The holographic projection of the lower realms spun before Lin Mo’s eyes.
Millions of glowing purple chains crisscrossed the continents of mortal worlds, wrapping tightly around mining colonies, craft workshops, and merchant wharves. Each chain represented an indenture contract, locked into reality by the ancient legal codes of the Heavenly Plunder Bank.
Lin Mo looked at the data stream, his eyes cold and calm.
“Back when I was an intern in Jiangcheng,” Lin Mo said, his deadpan voice cutting through the quiet chamber, “my drafting manager withheld my salary of forty-eight hundred yuan. He claimed forty-two hundred was for wear and tear on company drafting rulers, and five hundred and fifty-one yuan and fifty cents was for unauthorized use of office fluorescent lighting. I walked out into the pouring rain with forty-eight yuan and fifty cents in my pocket—just enough to spend forty-eight yuan on two bowls of Grandma Chen’s wontons.”
Every abusive boss in history uses the same excuse: call theft a character-building exercise and bill the intern for the lightbulb.
Lin Mo shook his head, leaning his knuckles on the edge of the glass console.
“The manager told me that young people should focus on learning opportunities instead of being greedy about money,” Lin Mo continued. “He said suffering was a blessing that builds character. Meanwhile, he drove a brand-new German sedan bought with the overtime wages of eighteen exhausted interns. I had to eat plain instant noodles without the seasoning packet for two weeks. Middle managers who…
