Chapter 51: Comrades in Arms
A Major Chapter.
Before the banquet began, the department head, Zhao Peng, introduced Song Yue to each person. He already knew the Rainbow Punk, Lü Xiaohong, and also recognized Fang Ming, who appeared a bit frail, perhaps due to frequent nightlife. Zhu Jia went without saying; seated opposite Song Yue was a young man in his early twenties, brash and arrogant—Sun Zeping. There was also Wu Dongshan, in his forties, with graying temples; He Guanghui, about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with delicate features; and Leng Ruijun, a young woman in her early twenties, plain in appearance but with strikingly bright eyes. When she was introduced, she smiled gently at Song Yue.
She was, among the group, the most amiable.
Additionally, there were two equally proud young men, both around twenty-eight or twenty-nine, named Meng Hong and Meng Gang—cousins.
Including Song Yue, there were eleven people at the table.
Zhao Peng said, “A few are out on field duty and couldn’t make it back in time. I’ll introduce you to them individually when they return.”
Throughout, Zhao Peng treated Song Yue with warmth, always wearing a kindly smile. Ironically, this made some others even less pleased with Song Yue.
A small newcomer, brought in through connections, who dared to hold his head high.
If this were an official institution, even with dissatisfaction, few would openly show it. But this was the Bureau of Anomalous Affairs—a place where merit was all that mattered. There were ranks, but almost no one cared.
Song Yue enjoyed the meal thoroughly.
There was fighting to be done soon; one had to eat well first.
Even battles in virtual space required one’s spirit and energy to be up to par.
The others hardly ate or drank. Several were silently plotting how to leave Song Yue with an unforgettable memory in the virtual battle.
Among them, Sun Zeping was probably the most contemptuous of Song Yue.
He had been a prodigy, but grew up in poverty. Deep down, he harbored a natural hostility toward the wealthy. Although he was now well-off, he still looked down on those born into riches.
In his eyes, Song Yue, a young martial artist who had achieved grandmaster status so early, must have come from a wealthy family. Otherwise, how could he be a grandmaster at this age?
Someone purely built up with money had slipped into the prestigious Bureau of Anomalous Affairs. Worse, the boss valued him highly, treatment that had previously been reserved for Sun Zeping alone!
Zhao Peng maintained his amiable smile, even praising Song Yue several times during the meal.
Song Yue, unfazed by challenge, sensed that Old Zhao was stirring the pot. Though the praise was truthful, it sounded excessive to outsiders—almost intentionally provocative.
Provocative? Maybe that was because Sun Zeping and the others were a bit rowdy themselves.
Song Yue guessed.
He was brimming with confidence.
The banquet ended quickly; the group departed, some driving, some walking, and returned to the Bureau.
Led by Zhao Peng, they took the elevator deep underground.
Song Yue discovered that, beneath the unremarkable building, there was a vast base!
He even saw several spacecraft and mechs, products of alien technology!
Few men could resist such things; Song Yue gazed at the sleek mechs, swallowing hard, and asked Zhu Jia, “Can I learn to pilot those?”
Zhu Jia glanced at him, “You're interested in mechs too?”
Song Yue nodded.
Zhu Jia chuckled, “I'll let you experience it someday!”
Song Yue’s face paled, recalling her wild temper on a motorcycle—it might be better if he drove himself.
Zhu Jia explained, “These require mental control, strong spiritual power. You might not be suited. If you just want to experience it, I’ll take you for a spin.”
Song Yue refused, “I think I can handle it myself!”
Zhu Jia looked at him coolly, “You don’t trust me?”
Song Yue shook his head, “Not at all!”
Zhu Jia grinned, “The silver mech on the left costs about five hundred million, the black one on the right is a bit cheaper, over four hundred million, and the white one—that’s the most impressive. It’s equipped with the top-tier particle cannon, can blast Foundation-level beings like children. That one’s nine hundred and fifty million!”
Song Yue was stunned.
Zhu Jia added, “Piloting a mech requires mental control. A careless mistake can cost you—break a part and half a year’s salary is gone!”
