Chapter Two: The Mysterious Status Bar

Rousseau first took Xiao Yu to school before returning to his own dwelling. It was the lowest and smallest unit in a self-built walk-up in the city’s old village, with a monthly rent of seven hundred. Their living expenses each month hovered around eight or nine hundred, Xiao Yu’s school fees cost another hundred or two, and textbooks and supplies required a bit more. In short, if Rousseau worked flat out, delivering food and doing odd jobs to earn three thousand a month, they could even have a thousand left over.

But in truth, three thousand was an ideal figure—he’d earned that much in Peng City only during last year’s New Year, when all the restaurants he worked for were booming and he still had time to pick up shifts at the car wash. Usually, he made only two thousand, enough to scrape by but never with any surplus—a hand-to-mouth existence. Now, with the status bar in his life, he’d given up some work to prepare for training with the provincial sprint team, foregoing part-time jobs like the car wash, and his income grew even more strained.

Why give up washing cars?

Rousseau returned to his small, sun-starved one-bedroom, tearing down the “Pay Rent” notice from the door before unlocking it and stepping inside. He stripped off his T-shirt, revealing a well-defined torso, then leapt up to hook his legs over the pull-up bar above the entrance, hanging upside down to begin his ab crunches.

As Rousseau began consciously training, the numbers in his status bar for "Agility," "Strength," and "Stamina" all shifted. Agility, once 35, now flickered with a more precise number: 35.91. Strength registered at 28.84. Stamina, however, began to drop from 72, slowly ticking downward.

His workout routine included a set each of ab crunches, short sprints, high knees, and, lacking dumbbells, handstand pushups using his own body weight—a total of four sets, taking an hour and a half. By the end, his stamina had dipped to 53, while agility rose to 35.96 and strength to 28.86.

If stamina dropped below 50, his constitution would suffer, with the most serious consequence being injury during training. So Rousseau rested, hydrated, and stretched—stretching restored some stamina as well.

He’d never received formal instruction; all these exercises he’d devised himself, guided by the status bar—a routine that seemed the best fit for him under his current circumstances. This was why he’d quit the car wash job: he discovered that long hours in a damp environment subtly reduced his agility and strength, the decline slight but real, and ultimately harmful to his body.

Now, as usual—

After completing a long session of training, Rousseau would normally head out to work. But today, he chose to rest, to truly rest. He needed to make the provincial team.

Though he appeared indifferent, Rousseau knew well that making the team was his best way out, especially now, with the status bar as his ally. Though it hadn’t yet offered him any extra help, simply having it and using it to develop his body and pursue athletics was, for him and Xiao Yu, the best hope out of poverty.

He could not deliver food forever. He barely had an education. They said Peng City was full of opportunities, but Rousseau had no head for business and no capital to start with. He was good at fighting, with strong limbs—best suited for sports.

"Besides, training that brings visible progress is addictive," Rousseau told himself.

In a few months, with the help of the status bar, he’d improved his hundred-meter dash from thirteen seconds to just under twelve in his best state—meeting the provincial standard. If he rested well and performed at his best tomorrow, he and Xiao Yu could change their lives.

With that thought, Rousseau drifted into a deep sleep.

...

Sleep restored 20 stamina points for Rousseau. Eating gave him another 5. If he’d had more high-calorie food—beef or something else—he’d recover even more, though Rousseau couldn’t imagine better meals, since he’d never tasted them.

After eating, it was time to pick up Xiao Yu from school.

On his way out, Rousseau ran into the landlord, a local old man with a large ring of keys. The landlord owned this building and three others next door, renting out ninety units in total.

Rousseau paid rent every three months, as the old man organized his time strictly—collecting from one tenant each day. Today was Rousseau’s turn, and being short on cash, he was clearly disrupting the landlord’s schedule.

"Rousseau, if you don’t pay rent soon, you’ll have to move out," the old man said.

"Sir, things are tight lately. Give me a few more days," Rousseau replied, slipping past.

"If it weren’t for Xiao Yu, I’d have cleared you out already! Pull yourself together! Get a real job, stop lazing around!" the landlord scolded as Rousseau hurried off.

He biked to Xiao Yu’s primary school, arriving before dismissal. Waiting at the gate, Rousseau, a familiar face, was greeted by several parents—especially a group of young mothers who, with a kind of playful familiarity, chatted with him. Rousseau wasn’t especially outgoing, but couldn’t fend off their warmth. Their laughter and close proximity sent a heat through him that had nothing to do with the summer sun.

"Hey! Don’t crowd my brother!"

Xiao Yu, upon seeing this scene as she left school, came over like a little chick defending her food, shooing the mothers away—not that she was threatening, but it made her all the more adorable.

"Of course your brother is yours, and you’ll marry him one day too, right?" the parents joked.

"None of your business!" Xiao Yu retorted, tugging Rousseau away.

Rousseau noticed Xiao Yu’s schoolbag was bulging.

"Why is your bag so full?" he asked, taking it from her.

"I have a present for you!" she replied, happily skipping ahead.

A present?

What kind of present?

Rousseau opened the bag and saw a package emblazoned with large "A.F."

A.F. was an international sports brand, best known for its professional running shoes.

Shoes?

He pulled out the bag to find a beautiful pair of athletic shoes.

"Ta-da!" Xiao Yu beamed. "Do you like them?"

"Where did you get the money?" Rousseau’s expression grew grave. He stared at Xiao Yu. A pair of A.F.s cost at least three or four hundred—a sum greater than all they owned. How could Xiao Yu possibly have that much money?

Faced with Rousseau’s question, the smile froze on Xiao Yu’s face.