When Chen Jia got home, she went straight to the bathroom to remove her makeup.
After wiping it off, she washed her face again with facial cleanser, and only then walked out feeling fresh and clean.
She picked up her phone to call Xu An’an, but noticed there was a WeChat call—from a familiar game boosting service that both Chen Jia and Xu An’an had been using for a long time.
She transferred three hundred yuan to this booster every month, which covered all daily dungeon runs, event reward claims, and weekly material exchanges. This booster was very reliable—ever since Xu An’an had first entrusted her account to them, they hadn’t taken a single day off. Later, Chen Jia also got too lazy to log into the game and handed her account over to this person as well.
Chen Jia answered the call, and the booster said, “Boss Taozi, has your game account been hacked?”
“Huh? What do you mean?” Chen Jia was a bit confused.
“I was about to log in this morning to do your dailies, but found the password wasn’t working. I double-checked and confirmed I didn’t type it wrong, and you hadn’t messaged me about changing the password. Then I logged in with my own account to check—your account was online, but all the guild, couple, and friends stuff had been unbound. Did you do that yourself, boss?”
“No, why would I log in and do all that for no reason? Yesterday Jiangjun asked me for my game password, so I gave it to him. Could it be…”
The booster said urgently, “Then it was that Jiangjun who stole your account. Did you click any links he sent you, or did you give him any extra verification codes?”
“Yes.” Chen Jia thought back. “I gave him the password last night. Around ten in the evening, he asked for a verification code again. I thought he’d kicked you off the account, so I gave it to him again.”
Only then did Chen Jia realize something was wrong—mainly because Lun Tianxia’s verification code system was terribly designed. The codes for logging in and for changing account binding had absolutely no text indicating what they were for.
She’d seen stories before about people getting their accounts stolen through verification codes, but she’d thought Jiangjun wouldn’t stoop to that. Who knew he actually dared?
After hanging up, Chen Jia went to find Jiangjun’s contact info, only to discover she’d been blocked. She then went to the guild chat to ask around, and that’s when everyone learned that Jiangjun had actually stolen the account. They said he’d left the guild in the early hours of yesterday, and the character “Taozi” in the game had also been manipulated by him to leave the guild, unbind the couple status, delete friends, and clear the signature—all in one go.
Remembering that Wang Xiaobao had mentioned wanting to pursue a relationship with Jiangjun, Chen Jia went to find Wang Xiaobao.
Wang Xiaobao took a long time before sending a bunch of screenshots.
Wang Xiaobao: (screenshots)
Wang Xiaobao: AHHHHH, I got scammed too!!
Chen Jia: …
Chen Jia: What did you get scammed for?
Wang Xiaobao: Lately he kept saying he couldn’t afford to eat, asking me to send him money. I gave him five hundred. I mean, how can someone who can afford to pull for white hair cosmetics be scamming people for money?!
Chen Jia: Do you know what Jiangjun looks like?
Wang Xiaobao: We haven’t video-called yet. I only have one selfie of him, but now I feel like it’s probably just a random photo from the internet.
Chen Jia: Then I’ll figure something out on my own.
This wasn’t her first time being scammed online, but she’d only ever lost two hundred yuan before, and that was because she’d been greedy for a bargain and paid directly. She’d switched between so many games over the years, always buying and selling accounts through legitimate platforms and well-known middlemen, and had never been tricked. She never thought she’d fall for it today—and over the most childish verification code scam of all.
If it were her own account, Chen Jia wouldn’t have minded so much, but this account—after she’d given Xu An’an the password, Xu An’an had poured a ton of money into it. The recharge total was over eight hundred thousand yuan. Not eight thousand—eight hundred thousand. Chen Jia’s combined bank balance across all her cards right now didn’t even come close to that.
Even if this type of game sold accounts at a steep discount relative to the recharge amount, it would still be worth over a hundred thousand.
Chen Jia immediately contacted Lun Tianxia’s dedicated WeChat VIP customer service. The reply came quickly:
Customer Service Xiaocao: Hello, based on your description of the account being stolen, since this involves theft, or private fraud, disputes, and other computer-related criminal matters, our company is not a judicial entity and does not have the authority to execute fair rulings. We can only recommend that you seek assistance from judicial authorities to investigate and intervene in your stolen account situation. We appreciate your understanding…
Chen Jia: So I need a police report receipt before the process can begin?
Customer Service Xiaocao: …After you file a report, you may provide the relevant police report documentation, fully complete the (Player Matter Application Form), and submit it along with the account’s past recharge transaction records. If you have not yet reached the legal age of adulthood (18), you must also complete a (Legal Guardian Consent Form)…
Having a dedicated VIP customer service rep after spending that much money did have its uses.
