Chapter 27 — The Heavenly Expense Report
The Heavenly Bureau's morning began with the smell of burnt paperwork.
Ne Job sat at his desk, staring in disbelief at the faintly smoking remains of his "Expense Reimbursement Form (Form 9C: Field Mission Incidentals)." The form was meant to document his heroic battle last week — or, as the Bureau called it, "an unbudgeted divine field expenditure with collateral damage exceeding forecast."
Now it was just ashes.
"Yue! My form caught fire again!" he shouted, waving the blackened scraps.
Assistant Yue didn't even look up from her desk. "That's because you wrote it with the Infernal Ink Pen again. I told you that pen was cursed. It combusts when it detects false claims."
"I didn't lie!" Ne Job protested. "I just... rounded up. Slightly."
Yue raised an eyebrow. "You wrote that you bought thirty divine dumplings for 'team morale.' You were the only one on that mission."
Ne Job froze. "But I am a team! A team of spirit, chaos, and determination!"
"Mm-hmm." Yue's tone was pure bureaucracy. "The Expense Office doesn't reimburse spirit and determination, only receipts and signatures. From a supervisor."
Ne Job slumped. "Lord Xian's going to make me fill it again, isn't he?"
"Already did." Yue slid a fresh form onto his desk — thick, gold-stamped, and twice as long. "Form 9C Addendum. You need to justify your 'unbudgeted dragon ride.'"
Ne Job blinked. "That was an emergency! The ground was on fire!"
"Expense Office says dragons are classified as 'premium transport options' unless approved in advance."
He clutched his head. "So I was supposed to book a dragon in advance while being chased by one?!"
---
Meanwhile, in the upper chamber, Lord Bureaucrat Xian was reading through the Audit of Divine Misallocations (Quarterly). His tea steamed quietly beside him, untouched. Every page was a new migraine.
He sighed as he read the latest report:
> "Intern Ne Job — Mission #42: Collateral budget exceeded by 390%. Explanation: 'Explosion larger than expected.' Attached sketch: stick figure smiling."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do I still let him exist…"
"Because the Heaven Academy sent him as an 'internship placement,'" replied Assistant Yue, appearing beside him like a ghostly secretary. "If you dismiss him, it'll trigger an inter-departmental scandal."
"Then I'll file him under 'lost in fieldwork'," Xian muttered darkly.
---
Back at the intern cubicle, Ne Job was struggling to fill out his reimbursement section titled 'Describe the Reason for Expenditure in Detail (Minimum 500 Words).'
He chewed on his brush pen. "So… how do I explain that I needed divine fireworks to 'motivate' the villagers?"
Yue peeked over his shoulder. "You blew up their granary."
"It was symbolic!"
"They symbolically starved."
Ne Job winced. "Right… maybe I'll reword it as 'temporary grain redistribution exercise.'"
"You're going to get audited again," Yue sighed.
"Already got audited last week."
"Then this one will be called a follow-up audit."
---
Hours later, Ne Job carried his new form to the Department of Divine Finance, a labyrinth of cubicles that smelled faintly of incense and despair. The clerk at the counter — a stone-faced spirit with eyes like calculator beads — inspected the document.
"Form 9C Addendum, section C incomplete," the clerk droned. "Please provide proof of dragon consent."
"...What?"
"Dragons are sentient beings. Bureau regulations require signed consent forms before using them for transport."
Ne Job's face turned red. "You want me to get a dragon to sign paperwork?!"
The clerk shrugged. "Regulation 14-B."
Ne Job groaned. "Fine. Where do I find the dragon?"
The clerk pointed to another counter labeled 'Department of Mythic Beasts' — already boasting a line that stretched into eternity.
---
After two hours, Ne Job reached the counter. A tired phoenix spirit with feathers falling like burnt confetti stared at him. "Name and request."
"Ne Job, intern! I need a signature from a dragon for a reimbursement claim!"
The phoenix blinked slowly. "And where is said dragon?"
"Um… somewhere near the mortal realm. Possibly still angry."
"Then please attach a Dragon Sight Confirmation Form (Form 12-R). Without it, we can't verify the beast's existence."
Ne Job clenched his fists. "It ate my confirmation form!"
The phoenix sighed, sliding him another paper. "Then you'll need a Form Replacement Form."
Ne Job stared at it. "...A form to replace a form."
"Yes."
"Filed where?"
"At the Forgotten God of Paperwork's counter."
Ne Job's pupils shrank. "Not him again…"
---
The Forgotten God of Paperwork was slumped behind his desk like an exhausted mountain. Piles of unsigned forms surrounded him, some older than dynasties.
"Intern," the god rumbled without looking up. "Back already?"
"I just need a Replacement Form," Ne Job said quickly. "Just a small one."
The god lifted his pen slowly. "Small forms… have big consequences."
"Please, I'll do anything! Just let me get this reimbursed so Lord Xian doesn't demote me to mortal courier!"
The god's hollow eyes flickered with ancient pity. "Very well. I shall give you the Form Replacement Form. But beware… once you fill it, the form replaces something precious."
Ne Job blinked. "Like what?"
"Your patience," the god said solemnly.
---
By dusk, Ne Job finally returned to his cubicle, hair frizzed, papers spilling everywhere. Yue looked up from her neat pile of completed files. "You survived."
"Barely," he groaned. "The system is insane! There's a form for every form!"
"That's Heaven," she said simply.
He slumped into his chair. "You ever feel like we're all just… divine filing errors waiting to be corrected?"
"Constantly," Yue said. "But at least I file mine alphabetically."
They both stared at the growing stack of documents labeled Pending Divine Approval.
Ne Job exhaled. "Maybe next time I'll just pay out of pocket."
Yue smiled thinly. "You don't have a pocket. You burned your robe in Mission #42."
"…Then I'll borrow yours."
She looked at him over her glasses. "Try it and I'll submit a Form 99B: Request for Intern Replacement."
Ne Job grinned weakly. "Noted, Supervisor Yue."
---
Later that night, as the Bureau fell silent and the celestial lanterns dimmed, Ne Job sat alone under the flickering light of his desk lamp.
He looked at the stack of forms — each one a symbol of how Heaven ran not on divine will, but on paperwork thicker than the clouds themselves.
He whispered to himself, "One day… I'll master this bureaucracy. Then they'll fear my forms."
A faint chuckle echoed behind him. The Evil Manual Spirit's whisper slithered from his satchel.
> "Careful, intern. That's how it starts. First, you sign the form. Then the form signs you."
Ne Job froze, staring at his ink pen — now moving ever so slightly on its own.