The result? Venerable masters from all over had started showing off their skills…by finding ways to use them to acquire even a few more applications.
“Hello?” Zhao Yunlan picked up the phone lazily, then sighed. “Aren’t you retired? Why are you worrying about this instead of organizing dances in the public square for middle-aged ladies?24 Who reached out to you to get an in? Uh…”
Daqing’s ears pricked up to listen in on the long, spirited lecture coming from the other end of the line. At first, Zhao Yunlan tried to interrupt and explain himself with “I didn’t! I really didn’t,” but to no avail. He gave up and leaned against the desk, bored. His gaze traveled from the ceiling all the way to Shen-laoshi’s clean, crisp sleeve. He was seriously starting to miss Shennong’s mortar—at least that stupid Mr. Bowl hadn’t fancied himself an orator.
This retired old comrade had recently been on the receiving end of many random visits. After discovering why, he was incensed. In the Year of Our Lord 2018, people would still go to all this trouble just to get more applications? What was the world coming to?
So here he was on the phone, giving Zhao Yunlan a thorough tongue-lashing.
Zhao Yunlan responded in the flat monotone of someone reciting scriptures. “Yes, I know… You’re right… No, I’m not trying to use the situation for my own benefit. I really do have limited resources. If too many people apply, we won’t be able to get to all of them… No, my morals haven’t been corroded—we haven’t had any acid rain in Dragon City… No, I don’t spend all day being a smart aleck. I spend some time every day facing the wall in earnest self-reflection! Prevention is the best cure, really… If you don’t believe me, ask Shen Wei!”
Someone knocked on his office door three times, and then Lin Jing, holding a calendar, poked his head in. He bowed to Shen Wei before saying, “Thank you, Shen-laoshi. Boss, it’s the Dragon Boat Festival tomorrow. On behalf of all our colleagues, I’m here to ask if we’re getting anything for the holiday.”
Zhao Yunlan, with his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder, had zero patience left. He pointed to the door. “Everyone’s getting a notice on how to have a morally honest and frugal holiday. Out!”
Representative Lin was chased away, tail drooping.
He had barely left when Zhu Hong knocked and came in. “Thank you, Shen-laoshi. Bureau Chief Zhao, my fourth uncle asked me to invite you to dinner. A few yao tribe elders all want to pay you a visit.” She sighed. “I’m just the messenger. I know they’re really annoying. If you don’t want to go, then don’t. Don’t feel obliged on my account.”
Zhao Yunlan was close enough to Zhu Hong that he could turn her down without worrying about fake pleasantries, but the yao were family to Kunlun. He couldn’t blatantly disrespect the yao elders. Zhao Yunlan could only give her a resigned wave.
Turning around, Zhu Hong nearly ran into Chu Shuzhi, who looked like he was in a hurry. He barely had time to nod at her. “Be careful,” he told her, then added, “We’ve got a problem, lao-Zhao. Someone’s messing with the application forms.”
Shen Wei, who’d been engrossed in messing around with his phone, looked up. “What’s wrong?”
When it came to the Special Investigations Bureau, Shen Wei never spoke up unless someone asked for his input. But this time, he took an interest because he’d been the one who helped make a kind of “watermark” on the applications. The Soul-Executing Emissary hadn’t watched over the Great Seal for over five thousand years for nothing. He’d witnessed the rise and fall of all different tribes and clans and knew their ways. He himself was essentially a walking, talking archive of lost techniques… But since no one dared ask to buy the intellectual property from him, the “archive” was still very low on funds.
“There are still ten days left before the deadline,” Chu Shuzhi said, “but we’ve already received more applications than we sent out—oh, right. Thank you, Shen-laoshi.”
Shen Wei’s brows knit together.
“Gather them all together. I want to take a look.” Zhao Yunlan put down his phone and walked over. “Hey, by the way, what kind of secret code is ‘Thank you, Shen-laoshi’? Why is everyone saying that when they come in?”
“Uh…” said Shen Wei.
“For the red envelopes he just sent us, of course,” Chu Shuzhi said. “Our bonus for the Dragon Boat Festival, right?”
Zhao Yunlan grabbed Shen Wei’s phone to find that, in the time he’d been wrapped up on a call, Shen Wei-tongxue had mastered the technique of mobile payments and diligently done some after-class practice. He’d been going down his contacts list and sending each person in the Special Investigations Bureau a red envelope.
It wasn’t the kind where you sent it into the group chat for everyone to fight over—Zhao-laoshi hadn’t reached that lesson yet. No, Shen Wei had sent each one individually, and had only made it halfway through his contacts before running out of money.
His Shen-laoshi viewed cash the same way he viewed in-game currency—and not even the kind you had to buy, but the kind the game gave you for free to start.
When Zhao Yunlan said nothing, Shen Wei gave him a quizzical look.
“It’s fineeeee.” Zhao Yunlan dragged the word out for one entire kilometer. Then, standing one kilometer away, he sent back a pained smile across the distance. “If you run out of money, I’ll transfer you some more. Go on, finish sending the red envelopes. Ah…ha ha ha. You sure are a quick learner.”
And so, everyone received a holiday bonus for that year’s Dragon Boat Festival, sponsored by an anonymous Mr. Zhao. The Heavens themselves would’ve been moved by the gesture.
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