Chapter 9: The Hidden Dragon Enters the Sea

Gu Cheng packed his belongings, gave the dormitory one final glance, and left without a trace of sentiment. The calendar by his bedside would forever remain at March 25th.

This was not the life he wanted. His spirit was proud and unyielding.

As he departed, he carried two large suitcases filled with keepsakes. Passing by Miss An’s office, he took the opportunity to step inside.

Seeing Gu Cheng, Miss An felt conflicted inside: he clearly had talent and potential. Why did he insist on settling matters with his fists? After guiding him for a year and a half, she’d never expected this child to be so impulsively troublesome.

“Is there anything else? If not, you should leave today,” Miss An said coldly, her tone edged with disappointment.

Gu Cheng was straightforward. He set down his things and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll go. These are just a few mementos from the past year—the first is a token of gratitude for you; the other two, please pass on in your name. The gifts for the boys I’ve already given out.”

As he spoke, he opened the first small box to reveal a set of Innisfree essential oils and a bottle of red wine jelly—a newly released local brand this year.

The other two gifts were larger; Miss An didn’t open them, just glanced at the packaging. One was a full-spectrum Philips lightbox; the other, a Siemens muscle relaxation magnetic therapy device.

Unfamiliar with these models, Miss An was somewhat uneasy. “Where did you get these? They must be expensive.”

Gu Cheng hurried to explain, “Not at all, just a few hundred thousand. They’re just hard to find through normal channels.”

Curious, Miss An asked, “So where did you buy them?”

“On eBay. If you’re determined, you can find even the rarest things there. Times have changed; you could try shopping online. If you don’t know how, I can teach you—if I’m still in Dongyi.”

“You’re leaving Dongyi?” Miss An couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret, but then realized it was inevitable: Gu Cheng only had a high school diploma. After being dismissed by the company, how could he support himself? He’d have to return to Huaxia.

She didn’t press the matter, instead changing the subject. “Never mind, let’s not talk about that. You haven’t told me who these are for.”

“For Xiaoya. When I was injured, she treated me. I’m grateful to her.” Gu Cheng paused, noticing Miss An’s expression, and quickly added, “Don’t worry, there’s nothing between us. If you’re concerned, you can give it to her in your own name—say the company’s health doctor discovered her issue and tailored a solution for her.”

Miss An, unaware of any problem, was puzzled. “What’s wrong with Xiaoya?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Gu Cheng was slightly surprised, then recounted in detail the conversation he’d had with Quan Baoya over lunch, emphasizing that with the company’s current harsh training, she was unlikely to grow any taller.

Hearing this, Miss An understood and her regret for Gu Cheng deepened. “Xiaoya is such a child—never speaks of her difficulties, bears them all herself. And you! Clearly you value relationships, so why did you end up on this path? What a pity…”

“Everyone has their own road to walk. I simply repay kindness and settle scores. There’s nothing more to say. Let’s part ways here—since Xiaoya hasn’t mentioned it, hold on to the gift for a few days, so she doesn’t get suspicious.”

Moved by Gu Cheng’s thoughtfulness and his selfless, anonymous way of repaying kindness, Miss An rose to see him out herself.

At the company entrance, as they were about to part, Miss An hesitated, then pulled out an exquisitely sealed ticket and pressed it into Gu Cheng’s hand. “August 25th is Xiaoya’s debut press conference. It’s mainly for people in the industry—just 5,000 seats. Here’s a ticket for you. If you’re in Seoul then, go have a look.”

“All right. Thank you.” Gu Cheng readily agreed, slipped the ticket into his pocket, and walked away without looking back.

…

After leaving the company, he deposited all his cash, then wandered the streets of Seoul with his two bags.

He still had things to take care of in Dongyi and couldn’t return home just yet, so he needed to find somewhere to stay.

The S-M company was located in the bustling Gangnam district—far too expensive for him. But just across the street, in the eastern Songpa district, was a slum called Nine Dragons Alley (in the local tongue, “Alley” being equivalent to “street” in Chinese).

