Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

Was he...hit?

Li Guofu was terrified, his hands instinctively groping wildly at his body—his face, head, chest…

Unscathed.

My skin is perfectly fine, without any pain or itching, and not even a trace of redness.

Just as he was filled with doubt and surprise, Li Guofu suddenly felt a familiar tingling sensation on the outside of his left forearm.

Looking down...

A dark-colored, thin-legged mosquito landed steadily on his skin, its abdomen slightly swollen, its proboscis ready to pierce.

Damn it, even you're bullying me!

Just as the mosquito was about to have its fill, or rather, just as Li Guofu was about to raise his hand to swat it—

"Snapped!"

An extremely tiny spark of electricity exploded.

The mosquito trembled twice, was instantly destroyed from the inside, and drifted off Li Guofu's arm.

Li Guofu froze, then suddenly raised his hand to look at his arm.

Apart from a few small black marks left by mosquitoes, there was nothing on my skin.

What... what's going on?!

He looked up sharply.

The room was empty.

There are no young people to be seen anywhere.

43 My Uncle

Wang Hai walked to the table and picked up the instant noodles he had deliberately only eaten half of the night before.

The noodles had already become somewhat deformed from soaking. Wang Hai carefully poured the cooled, oily soup into the sink. Then, he picked up the hotel's chipped electric kettle, boiled some water, poured it back into the noodle bowl, and stirred it with a fork to dissolve the remaining seasonings.

This is his breakfast.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Wang Hai ate in small bites, his eyes occasionally glancing at the phone with a cracked screen on the bedside table.

The time jumped to 8:15.

He had actually woken up before dawn, tossing and turning, his mind a jumble of thoughts: uncertainty about the provincial capital, apprehension about his future job, and, more than anything, complex expectations for the kind older brother and his nephew who "worked in the provincial government."

But he didn't rush out.

This is something I just learned in the last two weeks—those companies that have signs saying they start work at eight o'clock, but if you actually stand at the door at eight o'clock sharp, most of the people inside are still leisurely cleaning their workstations, making tea, or eating breakfast they brought from home, from a stall, or from the cafeteria.

If you go at that time, people won't be in the right mood; they'll easily furrow their brows and become impatient.

It's best to wait until nine o'clock, or even ten o'clock or later, when everything is settled and the atmosphere is relaxed, before going in.

This is what experience is. It's nothing to be proud of. It's just a few survival tips that you're forced to remember after countless times of waiting, hitting walls, and having to read other people's faces. It's also a bruise that is gently bumped by reality on the road of life. It's not fatal, but it's always there and it always hurts.

After finishing the last bite of the noodles, which had almost no flavor left, Wang Hai also drank the soup clean.

Afterwards, Wang Hai carefully put the thin plastic fork, the crumpled seasoning bag, and the empty instant noodle bowl into the plastic bag that originally contained the bowl, tied a knot, and gently placed it into the trash can in the corner.

After doing all this, Wang Hai patted his old jacket, tidied his hair, took a deep breath, and prepared to go out.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Who?"

"it's me."

Wang Hai quickly went over and unlocked the door.

Sure enough, the person standing outside the door was the kind man who had brought him back from the station steps last night.

The older brother was still wearing that dark-colored shirt and pants, which were quite damp, and his shoes were covered in dust. I wonder how many orders he had made that morning.

But there was no sign of fatigue on his face; his eyes were bright and clear, like the clear bluestone slabs washed by rain.

The eldest brother had the same smile on his lips as last night. He stood there with an upright posture and even breathing, looking even more energetic than when he left last night.

"Getting ready to go out?" The kind man asked with a smile as he glanced at the neatly arranged clothes.

"Yes," Wang Hai nodded, feeling both grateful and a little embarrassed. "I was just about to go to... that place you mentioned yesterday to ask your relative about the situation. Brother, did you come so early for something?"

"Yes, just in time." The good brother nodded, reached into his pocket, took out an envelope, and handed it to Wang Hai.

Inside the envelope was a stack of banknotes.

The bright red 100-yuan note looks brand new.