Song Yue was skeptical, “A combat mech breaks from a tumble?”
Zhu Jia was serious, “Absolutely!”
Leng Ruijun, walking beside them, glanced at Zhu Jia and said to Song Yue, “Don’t let her scare you. It’s simple; ten minutes and you’ll be up to speed. The material is special—falls won’t damage it much. Even if you crash through a building, it’ll just get surface scratches; a polish will fix it.”
Zhu Jia protested, “Are you stealing my business, Little Leng?”
Leng Ruijun replied dryly, “You’re so desperate to find a partner, you’d even take a kid?”
Zhu Jia snorted, “Mind your own business!”
Song Yue shivered, feeling helpless.
The group proceeded to the depths of the base, entering a special sealed chamber, where twenty large, life-pod-like units were arranged neatly.
“Looks like a coffin shop…” Song Yue muttered.
Everyone glared at him.
Zhao Peng had Zhu Jia escort Song Yue into pod number 26.
“Lie inside and it’ll feel even more like one!” Zhu Jia whispered, opening pod 26. “I agree, actually.”
Song Yue: “…”
The virtual pod was simple; Zhu Jia taught him once and he remembered.
Seeing the hatch close, Zhu Jia couldn't help telling those not yet inside, “He’s very smart—not some brainless martial brute. Watch out, don’t let him upset your plans.”
Fang Ming joked, “You care so much—planning to rob the cradle?”
Zhu Jia deadpanned, “You’re the real old cow.”
Zhao Peng quietly entered his pod.
Everyone exchanged glances, laughing. The boss was the oldest in the department. Rumor had it he was over a hundred, but no one knew for sure.
Once Song Yue activated the pod, he felt like he was lucid dreaming—appearing in a strange space.
He checked his hands and feet; everything was real. Moving his fingers felt nearly identical to reality, making him wonder if this was the real world.
Alien technology—astounding!
Song Yue marveled.
Soon, everyone arrived.
Led by Zhao Peng, they approached a massive arena.
Around it were seats for spectators.
The ring was tall, with a drop of more than ten meters from the base to the platform.
It was vast, about the size of two standard soccer fields.
With Zhao Peng’s operation, a small door opened below; Zhu Jia led Song Yue into the space under the ring, and they took an elevator up.
Song Yue thought it unnecessary—he could easily leap up ten meters.
Lü Xiaohong, Sun Zeping, Fang Ming, and the Meng cousins followed.
Clearly, these were the ones displeased with Song Yue, eager to teach the rookie some lessons.
On the platform, Song Yue looked at the group and politely asked, “Are you all going to spar with me together?”
Sun Zeping replied, “It doesn’t take all of us to teach you a lesson; I’ll handle it alone!”
Lü Xiaohong frowned, “What did I say yesterday?”
Sun Zeping was reluctant but said, “Fine, you go first, but take it easy—don’t break him.”
Zhu Jia reminded Song Yue, “I taught you how to adjust the sensation, right? Make sure to set the pain to minimum, or else…”
She genuinely thought highly of Song Yue, knowing from the boss that he wasn’t some inexperienced rookie—even in the secret realm, he dared to confront its denizens.
The boss hadn’t said what happened, but the fact that Song Yue was alive and well at the Bureau spoke volumes.
Song Yue nodded, “Yes, I adjusted it.”
He hadn’t.
Not out of arrogance—after cultivating the Celestial Sovereign Mind Art, his spiritual power had soared.
Battles in virtual worlds mainly affected the mind. A fragile person killed in virtual space might not suffer physically, but their psyche could collapse.
Setting the realism to minimum minimized mental damage.
Song Yue had fought life-and-death battles. He understood breakthroughs came in such moments.
Opportunities like today were rare.
Just seeing the virtual pod facility and the elders’ excitement suggested that each session consumed massive energy; even Zhu Jia probably couldn’t use it at will.
Lü Xiaohong, with his rainbow explosion hair, stood in the arena center, forming a hand seal, and said to Song Yue, “Come on, I’ll be gentle.”
Song Yue asked, “Did you adjust the realism?”
