[I’m his boss]

After receiving his first month’s paycheck, Chen Zemian did a rough calculation—

His net income from this job was -32,085 yuan.

Although he had essentially been paying to work, this was truly a sweet gig. He had been parachuted in through BOSS Zhipin ^[1] Kanzhun Limited is a publicly listed Chinese human resources company that focuses on providing online recruitment services through its mobile app, BOSS Zhipin. into a completely made-up role, and his daily job consisted of… having no job.

During this time, Lu Zhuonian had only visited the shooting range once. Chen Zemian made a quick effort to establish his presence, but maybe he overdid the bootlicking, because it seemed to have repulsed the boss—and Lu Zhuonian never came back.

Nice.

With the boss out of sight, Chen Zemian had even more free time. Every day he played with guns, played with crossbows, took guns apart and reassembled them, built models, jotted down weapon specs, wrote game frameworks on his laptop, and binge-played a bunch of competitor games—all while compiling a 60,000-word requirement document.

Not that he actually knew how to optimize any of it.

Every little improvement cost money.

Originally, Chen Zemian just wanted to casually whip up a game and make a quick buck. But the more he worked on it, the more invested he became—both emotionally and financially. The budget kept growing.

When he used to develop games for investors, it felt like raising someone else’s kid—just get it to barely function and call it a day. Whether it succeeded or failed wasn’t entirely his responsibility. But now that he was the boss himself, this game was like his own child. Naturally, the emotional investment couldn’t be compared.

The game had already been greenlit and named “Re-Fengshen”. It was going to be a 3D semi-turn-based RPG mobile game.

Some of the representative scenes had already been built. Once the visual direction for the environments was finalized and a teaser trailer made, they could start hyping it up on the app stores.

The game’s aesthetic would be rooted in Chinese ink painting, with a breathtakingly beautiful classical style. The background story was the Fengshen War during the Shang dynasty. Character designs were shamelessly lifted from Investiture of the Gods ^[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Investiture_of_the_Gods : Daji, Nezha, Ao Bing, Yang Jian, Jiang Ziya—all turned into collectible character cards. Want them? Pay to draw them.

Investiture of the Gods was a massive ensemble story with huge potential.

The protagonists, from all walks of life, were divided into two major camps. They gathered from across the land, fought side by side like brothers and sisters, their brilliance shining like stars—only to be washed away by the tides of history, leaving behind a single, sparse character card summarizing their entire lives.

The contrast made the weight and grandeur of history come through in full force.

This kind of pre-established lore was extremely useful—no need to stress over plot development, and there were already tons of classic scenes to pull from.

Chen Zemian decided to begin with the most iconic storyline: Nezha raising hell in the East Sea. Lately, whenever he had spare time, he’d been sketching lotus flowers and blue dragons in his notebook.

A lead game designer had to be a jack-of-all-trades. To communicate more precisely with the art team, he’d taken sketching classes and could now draw rough drafts of the details he wanted.

After all, even a crude image conveyed more than text.

Chen Zemian was fine with lowering programming standards, but the visual quality had to be top-notch.

Nezha, the number one rebel of the heavenly realm, was immensely popular. Drawing from past experience, Chen Zemian decided to make the story emotionally intense, full of regrets—ending the first main storyline with Nezha’s suicide, wrapping it up in a storm of falling lotus petals. It was going to look gorgeous.

And hit players right in the feels.

That Saturday, Chen Zemian was reviewing underwater palace designs with the environment concept artist.

He insisted the Crystal Palace must be luxurious—he wanted it shimmering and translucent, like flowing light.

The designer spent a long time “[typing…]” but didn’t send anything.

They were probably cursing him.

Before he knew it, it was noon. Since Yan Luo hadn’t come back, Chen Zemian shut his laptop and headed to the exhibit hall to call him for lunch.

Halfway there, he suddenly heard a commotion. It sounded like a guest was unhappy with the staff and demanding to speak to the boss.

Chen Zemian had sharp ears—he immediately recognized the cold, crisp voice as Yan Luo’s. So he called one of the staff members over and asked what was going on.

As soon as the staff saw Chen Zemian, it was like seeing a savior. They immediately explained everything.

Turns out, a group of newcomers wanted to reserve a training range just for themselves, but they hadn’t booked in advance. All the ranges were currently in use, and they refused to share. First, they offered extra money, then they claimed they’d seen some empty ranges on their way in and wanted to know why they couldn’t use those.

Yan Luo told them the two unused ranges were either already reserved or belonged to the boss’s private use—neither could be allocated to guests. That’s when the group started demanding to see the boss.

It hadn’t been a big deal at first—just a minor conflict—but Yan Luo wasn’t great at dealing with people. His tone tended to be cold and blunt, and the customers seized on that to escalate things, becoming more and more unreasonable.

Yan Luo normally didn’t handle guest reception duties either. No one knew how he’d ended up entangled with such difficult customers today.

