The next day, Lin Yu got up early.
He shaved off the stubble he hadn’t bothered with for days, then dug out from the deepest corner of his closet the one cheap suit he’d worn at his graduation ceremony, now wrinkled and forlorn.
Facing the mirror, he tried his best to make himself look less like a failure who had just crawled out of a dumpster.
The young man staring back at him was thin and pale, his eyes holding one part desperate resolve and ninety-nine parts sleep deprivation.
‘…Forget it. This’ll do. If they really plan to harvest my kidneys, they won’t care about appearances anyway.’
Mocking himself, he squared his shoulders and set off.
The address on the interview notice was in Xin Hai City’s “Binhai Industrial New District.”
This was the city’s other side—not the glamorous, high-tech skyline of the [Celestial Dome Technology Park], but a sprawl of gray warehouses and factories.
The air reeked faintly of machine oil and sea breeze.
After over an hour on the bus, he finally located a nondescript eight-story building.
A sign on the exterior read: [Dawn Labor Services (Xin Hai) Co., Ltd.].
Next door, on a much larger and more imposing building, Lin Yu noticed the understated cloud-service logo of [Celestial Dome Group].
‘That conglomerate really has their hands in everything… even here?’
He muttered inwardly and stepped inside.
To his surprise, the lobby was bright and immaculate.
The receptionist, a sharply dressed woman with a professional smile, looked up when he gave his name.
Her expression froze instantly.
She bent over the holoscreen, fingers swiping back and forth, brows knitting tighter, her eyes filled with disbelief.
(That look…)
Lin Yu’s stomach sank.
“Mr… Lin?” the HR staffer asked tentatively, as if confirming his species.
“What’s wrong? Is there a problem?”
“Please wait a moment.”
She turned away, whispering with another colleague while stealing furtive glances at him.
When she returned, her smile was stiff, almost mechanical.
“Mr. Lin, we’ve confirmed your interview invitation. Process-wise, everything is legitimate. This invitation was indeed automatically generated and sent to you by [Celestial Dome Group]’s AI system, [Taiyi], after a big-data match.”
She paused, clearly uncomfortable.
“However… you may have noticed some of the keywords in our advertisements—‘young,’ ‘energetic.’ To be frank, your age and gender deviate drastically from the applicant profile our company has recruited for… well, forever. We strongly suspect this may have been an extremely low-probability error in [Taiyi]’s deeper algorithms.”
Lin Yu understood immediately.
Translated: The AI might be blind, but we’re not. Get lost.
‘Nima…’
He hadn’t spent his last cash just to be told, “Oops, the AI made a mistake.”
“Wait a second!” His voice trembled with indignation. “If the process is valid, if the invitation is real, you can’t just revoke my interview rights based on ‘suspicions’! That’s against the rules! Who’s going to cover my losses?”
“Losses?” The HR blinked.
“I spent fifteen yuan on the bus to get here!”
“Pfft…”
She nearly laughed out loud, quickly smothered it, then replied patiently,
“Mr. Lin, we are not revoking your qualification. It’s just that our hiring process is… unique. It includes both ‘interview’ and ‘functional assessment.’ In your case, you most likely wouldn’t pass the latter. We only wished to spare you unnecessary time and effort.”
“It’s not a waste! I’ve got plenty of time!” Lin Yu nearly shouted. “Since I’m already here, at least—”
“At least reimburse your bus fare? We can do that.”
Her polite, condescending smile said: Here’s fifteen yuan. Now leave.
That smug benevolence lit what remained of Lin Yu’s pride.
“At least let me finish the process!” he demanded. “Didn’t your ad say you offer a free comprehensive physical? I came all the way here, and you won’t even let me do a health check?! Come on—let me at least experience your company’s benefits! Kick me out after if I fail!”
The job might be hopeless, but a free checkup was a golden prize for someone who considered cold medicine a luxury.
The HR hesitated, clearly searching for a way to refuse—
A calm voice floated from an office.
“Xiao Zhang, let him in. Since he’s here, let him go through the process. The sooner we finish, the sooner he can leave, and we can get on with our schedule.”
A middle-aged man with gold-rimmed glasses and a gentle smile emerged.
(Manager?)
Lin Yu straightened nervously.
“I’m Manager Qian.”
His eyes swept over Lin Yu like a butcher glancing at a stale cut of meat—utterly disinterested.
“Wait in the conference room. You’ll be called in turn.”
In the waiting room, Lin Yu noticed something strange.
There were four or five other applicants.
All of them… were girls.
Most looked very young, still in school uniforms, as if they’d come straight from class.
(What kind of company only recruits little girls? Is this one of those mascot-suit flyer jobs? But if so, why such high pay?)
(Or… is it that kind of job? Crap, did I come to the wrong place?)
The interviews began.
One by one, the girls went in and came out quickly.
When it was his turn, he found the interviewer was Manager Qian himself.
The questions were absurdly simple.
“Why do you want to work here?”
“Are you willing to fight for the company to the end?”
“Would you be willing to have your ovaries removed for performance metrics—ah, not relevant to you.”
After a few perfunctory questions, Qian waved him off like a fly. “Alright, next door for functional testing.”
The test room was filled with gleaming medical instruments.
Lin Yu obediently followed instructions through procedures he couldn’t understand.
Manager Qian browsed the results lazily, already daydreaming about lunch.
