"I'm the Holy Son of the Hehuan Sect, surrounded by three thousand immortals. Why should I go back to bitter cultivation and ascend?"
"Because your performance review is the worst next month. The sect is implementing elimination of the lowest performers, and all the immortals surrounding you will be reassigned to shovel manure in the spirit fields next week."
"What the hell? Are you even human?!"
After transmigrating into the celestial bureaucracy, Shen Qianshan became the lowest-ranking "toilet-wiping specialist" in the myriad worlds.
Above him were corrupt celestial officials who passed the buck and subcontracted everything down the line. Below him were troublesome misfits who'd been sent the wrong opportunities and refused to leave.
The Myriad Worlds Bureau had one ironclad rule: no overwhelming high-dimensional force!
Shen Qianshan rolled up his sleeves with a cold laugh. "A fistfight? That's beneath me! I spent ten years grinding away on Blue Star. You think I can't handle you?"
But this Hehuan Sect assignment was no easy job. He was just a manure-shoveling lackey, with neither power nor influence. He had to use the Holy Son's name to meet his KPIs, and invoke the sect's old rules to eliminate the lowest performers.
Worse still, the Holy Son who was "having too much fun to leave" was Jiang Bieli. By day, he played the fool in the arms of three thousand immortals, but at night, he left half a steamed bun by the Sword-Washing Pool for a mute girl.
As Shen Qianshan dangled the promise of ascension before him, he did the math in his head: after this job, would he have enough to buy Xiao Qi a bottle of Soul-Renewing Spirit-Nourishing Elixir?
His short-legged, orange tabby partner, an arrogant puffball perched on his shoulder, rolled its eyes every day. "Shen Qianshan, doesn't your conscience hurt?"
Shen Qianshan: "Conscience? A working man's dictionary only has one thing in it: getting off work on time!"