Wang Hai was stunned, not quite understanding for a moment: "What...what is this?"

"Your salary."

"My...my salary?!" Wang Hai suddenly looked up, his eyes wide open.

So fast?! We were just talking about it last night!

"Yes, they take it very seriously and we had to work overtime."

Did I...work overtime?

Wang Hai was completely dumbfounded.

When it comes to this aspect, Wang Hai's "experience" is completely blank.

He couldn't even imagine what kind of "overtime" could, overnight, cross the city and "extract" the wages he had almost given up hope of from that mean-spirited boss, Mr. Wu.

He awkwardly took the envelope, his fingers touching the rough edges of the paper, feeling a sense of unreality, completely unsure of what to say in this situation.

Seeing his dazed expression, the older brother smiled again, said nothing more, and turned away.

"Please wait!" Wang Hai finally snapped out of his shock and hurriedly called out.

He hurriedly turned the envelope upside down, pulled out a few banknotes, and handed them over with both hands, saying, "Brother, here's your room fee... back to you."

“Okay,” the good brother naturally took the two bills, casually put them in his pocket, and turned back around. “Good luck.”

After saying that, he didn't linger and his figure quickly disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

……

The Labor Service Dispatch Office is located in the eastern part of the city.

Wang Hai consulted the map on his phone and the note, took two buses, and walked for about ten minutes before finally finding his destination in a somewhat old neighborhood.

The building in front of us is not tall, only five stories high, with old-fashioned off-white ceramic tiles on the exterior walls, many of which have turned yellow or developed cracks.

The dark green window frames were peeling and some of the glass looked foggy and uncleaned.

In front of the building, there is a small cement open space with a few blurry parking lines marked on it, where several old and worn-out official vehicles are parked.

Above the building entrance hangs a vertical sign with white background and black lettering: "Ja City East District Labor Dispatch and Dispatch Office," in neat Song typeface, conveying a serious and official tone.

Overall, the government office is not large, and even a bit inconspicuous, bearing the weariness of time.

Wang Hai walked towards the gatekeeper.

It was a small glass booth, inside which sat a middle-aged man in a security guard uniform. He was staring at a newspaper, but his attention was completely elsewhere; he seemed rather absent-minded.

“Hello,” Wang Hai said respectfully as he approached the window, “Excuse me, I’m here to see Zhao Fangtou…” He glanced down at the note to confirm, “General Affairs Office, Zhao Dezhu, Deputy Section Chief Zhao.”

"Deputy Chief Zhao?" The security guard looked up, seemingly quite surprised, and carefully examined Wang Hai.

Not understanding what was going on, the security guard pondered for a while, then raised his hand without asking a single question and pointed to a separate staircase on the left side of the office building: "Over there, third floor, the third office."

Wang Hai thanked him, turned around, and after taking a few steps, a somewhat muffled and hesitant voice came from behind him: "We might have to hurry, or we might not be able to see anyone."

Can't find them anywhere?

Wang Hai thanked him again, took out his phone and checked the time; it was only 9:30.

It's during the time when I'm at work and running errands, how come I can't find anyone?

Could it be... that you worked overtime last night because of me and are planning to go home to rest?

……

On the third floor, the third office at the far end of the corridor, which the security guard had just pointed out, has the words "Supervisory Office" engraved on the door.

This is where the head of the Labor Service Dispatch Office stayed.

When Zhao Dezhu pushed the door open, he found that there was more than just the supervisor inside.

Two colleagues were sitting on the sofa against the wall.

One of them was Xiao Chen from the inspection office. He was in his early thirties, with a buzz cut and a stocky build. His arms stretched the sleeves of his uniform a little too tight.

The other one is Xiao Li from the General Office. She is younger and looks more refined, but her forearms, which are clearly defined when she rolls up her sleeves, indicate that she is a regular at the gym.

These two men and Zhao Dezhu were only casual acquaintances. They occasionally crossed paths at work, mostly through official documents.

They even had a minor disagreement a while ago because of the division of responsibilities and resource allocation for a cross-departmental collaborative project, and their nods to each other were somewhat awkward.

