She's a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist's Halo-Chapter 84

In the martial arts world, there are often catchy rhymes that spread widely, though no one knows where they originate.

When Yan saw the message from Chu Bingbing, these phrases instantly came to mind:

"Poor folks play with cars, the rich play with watches. Fishing ruins three generations, photography destroys a lifetime."

Of course, the cost of fishing and photography pales in comparison to cars and luxury watches.

If possible, taking Chu Bingbing on a shopping spree at Lu Chen's dimensional convenience store would undoubtedly be high-end consumption.

Unfortunately, the dimensional convenience store is far too mysterious. If Chu Bingbing stumbled upon it herself, that would be one thing—but Yan and Zhu Jue had already visited once this month, even exploiting a time glitch to cram for exams. Based on the patterns they'd observed, they wouldn’t be able to enter again until next month, and even then, the timing was unpredictable.

Though Yan and Zhu Jue didn’t come from wealthy families, they’d encountered plenty of affluent people in their lives.

Among their peers were childhood prodigies like Tan Dabao and Tan Xiaobao, whose assets had multiplied over the years—these two were self-made tycoons.

Then there were their high school classmates, each one extraordinarily wealthy.

After all, Yan and Zhu Jue attended the top-ranked private high school in the capital city of Ningcheng. Unlike them, who were admitted as top academic recruits, their classmates all came from either money or privilege.

While regular schools in China only had winter and summer breaks, their private high school also had spring and autumn vacations, complete with international study trips. There were also club activities, classmates’ coming-of-age ceremonies, birthday parties…

So, whether it was garages filled with luxury cars, rainbow-colored sports cars, or models ranging from Lotus to Lamborghini, Bugatti, and Rolls-Royce—Yan and Zhu Jue might not own any, but they’d seen them all.

In a private high school, some flaunted their wealth, while others kept a low profile—especially since they were still minors, treating their family’s resources as their own personal capital.

Yan had once visited a classmate’s home and seen an entire room dedicated to ultra-luxury rare leather handbags—one cabinet for Chanel, another for Dior, and half the room dominated by Hermès. At the time, she’d thought the collection was even more extensive than a boutique’s, with every color, style, and even vintage pieces—it was practically a handbag museum.

She’d also been invited by a male classmate to see his father’s watch collection: Patek Philippe on the top shelf, Vacheron Constantin’s private "Cabinotiers" series on the second, followed by Richard Mille’s RM line. As for Audemars Piguet and Jaeger-LeCoultre? Those were relegated to the lower shelves. And the so-called "must-have" Rolex for the wealthy? Bottom-tier.

So, when it came to spending large sums of money, Yan’s first thought was buying watches.

A custom Cabinotiers piece could cost tens of millions, and at auction, Patek Philippe could fetch hundreds of millions. Was there anything more extravagant than watch collecting?

Of course, this was the domain of the average wealthy. Some had more eccentric tastes—like a high school friend whose family was in construction. Raised around excavators and cranes, their whole family’s bizarre hobby was collecting heavy machinery from different brands and models.

[Yan]: Big-ticket personal spending? That pretty much means buying property, cars, or watches. But cars and watches usually require pre-orders.

Spending money might seem simple, but sometimes it’s surprisingly difficult.

Especially in upwardly mobile circles, where netizens love debating which families are "new money" and which are "old money," always ranking them by prestige.

And luxury brands, to maintain their exclusivity and heritage, don’t just let you walk in and buy whatever you want—even if you have the cash.

[Chu Bingbing]: ! Exactly. The waiting lists are insane.

After getting the "Tycoon System," she finally had money and confidence—only to realize that shopping at these luxury stores came with its own hierarchy.

VIP, SVIP, VIC—each spending tier silently divided people into distinct classes.

Some customers got cold shoulders from sales associates, while others were greeted at the door by the entire staff, ushered straight into private lounges with petits fours and tea, the SAs’ faces never betraying a hint of impatience.

Private brand showcases required a certain spending history to attend. Exclusive dinners and curated exhibitions? Only a fixed number of invites per region.

At first, Chu Bingbing had gone on a spending spree with the mentality of someone suddenly rich. She draped herself in designer labels—even her socks cost 3,000 yuan a pair.

After all, it wasn’t her own money. "Eat, drink, and be merry"—when she wore outfits worth six figures or more, she felt a newfound confidence.