Then the final metric appeared—
Subspace Psionic Affinity Index.
The number that flashed onscreen made his smile vanish.
【-0.001%】
Not a positive.
Not zero.
A negative number, infinitesimal but real.
(This… impossible. [Taiyi]’s subsystems don’t produce errors like this. A negative value… that means not just no rejection, but slight absorption of negative energy? Absolutely neutral? A perfect vessel, resistant to corruption?!)
Qian shot to his feet, eyes blazing with greed and awe.
(If this guy performs well, my promotion to director is in the bag…)
He had been preparing a polite dismissal.
But now—he tore up that script.
Bounding over, he grabbed Lin Yu’s hand with crushing force.
“Mr. Lin Yu! Congratulations! Your results are outstanding—no, flawless! You are the rare, once-in-a-century talent our company has been searching for!”
What followed was an endless stream of praise—grand visions of the company’s future, the sacred mission of the work, Lin Yu’s “legendary” natural gifts.
Dazed by the whiplash, Lin Yu barely noticed when a thick labor contract, ink still fresh, was thrust into his hands.
“Here, Mr. Lin. Sign this. Your second life begins today!”
The bold print—Probationary Salary: ¥20,000/month—blared like a megaphone in his skull, drowning his last shreds of reason.
Forcing himself to breathe, he skimmed the contract.
Special Talent Employment and Confidentiality Agreement.
The title alone sounded impressive.
Job Title: Special Disaster Advanced Response Protocol Executor, codename [Executor].
Job Duties:
– Respond to missions from the [Xin Hai City Emergency Management Bureau – Special Disaster Response Unit] and headquarters [Celestial Dome Group].
– Conduct “physical intervention and purification” of designated [Non-Form Energy Pollutants] and [High-Risk Human Targets].
– Maintain the [Persona Mask Protocol] during assignments for safety.
– Operate company-issued [Standard Psionic Armaments] and other necessary equipment.
…and a dozen more incomprehensible clauses.
‘What the hell is this? Agreements, purification… sounds like a high-end security guard for an eco-company. Still, the title Executor does sound cooler than “temp hire.”’
His eyes darted to the compensation section.
Probation: Three months. Salary: ¥20,000/month (pre-tax).
Benefits:
– Highest-level contributions to social insurance and housing fund.
– Free meals in the company cafeteria.
– Full set of work equipment, maintenance covered.
– Comprehensive accident insurance from [Ruikang Biomedical Group], coverage up to ¥10 million.
‘Meals included?! Ten million insurance?! I must be dreaming…’
His pulse quickened.
Every clause struck his broke-ass soul like a lightning bolt.
He was about to sign immediately—but reason tugged him toward the termination section.
Contract Term: Five years.
Clause 3.2 – Breach of Contract:
“…If Party B (the employee) unilaterally terminates or becomes unable to perform due to reasons such as unstable mental state, decline of cognitive barriers, or failure to pass quarterly evaluations, it shall constitute fundamental breach. Party B shall compensate Party A (the company) with a lump sum of ¥5,000,000.”
“Um… Manager Qian,” Lin Yu pointed at the glaring ‘¥5,000,000,’ his hand trembling, “this penalty…”
“Oh, that?”
Qian’s smile didn’t waver. He brushed it off as casually as the weather.
“Mr. Lin, training a talent like you is costly. You see here—activation of the [Persona Mask Protocol]. Do you know what that is? Top-tier biotech from [Celestial Dome]. A single calibration costs more than this entire floor. We invest in you, you invest in us. Heart for heart, future for future.”
He spun the words effortlessly, blurring “company costs” into “personal investment.”
“This clause only ensures stability—standard practice in high-tech industries, trust me. As long as you perform, it won’t affect you at all.”
Clapping Lin Yu’s shoulder, he leaned in conspiratorially.
“Honestly, Mr. Lin, that figure is also proof of your worth. Look at those girls outside. Their contracts don’t say five million. This is recognition of your one-in-a-century gift. It’s S-rank treatment.”
The flattery landed heavy—half halo, half peer pressure.
“And here,”
He pointed to another clause, struggling to suppress a grin.
“Clause 4.1. If an employee suffers permanent physiological alteration due to force majeure during duty, the company guarantees lifelong care. See? We cover even rare cases. Our benefits are comprehensive. What’s left to worry about?”
‘Permanent physiological alteration? What’s that supposed to mean, work might mutate me? Whatever. Lifetime care sounds decent enough.’
Lin Yu’s logic tried one last weak protest.
But the weight of five million pressed against visions of twenty thousand yuan a month.
He thought of his 2.35 yuan balance.
He thought of his landlord’s ultimatum.
He thought of his mother’s weary sighs over the phone.
‘To hell with it. Five million? Like I’d ever earn that in my life. If it kills me, fine—at least the ten million insurance payout will help my parents and sister.’
The last of his hesitation shattered.
“Alright! I’ll sign!”
He scrawled his name boldly, pressed his fingerprint.
Manager Qian’s smile widened into the satisfied grin of a hunter watching prey step neatly into the perfect trap.
Lin Yu, oblivious, only thought: From today, he could finally… pay rent on time!
(…Wait a second.)
“Oh, Manager Qian,” Lin Yu added sheepishly, flushing,
“Could I… get an advance on the first month’s salary? I… don’t have bus fare to get home. And the rent’s due.”