"Is it really necessary?" Zhao Dezhu felt a bitter self-mockery rising in his heart.

The fact that the supervisor called these two people over to "keep him company" was quite clear—it served as both a witness and a form of invisible "care."

With himself in such a state, practically scared to death, what trouble could he possibly cause in the government office? You really think too highly of me, Old Zhao.

With slightly unsteady steps, Zhao Dezhu walked to the large mahogany desk.

The supervisor—a man in his fifties with meticulously combed hair and a serious face—looked up at him from behind his reading glasses, his gaze complex.

Zhao Dezhu didn't say anything, but simply took out two printed A4 sheets from the file bag in his hand, gently placed them on the table, and pushed them over with his fingertips.

The paper contained a "Resignation Application" and a "Statement of Circumstances and Commitment".

“Old Zhao,” the supervisor didn’t immediately reach for the two pages of paper. Instead, he took off his reading glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sighed, and said with a formulaic regret in his voice, “Are you really sure? Won’t you reconsider? You… sigh, the court has nurtured you for so many years, it hasn’t been easy.”

"Sigh," Zhao Dezhu also let out a long sigh, his voice dry, revealing exhaustion and resignation, "What can we do?"

He raised his eyes, which were sunken and filled with spiderweb-like red blood vessels. His eyes were cloudy, a testament to the sleepless night and the torment of fear.

What can we do?

Everything that happened in that office yesterday played repeatedly in his mind like the most vivid nightmare.

Like a puppet on a string, I spilled everything—what I should have said, what I shouldn't have said, and even some trivial but non-compliant practices from my early work that I had almost forgotten.

And it was all photographed.

Although the self-examination revealed no major problems that warranted criminal charges, at most some minor issues such as lax work style, procedural flaws, and taking advantage of information gaps and official positions to do favors.

Although he had been absent-minded since returning home yesterday afternoon, and had practically glued to his phone and TV, scrolling through every local news channel, social media platform, and short video app until his eyes were almost blind, he still hadn't noticed that his "spectacular performance" had been broadcast...

However, given the monster's incredible abilities and the popularity of the "petty bureaucrats speaking the truth" theme, Zhao Dezhu knew with his toes that once his petty affair was uploaded, it was only a matter of time before it became a "typical" topic of discussion throughout the city and even the province.

The only difference is whether it's tonight, tomorrow, or next week.

By then, public opinion will have taken hold, and censors will have intervened. It will definitely not be like it is now, where one can simply walk into the supervisory office with two applications and "voluntarily resign" to get away with it.

That would mean investigation, notification, punishment, or even worse.

Leaving now, at least, allows me to retain some semblance of dignity in ending my own life.

"Then... I'll sign it?" The supervisor put his glasses back on, picked up the two pages, and looked at them carefully again—mainly to see if the clauses in the "Letter of Commitment" regarding "voluntarily resigning, acknowledging shortcomings in past work, promising not to make any statements in his capacity as an employee of this unit, and fulfilling the obligation to keep confidential any work information he learns" were rigorous.

His tone was hesitant, but deep in his eyes, there was clearly another consideration.

"Thank you for your trouble, Supervisor." Zhao Dezhu sighed deeply again, his back seemingly hunched over even more.

He felt a bitter taste in his mouth, but even more bitterness in his heart.

What a tragedy! What an undeserved disaster! How could I have been so blinded by greed? How could I have been so impulsive?

Now look what's happened; decades of carefulness have all gone down the drain.

The secure job within the system is gone; the expected half-grade promotion has vanished; even the decent retirement pension that I was almost able to earn based on seniority... is probably out of reach now, and I'll be grateful if it's converted to the minimum standard.

Brush brush.

Without saying anything more, the supervisor picked up a pen, neatly signed his name in the "Supervisor's Opinion" section of the "Resignation Application," took out the company seal from the drawer, dipped it in ink, and solemnly stamped it on.

The red seal was bright and glaring.

Next is the "unit witness stamp" on the "Letter of Commitment".