Chen Zemian overheard one of the staff trying to further explain, saying, “I’m sorry, sir, but that really is our boss’s private training hall. We’ve clearly posted a ‘Not open to the public’ sign—maybe it wasn’t very noticeable, and you missed it.”

But the guest wouldn’t let it go. “Your boss runs a business, doesn’t he? He’s not even here right now, and the training hall’s sitting empty anyway—what’s the harm in letting us use it? Does he really have to be so inflexible?”

As soon as Lu Zhuonian was mentioned, Yan Luo’s face darkened. He said coldly, “No means no.”

That immediately provoked the other party. “Hey, what kind of attitude is that? ‘No means no’? I’m not talking to you anymore. Where’s your boss? Call him out—I’ll speak to him directly.”

The voice sounds oddly familiar. Standing just outside the building, Chen Zemian looked over toward the commotion.

And sure enough, he locked eyes with someone he knew.

It was Wu Xu—the very first person he’d seen the night he transmigrated.

Talk about enemies crossing paths on a narrow road.

Wu Xu also froze when he saw Chen Zemian. He turned and whispered something to the person beside him.

Who else could be with Wu Xu?

Chen Zemian’s gaze shifted, unsurprised to see Wu Xu’s boss: Xu Shaoyang, second young master of the Xu family.

Xu Shaoyang was dressed head to toe in the latest season’s GUCCI hoodie, the designer sticking to their usual garish style—clashing red and green, and patterns so densely packed they practically screamed at the eyes.

Even at a shooting range, he had to show up decked out like a walking peacock. Typical. Xu Shaoyang was still as flamboyant as ever.

Chen Zemian raised an eyebrow slightly, still deciding what to do, but Xu Shaoyang beat him to it.

Xu Shaoyang pointed at him and shouted, “Stop right there!”

Instantly, everyone’s heads turned in Chen Zemian’s direction.

Chen Zemian: “…”

He hadn’t planned on leaving anyway.

He pushed open the door and walked into the hall. “Second Young Master Xu.”

Wu Xu, seeing Chen Zemian enter, visibly tensed.

He was the only one present who’d actually fought Chen Zemian before, and he still wasn’t sure what to make of the pretty youth’s true strength. To this day, he didn’t know if he’d been beaten because Chen Zemian was genuinely skilled, or because he himself had been too drunk that night.

Wu Xu’s nerves were shot, a vein pulsing at his temple.

Just seeing that face gave him a headache.

Xu Shaoyang narrowed his sharp eyes and glanced at the staff badge on Chen Zemian’s chest.

So this is where he has ended up—working here.

Back at the Lushui Pavilion, Lu Zhuonian had personally stepped in to protect Chen Zhe, and the fallout had been quite a scene. When the Xu family found out, they forbade Xu Shaoyang from going against Lu Zhuonian again, and the matter was dropped.

Though Xu Shaoyang had never truly let it go, he hadn’t dared to trouble Chen Zhe again either.

But recently, he’d heard that Chen Zhe had apparently offended the Liu family’s youngest master and hadn’t been seen around Lu Zhuonian since.

Without Lu Zhuonian’s protection, what is Chen Zhe even worth? And now, isn’t he just unlucky enough to run into him, Xu Shaoyang?

Xu Shaoyang sneered coldly. “Chen Zhe, you sure know how to hide.”

Yan Luo picked up on the unfriendly tone and quickly stepped up to Chen Zemian’s side, lowering his voice. “You know this guy? Should I call the manager?”

Chen Zemian shook his head. “No need. You can go—I’ll handle them.”

Yan Luo didn’t look very convinced. His eyes were full of doubt. “You sure you can deal with them?”

Chen Zemian said, “Piece of cake.”

A whole group like that might look imposing, but they were all useless. Not a single one could fight.

If Yan Luo had known that Chen Zemian’s idea of “piece of cake” was that kind of “piece of cake,” he definitely wouldn’t have left the guests to him.

Unfortunately, he was still too young—and didn’t understand Chen Zemian well enough. A few words were enough to get him to walk off.

“You work here now?” Xu Shaoyang asked.

Chen Zemian nodded.

Xu Shaoyang ordered, “Come with me to the training range.”

Chen Zemian replied, “Then we’ll have to share a range, Second Young Master Xu.”

Xu Shaoyang stared at him and sneered, “Fine. I just want to have a little fun with you—any range will do.”

His real goal, of course, was to use this chance to teach Chen Zhe a lesson. The more people watching, the more satisfying it’d be.

Xu Shaoyang licked his back teeth, a flicker of vicious intent flashing in his eyes.

…

Inside the training range, gunshots rang out nonstop.

Chen Zemian rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, revealing a stretch of fair skin. “What does Second Young Master Xu want to play?”

Xu Shaoyang accepted a pistol from the instructor and spun it between his fingers. “That night, several of my bodyguards couldn’t take you down. Seems you’ve got some skills.”

Chen Zemian stayed calm. “I get by.”

