"Come on in. And don't drag any outside viruses in with you."

  Daoist Singularity turned and walked into the small shop beneath the sign reading "Everything You Ask For." John hesitated for a moment before following him inside.

  The moment he stepped over the threshold, the damp, bone-chilling cold and the sense of hopelessness from the street were instantly walled off. The air inside was dry and warm, carrying a faint scent of ozone—like high-end electronic components running at full capacity.

  The shop was small but packed to the rafters.

  The shelves on the left were cluttered with antiques John couldn't quite name: copper coin swords, geomantic compasses, Bagua mirrors, and something that looked like a headset made from the skull of an unknown creature.

  The wall on the right was plastered with colorful talismans. But upon closer inspection, the red ink didn't form traditional cloud patterns; instead, they traced complex circuit diagrams and logic gate symbols.

  And in the center, facing the entrance, was a shrine. But it didn't house any god John recognized.

  There were two clay statues that looked somewhat aged.

  The one on the left wore a suit of -angular, heavy dark green armor and held a double-barreled shotgun. His face was blurred, but the killing intent radiating from him was palpable. One of his boots was planted firmly on the severed head of a hideous demon.

  The one on the right looked like a transcendent Daoist sage, wind-swept and bone-dry, but in his hand, he held a glowing brick (or perhaps a tablet?), and his eyes held the shrewd gleam of someone calculating the universe's variables.

  Above the shrine hung a couplet:

  Right: Physical Salvation Purges Demonic Obstacles

  Left: Data Cultivation Saves the Common Masses

  Horizontal Scroll: East Meets West

  John stared at the green-armored war god. For some reason, a strange sense of familiarity welled up in his chest, as if he had seen this figure in some distant nightmare.

  "That’s the 'Grand Marshal of Demon Purging.'"

  Daoist Singularity’s voice broke John’s trance. He walked behind the counter, pulled a crumpled contract from a drawer, and slapped it onto the table with a pap.

  "Stop staring. That was the old partner of the previous... er... Technical Director. A hard man. Very hard."

  Singularity adjusted his sunglasses and pointed at the contract. "Come. Let's talk business."

  John withdrew his gaze and approached the counter.

  "This is a... labor contract?" He looked at the parchment filled with dense blocks of tiny text, hesitating.

  "It’s not just a labor contract; it’s a 'Soul Binding Protocol.'" Singularity pulled a Montblanc fountain pen (the nib flickering with blue spiritual light) from somewhere and handed it to John. "Simply put: You work for me, I give you money. And it is... life-saving money."

  John didn't take the pen. He looked at this eccentric man warily.

  "Why pick me? I’ve been expelled. I have no license. I can't even stand the sight of blood."

  "Because you're cheap."

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Singularity answered with righteous confidence, bordering on matter-of-factness. "A registered Necromancer charges five hundred credits an hour, plus full benefits and weekends off. I’m running a small business here; how could I afford that?"

  He pointed at John’s pale face.

  "Besides, as I said, I value your 'Hemophobia.'"

  "Huh?" John felt like the old man was mocking him. "Hemophobia is a strength?"

  "Of course." Singularity leaned forward, his eyes narrowing behind the black lenses. "Ordinary Necromancers just shout about killing and slaughtering whenever they see a ghost. Flesh flies everywhere, baleful energy shoots through the roof. It’s bad for the environment and invites tickets from the Guild."

  "But you are different. You’re afraid of blood, so you’ll think of other ways. You’ll communicate. You’ll use your brain. You’ll look for a 'peaceful resolution.'"

  Singularity tapped his knuckle on the contract.

  "The Underworld’s policy has changed. We don't encourage violent enforcement anymore; we promote 'Harmonious Salvation.' We need an agent like you... hmm... a gentle agent."

  "Gentle?" John smiled bitterly. "I call that being a coward."

  "Call it what you want." Singularity shrugged. "Anyway, this is currently your only chance to earn fifty thousand credits."

  The number hit John’s weak point again.

