After working myself to death at my 996 job, I woke up as a penniless seventh-rank county magistrate.
The county treasury was so empty you could race horses through it. The constables were owed back pay and ready to rebel, my secretary was preparing to flee, and the neighboring county was waiting to laugh at us.
Subordinates refusing to fall in line? Bring on the KPIs.
A budget deficit? Raise funds.
Unspoken rules of officialdom? Crush them with the power of modern PR.
I made a solemn pledge: within three months, I’d increase the county’s revenue tenfold.
The entire yamen thought I was crazy.
Until
The neighboring magistrate broke down under my performance reviews;
I investigated the prefect’s shady accounts so thoroughly there wasn’t a scrap left to hide;
And the heir apparent, who held the court in his grip as regent, sent me an investment proposal.
He looked at me with a meaningful smile.
“Magistrate Shen, I’ll be your backing. On one condition, ”
“I’ll be the one evaluating your KPIs.”
