What followed was a farce, rapidly concluding with the city management officers arriving to apologize, Zhang Xingming backing down like a coward, and the Shengshi Dynasty emerging as the decisive victor.

Zhang Xingming’s meticulously planned string of schemes, having barely taken its first tentative step, crumbled under Wang Zhuo’s fierce counterattack. It was like a novice player fresh out of the starting village recklessly assaulting the final raid boss, only to be instantly dropped to critical health by the reflected damage from the boss’s mere armor, forcing him to resurrect back in town.

His move, a classic case of shooting himself in the foot, was the very embodiment of an ant attempting to shake a tree—a monumental display of overestimating his own strength.

Christmas concluded amidst the clamor, and the Shengshi Dynasty’s sales figures saw a significant uptick, though they still paled in comparison to their counterparts on Nanjing Road. The only consolation was that at least they were no longer hemorrhaging money; the entire month of December nearly broke even.

Next up were the New Year’s Day holidays, followed by various examinations. Wang Zhuo once again deployed his X-ray Vision ability, copying answers liberally during the final cultural exams. After all, no one really knew the true depth of his knowledge, and achieving high scores wouldn't appear as jarringly sudden as scoring first in the entire grade during a high school quiz. This was the perfect opportunity to solidify his image as an academic star.

The first semester of university life was over just like that. Reviewing it, Wang Zhuo realized the total time he’d spent in class was pitifully small; his absence rate was undoubtedly the highest in the entire freshman cohort.

However, this was nowhere reflected on the attendance sheets. In classes requiring roll call, his status was marked as occasionally absent but generally good. In courses where the professors were fond of random checks, he was rarely absent, sometimes even maintaining perfect attendance. This was due to a three-pronged strategy: first, he observed basic courtesies; second, the university’s high-level administration had made inquiries on his behalf; and third, he received strong support from classmates like Geng Bin. Between these three factors, Student Zhuo, the absentee king, had transformed into a model student who arrived on time every day.

One could easily imagine the profile that would emerge when his first-semester records were compiled: Class monitor, student union officer, excellent grades across the board, outstanding ability, perfect attendance, stellar reviews... truly the model freshman, an exemplary figure for everyone to emulate.

Amidst the swirling snowflakes, students began departing for home one by one. Sun Donghao, Cheng Gang, and the chubby Jinchengyou boarded northbound trains and were gone. Gan Lin and his mother were picked up by his father.

In the blink of an eye, Wang Zhuo found his surroundings significantly quieter. Fortunately, Qi Fei, Guan Yingying, and Qiu Lu were still around.

The Emerald Watermelon project was already showing initial success. The first watermelon had just entered the polishing stage, while the second and third were still undergoing intricate carving. The designs for the fourth, fifth, and subsequent ones were complete, awaiting only the execution; finishing them was merely a matter of time.

Every time Wang Zhuo looked at these green-skinned, black-striped creations, he saw stacks and piles of cash—RMB, USD, GBP, Euros, Zimbabwean gold bars.

Qin Jingzhong had made a special trip to the Police Reconnaissance Company twice, staying over for a full day on his second visit, specifically for these emerald watermelons. He meticulously recalled and analyzed the old eunuch’s description of Empress Dowager Cixi’s emerald watermelons and relayed the details to Wang Zhuo and the others, which proved immensely helpful in crafting their own.

Legend had it that Empress Dowager Cixi’s watermelons were so translucent they could faintly reveal the red pulp inside. Wang Zhuo’s current jade material didn't possess that specific effect. However, in terms of visual likeness and spirit, Wang Zhuo’s emerald watermelons were virtually indistinguishable from the real thing—in this regard, Cixi’s melons couldn't hold a candle to them.

This distinction would undoubtedly become a focal point for debate among the media, industry experts, and collectors in the future. But everyone was brimming with confidence because neither photographs nor even a single portrait of Empress Dowager Cixi’s two jade watermelons had ever been left behind. Thus, the moment this batch was unveiled, it would send shockwaves across the nation, and their value would certainly not be insignificant.

On January 10th, Wang Zhuo was alone at home, staring intently at a messy pile of objects scattered across the living room floor.

These items included Chinese and Western patent medicines, various stones, several bottles of [Redacted] [Note: Retaining original placeholder as requested], and common household items like keys, spoons, and spatulas that certainly shouldn't have been heaped on the floor.

He was, in fact, using his X-ray Vision to analyze the structure and composition of various objects, comparing the results in an attempt to push the deeper capabilities of his sight.

The idea was both audacious and novel. As soon as it struck him, he acted with restless urgency, spending several days on it, even overdrawing his energy twice, which necessitated two long, late mornings catching up on sleep.

And surprisingly, he had indeed stumbled onto the right path. He could now determine the contents of various liquids inside their containers—whether it was alcohol, saline solution, acid, or gasoline—with a single, clear glance.

He even managed to analyze the composition of Yunnan Baiyao with about eighty or ninety percent accuracy. The only part he couldn't decipher was some of the trace elements that underwent deep processing. Whether these trace elements were critical components of Yunnan Baiyao would require clinical practice to determine; the immediate results were inconclusive. If the trace elements proved beneficial, he would continue the analysis to uncover their exact nature and origin. If they were useless or detrimental, Wang Zhuo was already capable of reverse-engineering Yunnan Baiyao or creating something even better.

