Chapter Fifteen: Altering Time

“Are mountains really worth so little these days?” With a slight raise of his brow, Fang Zhuowei looked rather taken aback and walked in almost involuntarily.

“Hello, may I help you with something?” The person at the reception was a young man.

“I’d like to inquire about the price of a mountain,” Fang Zhuowei replied.

“That mainly depends on the size. Generally, to rent a mountain of about a hundred mu, it’s two thousand a year, with a minimum lease of twenty years. If you want to buy it outright, it’s sixty thousand,” the staff member explained.

Wucheng was mountainous, so the price of land wasn’t high. Moreover, if you paid in full, the ownership was lifelong.

“I want to buy the mountain behind my house. How much would that be?” Fang Zhuowei got straight to the point.

The number and variety of species he would create in the future would only increase, and he would need more and more space. A little fish tank simply wouldn’t suffice. Rather than scrambling for space later, it was better to plan ahead and be prepared; that could never be wrong.

“We’ll need our staff to come and measure the area. If you’re in a hurry, I can arrange for someone to come as a priority,” the staff member offered.

“That would be great, thank you!” Fang Zhuowei said.

“My pleasure. The surveyors should be there within three days and will contact you by phone. Just so you know, whether you end up buying or not, there’s a thousand yuan fee for the survey. If you do buy, it’ll be deducted from the total price.”

After taking Fang Zhuowei’s contact information and current address, the young man smiled and added, “We didn’t use to charge for this, but recently some people have been calling us out for surveys and then neither buying nor renting, so we had to implement this rule. I hope you understand.”

“I see,” Fang Zhuowei nodded, quite understanding of the policy. He’d encountered such situations more than once himself when he was in sales—every time it left him frustrated with nowhere to vent his anger!

After leaving the trading office, on his way back, Fang Zhuowei made a point to stop by the power company.

Although the old house could still get electricity, most of the circuits and wires were badly aged and often tripped the breaker, posing a significant safety risk. Since he rarely left home, he figured he might as well take care of everything at once while he was out.

After explaining the situation, the person in charge at the power company moved quickly, immediately assigning an electrician. The electrician was equally efficient, gathered his tools, and followed Fang Zhuowei home.

By the time everything was finished, it was already three or four in the afternoon.

Together with the wires, circuit breaker box, and repairs, Fang Zhuowei ended up spending just over five hundred yuan.

“Earning money is harder than climbing to heaven, but spending it goes as fast as running water. When will these two ever switch places?” Fang Zhuowei sighed to himself.

In less than a day, he’d spent nearly ten thousand yuan, and that didn’t even include the bigger sum he’d need for the mountain. If he added it all up, he’d be bleeding money.

“Who would have thought that one day, even a Creator would be troubled by money...” Fang Zhuowei chuckled at himself.

If this had been before, he would have been agonizing over such large expenses. But now, perhaps because he had become a Creator, he found that his state of mind had reached a new, tranquil level without him realizing it.

He felt almost like a Buddhist, free of desires—so much so that even if his income fell short or he suddenly became penniless, he wouldn’t be too perturbed.

“Is this Mr. Fang’s residence?”

Shortly after the electrician left, the deliverymen from the appliance store arrived.

After moving all the appliances into their designated places, Fang Zhuowei inspected everything carefully—they were all in perfect condition, without a scratch, and worked just fine. He paid off the remaining balance without hesitation.

The new refrigerator needed to be left charging for at least two hours before use, so Fang Zhuowei busied himself eating up the more perishable meat and vegetables.

He took down the old induction cooker that had served him for years, replaced it with the new one, and immediately set about heating oil in the pan.

It was already past five in the afternoon, the sun about to set—it was time to make dinner.

He quickly stir-fried two dishes and steamed a little rice, and finished his meal in no time.

The food wasn’t anything special, but since he’d cooked it himself, no matter how it tasted, he ate it with a smile.

After tidying up the dishes, Fang Zhuowei headed to the side room where the fish tank was kept.

To his surprise, after almost a whole day, the number of proto-apes hadn’t increased much—in fact, there were noticeably fewer.

After some observation, Fang Zhuowei finally identified the root of the problem.

It was the difference between day and night temperatures.

Although Wucheng was nestled among mountains and enjoyed a spring-like climate year-round, there was still some fluctuation between day and night temperatures. He might not feel it, but for these newly hatched little creatures—so delicate at this stage—it was as if they’d been plucked from the Sahara and thrown onto the Siberian Plateau, naked.

Moreover, these spore creatures, fused with golden monkey cells, were still far less resilient than the first generation of cricket spore creatures.

The first generation had survived and gradually adapted to temperature shifts that changed every five thousand years, but the proto-apes couldn’t manage it. Nearly half of their number was lost right away.

“This won’t do. At this rate, the whole group might die off before they can adapt to the temperature change,” Fang Zhuowei frowned deeply. He had high hopes for these proto-apes; watching them wiped out so senselessly was the last thing he wanted.

“If I increase the evolution multiplier, could that solve the problem?” Fang Zhuowei mused, raising his brow.

Currently, evolution in the fish tank world ran at ten thousand years for every day in the real world. If he increased this multiplier—say, extended one day to a hundred thousand years—each day or night would give the proto-apes a much longer developmental window.

“But then again, that would only be a temporary fix. When night came, the proto-apes would still have to face the cold, and for an even longer stretch. It might end up even harsher than now. If I could extend a day to a million years, that might work, but I can’t manage that yet—one hundred thousand is my current limit.”

He pursed his lips and dismissed the idea. It could be done, but it wouldn’t solve the issue at its root.

“But what if I just lengthen the daytime and shorten the nighttime?” he wondered, rubbing his brow as his eyes lit up.

“If I think about it this way, I could stretch the fish tank’s daytime to ninety thousand years and shrink the night to a hundred years. Five thousand years of extreme cold might be deadly, but a hundred years—maybe not...”

The more he thought about it, the more promising the idea seemed.