[Apocalypse + Cultivation + Office Worker Fiction + Anti-Hustle Culture + Client's Worst Nightmare + True Heretical Cultivator + No Saintly Hero + No Transmigration + No Cliches]
My name is Liu Bu. I'm an utterly ordinary UI designer. My daily routine consists of revising designs, taking the blame, and imagining photoshopping my boss into a pig.
Then one day, meteorites rained from the sky and zombies ran amok.
While everyone else was busy running for their lives and evolving, I received a “stable job for life” and was forced to switch careers and become a heretical cultivator.
Others awaken superpowers in the apocalypse: controlling fire, wielding lightning, or becoming impervious to harm.
What Liu Bu awakens is a herniated disc and an ancient remnant soul living in his head that sounds exactly like a client.
Remnant soul: “I shall pass on the supreme Dao and help you devour filth and defy fate.”
Liu Bu: “Does it come with social insurance and a housing fund? Do I get paid leave? Is there… a legal limit on overtime, I mean, cultivation hours?”
Remnant soul: “…I am your master!”
Liu Bu: “Sure thing, boss! Send the requirements document to my brain inbox.”
And so Liu Bu's apocalypse takes a sharp turn:
Others kill zombies to survive. He kills zombies to meet his daily filth-conversion KPI.
Others gather supplies to stay alive. He gathers supplies to hold “civilized, friendly business negotiations” with the various factions. After all, if you won't be civilized, I'll help you learn.
When he comes face-to-face with his former company boss, his inner monologue goes: “Should I refine him into a corpse puppet to run errands, or make him a doorman?”
When the authorities come calling and mistake him for “Director Liu,” he smoothly says, “Well, it's not that we're saying we won't handle your matter, but there isn't a single thing we've ever said we would definitely do this or that about…”
