dy, he let out a gentle "Ah~~". Even plain boiled water could be enjoyed with the subtlety of top-grade tea.

The girl opposite moved her head from behind her screen and whispered, "Wanna grab lunch?"

Glancing at the monitor, Tao Ci saw it was eleven-thirty. For most office workers, it seemed a bit early, but not for the old hands. Eating half an hour early meant half an hour more rest, and this precious, quiet golden period was when Tao Ci indulged in reading novels.

Reading novels was one of Tao Ci's hobbies, a relic of the loser era. Initially, he enjoyed reading fantasy novels involving time travel and cultivation, as such novels frequently topped charts.

There was no particular reason for starting with such novels, only that he didn't want to waste time on uninteresting ones, so he lazily followed popular opinion that good novels were those well-received.

These novels often featured protagonists who traveled to new worlds, discovered the ability to cultivate, and painstakingly strove for growth. Some gathered a harem, while others ended up alone. Ultimately, they all stood at the pinnacle of cultivation.

Cultivation novels have a distinctive Chinese flavor, whereas novels about pure training are often either a mix of East and West or purely Western.

After reading a lot, it became boring, so Tao Ci began exploring other genres. Again, following the principle that popular opinion was genuine, he read through the top books of various genres — horror, tomb robbing, history, alternate histories, romance, healing, and so on.

However, a side effect of excessive reading was developing a keen critical eye, making ordinary works unappealing, as the charm of top-charting books was evident.

Gradually, his reading preferences solidified; when bored, he'd read fantasy or horror, and when in a good mood, he'd turn to historical or healing novels that required more patience.

After lunch, Tao Ci sank into that chair, feeling that the chair was the only hardware in the company that satisfied him, as the toilets were always occupied and the paint smell was often strong.

People trickled back to the office, rested for a bit, and prepared for a nap. At this time, Tao Ci usually had just entered his reading state, wholly absorbed by the plot of the paperback in his hands.

Time trickled by, and the office quickly became very quiet, quiet enough to hear only breathing. Tao Ci's lunchtime nap depended on the plot's excitement and whether he had eaten too much.

On this day, as Tao Ci read, he set the book aside, leaned his neck back, and felt the U-shaped pillow pressing against the chair back. The soft contact transmitted from the back of his neck, and Tao Ci contentedly relaxed, following the distant call of sleep and falling into a deep slumber.

Chapter Tw

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