Evil God 14

Company/Game/Strange Old Lady

The next day, Chen Yu went to work with a limp.

That bite from the evil god had been vicious. A row of tooth marks remained on his lower leg, it hadn’t faded even after the night had passed.

As he left, the culprit was curled up in the corner of the sofa, watching him leave with those chaotic eyes.

A rumbling sound emanated from its throat. He couldn’t tell whether it was mocking him or saying goodbye.

Chen Yu had no desire to engage with it; he simply closed the door and left.

The office building was located in the heart of the District 18’s commercial hub, an inconspicuous structure amidst a forest of skyscrapers. It took Chen Yu only twenty minutes to get there from his apartment by subway.

He had worked as a customer service representative on the seventeenth floor of this building for two years.

The company was a game publisher, and Chen Yu was responsible for a fossil of a title, an RPG gacha game that had been live for fifty years.

Although new players were few and far between, and the customer service team consisted of only two people– himself and his lunch buddy, Lu Jinwei –the job had the advantage of stability.

After swiping his access card, the elevator took him straight to the seventeenth floor. As the doors slid open, the receptionist nearly dropped the cup she was holding.

“C-Chen Yu?”

“Morning.”

Chen Yu offered a casual greeting, just as he always did.

The receptionist stared at him; she opened her mouth to speak but ultimately said nothing and watched him walk toward the office area with the look one might give someone who had risen from the dead.

“Chen Yu!!”

The moment he appeared, Lu Jinwei spun around in her chair. “I knew you’d be okay!”

Despite her excitement, she didn’t stand up; instead, she glanced nervously toward the floor above, wary of something.

“The news said that plane crashed and a lot of people died, what happened?”

“I got lucky.”

“So, where have you been all this time?”

“The hospital.”

Lu Jinwei was about to ask more when the sound of heavy, rapid footsteps rang out from the second floor; a moment later, a gleaming bald head appeared before them.

“Oh, Xiao Chen, you’re back at work? Why didn’t you take a ​Read on​couple more days to rest?”

He was a bald man in his fifties, wearing a shirt that strained against his belly, a look of feigned concern plastered on his face. This was Zhao Youyu, their project supervisor.

“You know, kid, you didn’t even call the company to let us know you were alive. I was just about to start processing your resignation paperwork.”

“Sorry about that, Brother Zhao. My phone broke.”

Zhao Youyu’s gaze traveled down from Chen Yu’s face before settling on his limping leg.

“Did your leg break too?”

“I got bitten by a dog.”

“Since when do you have a dog, Xiao Chen? I didn’t know about that.”

“Not long ago.”

At this, Zhao Youyu frowned. “So, what actually happened?”

He had clearly overheard the conversation between Lu Jinwei and Chen Yu.

“The plane was flying along just fine. How did it suddenly crash?”

Chen Yu pursed his lips. “I’m not entirely sure of the details myself. It [stolen content]seems there was some kind of malfunction. Luckily, we hadn’t been airborne long, so we managed to make an emergency landing in the nearby waters.”

That was what the news had reported, so Chen Yu simply repeated the official account.

Zhao Youyu eyed him suspiciously, but instead of prying further, he narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Right, right. Young man, surviving a disaster like that means good fortune is sure to follow!”

Then, his brows furrowed, and he took on a slightly troubled expression.

“But look, Xiao Chen, you know the company rules: unexcused absence usually means immediate dismissal. Given your special circumstances, though… just go and file the paperwork for the leave later. However, for any days not covered by your annual leave allowance, we’ll have to treat them as unexcused absences, which means a wage deduction of three times your daily pay.”

Chen Yu paused.

“…Understood, Brother Zhao.”

Pleased by Chen Yu’s compliance, Zhao Youyu walked over and patted him on the shoulder.

“Keep up the good work; the company won’t treat you unfairly.”

After the perfunctory exchange, Zhao Youyu turned to leave, but Chen Yu called out to him.

“Brother Zhao, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

“Hmm?”

“Did anyone come to the company asking about me?”

Zhao Youyu turned back with a look of surprise on his face. He tilted his head in thought, then spoke in a leisurely tone: “There were indeed a few people dressed in black who came by. They said they were from an airline accident investigation team and wanted to know a bit about your situation.”

Chen Yu blinked.

