Chapter 19 – The Audit's Last Stand
The Bureau of Heavenly Affairs had never felt this tense before. Normally, the marble corridors hummed with the polite shuffle of immortals pretending to work. Today, the entire building trembled under the pressure of the Divine Audit.
Stacks of celestial paperwork formed walls around desks. Spirits whispered and scampered away at the sound of approaching footsteps. The auditors — silent, hooded figures glowing with faint golden script — moved through departments like divine executioners.
And in the center of the storm stood Ne Job, still in his intern badge and a smile that screamed "I have no idea what's going on, but I'm pretending I do."
Assistant Yue rubbed her temples. "Ne Job, whatever happens, please—just don't speak unless absolutely necessary."
Ne Job nodded solemnly. "Understood."
"Good. Now—"
He raised his hand. "What if it's absolutely unnecessary, but emotionally satisfying?"
Yue's head thudded against the nearest stack of scrolls.
Before she could answer, a gong resounded through the Bureau. The marble doors at the end of the hall parted, revealing Lord Bureaucrat Xian himself — robes pristine, expression unreadable. He glided forward with the composure of a man who'd seen every disaster twice before breakfast.
Behind him followed the Lead Auditor, a celestial with six quills orbiting his head and a glare sharp enough to pierce stone tablets.
"Lord Xian," the auditor said, voice echoing like a decree. "Your department's record-keeping shows... creative interpretations of divine regulation."
Xian inclined his head. "We prefer to call it administrative flexibility."
The auditor slammed a glowing scroll onto the table. "You prefer to call it corruption."
The air went cold. Every spirit in the hall froze.
Yue tugged Ne Job's sleeve urgently. "Don't—say—anything."
But Ne Job's eyes were already glimmering with the light of someone about to make things worse.
He stepped forward. "Excuse me, great Auditor sir! I just want to clarify—what level of corruption are we talking here? Like, minor paperwork slip-up, or full-blown bribery with spirit coupons?"
The silence that followed could've been bottled and used to chill entire glaciers.
Lord Xian's serene expression cracked. "Intern Ne Job."
"Yes, my lord?"
"You are... dismissed from this conversation."
"But I can still listen, right?"
"No."
"Eavesdrop?"
"No."
Ne Job sighed dramatically and slunk behind a pillar. From there, his whispering commentary continued like a background podcast.
"Wow, this guy's really grilling him. Yue, look at that—he's sweating divine ink. That's, like, premium-grade guilt."
Yue pretended she didn't know him.
The auditor's quills scribbled midair as he spoke. "According to Heaven's new transparency policy, all departments must submit full karmic expenditure reports. Yet your records show transactions to an unregistered entity labeled... 'Delivery Spirit Bao.'"
Xian adjusted his sleeves calmly. "Ah. Yes. That's our logistics subcontractor."
"Unregistered."
"Highly efficient."
"Illegally independent."
"Spirit of entrepreneurship."
Ne Job couldn't help it — he peeked from behind the pillar. Bao was hovering awkwardly near the back, clutching a steaming box labeled Express Offering Service.
When the auditor's gaze landed on him, Bao squeaked. "I just deliver food! Sometimes souls! Occasionally divine memos if the pay's right!"
"Unlicensed!" thundered the auditor.
Bao nodded nervously. "Freelance!"
The quills began to scratch again, fast as lightning.
The atmosphere cracked under the pressure. Even Xian's confidence wavered as glowing runes spread across the floor — the auditors invoking the Seal of Accountability.
Yue's face paled. "They're going to freeze the whole department's operations. If that seal completes, we'll be locked out of Heaven's registry for a millennium."
Ne Job's eyes widened. "Wait, that means... no forms, no memos, no bureaucracy?"
"Yes."
He grinned. "Finally—freedom!"
Yue grabbed him by the collar. "Freedom from your job means eternal unemployment!"