That place had been established before the 1988 Seoul Olympics, when the government expelled the city’s poor to clean up the city’s image. The residents were mostly solitary elderly people. Over the years, many houses had been left vacant after their owners passed away, so anyone needing a temporary place to stay could rent there. People from all walks of life would flock there.

Gu Cheng had made these inquiries before leaving the company.

Following a map, he made his way to Songpa, Nine Dragons Alley. Though he’d braced himself, stepping into the shantytown’s ruins made him gasp—every big city had its slums, but this was even more dilapidated than the old Beijing courtyards inside the Second Ring.

Surrounding him were ramshackle homes and a few small shops with faded signs. Some lightbox covers were broken and held together with tape for continued use.

Gu Cheng noticed a crooked lightbox, powered by an extension cord dragged to the roadside, its faded red paint spelling out: “Northeast Restaurant,” “Northeast Grilled Beef.”

A middle-aged man, cloaked in a filthy robe, sidled up to Gu Cheng at the street corner and whispered, “Brother, visa expired and nowhere to stay? Got a spare room—800 a month, RMB accepted.”

“What are you saying? I don’t understand.” For safety, Gu Cheng didn’t want to deal with shady characters and replied in the local language.

The man, unable to gauge the situation, didn’t press further.

Eventually, Gu Cheng rented a vacant room from an elderly Dongyi woman—1,000 RMB per month, paid monthly, no contract and no deposit. After he paid, the local locksmith changed the lock and the deal was done.

It was pricier than the room offered by the smuggler, but at least it had a water heater—hot water provided by the community’s central coal burning.

Electricity was also tightly rationed; each household could only draw a limited amount from the central panel, so high-powered appliances were out of the question. There was no air conditioning, and certainly no electric water heating.

Of course, some people illegally tapped into municipal power lines, stealing electricity from the streetlight junction boxes.

Heaven burdens those it intends for greatness, first grinding their spirit and toiling their bones. It was still coal-heating season in March. After cleaning up, Gu Cheng was covered in dust and sweat, so he took advantage of the hot water to bathe, washing away the fatigue from days of scheming. He changed into clean clothes and lay on his bed, quietly pondering his future.

It was only now that he had time to systematically analyze his current situation.

In his former life, he was Data Director at an “Internet+ Entertainment Platform,” specializing in big data algorithm optimization for content recommendation and the application of deep learning AI.

To put it in early-century terms, his job was akin to a feed algorithm engineer at Facebook or Weibo, adjusting content recommendation weights and analyzing user preferences for the platform’s media providers.

Back when AI wasn’t yet powerful, content platforms still needed humans as “Editor-in-Chief” or “Feed Algorithm Director” to tag deep learning data, ensuring that content pushed to users matched their interests and maximized subscriptions.

Thus, Gu Cheng—having done this work—not only had technical expertise, but also a remarkable eye for art. Whether games, films, music, or literature, a single glance from his discerning eye and he could judge quality and identify the right audience.

On the other hand, Gu Cheng was used to big data and machine learning—technologies that, historically, wouldn’t be “unlocked” until Professor Geoffrey Hinton at the University of Toronto did so in 2006. Which meant, for now, many of his skills were “slaying dragons with a wooden stick,” with no use for at least another decade.

It was like an agronomist used to fertilizers and pesticides being thrown back to ancient times, forced to compete with local farmers but without modern tools—he might not even do as well as the natives.

These constraints forced him to carefully consider his new life’s entrepreneurial path.

Should his first step be in IT or entertainment?

After half an hour’s thought, Gu Cheng ruled out starting in entertainment: the biggest hurdle was lack of funds—a company with just 100 million Dongyi won couldn’t do much. Even if he plagiarized songs or literature, it wouldn’t cover advertising expenses.

Moreover, the few works he remembered were far ahead of the era’s aesthetic standards.

So, sticking to his original instinct, he would first become an online game agent and earn his first bucket of gold.

He needed to find an internet cafe to gauge the current market situation.