Mo Chen sat on the sofa, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the floating interface.
The Book waited.
He'd learned one thing already—reality didn't resist change. It priced it.
That meant appearances were fair game.
Mo Chen lifted a hand and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the familiar texture beneath his palm. Then he focused and typed:
[Because Mo Chen touched his hair, his hair turned wine red.]
Submit.
A response followed immediately.
[This setting requires 100 causality values. Confirm?]
"Sure."
There was no flash of light. No warmth. No dramatic sensation at all.
The change simply… happened.
Mo Chen blinked, then stood up and walked to the bathroom. He leaned over the sink and looked into the mirror.
Wine-red hair framed his face naturally, as if he'd walked out of a professional salon moments ago. The color wasn't garish or artificial—it was deep, rich, and strangely elegant.
"…Yeah," he admitted. "That works."
Combined with his refined features, the color gave him a slightly dangerous edge. He looked like someone who belonged on magazine covers rather than cramped apartments.
Satisfied, Mo Chen returned to the living room.
But the experiment wasn't over.
He poured himself another glass of water, held it up, and opened the Book again.
This time, he typed more carefully.
[Because Mo Chen picked up the glass and shook it three times, the water inside turned into hair-enhancing water. Drinking it will restore hair to deep black, with no side effects.]
Submit.
[This setting requires 50 causality values. Confirm?]
Mo Chen laughed quietly.
"Looks like I really am getting the hang of this."
He confirmed the setting, lifted the glass, and shook it three times.
The water looked exactly the same.
No color change. No glow. No bubbles.
He didn't hesitate. Tilting his head back, he drank it in one gulp.
Then he sprinted back to the bathroom.
The mirror greeted him with jet-black hair—deep, glossy, and clean, as if freshly dyed by a professional stylist. Against his now brighter skin tone, the effect was even more striking.
Mo Chen ran a hand through it, satisfied.
"Perfect."
After taking care of business, he returned to the living room and sank into the sofa, eyes unfocused as his thoughts raced.
The pattern was becoming clearer.
Direct changes to the human body demanded higher causality costs. Indirect changes—tools, mediums, substances—were cheaper.
"And the more reasonable the process," he muttered, "the cheaper it gets."
Which meant there was still room to go lower.
He wanted less than fifty. Much less.
Mo Chen rubbed his chin, thinking.
Then his eyes lit up.
He stood and headed for the kitchen.
From the cabinet, he pulled out a bag of dried berries his father used to steep in hot water every morning—marketed as a general wellness supplement, full of antioxidants and nutrients. Not magical. Not miraculous. Just… plausible.
He poured himself a cup of hot water, tossed in a handful of the berries, and waited for the color to bleed faintly into the liquid.
Then he opened the Book.
[Because Mo Chen shook the hot water three times, the nutrients from the berries were fully dissolved, turning it into hair-enhancing water. Drinking it can turn hair wine red, with no side effects.]
Submit.
[This setting requires 25 causality values. Confirm?]
"Yes."
Mo Chen clenched his fist.
"Just like I thought."
He flopped back onto the sofa, laughing to himself.
The logic was clean.
The berries already claimed to be good for hair health. The system only nudged the outcome further along a believable path. The cause fit the effect more tightly—so reality charged less for it.
After calming down, Mo Chen stood up again.
"If that works…" he murmured, "then this should too."
He decided to push it further.
The kitchen soon turned into a battlefield.
He filled a large pot with water, then began adding anything remotely associated with nutrition: more berries, yams, black beans, rice, leftover cabbage, spinach, and—after a moment's thought—a couple of vitamin tablets crushed between his fingers.
The result looked… tragic.
He boiled it. Let it simmer. Tried adjusting seasoning.
An hour later, a pot of something that defied culinary classification sat on the stove.
Mo Chen stared at it.
"…Let's not talk about taste."
He opened the Book once more.
[Because Mo Chen knocked on the pot lid three times, all nutrients in the pot were fully dissolved into the liquid, turning it into hair-enhancing water. Drinking it can make hair jet black, with no side effects.]
Submit.
[This setting requires 5 causality values. Confirm?]
Mo Chen froze.
Five.
He stared at the number for several seconds.
Then he shook his head and selected cancel.
Not because it wouldn't work—he was certain it would—but because he didn't need it.
He hummed softly as he poured the pot's contents down the sink, careful to erase all evidence. If his mother came home and saw that mess, he'd never hear the end of it.
Wasting food was a crime in this household.
Back on the sofa, Mo Chen stretched and let out a long breath.
Through a series of increasingly ridiculous hair experiments, he'd pinned down the system's fundamentals.
First: causality regenerated based on impact. The wider the influence, the greater the return.
Second: indirect effects were far cheaper than direct ones.
Third: the more natural and logically connected the cause and effect were, the less resistance reality offered—and the lower the cost.
Armed with that understanding, Mo Chen felt like the world had quietly stepped aside and handed him the keys.
'Wealth, influence, transcendence…' he thought, smiling. 'It's only a matter of time.'
In a good mood, he poured himself a large glass of iced cola and drank deeply.
Cold. Sharp. Perfect.
Even better than the drink was the feeling that came with it—the sense that everything, finally, was moving forward.
At seven in the evening, the family gathered around the dining table.
Tonight's spread was impressive: chicken, duck, fish, braised meat—seven main dishes and three sides, all neatly arranged. Most of it was takeout, ordered earlier by Mo Chen.
His parents worked long hours. Cooking this much wasn't realistic.
The only exception sat proudly in the center of the table: a large pot labeled, by Mo Chen's declaration alone, as highly nourishing soup.
His mother raised an eyebrow.
"Did you come into money?" she asked suspiciously, chopsticks never slowing. "You don't usually order this much food."
His father said nothing, focused entirely on eating.
Mo Chen smiled. "I'm heading off to university soon. Thought I'd treat you both."
His mother snorted. "With whose money?"
Mo Chen laughed.
He'd just finished his entrance exams and barely cleared the cutoff to get into Longstone University. Classes started in less than a week.
Standing up, he lifted the pot at the center of the table—the real reason for tonight's meal.
He shook it three times.
Then he removed the lid.
A rich, fragrant aroma filled the room instantly.
His mother paused.
"…What is that? It smells incredible."
She didn't wait for an answer, ladling herself a bowl. His father followed suit.
Mo Chen poured himself a bowl as well and sat down.
"This is called the Ten-Ingredient Tonic Soup," he said casually. "It's good for you."
What he didn't say was the setting he'd written earlier:
[Because Mo Chen shook the soup three times, all nutrients in the pot were fully integrated, turning it into a delicious tonic that eliminates illness and maximizes the body's resistance, with no side effects.]
That single line had cost him 2000 causality values.
Mo Chen suspected the word delicious was responsible for at least half of that cost.
After all, turning that disaster into something edible alone bordered on a miracle.
But it was worth it.
No price was too high for his parents' health.
His mother took a sip.
Then another.
"…This is really good," she said, surprised.
His father nodded silently and kept drinking.
Mo Chen smiled and lifted his own bowl.
Who would ever complain about being too healthy?