Xu Shaoyang raised the gun and pointed it at Chen Zemian. “If you’re that good, you shouldn’t be afraid of a handgun, right?”

Faced with the dark muzzle, Chen Zemian’s voice remained flat. “Not really.”

Xu Shaoyang aimed straight at his forehead, voice dropping low, cold as a venomous snake. “Of course you’re not afraid. I’m not crazy enough to shoot you here—but somewhere else… better watch your back, Chen Zhe.”

“I don’t know where you plan to shoot,” Chen Zemian said as he slapped a box of bullets onto the training bench, “but I do know your gun is empty. Guns and ammo are stored separately—Shooting Range Safety Rule #3. It’s posted in the most obvious spot in the main hall. Second Young Master Xu must’ve missed it.”

Xu Shaoyang: “…”

Chen Zemian slid the bullets over. “Your eyesight doesn’t seem too great either. That giant sign on the private training hall? You didn’t see it, huh?”

Xu Shaoyang popped out the magazine and checked—sure enough, no bullets inside.

Threatening someone with a gun, putting on a show of intimidation—sure, it had weight. But doing it with an empty gun? Now that was just pathetic.

Especially with so many people watching.

Xu Shaoyang’s little act had flopped hard. His expression darkened. “This is how you treat customers? Does your boss know he’s got such a sharp-tongued employee on his payroll?”

Chen Zemian looked totally unfazed. “Mhm. Go ahead and file a complaint.”

Xu Shaoyang choked.

He’d never met anyone so impervious to pressure.

Chen Zhe wasn’t afraid of anything, didn’t care about anything—no matter what Xu Shaoyang said, Chen Zhe remained utterly indifferent. It felt like punching into cotton. From the moment they met, he was the only one who’d been getting angry!

Frustrated, Xu Shaoyang ran a hand through his hair and tried to pull rank. “Call your boss over.”

Chen Zemian’s face didn’t flicker. “He’s not here.”

Xu Shaoyang raised his voice. “You say he’s not here, so he’s not? Get him over here, I want to file a complaint!”

“Second Young Master, can’t you see the complaint box right there next to you?” Chen Zemian pointed toward it, then glanced at Xu Shaoyang with a look that could almost be called sympathetic. His tone remained slow and drawling. “Didn’t wear your contacts when you went out today?”

One of Xu Shaoyang’s lackeys slapped the table. “Bullshit! Our Young Master doesn’t even have bad eyesight.”

Chen Zemian made a faux-enlightened “oh” and said, “If it’s not your eyesight and you still can’t see clearly, then it can only mean…”

You left your brain at home.

He didn’t say the last part out loud, but everyone could hear it in the air. They instinctively filled in the blanks.

“What the hell do you mean?!”
Furious, Xu Shaoyang grabbed Chen Zemian by the collar, yanking him forward and jabbing a finger at his face. “Say it if you’ve got the guts! Half-spoken nonsense—what kind of man are you?!”

Chen Zemian tilted his head slightly, avoiding the finger. “I said you’ve got no brain. You act like someone with a cognitive disorder—have you never gotten that checked?”

“!!!”

For the first time in his life, Xu Shaoyang was insulted to his face. Rage surged like wildfire through his body, blood rushing to his head.

He exploded, swinging a fist toward Chen Zemian’s eye.

Chen Zemian had been waiting for that. He raised a hand and caught Xu Shaoyang’s punch mid-air, gripped his wrist, and in one smooth motion flipped him over his shoulder—sending him flying.

“Young Master Xu!”
“Young Master Xu!”

Xu Shaoyang was suddenly airborne. Wu Xu and the others were stunned, reaching out in a panic but failing to catch him.

Chen Zemian’s move had been too fast—and completely without warning!

Who would’ve thought he’d actually throw a punch while on the job?

Did he not care about consequences at all?

A split-second later—*bang!* A loud crash echoed.

Xu Shaoyang hit the floor hard. His entire body seemed to convulse on impact. It felt like his organs had been shaken out of place. For a moment, he was so stunned it felt like his soul had left his body. He didn’t feel pain right away—just numbness and confusion. Only after a few seconds did the pain flood in, sharp and overwhelming.

“Chen Zhe, you’re dead!” Xu Shaoyang clutched his ribs, being helped up by several of his people. “You actually dared to attack a guest!”

Chen Zemian pointed at the surveillance camera. “You threw the first punch. Want me to call the police for you?”

Xu Shaoyang knew perfectly well that calling the police wouldn’t go his way.

He’d even pointed a gun at Chen Zhe earlier!

Fuming, he grabbed the box of bullets off the table and hurled it at Chen Zemian. “Who the hell is your boss? What kind of place hires people like you? I’m going to make sure you get fired!”

“His boss is me.”
A cold, cutting voice came from the entrance. “Any objections?”

Everyone turned toward the door.

Xu Shaoyang’s pupils shrank violently—like someone had just grabbed him by the throat. He couldn’t get a single word out.

It was Lu Zhuonian.