Chapter 37: So, a Celebration Banquet Means We Don’t Go Home Until We’re Drunk

Three days after the Deep Sea Dream Aquarium incident, Section C, Group 1 of Dawn Corporation held a celebratory dinner.

The venue was near the company, a high-end steampunk-style seafood restaurant called The Abyssal Maw.

The décor was both lavish and eerie:

Enormous brass pipes sprawled across the exposed red-brick walls like coiled tentacles, while a chandelier shaped like a gigantic jellyfish—constructed from intricate gears and vintage lightbulbs—hung overhead, radiating a warm, dusky glow.

The air was rich with the buttery scent of seared seafood, mixed faintly with the metallic tang of money and rust.

At this moment, Lin Yu sat stiffly in the private room, pressed into the cold leather of a high-backed chair.

All the luxury around him only deepened his sense of being an impostor, a broke nobody who had wandered into a world that wasn’t his.

The massive round table before him was piled high with dishes he’d only ever seen on late-night food programs—cuisine dripping with “decadent capitalist vibes”:

Slices of deep-sea tuna, theatrically prepared on-site with liquid nitrogen, still trailing mist like a scene from an immortal fairy drama…

Boston lobster baked with black truffle and adorned with flakes of edible gold leaf…

And platter after platter of “molecular cuisine” so delicate in form that each plate looked more like an artisan figurine than something edible.

(Holy sht…)*

That was all Lin Yu’s mind could muster after being smashed again and again by the hammer of class disparity.

(The most expensive thing I’ve eaten in my life was that 99-yuan buffet barbecue I splurged on to celebrate finding this job… Did Manager Qian take the wrong meds today? Or did aliens swap his brain? He’s actually footing the bill for a place like this? This meal has got to cost at least a kidney…)

His inner rant raged on, but his eyes couldn’t help drifting to the silent figure across the table.

Chen Bing.

She looked like she’d just come out of intense training, still in her sleek black athletic wear.

Unlike everyone else, she showed no interest in the lavish spread. With a small silver knife, she dismantled the leg of a king crab before her with the same precision and efficiency she displayed in combat—like she was disassembling a high-grade weapon, not eating a meal.

Lin Yu’s gaze lingered on her sculpted, ice-cold profile, and before he knew it, his mind flashed back to three days earlier—

—to that aquarium drenched in dreamlike shadows of blue seawater.

The Deep Sea Dream Aquarium, after the battle, was a wreck.

With the combat unit’s job finished, the logistics team arrived.

Clad in sterile white protective suits, they moved like silent worker ants—systematically clearing debris, collecting data, and repairing damaged facilities.

The air was still heavy with the cloying sweetness of the [Siren Jellyfish], mingled with the faint ozone tang left by psychic weapons tearing through the air.

Lin Yu had released his transformation, exhausted, slumped against a cracked column.

The adrenaline had ebbed, leaving only crushing fatigue that robbed him even of the strength to stand.

Chen Bing, too, had released her transformation. She stood alone in the ruined arena.

Her clothes were pristine, her skin unmarked.

The bullet wounds that had riddled her magical-girl form had left no trace on her real body.

But her condition was worse than if she’d been gravely injured.

Her face, always pale, was now deathly white, drenched in cold sweat. Her lips were bloodless, tightly pressed, as though suppressing an agony no one else could see.

Her body trembled in tiny, involuntary shivers.

From company training, Lin Yu knew: this was the heavy psychic toll when a magical girl’s body took severe damage.

(If it gets bad enough… it can kill, right…?)

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

And yet, Chen Bing didn’t rest.

She sat down, her voice rasping with fatigue, and gave orders to the logistics team:

“Move quickly. All tourists must undergo memory erasure and psychological intervention before leaving the area. No anomalous cognition residue is to remain.”

“And seal every surveillance record of Sublevel B2 in Building C.”

Her tone remained clear, composed.

But when she finished issuing commands, she paused—then suddenly looked at Lin Yu.

Her sharp eyes, cold as blades, were no longer contemptuous.

Instead, they carried scrutiny. Confusion. Shock.

Everything but the disdain she once held for “trash.”