As if she’d transformed. No longer the bookworm who buried herself in studies, the girl people only remembered as "the studious one."

Now, the price of a single toner from her skincare routine could’ve covered months of her living expenses back in school.

A life like this was something she’d never dared to imagine.

Since elementary school, she’d lived under her uncle’s roof, her aunt constantly calling her "deadweight." If she dared take an extra bite of meat at dinner, her aunt’s glare would freeze her chopsticks mid-air.

She shared a cramped room with her cousin, sleeping on a rickety bunk bed. She’d lie perfectly still, afraid even the slightest creak would annoy her cousin, who’d pound the bed frame and summon her aunt’s scolding—always veiled, always cutting.

"Because we took in Chu Bingbing, the Chu family line will die out."

A fortune-teller had claimed her aunt was destined for a son and a daughter, but raising someone else’s child had "occupied the children’s palace," robbing her of a son.

In middle school, she’d only had to cover miscellaneous fees. By high school, her tuition was waived, her homeroom teacher securing subsidies so her meals and dorm were nearly free. The cafeteria food wasn’t great, but at least she could fill up on meat and veggies. On weekends, when she didn’t return to her uncle’s, classmates’ parents and teachers would bring her food to supplement her diet.

It was only in high school, surrounded by kind teachers and classmates, that her personality began to brighten. Before that, her uncle would say, "You couldn’t squeeze a word out of her with three strikes. What’s the point of studying? Can books make you rich? Your mother studied too—went all the way to college and still ended up too stupid to know who her own man was."

Chu Bingbing used to fantasize about the day she’d make it big, stack a pile of pink RMB bills in front of her uncle and aunt, then walk away without a backward glance.

Wasn’t it just money? She’d give it to them, then watch them weep and grovel when they realized she’d succeeded beyond their reach.

That was the most "face-slapping" revenge she could imagine back then.

But after getting the Tycoon System post-college entrance exams, she didn’t do it.

Her uncle and aunt had thrown a graduation banquet in her name, pocketing all the cash gifts. Meanwhile, Chu Bingbing received a 50,000-yuan scholarship from the local education bureau—Pingcheng wasn’t wealthy, but any student admitted to Ning University or Bin University earned a reward. Her high school teachers, aware of her family situation, had also given her 10,000 yuan.

All this money had been deposited into her own account by her teacher, and taking advantage of this opportunity, Chu Bingbing bought new clothes, prepared the paperwork to transfer her household registration, packed her meager belongings into a suitcase, and hopped between her classmates' homes under the guise of attending their college acceptance celebrations.

She was the top scorer in Pingcheng—no one would refuse to host the valedictorian.

After attending the celebrations of her close classmates, Chu Bingbing decided to take her first solo short trip to another city, partly to avoid the relentless tutoring offers and requests for "valedictorian study guides."

Then, out of nowhere, she activated a "Tycoon System."

Though this damn system would deduct her lifespan if she failed to complete tasks, Chu Bingbing suddenly felt an unshakable confidence.

A confidence to completely sever ties with her past.

She was no longer that quiet, impoverished girl who had to rely on others.

With the Tycoon System, Chu Bingbing traveled to several major cities, shopping whenever she needed to spend money, and gradually learned many new things.

During the three-month break after the college entrance exams, she had the system for two of those months—enough time for a complete transformation.

From a plain-faced high school graduate in faded uniforms to a young lady decked out in six-figure outfits, the change was staggering to anyone who knew her.

At first, she overdid it, but she slowly found her preferred style, learning how to coordinate her makeup and outfits harmoniously.

For the first time, she could consider what she truly liked—clothes not bought for their practicality, affordability, or stain resistance, suitcases not chosen just because they were cheap, and a major not selected solely for its "prestige and job prospects."

Still, Chu Bingbing didn’t switch her major after starting college. For one, freshmen couldn’t transfer in the first semester. And two, with her limited life experience, she hadn’t figured out her true passions or dreams yet.

Besides, now that she had the Tycoon System and all this money—especially the rebates flooding her bank account—studying finance to manage her assets and ensure steady growth seemed perfectly reasonable, didn’t it?

Once in college, Chu Bingbing rarely mentioned her hometown, let alone her past.

She instinctively sealed it all away, avoiding and distancing herself from the less-than-pleasant memories.

But today, while tipping a livestreamer, she clicked on one host’s profile and discovered that the retired teacher running literacy lessons with a small blackboard was from Pingcheng.