Lü Xiaohong paused, then shook his head.
Song Yue advised, “You should.”
Lü Xiaohong scoffed, “Forget it—let’s go!”
To adjust realism for a young martial grandmaster? That would be conceding, showing extreme self-doubt!
No adjustment?
Let’s fight!
Song Yue’s eyes turned serious, his entire aura shifting dramatically.
Only those close—like Lü Xiaohong—could sense the change. Wu Dongshan, He Guanghui, and Leng Ruijun, watching from the stands, all noticed.
They were stunned.
This young man… had substance.
Song Yue moved suddenly, as swift as lightning, charging straight at Lü Xiaohong.
Lü Xiaohong’s hand seal opened into a claw, unleashing a terrifying energy at Song Yue.
For a typical martial grandmaster, this would be enough to send him flying.
But Song Yue, using Phantom Step, traced an uncanny arc, seeming to predict Lü Xiaohong’s attack, appearing at his flank and striking with a palm.
The force was like a blade!
He deployed the most ferocious form of Starbreaker Palm.
Lü Xiaohong’s energy shield appeared. He was a seasoned Foundation cultivator, with rich battle experience.
The moment Song Yue attacked, he knew trouble—this was a grandmaster-level opponent!
The energy shield was sliced open by Song Yue’s palm; Lü Xiaohong chanted, firing several bolts of deadly energy at Song Yue.
These were far more vicious than bullets!
Song Yue activated the Taiyi Body Tempering Sutra, spreading protective qi, his movements shockingly agile.
A few energy bolts struck his shield, causing ripples; those that penetrated had little force left—barely stronger than a mortal’s full-strength blow.
For Song Yue’s body, it was negligible.
In a blink, he was in front of Lü Xiaohong, punching, the fist shining with light and crackling with thunder.
Before the punch landed, the lightning was already breaking down Lü Xiaohong’s shield.
The energy defense shattered like a pierced bubble.
Song Yue punched Lü Xiaohong’s chest.
He had intended to hit his face.
But since Lü Xiaohong hadn’t adjusted realism, a face hit might leave lasting trauma.
Even with just a chest blow, Song Yue used only thirty percent of his strength.
After all, they were colleagues, not enemies.
Even so, Lü Xiaohong staggered back over ten steps, barely keeping his balance, eyes wide with disbelief. He admitted frankly: “I lost!”
A Foundation cultivator defeated by a young grandmaster!
Everyone except Zhao Peng was astonished.
Even Zhu Jia, who knew some insider information, couldn't believe Lü Xiaohong lost so quickly.
He usually handled Foundation-level monsters with ease.
Now, he’d been bested by an eighteen-year-old.
Though Song Yue seemed to have exerted himself, all present could tell he had held back at the crucial moment.
Fang Ming, who already looked frail, turned paler; he realized even he might fare no better.
He’d sparred with Lü Xiaohong before—not seriously, but they were evenly matched.
“Forget it, I probably can’t beat him either. Your turn,” Fang Ming said.
“Coward!” Sun Zeping strode forward, “I underestimated you before. You’ve got some skill—let's fight!”
“Did you adjust realism?” Song Yue asked.
“For you, no need!” Sun Zeping was proud, carrying a ‘king-of-the-world’ arrogance, unfazed by Lü Xiaohong’s defeat.
The Bureau’s people—their spirit was unmatched.
Just like the years spent thrashing rookie cultivators.
Song Yue mused.
He didn’t waste words, activating the Taiyi Body Tempering Sutra, shielding himself, stepping with Phantom Step, deploying Starbreaker Palm and Thunder Fist in rapid succession at Sun Zeping.
Sun Zeping summoned a palm-sized flying sword, razor-sharp, whistling through the air.
He manipulated it deftly, targeting Song Yue’s vital points!
This was virtual space; newbies were afraid of pain, so they’d set realism to minimum. No need to hold back.
Lü Xiaohong had lost by being too gentle.
He wouldn’t make that mistake!
He wanted to leave Song Yue with a lasting lesson.
Buzz!