  "You mean... this job pays fifty thousand?" John’s voice trembled slightly.

  "Not this single gig." Singularity shook his head. "But this is just the start. As soon as you sign, I’ll advance you a 'Startup Fund.' It’s not much, but exactly enough to buy one shot of high-purity Inhibitor."

  That meant his mother could live for another month.

  One month was enough time for him to fight like hell to earn the rest.

  John looked at the parchment. The clauses were incredibly complex, filled with terms like "Soul Mortgage," "Karmic Joint Liability," and "Final Interpretation Rights Belong to the Underworld."

  It was a slave contract.

  Before today, John would never have signed such a thing.

  But now, he had no choice.

  "What's the interest rate?" John asked.

  "Not high." Singularity gave a sly grin, revealing his true merchant colors. "Just... your next incarnation."

  John sneered internally. He couldn't even survive this life; who cared about the next one?

  He snatched the fountain pen.

  The moment the nib touched the parchment, John felt a sharp prick at his fingertip, as if a drop of blood had been sucked out.

  In the signature box, he heavily wrote his name:

  As the final stroke landed, the parchment burst into flame, transforming into a stream of golden light that drilled into the center of John’s forehead.

  Instead, there was a strange sensation of... connection. As if his brain had just logged into an invisible, massive network.

  "Welcome aboard, wage slave."

  Singularity wiped the smile off his face, pulled something wrapped in black cloth from under the counter, and tossed it to John.

  "This is the company-issued starter gear. Don't break it; the deposit is very expensive."

  John caught it and pulled off the cloth.

  It was a tablet computer.

  But this was definitely not a mass-produced model. The casing was made of black basalt, the back was carved with a complex Bagua array, and several yellow paper talismans were taped to the edges of the screen.

  When John’s finger touched the screen, it lit up automatically.

  The boot animation wasn't an apple or a robot, but a rotating Tai Chi symbol, followed by a loading bar:

  [Heavenly Dao System v3.0 Booting...]

  [Connecting to Underworld LAN...]

  [Identity Verified: Trainee Agent 9527]

  "What... is this?" John was dumbfounded.

  "The Yin-Yang iPad." Singularity put his sunglasses back on and crossed his legs. "It can check copies of the Book of Life and Death, locate ghost coordinates, take orders online, and exchange Merit Points. Oh, right—it also comes pre-installed with the 'Underworld Connect' app. If you meet a vicious ghost you can't handle, you can use the 'One-Click Shake' to call for backup."

  "Correct. Summoning backup." Singularity pointed at the green-armored statue on the shrine. "Although that Lord isn't in the service area right now, we still have plenty of... retired staff re-hired on contract."

  "Alright, enough chatter."

  Singularity tapped a few times on his own tablet.

  The tablet in John’s hand let out a crisp notification sound.

  [New Order Dispatched]

  [Task Type: Paranormal Dispute Mediation]

  [Location: District 13, Baker’s Bakery]

  [Description: Owner complains the oven is haunted, bread tastes sour.]

  [Reward: 500 Credits + 10 Merit Points (Advance payment received)]

  John looked at the blinking red dot on the screen, then touched the heavy draft bill that had suddenly appeared in his pocket.

  Even if it was blood money. Even if the interest was his next life.

  He finally... had a job.

  "Go get 'em, Pikachu." Singularity waved his hand dismissively. "Remember: No blood. Be elegant."

  John took a deep breath and tucked the heavy "Yin-Yang iPad" into his jacket.

  He turned, pushed open the shop door, and walked back into the boundless rainy night.

  This time, his steps weren't heavy.

  Because he knew that beneath this cold, steel jungle, there was a place where even the dead had to listen to reason.

  And he was the one who would do the reasoning.

  [Message from Singularity]

  VIP Suite for you over on the Patreon Server. We are opening New Rooms (Chapters) for FREE daily. Even better? Select Chapters feature HD Illustrations for the full immersive experience.

  ?? [Enter the VIP Suite]