Chapter Twelve: Eight Million Warriors!

Chapter Twelve: Eight Million Warriors!

After thinking for a moment, Shi Bai calmed himself. After all, blindly sketching was so counterintuitive that it was only natural the others couldn’t grasp it immediately. He sat down and said, “Let’s do this: you all focus on creating the plot first. Once you finish, hand it over to me. I’ll review it, and if it works, then we’ll all draw together. Understand?”

“Understood!” the ten of them replied loudly.

“Good.” Shi Bai glanced at the time—it was already half past six in the evening. “That’s it for today. Everyone, pack up and go home.”

The employees stood up one after another. “Goodbye, President Shi.”

Shi Bai waved at them. “Goodbye, take care on your way home.”

“Will do.”

Most had already left, but one or two remained, still typing at their computers. Curious, Shi Bai walked over and asked, “What are you doing?”

A young man tilted his head, giving Shi Bai a goofy smile. “I’m not in a rush to leave. There’s not much to do at home anyway, so I figured I’d stay and write more of the plot, work a little overtime.”

“Same here,” another chimed in.

But instead of being pleased, Shi Bai’s expression twisted with anger. His eyebrows nearly knotted together as he slammed a hand on the table with a thunderous bang. “Idiots!” he roared. “Zhang Dachui! Get these two overtime hounds out! Right now—immediately!”

The room was stunned. Those about to leave froze at the door, as if time itself had stopped, and only the sound of uneven breathing filled the air.

“What… just happened?”

“Zhang Dachui?” Shi Bai called again, seeing no reaction.

“Here!” snapped Zhang Dachui, shaken out of his stupor. He hurried over, urging the two, “You’d better go. You’ve failed your probation!”

The two looked completely bewildered as they trudged out of the conference room. But suddenly, one of the young men turned back. “Boss, I know it’s your company and you can fire us if you want, but could you at least tell us what we did wrong? Is it really just because we wanted to work overtime?”

“Exactly!” the other added, aggrieved.

Shi Bai let out a long sigh, collapsing into his chair like a deflated balloon. “That’s right. I’m letting you go because you want to work overtime.”

The shock in the room deepened—had they heard him correctly? What kind of boss fires people for working overtime? A silent chorus of questions ran through everyone’s mind.

What’s with this guy?

Is he crazy?

Sigh! Making money really isn’t easy—stuck with such an eccentric boss, who knows how hard things will get?

But… he pays so much. Other companies offer at most two thousand a month, and he’s giving twenty thousand!

Sigh! Guess we’ll just have to bear with it for the money!

As the employees quietly lamented, Shi Bai spoke again. “Because once you start working overtime, everyone else will too. Otherwise, they’ll worry I’ll think less of them. Then it becomes a competition—you stay till seven, someone else will stay till eight; you stay till eight, they’ll stay till nine. Eventually, everyone starts procrastinating. Since our energy is limited, tasks that could be finished in eight hours get dragged out to twelve.”

He drew a deep breath. “In the end, you lose all passion for work, have no time for life, can’t even fall in love. You become walking corpses—staying up late, losing hair, declining health, and before you know it, you’re seriously ill and all your savings go to medicine.”

He sighed again. “When there’s nothing left, you realize your body is ruined… Is that really living? Are you still human? And all this, just because you wanted to impress the boss by working overtime.”

The staff listened, dumbstruck, hardly believing these words came from a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old. Yet the truth of it was irrefutable, and the room was heavy with sorrow.

Someone suddenly covered their face and began to cry.

The two would-be overtime workers, thoroughly convinced, slunk toward the door, but Shi Bai called them back.

He sighed. “Forget it. You don’t understand me anyway. This is your first time; remember, don’t let it happen again.”

The staff were startled, then all leapt to their feet. “President Shi, you’re truly noble!”

“If only I’d met you sooner!”

Shi Bai laughed heartily. “It’s not too late now. Go home, or you’ll miss the bus.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Goodbye, President Shi!”

“Goodbye!”

…

When all was finally settled, Shi Bai felt his hunger and ordered dinner—Japanese ramen.

The delivery boy gazed at Shi Bai with deep admiration. In his eyes was nothing but respect. After all, in an age where employers squeeze every last drop from their workers, a conscientious boss like this was almost unheard of.

But only Shi Bai himself knew the suffering he had endured in his previous life under the infamous “996” work schedule.

The night passed quickly. The next day at school flew by as well, but today was different—after class, Shi Bai would be heading to play Dungeon with Gao Yang.

Their school was relaxed about rules; even as seniors, they could leave by five, and evening study sessions were optional.

Speaking of Dungeon, this game had once been Shi Bai’s greatest trial. In truth, his biggest regret from his youth was not a failed romance, but something to do with this game.

Back then, he had risked being hacked by using cheats to clear Abyss dungeons. In those days, Abyss runs were nothing like they would become later—there weren’t even tradeable challenge scrolls. You could only gather Burning Demon Invitations one at a time from bosses, and getting just eight took a whole day.

That day, Shi Bai finally saved enough tickets to exchange for Flame Demon Stones, and got his hands on a working cheat. He activated a full-body +15 buff to take on the demon Weibo.

Why did he remember Weibo’s name so clearly? Because that was the first time this innocent young man truly tasted despair.

Most bosses had seven or eight health bars—ten was considered a big boss—but Weibo? Seventy or eighty bars! Shi Bai thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Heart pounding, he used the cheat to fight Weibo, only to discover his weapon’s durability was gone. With zero durability, attack power was nullified, +15 meant nothing!

It took him a full thirty minutes to wear Weibo down. And then, the nightmare that would haunt his dreams happened.

When Weibo died, it dropped a gleaming golden Cross Slash Blade—the very weapon Shi Bai had dreamed of. In those days, every young swordsman longed for that blade.

He remembered how, when he saw someone wielding it on the street, it was as if they were a legend.

But just as he rushed to pick it up, six words appeared on the screen: Connection to server lost.

Those six words meant tears or screams—Shi Bai almost smashed his computer. And ever since, he never got that sword again.

Now, having returned to his youthful days, Shi Bai vowed to get it back.

The afternoon classes—Chinese, history, biology—flew by in a blur.

Shi Bai called Zhang Dachui, reminding him to make sure the employees left on time and to send the plot drafts to his email for review.

Just then, Gao Yang dashed over, legs wide apart, shouting, “Hurry up! Eight million warriors are waiting for you!”