Chapter 1: The Connoisseur App

On the night of July 26, 2019, in Beichang City.

Bai Renzong sat before his computer, the screen casting a faint reflection of his face—sharp brows, bright eyes, and a high, straight nose. His features were undeniably handsome, though his expression at that moment, absorbed in gaming, appeared somewhat vacant. His frame was slightly thin, and deep shadows under his eyes betrayed the toll of countless late nights.

He was deeply engrossed in conquering a game called "Blasphemy," yet his character kept dying, again and again, during the parkour sequences.

Bai Renzong's breathing grew heavier, the murderous intent on his face intensifying with each failure.

Finally, he managed a series of difficult maneuvers and was about to claim his final reward when his phone vibrated. He glanced at it, noticing a notification confirming the installation of a certain app.

In that brief moment of distraction, his character slipped off the platform and was impaled by a trap. Now he faced a ten-minute corpse run and the prospect of repeating the entire acrobatic sequence.

“Damn it! What a garbage game!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the desk as he glared at the screen. “What kind of trash judgment is this? I was clearly on the platform!”

The midsummer heat in Beichang was already sweltering at thirty-seven or thirty-eight degrees, and his frustration with the game only made his head feel hotter.

He stood up, took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, but the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Sleep was out of the question like this. With a sigh, he sat back down and logged onto his Sheam platform, furiously hammering at the keyboard.

“This game has its strengths and weaknesses. Strengths: 1. Fantastic world-building and art style; 2. Strong Souls-like atmosphere; 3. Boss battles are clearly divided into phases. But—and this is important—I still don’t recommend this game, because its flaws are so glaring they overshadow any virtues. The worst part is its inexplicably bad climbing mechanics…”

After pouring out a review of four or five hundred words, Bai Renzong felt a wave of relief.

He glanced at the clock; it was already half past one in the morning.

He hadn’t even noticed the hours slipping by as he kept retrying the levels, but it didn’t matter much—he was currently “between jobs” and didn’t have to worry about getting up early.

Just two weeks earlier, he had resigned from his previous company.

It had been a famous foreign enterprise, and the pay was generous, but the immense pressure and tangled social dynamics had suffocated him.

When he’d first joined, Bai Renzong had been ambitious, eager to make his mark. Yet after three years of striving, at twenty-five, he found himself stuck in place. Work kept him so busy he had no time for a girlfriend. His performance last year had been excellent, but in today’s world, achievements alone aren’t enough—managing relationships and seizing the right moments to stand out are just as vital, and those were his weaknesses.

Continuing on meant a future shrouded in darkness, but quitting would render his past efforts meaningless—a classic dilemma.

Bai Renzong hesitated for a long time, but ultimately chose to resign.

Now, he was at home, giving himself about a month to rest, clear his mind, and consider his next steps.

Of course, he hadn’t told his parents yet; they certainly wouldn’t be pleased with this turn of events.

Yet, even after two weeks of rest, his future remained a fog. The anxiety of wasted days left him tossing and turning at night, so he used gaming as a numbing escape. Only when exhausted by play could he finally sleep.

Fatigued in body and mind, Bai Renzong collapsed onto his bed and quickly drifted off.

He’d stayed up late gaming, so it wasn’t until after eleven the next morning that he awoke. Rested and energized, he planned to continue his assault on last night’s game. Despite its flaws, the game had its highlights—and after investing so much time, not reaching the ending would be unbearable.

However, when he opened the Sheam platform, he was startled to find hundreds of new replies and likes.

He stared blankly for a moment before clicking in and discovering that all the responses were to the review he’d posted the previous night.

Frankly, he could hardly believe his comment had drawn such attention.

First, the game wasn’t exactly popular—it had high ratings, but nowhere near the buzz of mainstream hits like PUBG or Dark Souls. Second, it had only sold tens of thousands of copies, and only domestic players would understand his review on Sheam. Even if his critique was insightful, this level of reaction was unusual…

Just then, his phone vibrated. Bai Renzong picked it up and saw a dozen notifications, the newest one reading: “Congratulations! Your comment has reached an S rating, achieved 100,000 heat points, and earned 3,000 experience points.”

Puzzled, he unlocked his phone and discovered an unfamiliar app—“Super Connoisseur.” After a moment’s thought, he realized this must be the app whose installation notification had distracted him the night before.

“100,000 heat points…” Bai Renzong muttered, frowning as he opened Super Connoisseur.

The app launched with several notifications, starting with a daily tasks page. A few tasks were already completed: “Daily check-in,” which rewarded fifty thousand heat points to his latest comment, and “Post a review in any form,” which granted another fifty thousand.

The subsequent notifications all concerned upgrades to his comment rating, the last of which read: “Your review of ‘Blasphemy’ has achieved an ‘S’ rating, earned 100,000 heat points, and 3,000 appreciation experience points.”

He opened his profile, which now read “Level 2 Connoisseur,” with his experience bar nearly at Level 3.

Below that was a list of appreciation proficiencies: “Game Appreciation” was at Level 2, while other categories included “Film and Television,” “Cuisine,” “Fashion,” “Antiques,” “Raw Gemstones,” and “People”—everything conceivable that could be critiqued.

“Could it be…” Bai Renzong glanced at his Sheam review. The absurdly high attention must have come from this app. It all made sense now!

“I’ve struck gold!” he whispered gleefully.

Why do so many people degrade themselves or even eat disgusting things for attention these days? Why would a company pay millions to sign a petty thief? The answer is simple: attention is money.

With this app, Bai Renzong now had a stable source of attention—likely a substantial one.

The simplest daily tasks—check-in and posting a comment—had netted him 100,000 heat points, and higher-rated reviews brought even more.

With these 200,000 heat points as a foundation, he could stand out from the competition and attract further promotion from the platform itself.

In that instant, the blueprint of his future crystallized in Bai Renzong’s mind. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.

“I will become the number one creator on D-Station!”

(New books desperately need recommendations, favorites, monthly votes, and subscriptions! Please support! Normally, I dislike nagging readers in the chapters, but after seeing other authors, I realized one thing: the child who cries gets the milk. Please, feed me!)