That snapped him out of it. "Oh. Yeah, that's bad."
As the runes flared brighter, Xian raised his hand, his voice echoing across the chamber. "Enough! The Bureau of Heavenly Affairs has operated under divine mandate for ten thousand years. I will not allow some overzealous auditors to—"
A single quill stabbed into the floor beside him, silencing him instantly.
"Then prove it," the lead auditor said coldly. "Show us your most recent approved report. The one bearing Heaven's own stamp."
All eyes turned to Yue.
Her face went pale. "We... we never received that stamp. The courier lost it during... um... the Festival of Paperwork."
The auditor's lips curled. "Convenient."
Xian's calm cracked fully now. "Yue, where is the stamped copy?"
Before she could answer, Ne Job stepped forward. "Oh! That thing? I used it to wipe up spilled immortal tea yesterday."
The hall exploded in chaos.
The auditors gasped. Xian froze. Yue looked ready to faint.
"You what?"
"I didn't know it was holy paper!" Ne Job defended himself. "It just had a fancy gold sticker on it—I thought it was decoration!"
For a moment, no one breathed. Then the glowing runes surged. The Seal of Accountability reached its final line—
—and suddenly, a blinding light burst through the roof.
Everyone shielded their eyes. When the light faded, a new figure stood in the doorway, barefoot, radiating calm authority.
It was Taiyi Zhenren, Ne Job's master.
His gaze swept the hall, landing squarely on Ne Job. "My disciple. I leave you alone for one audit, and you almost bankrupt Heaven's Bureau?"
Ne Job's grin returned instantly. "Technically, I call that 'stimulating reform!'"
Taiyi sighed. "Technically, I call that grounds for divine demotion."
The auditors bowed slightly — even they showed respect to one of Heaven's great immortals.
"Lord Taiyi," their leader said carefully, "if you can justify your disciple's actions and produce valid authorization for his interference, we may overlook this... incident."
Taiyi smiled faintly. "Authorization? Oh, I have it."
He snapped his fingers. A glowing parchment appeared midair, golden seal intact.
"The original stamped report," Taiyi said, voice calm. "I had it all along. I simply wanted to see how my disciple would handle pressure."
The auditors stared in stunned silence.
Lord Xian exhaled slowly, masking his relief. Yue nearly collapsed. Bao hid behind his box.
Ne Job blinked. "Wait—you had it the whole time? Then what was the point of all this?"
Taiyi turned to him. "To teach you the virtue of restraint."
Ne Job scratched his head. "So... I passed?"
"Barely."
The auditors, muttering divine curses under their breath, gathered their scrolls and departed. The glowing seal faded from the floor. Order — or something resembling it — returned to the Bureau.
Lord Xian smoothed his robes and gave Taiyi a tight smile. "Master Zhenren, your timing was impeccable. Though perhaps next time, a memo would suffice."
Taiyi inclined his head. "Next time, ensure your interns don't use holy seals as napkins."
Ne Job raised a hand sheepishly. "Lesson learned. Maybe."
Yue groaned. "No. Definitely not."
As the sun filtered back into the hall, the Bureau of Heavenly Affairs felt lighter — not peaceful, but alive again.
Ne Job, watching the departing auditors, whispered to Yue, "You think they'll come back?"
"Not unless they enjoy trauma."
"Good. Because I'm already planning a new filing system."
"What kind of system?"
"The kind that doesn't involve paper. We go fully spiritual. Think—'cloud bureaucracy.'"
Yue stared at him, horrified. "Ne Job... what have you done?"
He grinned, already scribbling ideas on the back of a heavenly receipt. "The future of divine paperwork begins now!"
Somewhere behind them, Taiyi sighed deeply — the sigh of a master who knew his disciple was destined not for peace, but for administrative chaos.
And so the audit ended... with the Bureau technically cleared, but Heaven's next great disaster already brewing in the form of one overconfident intern and his cloud-based delusions.