Zhao Youyu continued, “They asked about the basics, start date, work performance, that sort of thing. Oh, right! There was also a young guy who specifically asked about that incident at the Shibaliwu Gorge – you know, the time you fell into the water during the company team-building trip last year. Airlines really go overboard; they actually dig into stuff like that.”

“Brother Zhao, can you get in touch with them?”

“I think they left a business card.”

As he said this, Zhao Youyu took out the cardholder he carried with him, searched for a moment, pulled out a card, and handed it to Chen Yu.

The card was solid black and completely devoid of text; it bore only a white fish motif, an image of a fish with its mouth wide open, looking as if it were about to drown. It was identical to the symbol on Yu Qi’s chest.

Zhao Youyu found the card just as odd. “I asked which department they were from, but they wouldn’t say. When I asked for contact details, they just handed me this card. They were acting all weird. No idea what they’re up to.”

Chen Yu, however, immediately slipped the card into his pocket. “Thanks, Brother Zhao.”

He said it with genuine sincerity.

After Baldy Zhao headed back up to the second floor, Lu Jinwei leaned in close to Chen Yu. “You actually agreed unauthorized copyto a triple-pay deduction? Didn’t you just use up all your annual leave? If they dock your pay like that, won’t two months’ worth of wages just go down the drain?”

Chen Yu nodded.

“You’re out of your mind!”

Chen Yu didn’t say a word; he simply clutched the black business card tightly inside his pocket.

*

The next day, Chen Yu returned to his workstation and sat down in front of his familiar computer. By this time, Lu Jinwei had already been working for a while.

She was furiously typing out replies to customer complaints while cursing.

“What’s wrong?” Chen Yu asked.

Lu Jinwei looked absolutely livid. “It’s all because of that shitty wish-making event from a while back. A bug crashed the server; we had to take it offline and roll back the data. Now, a bunch of moronic players won’t stop complaining about the compensation. They’re saying if we don’t bring the event back, they’re going to hang themselves right outside our office!”

At the mere mention of that wish-making event, Chen Yu felt his temples start to throb. That event was the very thing that had forced him to work overtime for a month.

Because the wretched thing was riddled with bugs from the moment it launched, no sooner had the dev team fixed one issue than another appeared, they were eventually forced to pull the plug after three weeks of chaos.

As one of only two customer service reps for this ancient game, Chen Yu and Lu Jinwei had to take turns pulling all-nighters to handle the flood of complaints and monitor the game’s glitches. They were put through the wringer for a whole month; it felt like their brains were shriveling up to the size of walnut kernels.

If not for that ordeal, Chen Yu certainly wouldn’t have rushed to get a [Read on]medical checkup the moment his time off began.

He was genuinely baffled. “It’s just a run-of-the-mill collection event. Why are they so obsessed with it?”

“Who knows?” Lu Jinwei pursed her lips. “In this day and age, who even plays turn-based RPGs anymore? Yet, there are accounts that just keep spending hundreds of thousands at a time. What are they even after?”

Chen Yu couldn’t help but sigh. He reluctantly opened the customer complaint queue, where hundreds of messages stared back at him. He clicked in.

[From UID107707891088: This shitty game of yours. I worked so hard to gather those wish materials, only for them to vanish completely after the rollback! If you can’t fix this, refund my money right now, or else I’ll hang myself right outside your company’s front door! I’m done living, and I’m not letting you live either!]

[From UID625455678002: Please bring the wish-making event back online. Do not sever the connection between me and my Lord; otherwise, my Lord will surely rain down punishment.]

[From UID789006754672: Shitty company, shitty operations, shitty devs! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!]

This last message was repeated nearly fifty times.

Chen Yu scrolled down with his mouse; the screen was filled with that same UID, a dense, overwhelming mass of text that looked like some kind of malicious curse.

The cold, white glow of the screen reflected off Chen Yu’s face as he expressionlessly continued to scroll down.

[From UID895974947966: I saw your face.]

Just that one sentence, nothing more. Yet, it sent a chill down his spine far worse than any of the previous messages.

Chen Yu stared at the line of text for a few [visit our site]seconds, then clicked “Reply” without changing his expression.

[Reply from Customer Service Rep “Xiao Qi”: Dear player, we are terribly sorry for the poor gaming experience. Please describe the issue you encountered in detail; Xiao Qi would be happy to assist you. Wishing you a pleasant game.]