The flying sword cut through the air, sword energy crisscrossing.
Song Yue’s left hand performed Starbreaker Palm, right hand Thunder Fist.
Starlight sparkled, lightning crackled.
Zhao Peng watched from the edge, nodding gently.
The master was right—this was a top-tier talent!
He even saw Song Yue running multiple martial skills simultaneously—an extremely demanding feat!
Like ambidextrous combat, impossible for mediocre martial artists.
Sun Zeping had reason for arrogance; his flying sword was nimble, shining like a serpent, hunting for weak points, striking fiercely.
Song Yue never used Lightning Charge.
He was refining his martial skills.
Boom, boom, boom!
Starbreaker Palm and Thunder Fist clashed with the sword.
Heavy thuds echoed.
Within a minute, Song Yue was closing in on Sun Zeping.
Sun Zeping wasn’t flustered; he was excited.
When Song Yue finally got close, within melee range, Sun Zeping suddenly roared, throwing a vicious punch.
I’m no martial artist, but I excel at martial arts!
Boom!
Their fists collided.
Lightning flashed; Sun Zeping yelled and launched a low kick at Song Yue’s groin.
In martial arts, he’d never feared anyone.
Both executed the move simultaneously.
Song Yue was surprised.
This guy was sly!
Bang!
Their feet collided, then both withdrew.
Song Yue still didn’t use Lightning Charge.
Meanwhile, Sun Zeping’s sword continued probing for Song Yue’s weak spots.
This opponent was interesting!
The fight was open, unrestrained.
That was good.
Song Yue’s Starbreaker Palm grew more refined, starlight flickering between fingers.
Pure energy condensed.
Thunder Fist was smoother, lightning now wrapping his arms.
Their bodies crisscrossed; Song Yue landed an elbow strike on Sun Zeping’s energy defense, lightning breaking it down, and Sun Zeping staggered back.
Ultimately, he wasn’t a true martial artist; his body couldn’t handle the blows.
He also hadn’t adjusted realism—the sudden pain exposed a major weakness.
His flying sword lost its aim.
Song Yue struck again with Starbreaker Palm.
In a burst of magical starlight, a razor-sharp energy beam blasted Sun Zeping away.
A deep gash ran from his head to his abdomen.
If not for his strong defense—and Song Yue not using Lightning Charge—it would have cleaved him in two, or at least deep enough to show bone!
Sun Zeping screamed.
The pain was intense, brutally real.
He didn’t want to cry out, thinking it shameful, but couldn’t help it.
Though not dead, he was out of the fight.
As Sun Zeping was blasted away, Meng Hong and Meng Gang nearly attacked Song Yue.
They were close to Sun Zeping and, in that moment, felt as if they were in a life-or-death battle with an enemy.
Song Yue’s bloodlust was overwhelming—his aura oppressive!
Without even facing him directly, they felt subdued.
Thankfully, they recalled this was their own base, in virtual space, and the young man was their new colleague.
When Zhu Jia helped the dazed Sun Zeping up, Song Yue was already calmly eyeing Meng Hong and Meng Gang.
He said nothing, but his gaze was fierce.
That was the martial artist’s spirit.
Never lacking the courage to fight!
“That’s enough.” Zhao Peng stepped forward, looking at Song Yue with undisguised affection. “You’re excellent!”
He then looked at Meng Hong and Meng Gang. “Do you still want to fight?”
The brothers wanted to try, but ultimately smiled wryly and shook their heads. “Forget it.”
They each had their trump cards; even Lü Xiaohong had skills left unused. The virtual space was real, but not the true world.
Not all magical items could be brought in.
Sun Zeping’s flying sword appeared because he’d nurtured it with his spirit.
But defeat was defeat.
This young man had earned his place.
Though he was the master’s disciple, at most he’d only taken a shortcut in joining the Bureau.
Fang Ming was relieved; he was strong, but his close combat was ordinary. Watching the two fights, he realized Song Yue’s defenses were formidable.
This was no ordinary martial grandmaster, but a true martial cultivator!
Ordinary cultivator methods wouldn’t work against Song Yue.
