described as handsome and delicate, but now he was both sickly and beautiful, like a drop of water that would shatter at the slightest touch.
“Although you have legs,” Lin Xun objectively evaluated, “you still have a bit of a fishy Qi.”
“Get lost,” Qi Yun clearly knew this too. “It’s so annoying.”
Lin Xun: “I believe you can act well now.”
“Of course I can act well.” Qi Yun shot him an impatient glance. “Hurry up and help me inside.”
Lin Xun: “Yes, yes, yes.”
Today, he was playing the role of Qi Yun’s assistant.
Of course, given that his face had appeared on trending searches multiple times, it would likely be easy to expose his identity. So, while Qi Yun didn’t wear a mask, Lin Xun did.
Although Qi Yun’s legs were functional, they weren’t practical at all. His entire body moved with an ethereal lightness, like a delicate willow branch or a drifting fish, and most of his weight had to be supported by Lin Xun. Because of this, they walked slowly, and by the time they reached the conference hall, it was already full.
At a glance, Lin Xun spotted a middle-aged man standing at the far end of the meeting room in front of a smart whiteboard, holding a pen and gesturing to the staff and actors. He was tall and burly, but his appearance couldn’t be called handsome—in fact, it was rather plain. His gaze was somewhat heavy, and a prominent hooked nose dominated the center of his face, matching the photo of Director Gao Liao shown on search engines.
Qi Yun seemed a bit physically strained, breathing lightly a few times as he walked in and scanned the surroundings, trying to find an empty seat.
But every visible spot was taken.
“Awkward,” Qi Yun whispered to Lin Xun, his voice weak and breathless.
Lin Xun, however, wasn’t looking at him.
He noticed Gao Liao’s gaze—dark and intense, like a hawk spotting its prey—directed straight toward their side. Lin Xun shifted slightly to the left, but Gao Liao’s line of sight didn’t move at all. Lin Xun was certain he was looking at Qi Yun.
A full five seconds later, Gao Liao turned and gestured to a nearby staff member.
The staff brought a chair and placed it in the front row.
The director’s intention was clear. Lin Xun led Qi Yun over. This fish-turned-human was noticeably weaker, leaning back in the chair and breathing lightly again, a faint redness tinging the corners of his eyes. Lin Xun couldn’t shake the feeling that Gao Liao glanced their way once more.
He transmitted his voice to Qi Yun: “He seems to have taken a liking to you.”
Qi Yun: “Please, no.”
“Good luck,” Lin Xun said. “Hook him.”