After sending that reply, Chen Yu pulled up some templates and responded to the other complaints he had seen.

This was Chen Yu’s daily routine: handling customer complaints for a game that had been running for fifty years.

The player base was dwindling, yet the complaints kept piling up. Some had their accounts banned, others saw their gear vanish into thin air, and some complained that server lag ruined the mood for fighting bosses.

Yet, no matter how trivial the issue, the players’ anger was always explosive, as if the matter were the single most important thing in their lives.

Times marched forward, yet the players’ rage remained the same. For two consecutive years, Chen Yu had been immersed in the endless stream of complaints regarding this antiquated game; at times, he couldn’t help but feel that he– along with the players he served –had been left behind here forever.

*

It was already dark by the time he returned to his apartment building after getting off work. One elevator was out of order, and the other was taking forever to arrive, so Chen Yu simply took the stairs.

Upon reaching the fifth floor, he spotted a figure hovering outside his door. An elderly woman standing on tiptoe, hunched over to peek through the peephole.

Chen Yu quietly stepped up behind her. “Auntie Chen? Is something wrong?”

Startled by the voice, the old woman turned around immediately. “Oh, Xiao Yu! You’re back so suddenly!”

She furtively looked around; she patted her chest, feigning [stolen content]the look of someone who had been frightened. “Xiao Yu, while you were out today, I kept hearing a loud thump-thump-thump coming from your apartment. It was terrifying!”

Chen Yu paused.

The old woman continued: “I was afraid a burglar had broken in, so I came to check. Do you want me to call the police for you?”

“No need.”

Chen Yu already had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Without asking further questions, he unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment alone.

The living room looked as if a tornado had just swept through it. All the throw pillows on the sofa had been torn open, the floor was littered with cotton stuffing and shredded tissues, and the bookshelf– organized just yesterday –had been ransacked into a mess.

And the culprit was currently dangling from the light fixture.

The little evil god clutched the edge of the chandelier with its withered hands and hung upside down like a bat. It hissed at Chen Yu as he walked in.

Chen Yu stared back at it, his expression impassive. “Get down here.”

The little evil god didn’t move.

Chen Yu took a deep breath as he felt a twinge of pain return to his lower leg.

[Trait: Deep Sea Domain]

Effect: Summons a waterless ocean zone; everything within this ​visit our site​zone is subject to the user’s command.

The next second, a wobbling little blue fish appeared above the little evil god’s head; with a flick of its tail, it slapped the baby across the face.

Amidst a creaking sound, the chandelier swayed; the little evil god’s head tilted to the side, and it took several seconds to process what had happened.

“Hiss–!”

An angry hiss echoed through the room, and the next moment, the little evil god lunged at Chen Yu.

A few minutes later, the already chaotic living room was in even greater disarray: the sofa was shoved aside, the bookshelf lay on the floor, and Chen Yu– who was standing atop the fallen bookshelf –had a firm grip on one of the little evil god’s legs.

Just then, a loud knocking sounded at the door.

Chen Yu simply dragged the little evil god along by the leg as he went to open the door.

It was Auntie Chen from across the hall again. She stood outside, holding a plate of sliced apples. “Xiao Yu, are you alright? I heard a lot of banging and crashing coming from your place just now…”

Mid-sentence, her gaze shifted past Chen Yu’s shoulder and took in the scene in the living room. “Oh my! What happened here?”

This time, Chen Yu didn’t dodge the question. “…It’s a relative’s child; they need to stay with me for a while. It’s been a real headache.”

“That mischievous?” She looked at the little evil god Chen Yu was holding, and paused for a second. “Here, have some fruit!”

The apples were neatly sliced, each piece uniform in size; Read onChen Yu ate one. It was sweet. Nothing seemed amiss.

“Thank you, Auntie.”

“Don’t mention it.” The older woman smiled warmly at him. “You know, Xiao Yu, I don’t really have much to do all day. If you don’t mind, I could look after the child for you while you’re at work.”

She wore the same enthusiastic smile as always, clad in a floral apron, looking for all the world like an ordinary, kind-hearted elderly neighbor.

“That would be great.” Chen Yu smiled back. “I’ll be counting on you starting tomorrow, then.”