Viagra? That was likely beyond his reach for now. On one hand, its manufacturing process was complex; on the other, many raw materials used were unfamiliar to Wang Zhuo, unlike the purely traditional Chinese components of Yunnan Baiyao. Therefore, Wang Zhuo predicted he wouldn't be able to crack its formula for quite some time.

As for things like Indian aphrodisiac oils or Spanish Cantharides powder, Wang Zhuo scorned analyzing them. Besides, did anyone truly believe that one could purchase authentic versions of those substances in domestic sexual wellness stores? Wang Zhuo certainly didn't.

In comparison, the molecular structure of metals was easier to analyze than pharmaceuticals, although determining the precise ratios in alloys required a bit more effort. Aluminum-magnesium alloys, copper-iron alloys, titanium-steel alloys—Wang Zhuo could analyze them precisely within two minutes.

Of course, analyzing the trace metals within those alloys would take considerably more time. Wang Zhuo was currently unsure if this capability could be monetized. For instance, if there were no effective domestic methods for deciphering high-end foreign metals, then this unique skill could prove to be another massive source of wealth.

So, despite the junk littering his living room floor, to the eyes of "Wang the Know-it-All," it was all a glittering vein of treasure.

Just as he spotted botulinum toxin in a bottle of honey—a substance his supervisor had mentioned in a lecture—his phone rang.

He picked it up to see it was Guan Yingying calling: "Wang Zhuo, are you planning to squat in Jiangzhou and not come home for the holiday?"

Wang Zhuo chuckled, "Sister Yingying, you know my father is the only one left back home, and he’s enjoying himself in Jiangzhou. What fun would it be for me to go home alone?"

Guan Yingying was amused. She asked playfully, "Well, if you're not going home, am I allowed to conscript labor?"

"Go ahead and conscript, just let me know what you need," Wang Zhuo replied casually.

"Heh, you said it yourself," Guan Yingying continued. "Remember those donations we made over the summer? A county that received funds called the other day, saying the money has been successfully allocated. They invited us to visit anytime to supervise and inspect, to offer guidance as guests."

"That’s great news!" Wang Zhuo cleared his throat happily. "You’re looking for me to be the driver, right?"

Guan Yingying burst out laughing. "Not exactly the driver—plus the journey is too far. I was hoping you could act as our bodyguard since that area is supposedly quite underdeveloped."

Where exactly did the money go that required a bodyguard escort to visit? Wang Zhuo managed a wry smile. "It’s too complicated for the phone. Let’s discuss it when we meet. Where are you?"

An hour later, Wang Zhuo arrived at a café beneath the "Penzizi" Tower and met Qi Fei and Guan Yingying, who were returning from shopping.

Although the Twin Towers had been bombed by the terrorist tycoon Bin Laden, that was America's problem; China wasn't afraid of that—skyscrapers continued to rise unimpeded. Penzizi was one of them.

Working in Penzizi was a source of immense pride, so much so that even petty street thieves who snatched wallets felt a sense of shared glory for having a respectable job.

Through the café's large plate-glass windows, the wide street outside was a constant stream of beautiful women passing by. Unfortunately, he already had two right next to him at the table, so if he kept craning his neck to look out, his feet under the table were guaranteed to suffer the consequences.

The matter wasn't complicated. The recipient was a small county located at the junction of the Yunnan, Guizhou, and Guangxi provinces (Dian-Qian-Gui). Guan Yingying had handled the logistics. In their personal capacities, Wang Zhuo, Qiu Lu, Qi Fei, and she had jointly funded sixty thousand yuan for the construction of three village primary schools in that county.

Dian-Qian-Gui—the abbreviation for Yunnan, Guizhou, and Guangxi. When these three provinces were mentioned together, Wang Zhuo’s mind automatically conjured associations of ethnic minorities, simplicity, poverty, tourism, backwardness, remoteness, and local customs.

These impressions were partial and incomplete, failing to reflect the region's true state while also carrying a degree of inherent bias. But this didn't stop Wang Zhuo from liking the area; otherwise, he wouldn't have so readily contributed a massive fifteen thousand yuan during the donation—that amount was equivalent to the value of the old ancestral home he had lived in for over a decade.

"If we drive, we definitely won't make it back before the New Year, and the local transportation is reportedly very poor; even the local government leaders advised us not to drive there."

"If we fly, it would be much easier. There are several New Year tourism flights currently running from Jiangzhou to that region, covering all three provinces. Booking tickets shouldn't be difficult; we just need to contact a travel agency."

"The two of us are somewhat hesitant to go alone. If you came along, it would solve everything."

"Qiu Lu actually wanted to come too, but the watermelons aren't ripe yet—how could he leave? Hehe."

"I heard that place called Taoyuan Village has hot springs, and the climate is very special. It's about to be the time when early peaches start blooming. Wang Zhuo, just imagine: barbecuing and soaking in hot springs amidst mountains lush with peach blossoms—how fantastic would that be?"

Qi Fei and Guan Yingying exchanged endless chatter, and it took Wang Zhuo a good while to interject a single sentence: "Then what are we waiting for, older sisters? Hurry up and book the tickets!"

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