To defeat him, you’d need numbers or a true powerhouse.
Like the boss.
But the boss liked the kid—everyone could see it—so he wouldn’t bully the young.
Leaving the virtual pod, Song Yue still felt unsatisfied.
He’d hoped to fully unleash himself in virtual combat, but it was still somewhat lacking.
His greatest growth had come during his time in the Kunlun Secret Realm.
Though it was rough, sometimes dire, with real mortal danger, the experience was invaluable.
He had to admit—the Bureau’s Hangzhou branch was full of interesting people.
From initial dislike, even hostility, to swift acceptance, all it took was a post-dinner virtual battle.
After exiting, Lü Xiaohong, rainbow-haired and clad in studded denim, was first to greet him, warmly slapping his shoulder. “Welcome, brother!”
Next was frail Fang Ming, approaching and saying, “Welcome!”
Then Sun Zeping, who had been battered in virtual space, now grinned, “Good kid, strong enough to be my comrade!”
Song Yue realized Sun Zeping’s smile was unexpectedly pleasant—a different side!
Meng Hong and Meng Gang joined, throwing their arms around Song Yue, acting genuinely friendly.
Wu Dongshan, mature and steady, and He Guanghui, with delicate features, also came over, smiling.
Honestly, Song Yue was a bit overwhelmed.
Even after returning to his shabby little office, he hadn’t quite processed it.
Leng Ruijun and Zhu Jia arrived together; Zhu Jia asked, smiling, “Isn’t it strange how their attitudes changed so quickly?”
Song Yue nodded.
Zhu Jia said, “They weren’t actually hostile. They’d never met you, so couldn’t dislike you personally. What annoyed them was the idea of someone joining through connections.”
Leng Ruijun nodded, her bright eyes fixed on Song Yue. “Yes, the Bureau is full of exceptional people. Not everyone excels at combat—like Little Hong’s sister…”
“Who’s bad-mouthing me?” Lü Xiaohong burst in, eyes wary at Leng Ruijun.
“Heh.” Leng Ruijun wasn’t afraid. “I’m complimenting you!”
“Oh, carry on!” Lü Xiaohong accepted quickly.
Leng Ruijun rolled her eyes, turning to Song Yue. “Little Hong’s name sounds girly, and sometimes he acts that way.”
“Little Leng, I’ll get you for that!” Lü Xiaohong erupted.
Leng Ruijun giggled, her lively eyes sparkling. “No more jokes. Song Yue, Lü Xiaohong’s real specialty is poison. If he plots against you in reality, you’d barely have a chance. We all fear him!”
“Please, I wouldn’t dare plot against you. That time, you made me run to the bathroom, and I almost got bullied to death in your dream!” Lü Xiaohong retorted.
“Ahem, let’s drop that!” Leng Ruijun looked at Song Yue. “Anyway, if you have the skill, everyone will accept you. We’ll be fighting side by side.”
Zhu Jia added, “Yes, once you join, no matter your background, we’re comrades—our lives depend on each other.”
The group chatted in Song Yue’s office; through this, he learned more about the Hangzhou branch.
Wu Dongshan was mature and dependable, nicknamed Uncle, quiet but caring toward younger staff. He sang well, played various instruments, and his voice was his main combat skill.
Lü Xiaohong was a poison master, nearly unmatched, once single-handedly subduing five Foundation-level monsters without a fight.
Sun Zeping practiced both martial arts and magic; his sword skills were top-notch, especially ambush attacks. As Leng Ruijun said, his arrogance was a facade—he was cunning in battle.
He Guanghui, with delicate features, was a water control expert, Foundation-level, mastering water spells. Everyone liked to see his ice tricks when drinking.
Leng Ruijun specialized in mental arts, nicknamed Dreamweaver. Lü Xiaohong had once put laxatives in her food, but she retaliated by making him dream erotic dreams for three days straight, nearly tormenting him to death.
Fang Ming, nicknamed Frail Prince, was actually fierce in fights. He admitted to overindulgence—“the ladies are too enthusiastic; I’m too soft-hearted to refuse.”
