The golden phone chimed at midnight.
Lin Fan was still awake, seated at the kitchen table with the Qianlong seal in front of him and a book on jade carving open beside it—a thin volume borrowed from Lu Shifu's library, its pages brittle with age. He'd been reading about the different grades of jade, the tools used by Qing dynasty carvers, the symbolism of the dragon-and-pearl motif that appeared on both the seal and the vase he'd traded away. The seal itself seemed to absorb the lamplight, its green depths dark and cool.
The chime was different from the ones he knew. The daily sign‑in was a soft, brief note. The occupation card was a clear, crystalline bell. This was lower—a resonant hum that vibrated through the phone's casing and into the table, as if something large had stirred beneath the surface of the world.
He set down the book. The screen was transforming.
The three icons he'd grown accustomed to—the magnifying glass, the red envelope, the briefcase—were still there, but the red envelope had begun to glow. Not the dull shimmer it had shown before, when there was nothing to collect. This was a deep, pulsing crimson, brightening and dimming in a slow rhythm, like a heartbeat made visible.
Below it, text assembled itself.
`[Beta Protocol: Significant Moral Threshold Achieved.]`
`[Actions assessed: Rescue of vulnerable individual (Mr. Zhang), prevention of fraud, ethical trade of cultural artefact (Chenghua vase), supplemental payment to pawnshop owner.]`
`[Cumulative Moral Weighting: Sufficient.]`
`[Beta Protocol is now fully active.]`
`[Incoming Red Packet. This reward is scaled to cumulative moral actions and represents the first major asset distribution under the Crimson Dividend system.]`
Lin Fan sat very still. The phone had never spoken to him like this before. Not in explanation. Not in summary. The System had always been a quiet machine, dispensing rewards without commentary. Tonight, it was showing its work.
He tapped the briefcase icon out of habit. The skills list was unchanged—Driving (Advanced), Culinary Arts (Beginner, 6%). The asset count had ticked upward with the noon sign‑in, now well past three hundred million yuan. But the red envelope was the focus now, its glow intensifying until the rest of the screen seemed dim.
He tapped it.
The envelope didn't open. Instead, a new message appeared.
`[This Red Packet contains a significant physical asset. Full details will be revealed upon acceptance. Acceptance is not reversible. Do you wish to proceed?]`
`[Yes] [No]`
He hesitated. Not out of fear—the System had given him nothing but gifts so far—but out of a sudden awareness of scale. The villa compound had been a reward for a single good deed, the emergency medical skill for a single rescue. This packet was different. It was, the System said, *scaled to cumulative moral actions*. The sum of everything he'd done since the safe opened. The weight of it pressed on him.
He thought about the note from the safe. *Use it well. I could not.* He thought about Lu Shifu, who had spent a lifetime learning the names of forgotten craftsmen. He thought about his mother's voice on the phone, lighter now than it had been in years.
He tapped `[Yes]`.
The envelope dissolved into light. What emerged was not a single card but a cascade of them, one after another, each bearing a fragment of the whole.
`[Crimson Dividend — Primary Asset: Lamborghini Shanghai, exclusive dealership rights, Pudong district. Estimated annual revenue: 240 million RMB. Full operational management and inventory included.]`
`[Secondary Asset: Commercial property at 1188 Zhangyang Road, Pudong — showroom and service centre, 3,200 square metres, fully owned.]`
`[Tertiary Asset: One (1) Lamborghini Aventador SVJ Roadster, Nero Pegaso black, custom bronze interior, available for personal use or display.]`
`[Operational Note: Existing staff contracts are honoured. Dealership management may be assumed directly or delegated. No immediate action required.]`
Lin Fan read through the cards three times. A Lamborghini dealership. Not a car—a whole business. A showroom on one of Pudong's busiest streets. Staff who were, presumably, waking up tomorrow with no idea their employer had just changed.
He set the phone down. The red envelope icon had dimmed to its usual quiet shimmer. The briefcase now showed a new line item: `Assets: Lamborghini Shanghai (100% ownership), 1188 Zhangyang Road (property), 1x Aventador SVJ Roadster.`
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. He'd been driving a rented silver Honda for a week, ferrying strangers through the rain, trying to hit a 4.8 rating so he could earn a Pagani. And now the System had handed him a Lamborghini dealership as a bonus for being decent.
He thought about the chef again. *Any fool with money can be big. Being good takes a lifetime.*
The money was nothing. But the dealership was something more than money. It was a responsibility. Employees. Customers. Inventory. All of it now his, not because he'd earned it through business acumen, but because the System had decided his moral ledger was in the black.
He would need to visit the dealership. Meet the staff. Understand how it operated. He knew nothing about selling luxury cars. But he was learning that he knew nothing about most things, and that not knowing was only a problem if he refused to learn.
He picked up the golden phone again. The screen had returned to its default state. The countdown to Monday—three days now—ticked quietly at the top. The map was dark. The icons were still.
A final message appeared, brief and unadorned.
`[Beta Protocol will now operate continuously. Red Packets may be awarded at any time, without warning, based on actions assessed as morally significant. No further activation notices will be issued.]`
And then, softer, a single line that seemed almost private.
`[You are doing well, host.]`
He stared at the words. The System had never addressed him directly before. Never acknowledged that he was a person, doing a thing, trying to get it right. He didn't know if this was a pre‑programmed message triggered by a threshold, or if the System was capable of something more. He didn't think he would ever know.
But the words stayed on the screen for a long moment before fading, and when he finally went to bed, the seal was on the shelf, the book was on the table, and the golden phone glowed softly on the nightstand, its crimson pulse dimmed to a quiet, steady warmth.