After graduating with a degree in sociology, I passed the civil service exam for the most obscure position imaginable: mediator at the Bureau of Mountains and Seas.
My coworkers aren’t human: my partner is an immortal crane who wants to retire early, the office next door is occupied by a depressed nine-tailed fox, and the cafeteria lady’s true form is a Qingluan.
My day-to-day work includes planning routes for Fuzhu that won’t cause flooding, helping Hun Dun beasts replace their “faceless” ID cards, stopping Bifang birds from practicing their fire-breathing in the city, and calculating workplace injury compensation for divine beasts.
I thought this was a cushy divine job, until I secretly adopted an injured Fei Fei, a divine beast that produces beautiful dreams.
The bureau chief slammed the table. “The one you’re holding is the only living witness to the string of ‘Blissful Coma Syndrome’ cases!”
My partner sneered. “Kid, you smell like a traitor who stabbed divine beasts in the back a thousand years ago.”
A mysterious text appeared: “Want to save the other divine beasts? Tomorrow at ten p.m. Come alone. Don’t bring your crane.”
Now, my left hand holds the pleas for help of endangered divine beasts, while my right is bound by the iron laws of maintaining order in the human world.
And my sociology notes can barely keep up with the truth about this world.