He and Zhu Jia both specialized in fire arts.
Meng Hong was a sword cultivator and master of mechanisms, reputedly a genius at solving puzzles.
Meng Gang was a rare formation master, able to quickly set up arrays using terrain. The group said Meng Gang and Sun Zeping were the duo of tricksters—if they gained the upper hand, the enemy would have no respite.
Thus, on his second day at the Bureau, Song Yue earned everyone’s approval.
Perhaps it was his age, or his looks, but after acceptance, everyone doted on him like a child.
They showered him with gifts.
Wu Dongshan gave him a small harmonica, teaching him a breathing technique that, when played, could emit a sonic wave to stun enemies.
Lü Xiaohong gave him a vial of powder, warning him not to use it lightly; mixed with water, it was colorless and odorless—one gram could knock out a Foundation-level cultivator.
Sun Zeping gifted him a knife, not as good as the Dragon Pattern Immortal Slayer, but sharp enough to cut iron. He intended to give Song Yue a sword manual, but after seeing Song Yue swing the blade twice, quietly put the manual away.
Leng Ruijun was amusing, giving Song Yue a wristwatch—the Bureau-standard communicator. She said money was too vulgar, and she had nothing else to offer, so maybe she could give him a dream? Having learned about Lü Xiaohong’s ordeal, Song Yue dared not accept, though he secretly wanted to say: “Money’s not vulgar—I’d love it!”
Fang Ming, the Frail Prince, handed Song Yue a bottle of wine, mysteriously declaring it was special.
Song Yue planned to give it to his master.
He Guanghui was practical, dropping off a big bag, saying he couldn’t come empty-handed, so he’d stolen some of the boss’s stock from the cafeteria.
Definitely top-tier ingredients.
Song Yue adored food, but worried about getting scolded.
Everyone laughed, saying Song Yue was the boss’s favorite; even if the boss found out, he wouldn’t scold him.
Meng Hong’s gift was precious: a palm-sized magic cube with a metal ring for hanging around the neck. It was a spatial artifact, with about a cubic meter inside.
Though Song Yue had the Jade Void Heavenly Stele, others didn’t know. Spatial artifacts were extremely valuable in the cultivation world—not everyone could afford one.
Even Zhu Jia and Leng Ruijun were envious, saying they’d never seen Meng Hong give anyone a gift.
Meng Hong was honest: Little Guy was the best fighter, a crucial asset in dangerous missions. With him around, everyone felt safer.
Everyone agreed. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been accepted so quickly.
Meng Gang, seeing everyone else give gifts, felt compelled to join in. In a pinch, he handed Song Yue a formation manual.
Song Yue was thrilled; he’d learned Qi Divination from his master and had some knowledge of formations, but had never studied them seriously.
Now, with this manual, he could delve deeper, and at least not be helpless when facing arrays.
Finally, everyone looked to Zhu Jia.
Leng Ruijun teased, “Little Pig, I gave our brother a watch; you liked him from the start—what will you give?”
Zhu Jia chuckled, “I’ve been prepared!”
No one believed her.
Leng Ruijun said to Song Yue, “Your Zhu Jia sister is a money-grubber, stingy as can be!”
Zhu Jia snorted and led everyone outside, where they found an absurdly flashy supercar parked.
Sun Zeping whistled, circling it, “Nice! Shenlong Racer, eighth generation… Just launched, not even on the market yet?”
Everyone eyed Zhu Jia suspiciously—this car wasn’t cheap!
Not quite a hundred million, but this supersonic, low-flying supercar was easily tens of millions. On the hood, in dramatic script, was the word “Yue”—custom-made!
Song Yue had only been at the Hangzhou branch two days, yet Zhu Jia had gotten him such a car. That took serious resources and connections.
Even Meng Hong’s spatial artifact paled; though it could fetch a higher price at auction, this car was far more impressive!
Even Song Yue felt it was over the top—such an extravagant gift.
Leng Ruijun hugged Zhu Jia, “Spill it, Little Pig—what’s your angle?”