“Senior? Senior! What are you spacing out for? If you don’t eat, I’m gonna finish all the lobster!”

A bubbly voice yanked Lin Yu out of his memory.

Li Qing.

The pink-haired imp had somehow appeared at his side, wearing a rabbit hoodie, cheeks stuffed full of golden shrimp meat like a hamster hoarding winter rations.

“Heehee, Senior, look over there—”

She jabbed him with her elbow, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper only he could hear.

“See that? Manager Qian, smiling like some old chrysanthemum.”

Lin Yu followed her gaze: sure enough, Manager Qian was schmoozing effortlessly with a few senior logistics staff, wine glass in hand.

“…What about him?” Lin Yu asked, puzzled.

“What about him?”

Li Qing rolled her eyes, adopting the jaded tone of someone who’d seen it all.

“He’s painting pies in the sky. Bet you anything he’s telling those uncles, ‘You guys are the unsung heroes behind the scenes, our firmest support,’ blah blah blah. And promising to get them more budget next quarter. Same tired script. I heard it enough when I first joined.”

Her dead-on impersonation nearly made Lin Yu burst out laughing.

(…Too real. Exactly like my last boss.)

His eyes flicked between Qian’s smile and the extravagant dishes, and finally he leaned closer to Li Qing, voicing his biggest concern:

“Hey, uh, Li Qing… Did Manager Qian hit a midlife crisis or something? Spending this much money on us? He’s not about to make us sign some ‘voluntary 996 struggle pact’ after dinner, is he?”

“Pffft—!”

Li Qing almost sprayed shrimp meat everywhere.

After swallowing, she leaned in, grinning like a fox revealing the trick:

“Senior, you think too highly of his generosity. You think he’s paying for this?”

She winked.

“This meal is billed to the company’s ‘Emergency Project Response’ budget. The tab? Going straight to the desk of poor Zhao Liwei at the City Emergency Management Bureau. The expense title? ‘Necessary psychological intervention and humane care for frontline staff after high-intensity operations.’”

“In short—” she concluded with a devilishly pure smile, shoving a steaming grilled rock lobster the size of Lin Yu’s hand onto his plate,

“—we’re feasting on Party A’s dime! So eat, Senior! Eat until Zhao Liwei goes bankrupt, or we’re letting down the trauma we went through that night!” ❤

Lin Yu stared, stunned.

He glanced at the lobster on his plate, then at Manager Qian still smiling paternally and mouthing empty words about “our company always prioritizing employee well-being.”

(…Holy sht.)*

His heart could only utter that awe-struck expletive.

(Killing the client isn’t enough—you bleed him and make him thank you for the privilege… Manager Qian isn’t just a capitalist. He’s freakin’ Zhang Mazi reincarnated!)

The last of his guilt about “milking the company” evaporated.

He picked up knife and fork, no longer polite, devouring the luxurious protein like a starving beast.

The night rolled on: rounds of wine, dish after dish.

The room grew hotter, noisier, drunker.

…

By the end, when Manager Qian clapped his hands and announced each frontline combatant would receive a 100,000 yuan bonus, the entire room exploded like fireworks.

“Holy sh*t! A hundred grand?!”

“Manager Qian, you’re goddamn amazing!!”

Li Qing’s eyes went wide as saucers, then she practically squealed, hugging Lin Yu and nuzzling her pink head against his face like a kitten:

“Woooo! A hundred thousand! Now I can go to Ruikang Bio— cough cough, I mean, the shopping district!”

Chen Bing, in contrast, simply nodded, raised her glass to Qian, and downed her whiskey without a word.

Lin Yu?

He was in a daze.

His mind roared blankly with that single number:

“One… one hundred thousand…”

The figure was crushing, surreal.

(One day’s work. A hundred thousand in one shot? Goddamn, this pays better than anything I could’ve imagined…)

Dreams of clearing debts, buying his parents new phones, even a down payment for a real home in the cold city—everything rushed in at once, hot lava smashing through his rationality.

He raised his beer, giddy and weightless, shouting with the rest:

“Come on!!! Drink, drink, drink! We’re not going home until we’re drunk tonight!!”