Other people's golden fingers make them stronger the harder they work. Wang Chen's golden finger makes him land more orders the more he slacks off. By day, he's the person at the company who's least able to refuse: the work lands on his desk, and so does the blame. By night, he's the fried-rice stall owner at the Textile City crossroads: one wok of egg fried rice, eight yuan, open until half past ten. But when the System chimes, it never brings a reward, only a death sentence:
[Slacking-off points maxed out.]
[Customers generated.]
He wants to close up.
As if he's that lucky.
