When there’s a KPI on the line, who cares about ghosts?
I found a starving old man who’d passed out beneath a pedestrian overpass. He insisted he was the heir to the current generation of Heavenly Masters.
To repay me for one meal, he forced a book into my hands: Five Years of Ghost Hunting, Three Years of Practice Exams.
Then one night, while I was working late at the office, the new intern girl suddenly floated up to the ceiling and started typing.
I quietly opened the textbook to page 38:
“How to send off a wronged workplace spirit worked to death by overwork?”