With the Lunar New Year approaching, seeing that "Pingcheng" IP address left Chu Bingbing unusually quiet throughout breakfast.

Setting aside the bad memories, she had also received much kindness in her hometown.

Money, to her now, was just a number.

Her fascination with high-end luxury goods had faded; brands that demanded reservations and exclusivity no longer held much appeal.

At her core, Chu Bingbing believed she was still an ordinary person, easily satisfied.

Even with wealth, she didn’t know how to splurge extravagantly—she still caught herself being frugal, always calculating for maximum benefit.

With a 50-million spending quota, she could easily order yachts, watches, or luxury cars. But what was the point of owning a yacht or a mansion all by herself? Just to sit there alone?

Only after experiencing it did Chu Bingbing realize how lonely the wealthy could truly be.

[Chu Bingbing]: Hmm. What about things besides cars, houses, or watches? Like, I want to spend money purely for consumption—no investing, no donations.

She knew her message sounded absurd, but it was the damn system’s requirement.

No donations, no investments, no property purchases—the most obvious ways to spend big were instantly off the table.

As someone without much exposure, still stuck in the mindset of buying luxury goods to meet spending quotas, she lacked the perspective of those truly in this wealth bracket.

Instead of tipping away 50 million daily and creating dozens of famous streamers, Chu Bingbing wondered if there was a better way—something that could benefit more people.

[Chu Bingbing]: Since it’s the New Year, why not spend some money to spread the festive joy?

She added another message.

On the other end, Yan replied quickly.

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[Yan]: Got it, more or less.

Chu Bingbing appreciated this about Yan—when she randomly brought up wanting to spend money, Yan didn’t question it. He just focused on the topic at hand.

[Yan]: Feeling generous and wanting to spread holiday cheer, huh? What’s the budget? The more people, the better?

[Yan]: If you just want to buy things without keeping them for yourself, and it’s about doing good without donating, how about buying medical supplies? I have a classmate in a medical group. Back in high school, the school board pooled funds to donate AEDs and medical equipment. We’ve also procured artificial hearts, cochlear implants, and bio-mechanical devices—easy channels, direct connections.

[Yan]: For a grand celebration, another classmate’s parents were so thrilled about his college results that they organized fireworks displays in every city where their company had branches, rented billboards for his birthday, and let the whole city join in.

[Yan]: ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‍Or, take inspiration from a friend’s company party—they rented out Ningcheng Amusement Park for free entry, two hours for 2,000 people cost about four million.

Chu Bingbing’s eyes brightened as she read Yan’s messages.

He had basically handed her Plans A, B, and C! She’d never have thought of these ways to spend money on her own.

And with all these "classmates" and "friends," Yan was clearly well-connected.

Before she could even mention her budget, Yan sent another message.

[Yan]: If you really don’t know what to buy, check out XCMG. One of my friends dreams of collecting XCMG’s "big figurines." Sadly, he only managed to get five excavators and loaders before his family shipped them off to construction sites. QAQ

Yan sounded genuinely regretful as he typed, "Jue, when do you think Brother Bao can get those diggers back?"

Back when they were all learning to operate excavators and loaders at Brother Bao’s place, they’d had a blast—way more fun than driving cars.

Brother Bao called them the real-life "Our World" squad, digging and shoveling like crazy. They’d even gotten licensed, but then they got caught, all the machinery was confiscated, and they hadn’t played since.

"Only Brother Bao can save us now," Zhu Jue muttered.

"Brother Bao’s on a winter project down south. He’s practically a shadow now."

The two reminisced about their construction-themed adventures. Meanwhile, Chu Bingbing finished reading the messages.

XCMG? It sounded familiar. She quickly searched it up—what was it?

Then, staring at the search result—"XCMG 2600-ton wheeled crane, only 100 million!"—Chu Bingbing fell into deep thought.

Her horizons had just expanded.

But… Yan called these "big figurines"? And his friend collected five of them? This "friend" is definitely you, isn’t it?!

Truly, when it comes to spending money creatively, Yan’s the expert.

Buying excavators, forklifts, and cranes as collectible toys? Now that’s what you call next-level awesome!

Is this the real world of the ultra-wealthy? Forget glass-display figurines—these folks collect the real deal!

Fifty million won’t even cover half the cost of a single crane!

A hobby like this is truly beyond the imagination of ordinary people…