The next morning, at the Taibu Division.
San Jin yawned as he stepped off the star tram.
It was early; the Xi Xiang Platform was deserted, no sign of his colleagues yet.
San Jin wasn't here out of some burst of diligence.
As a lowly Diviner—the bottom rung of the Taibu Division—he was desperate to climb the ladder.
To shed that title ASAP, he pushed himself every day, hoping to catch a superior's eye.
"Yesterday, the Grand Diviner glanced at me extra!"
"What does that mean? She sees my hard work!"
"If I can just earn her approval, I'll escape Diviner status and promote to Diviner Officer!"
Shaking off the fog in his head, San Jin mustered his energy and chugged the soda bean juice in his hand. His pale face flushed with color.
A month of nonstop overtime.
Regular coffee couldn't cut it anymore.
To stay sharp in front of the bosses, San Jin had to get creative.
Turns out, soda bean juice was the Xianzhou Alliance's greatest invention. One sip, and you'd know—the pick-me-up was unreal.
His stomach churned like a storm.
To keep it all down, he had to focus part of his mind on suppressing the nausea.
If he had to describe it, it was like desperately needing the bathroom but no relief in sight.
That meant constant vigilance, or he'd risk total embarrassment.
Gotta hand it to him—San Jin was tough as nails.
Coming up with this wake-up hack? His family needed to check for bad feng shui or something.
He tossed the empty bottle in the trash, face red as a beet, and stiffly headed for the Audience Hall.
Anyone who's been there knows: no shocks allowed right now.
One slip, and it'd be a flood.
The cost was brutal, but damn, it worked. No drowsiness at all—just a slight urge to curl up and die.
"Hey, San Jin, early bird today too?" A bright voice cut in suddenly.
San Jin froze. Who the hell was at the Taibu Division this early? And why did that voice sound so familiar?
As he started to turn and check, a solid slap landed on his back, rooting him in place.
The jolt shattered his fragile balance. Nausea hit like a tidal wave.
San Jin couldn't hold back the soda bean juice's wrath anymore. He clamped a hand over his mouth and bolted for an empty corner.
Watching him sprint off, Qingque eyed her right hand, puzzled.
"Huh? Was that slap really that hard? Maybe it's from learning that immortal technique?"
"Sorry, I'll watch it next time." Qingque shot San Jin an apologetic look, then turned and strolled toward the Audience Hall.
Meanwhile, at some flower bed in the Taibu Division.
San Jin finally let loose—Water Release: Dam Who Cares.
It took ages, until he was hacking up nothing but clear water, before he felt halfway human again.
Soda bean juice was a double-edged sword: killer alertness, but the payback was vicious.
After unleashing the deluge, the already drained San Jin felt even weaker.
"Who... who did this to me?" he muttered. "Who wanted me sabotaged..."
"She must've seen the bottle in the trash, knew I was vulnerable..."
"So she faked a greeting to throw off my balance—eliminate a rival..."
Realizing it, San Jin gritted his teeth.
Never thought his competition hid such a schemer!
In his state, forget impressing the bosses—he'd be lucky not to get reamed.
She could shine in front of them, snag their favor, and steal his shot at Diviner Officer!
"What a vicious play!"
San Jin's eyes narrowed as he whispered to himself.
He was new to being a Diviner, naive about office politics' underbelly.
This incident schooled him hard.
This wasn't a workplace—it was a dark forest, everyone a predator!
San Jin took a deep breath, steadying his tangled emotions.
Once the queasiness faded, he gathered fallen leaves and tidied the flower bed.
Satisfied no one would notice, he left for the Audience Hall.
Thanks to the detour, plenty of colleagues had arrived. Everyone looked buried in work, no clues.
San Jin played it cool, like nothing happened.
He dragged his weary body to his desk and settled in.
"If my rival's gunning for promotion, she'll pull out all the stops."
"I'll watch for standout performances these next few days—that'll finger my attacker."
San Jin scanned the room, noting every move. Anyone blocking his rise was an enemy now!
Meanwhile, the true culprit, Qingque, watched San Jin's fierce glare and scratched her head in confusion.
As a pro slacker, she saw potential in him. Maybe she could groom him into a fellow idler.
Qingque could tell: San Jin had smarts and drive.
On the surface, that screamed "no slacking." But really, those types cracked easiest into quitters.
Xianzhou folk were long-lived; social mobility was a nightmare. A step up could take a century or three.
And that was just tenure—then came skills, networking, connections. The odds were stacked sky-high.
San Jin still bought into "hard work pays off."
Once he hit walls everywhere, saw the ladder blocked solid...
He'd realize it was all pointless. Slacking was the only sane endgame.
Long life was a blessing—and a curse. Short-lifers couldn't dodge it; how could immortals?
"Sigh, still so green."
Qingque shook her head at San Jin's grim face.
Why so intense? Better to hit the docks after work for some fries.
"No stress, no fuss, if I can't push through, I'll sidestep.
Joke on me? Fine. Hit me? Pay up first.
Say what I want, do what I can.
I live free like this—ain't nothing—gonna knock me down."
Humming her tune, Qingque leaned back at her station, smiling as she dove into the day's tasks.