But looking at the forms the customer service sent over, Chen Jia felt a headache coming on.
For a game, the official stance doesn’t support account trading. Even though the account was registered under Chen Jia’s real name, the customer service would still guard against the original owner committing fraud and using them as a tool for crime, so the verification process was extremely strict.
But since she was a big spender, she only needed to provide all the recharge records along with the complete account real-name verification information to recover it. The problem was the recharge records.
Xu An’an had made many payments. Whether he could find all the recharge records, Chen Jia didn’t know, but she definitely couldn’t find all of them herself.
She had three or four games on her hands alone, each with sporadic recharges, and the amounts were always identical numbers like 648 or 68. Almost every game’s recharge amounts were like that, making it extremely time-consuming to track down. And since this feature was very private, she could only search for them herself.
She’d have to rely on the police instead. Although the case resolution rate was higher when reporting locally where the account thief was located, Chen Jia chose to file a report in Anzhou first, and planned to go to Jiangjun’s local IP location to file another report when she had time.
When Chen Jia called Xu An’an, she explained the situation to him, telling him she’d already filed a police report and would pick a time to go to the police station to give her statement, then just wait for the notification.
Xu An’an comforted her, saying they’d catch the person soon, and she just needed to wait for his news.
“If you want to play Lun Tianxia in the meantime, just use my account. You should remember my account password, right? If you’ve forgotten, I’ll send it to you later.” Xu An’an’s voice on the other end of the line was steady and reassuring.
“No need, I’m not used to playing on your account.”
“If you want to play a female character, you can use my account to switch class and gender. Or if you want to buy a new account, do you have enough money? If not, I’ll transfer some to you.”
“Really, it’s fine. This is a good chance to quit the game anyway. Before, I was more punctual playing games than going to work. This is a good opportunity to relax.”
Chen Jia messaged the account booster, telling him not to worry about it for now—if she bought a new account later, she’d send him the login details again.
She claimed she wanted to quit her gaming addiction, but the truth was that Chen Jia had recently become obsessed with a little cat restaurant game. She tapped away at it during every spare moment at work, never having a free second. After getting home, aside from showering and sleeping, she spent all her time leveling up the game. It was simple, fun, and oddly therapeutic.
This little game was so addictive that after a week, Chen Jia had bought everything available—monthly cards, battle passes, and various monthly bundles—frantically upgrading her production machines. For someone who loved virtual farming games, it was incredibly satisfying. And compared to MMOs, the pay-to-win cost was extremely, extremely, extremely low. Even at its most aggressive, it could only squeeze a few hundred bucks out of you.
By the time she finished all that, it was already six in the evening. Chen Yue should have been home long ago by then. Just as Chen Jia was about to call her to ask why she wasn’t back yet, the door clicked open—Chen Yue pushed through, and with another bang, she’d retreated to her own room.
Chen Jia stood up, walked to Chen Yue’s door, knocked, then grabbed the handle and pushed hard. It didn’t budge. She realized Chen Yue had locked it.
Chen Jia pounded on the door. “Hey, sis, what are you doing? Locking the door in broad daylight. I need to tell you something.”
“Ugh, no time, I’m swamped.” Chen Yue’s voice came from inside, sounding annoyed. “I’m not coming out for dinner either—I already ate out with classmates!”
“Fine, but you could’ve told me. I already cooked rice, and now it’s too late to order takeout.”
Chen Jia didn’t understand teenagers. Maybe the homework was just too much.
When she was young, Chen Jia had once cried over too much homework—it was too hard, she couldn’t do it, and she’d get scolded by the teacher the next day. Back then, the teacher’s words were law; a single comment could make her miserable for days.
Shan Yixuan had actually offered to do her homework for her back then, and Chen Jia had laughed at him, saying his grades were so bad that helping her would only hurt her.
They’d never broken through that unspoken barrier, but the ambiguous phase was the most intoxicating part.
Every morning during self-study, Shan Yixuan would bring her the soy milk she loved. Before class, a bottle of water would appear on her desk, along with all kinds of spicy snacks and treats. Chen Jia could never finish them all, so she’d share them with Wan Suihe and Duoduo.
She wondered how he was doing now. Did he regret throwing away his future so impulsively for a girl back then?
But minors fighting without reaching criminal charges usually didn’t leave a record. Thinking about that, Chen Jia felt more at ease.
If he did have a record, she’d be worried he’d come looking for her with that whole “hero saves damsel, damsel pledges herself” routine. What if he turned out ugly when he grew up?