Yu didn't sleep that night.
Who could sleep after time-traveling 25 years and getting a personal second shot at greatness?
His mind was racing, buzzing like a server room full of untapped ideas. While other eighteen-year-olds were worrying about exams, Yu was calculating startup capital, product launches, and who in this timeline could be trusted.
Step one: Get some cash.
He had knowledge. He had ambition.But what he didn't have… was money.
At least, not yet.
He needed his first bucket of gold.
And lucky for him, he remembered a perfect opportunity.
In late April 2000, a little-known state-run lottery app would launch its first online test system. It wasn't meant for public use, but for some reason—likely bad coding and a rushed rollout—someone leaked the test portal online.
Yu remembered reading about it on a forum in 2022. Some anonymous user claimed they accidentally discovered a bug that allowed people to place duplicate tickets without paying again. For three days, anyone who knew about it could multiply their chances infinitely.
The original post got deleted. Most thought it was fake.
But Yu knew better.
It was real. And it worked.
72 hours. That's all he needed.
The next morning, Yu put on his cleanest T-shirt, found an old phone card worth 30 RMB, and made his way to the Black Eagle Internet Café.
Just stepping through the door brought back memories. The stale air. The buzzing CRT monitors. The sounds of "Counter-Strike" and QQ chat notifications.
He sat at Terminal 17, the one by the window. It had the best mouse and a working CD drive—luxuries in this era.
The owner, Uncle Wang, barely glanced at him. "You've got one hour."
"Two," Yu said, placing the phone card on the counter with a grin.
"Big spender, huh?"
Yu smirked.
Just wait.
He logged in and searched keywords he remembered:
"China online lottery April 2000"
"gov.cn test site"
"early sports lottery system"
After twenty minutes of deep searching and digging through dull bulletin board posts, he found it.
A link on an obscure forum called "NetPassers"—an early geek hangout.
[TEST] China Sports Lottery Digital Simulation Portal – Internal Use Only
He clicked.
The page loaded. Ugly UI, red and gray. Pure Y2K energy.
He registered a fake account.
The rules were simple: Pick numbers. Place bets. Win if the numbers hit.
He placed his first bet: 2 RMB.
It showed "Submitted."
Then he hit refresh.
Same ticket. Still submitted. No deduction.
Yu leaned back, smiling.
There it is. The glitch.
Over the next two hours, Yu carefully duplicated thousands of combinations using the same credit balance. He printed screenshots. Saved results. Calculated odds.
He didn't need to win the jackpot. Even getting third-tier prizes repeatedly would yield thousands.
And all he had to do was repeat it for the next three days, on as many machines as possible.
Easy money.
His first fortune.
The startup fund for his empire.
But Yu wasn't done.
As he left the café, walking under the bright afternoon sun, something shifted in his chest.
It wasn't just about money anymore.
He had power now—knowledge the world wasn't ready for.
And for the first time in two lives, he didn't feel small.
He passed a flyer board.
There it was again.
"Youth Talent Show – Sign-Ups Close Tomorrow!"
Yu paused.
Behind every empire, there's always a symbol. A product. A story. A star.
Maybe this time, it would be her.
He tore off a copy of the flyer, folded it, and tucked it in his pocket.
"Let's see what fate does with two of us playing out of time."