Zhu Jia smiled, “It’s not just from me; it’s a joint welcome gift from me and the boss.”
Everyone was stunned, then erupted.
“The boss is so biased!”
“Oh my heart hurts…”
“I feel attacked!”
“So unfair!”
Once the commotion settled, Zhu Jia explained, “The boss said Little Guy is now our poster boy—never have we had someone so handsome…”
Before she finished, Fang Ming and Sun Zeping protested.
“We’re not handsome?”
“What do you mean ‘never’? I am!”
Just then, bearded Zhao Peng strolled out, hands behind his back, glanced at everyone, then said, “Young people should be flamboyant and bold—live wildly in youth! The car is actually a three-way gift.”
Everyone was stunned.
Zhao Peng said, “Zhu Jia’s family has shares in Shenlong Group, so she had priority and could customize it. She wanted to pay for it all, but the car isn’t cheap; our salaries are good, but gifting such a car is a bit much.”
“So in the end, Zhu Jia and I split the cost. The other half… guess who?”
He looked at Song Yue.
Song Yue guessed, “My master?”
Zhao Peng shook his head, “Your mother.”
Song Yue was floored.
Zhao Peng explained, “Your mother learned you started working, found the master and asked about a gift for her child. The master and I were having tea, so I mentioned it. Your mother wanted to pay herself, but gifting newcomers is our tradition—we had to pitch in!”
Zhao Peng patted Song Yue’s shoulder, “See how everyone dotes on you? Remember, you’re part of the Hangzhou branch of the Bureau of Anomalous Affairs! No matter where you go, or how high you rise, never forget!”
Song Yue’s eyes reddened, then he grinned, “I won’t forget—though if the gifts keep coming and get heavier, I’ll remember even more!”
The crowd booed, and Zhu Jia tossed him the keys, suggesting, “How about I take you for a spin first?”
Song Yue paled, declining repeatedly, “Sister, I’d rather drive myself…”
Zhu Jia pouted, “Your license is registered; if you’re not used to manual, set the destination and use autopilot.”
So thoughtful!
Special privileges indeed!
Song Yue thanked her happily.
Finally, Zhao Peng patted his shoulder, speaking earnestly, “You’re young, with limitless potential; in the future, you won’t be confined to the Bureau. But as long as you’re here, we’ll protect you—and you must protect us. You’ve been introduced to everyone; the Bureau is not like other places. Our work is extremely dangerous—life-and-death crises can happen anytime.”
“When you’re out on missions, your comrades’ lives depend on you!”
Song Yue nodded seriously, “I understand. I’ll protect everyone!”
Zhao Peng smiled, “Just as you protected the students in the secret realm.”
Song Yue scratched his head, “It’s different—they lacked experience, a bit weak. These brothers and sisters are far from weak.”
Everyone laughed.
As they watched, Song Yue got into his new car, activated autopilot, choosing not to fly, but to drive steadily along the ground.
Zhao Peng watched the car depart, then looked at the remaining crowd and asked, “Well?”
Wu Dongshan smiled, “The master’s disciple—how could he be lacking?”
Sun Zeping grinned, “Little Guy’s steady—so young, yet he didn’t lose composure despite our provocations. In the virtual space, he held back, showed restraint and righteousness! His character, I approve. His strength—even more!”
Song Yue didn’t know—whether Zhu Jia’s kindness or Sun Zeping’s coldness, it was all just a test.
Even if the Bureau allowed individuality and disregard for others, it was still a collective.
A special collective—individuality was accepted, but not poor character or unstable temperament.
Every newcomer faced rigorous tests, lasting from days to months.
Those who failed were eventually ousted.
Song Yue, accepted and acknowledged in just two days, was almost unheard of.
Sixty to seventy percent of it was the master’s endorsement.
Everyone respected the master, so they’d respect his recommendation. But the remaining thirty to forty percent was Song Yue’s genuine conduct, strength, and sense of righteousness—all together winning universal approval.
As everyone in the Bureau often said: we are comrades, our lives depend on each other.
Outsiders might not understand, but for them, it was natural—it ought to be so.