Volume One, Chapter 14: My Onimaru Has Never Been Defeated

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This put Ye Cheng in an awkward spot, his face blank with speechlessness. “Brother, is that really necessary?”

Little Hu beside him sneered with delight, “Brother Cheng, you used to say my mom cried, now your brother is crying too.”

Ye Cheng gave him a playful smack and handed him a piece of duck. “Here, eat your share.”

“Cheng, don’t hit Little Hu. I’m just emotional, lost a bit of control,” Ye Guowei said happily, wiping away his tears.

“Brother, seriously, you get this excited just from going out to eat with you. Next time, if I take you for a spin in a sports car and we stay in a big villa, can you handle that?” Ye Cheng teased.

“Nonsense. Who can afford sports cars and villas? You better save up and find a wife—that’s far more important,” Ye Guowei chided him affectionately.

Sigh, alright. This big brother of mine, his mindset is definitely from the same era as our father’s.

“Enough, let’s eat. Fatty’s duck stew is really good.”

People from the south mostly love duck. They’d just herd ducks into ponds or rivers, no need to feed them much.

Duck meat is firm and tastes better than chicken.

Around Donghai City, the common dish is braised duck—chopped into pieces and cooked with ginger, giving off an especially delicious aroma.

Fatty’s chef is skilled; the kidney and pork intestines are also well-prepared—these two are favorites among men, perfect for snacking while drinking.

Especially the pork intestines, Ye Cheng’s favorite, whether dry-fried or spicy stir-fried, he loved them all.

The three of them ordered four dishes. Drinking alone wouldn’t be enough, but with two bowls of rice, it was plenty.

Ye Guowei ate contentedly. “Eating out really is better.”

Ye Cheng smiled, “Of course. Otherwise, how would Fatty make a living?”

“Alright, I have to get back to work. You two, Little Hu and you, go back to the village early. Don’t wander around outside.”

After seeing off Ye Guowei, Ye Cheng originally planned to buy a few things and head back, but Little Hu stopped him, pointing to a dim little door by the street.

“Brother, wanna play some arcade games?”

By 2002, computer games were already booming, especially Counter-Strike, which was extremely popular—the undisputed king of internet cafes.

But internet cafes were just starting to spread then, charging 2 or even 3 yuan an hour—a considerable expense.

The arcade halls Little Hu mentioned were much cheaper—one yuan for two tokens, and if you played well, you could last a long time.

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However, ever since internet cafes emerged, arcade halls declined, and fewer people came.

Ye Cheng hadn’t played for many years; hearing Little Hu’s suggestion made his fingers itch. The feel of holding a joystick in the left hand and pressing buttons with the right, the memory of losing to the boss in Three Kingdoms while snacking on buns—it was all a distant nostalgia.

“Alright, let’s go, play a few rounds,” Ye Cheng rubbed his hands and led the way inside.

Familiar electronic sounds, the clatter of buttons—it awakened something deep within Ye Cheng’s blood.

“Brother, they say that mahjong machine over there is fun and you can even make money. Should we try it?” Little Hu eagerly pointed to a few machines in the corner.

“Make money my foot!” Ye Cheng smacked him. “I’m telling you, absolutely no playing that. Playing games is fine, but don’t touch that.”

Those machines were different from regular arcade machines. They were single-player, didn’t require coins, and the owner controlled the scoring.

Most dangerously—and most attractively—after playing, you could cash out real money.

When they first appeared, these novel gambling-like machines quickly swept through arcades. Countless youngsters rushed in with money, eager to prove themselves and make some cash.

They always thought losing meant their skills were lacking, but as a reincarnated man, Ye Cheng knew better: it was all probability.

It wasn’t that nobody made money; it was just very rare.

And once you kept playing, winning was nearly impossible.

If the owner was unscrupulous, the odds could be less than 50%, and the machines were highly addictive.

Little Hu scratched his head, looking wronged. “Fine, fine, no playing. Stop hitting me on the head.”

“Let’s play ‘Samurai Spirits’ instead, a versus match,” Ye Cheng suggested.

“Sure! My Haohmaru has never lost,” Little Hu boasted.

Versus fighting games were always arcade staples—from the early days of Street Fighter to now Samurai Spirits and King of Fighters. Countless youngsters practiced endlessly just to land a big move, since real matches were expensive.

“Okay, I’ll pick Ukyo Tachibana.”

“Ha, brother, you pick Ukyo? You even play well with him?” Little Hu scoffed, choosing the long-haired Haohmaru.

Right from the start, Ye Cheng launched a jumping slash, then a quick draw move that stunned Little Hu.

Before Little Hu could react, Ye Cheng followed with a slicing apple move and a combo that knocked him out.

“Damn, brother, you’re like a different person! You used to be such a noob,” Little Hu yelled, frustrated. The combos were so fast he didn’t even have time to respond.

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Ye Cheng smiled but said nothing. That was the original player’s skill; back in the day, his Ukyo Tachibana was a real ace.

In the second round, Little Hu started with a whirlwind attack, then swung a heavy sword aiming for a big hit—but Ye Cheng saw through it, countering with a low slash and a quick draw, sending him down again.

Watching his character’s health bar fade, Little Hu angrily inserted another coin. This time, he switched to Jubei Yagyu, his favorite fierce type.

Half an hour later, Little Hu was enraged. “Brother, are you on something? You’re too fierce! I’m done, I quit.”

“Hahaha, I’m telling you, in this lifetime, you basically can’t beat me.”

“Pfft, you’re just in good form today. We’ll have a rematch next time.”

“No matter when, you’ll always lose. Don’t worry. Let’s go, come with me to buy some stuff before we head back.”

Ye Cheng and Little Hu went to the store to buy a quilt, bed sheets, pillows, and a bunch of toiletries.

“Brother, why are you buying this stuff? Don’t you already have them?”

“They’re too dirty; I want a new set.”

In his previous life, Ye Cheng wasn’t exactly a diligent kid—he’d wear dirty socks for days before washing them—but the original owner was just filthy.

Damn, the quilt had a lot of saliva stains. If he had to sleep on it again tonight, he wouldn’t stand it.

The towels were greasy too.

Little Hu bought some daily necessities as well, then rode his bike back to the village.

Back home, after dropping Little Hu off, Ye Cheng said, “Take a shower, change clothes, and come help me clean up later.”

“Huh? Clean? Brother, please skip me on that. I hate cleaning the most,” Little Hu made a sour face.

Young people nowadays were all like that—casual, messy, and careless about hygiene.

But Ye Cheng couldn’t stand it. As someone who had been reborn, he just couldn’t tolerate such filth.