Chapter Seven: The First Day at Work

At that moment, a series of chilling screams suddenly echoed around the water dungeon, each one following the last, as haunting as the howling of wolves. Instinctively, we craned our necks to look. I was the tallest, and from a distance, I saw several men hanging upside down from the trees, naked, their heads positioned just above a pile of crackling firewood.

Several of them already had flames licking at their hair. Despite being hung head-down, feet-up, under the scorching blaze, they writhed desperately, struggling to lift their bodies in a sit-up-like motion, trying to keep their heads away from the torment of the flames.

“Brother Can! I was wrong! I’ll get a sale today, I promise!”
“Brother Can! Please! Give me another chance!”

Their pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. Brother Can was relentless, swinging his whip in response. After a few minutes, he glanced at his watch and made a gesture, signaling his lackeys to release the men.

They were dropped right onto the burning firewood, and another round of wailing ensued. Their heads were now completely charred, resembling tea eggs from afar.

“Brother Can’s in a good mood today! So I’ll give you all one last chance! If you don’t close a deal this week, you’ll be sent straight to Tiger’s Den!”

“Thank you, Brother Can! Thank you!”

Those men knelt and kowtowed, thanking Brother Can profusely. The others who had been heading to the canteen stopped in their tracks, turning to witness the cruelty. The lackeys didn’t interfere; one even shouted, “Watch closely! This is what we call roasting tea eggs! Anyone who doesn’t make at least one deal a month—this is your fate!”

Hearing this, terror spread among the captives; many lost all appetite and ran straight back to the office building. The fear was not theirs alone—it infected us too. I couldn’t help but imagine myself, dressed in red, strung up and roasted like a tea egg.

At that moment, Xie Yixiang whispered to me that roasting tea eggs was considered mild; the Tiger’s Den, mentioned by Brother Can, belonged to another powerful family, the Bai clan. That place was true hell.

He was right. When I eventually visited Tiger’s Den, I realized that compared to it, KK Park was paradise.

Suddenly, I noticed Brother Can approaching us with several masked men. My heart sank; was it possible he’d found out about our pranks on the lackeys or our stolen food? Terrified, I watched as Brother Can signaled for the cages to be opened.

We were herded to the center of the pool. Brother Can removed his sunglasses, revealing a scarred face, and scolded us, “I’d planned to keep you locked up longer! But the park’s revenue has been terrible these last two months! Old Master Ming called just yesterday to scold me! So I’m letting you out early for work! There’s one week left to the end of the month! By rule, all you newcomers must close deals worth ten thousand in your first month!”

“If you don’t hit ten thousand…”

He paused, his gaze drifting toward the roasting site.

Several timid ones nodded quickly, “Don’t worry, Brother Can! We’ll make the deals! We’ll meet the target!”

Brother Can didn’t reply, merely gesturing for his men to drive us out of the pond.

“You have thirty minutes! Go wash up, change clothes, and return to your posts!”

No sooner had his words finished, than we all bolted toward the dormitory. Yet I headed in the opposite direction, toward the office building, causing Xie Yixiang and the others to glance back in confusion.

My room was on the tenth floor; thirty minutes wouldn’t be enough for me to run up, shower, and change. I disregarded the rules, took the elevator, and soon reached the tenth floor.

Inside, I found a clean set of clothes laid out on the bed—perhaps prepared for insiders like us. I didn’t waste time pondering, rushed into the bathroom, gave myself a quick wash, changed, and donned my work uniform before heading to the ninth-floor customer service department.

Upon entering the office hall, I sensed something was off. The number of patrolling lackeys in the corridor had doubled since last time. I sat at my station, finding the VChat interface open on the computer, logged in with a strange account, the password field empty. I glanced at Group Leader Song’s spot, which was vacant.

A lackey beside me seemed to have been waiting. He checked his watch, then jabbed me hard with his electric baton.

“Lazy pig! You’re late! Song’s at a meeting! The account’s set up for you! Password is eight eights!”

He then opened a spreadsheet in WPS, filled with hundreds or thousands of VChat and Penguin accounts.

“See these? Add them as friends, then chat with them!”

After his instructions, he shackled my right ankle to the desk. Brother Can’s words echoed in my mind—ten thousand in sales this week, or I’d be roasted as a tea egg.

I covertly glanced at my colleagues on either side. On my right was 2050, engrossed in chatting with someone labeled “Big Fish.” On my left was a face filled with malice—number 2044—the one who stole my bun in the canteen and got kicked by me. No doubt he remembered the grudge and was waiting for payback. I glared at him, warning him to stay away.

I buried myself in adding accounts from the list, copying the verification messages—mostly variations like “Old classmate, remember me?” or “Hi! Your sister asked me to add you!” These accounts had all been filtered by big data—middle-aged singles or naive young men and women.

When targeting women, we played the role of single, wealthy men longing for a soulmate. With single men, we pretended to be lonely young women.

I clearly wasn’t cut out for this. Even in school, I’d never managed to chat up a junior properly. Now, almost every conversation ended after five lines, or I was immediately blocked.

Frustrated, I glanced at 2044’s screen and saw him chatting smoothly with a girl—calling her “dear,” “baby,” grinning as if genuinely in love.

Suddenly, I got a heavy kick in the back. I turned to see a lackey glaring at me. “Stupid pig! What are you looking at? Get back to work!”

So I returned to adding friends. This time, I targeted a woman in her forties, recently divorced. My verification message was, “Auntie! It’s me! Do you remember me?”

Before I could send my message, she eagerly replied:

“Hello! Are you Xiao Lan’s classmate?”
“Have you seen my Xiao Lan?”

This neurotic woman threw me off. I instinctively opened her Moments, hoping for useful info. The instant I did, my mind went blank—regret, guilt, rage all surged forth.

Her recent posts were nothing but missing person notices:

Daughter Jiang Yue Lan, born June 5, 1999, age 20, high school education, disappeared after going to work with classmates on September 21, 2019…
Mother’s phone: 131xxxxxxxx

At the bottom, the photo was the very girl Brother Can had shot dead before my eyes.

Each notice was followed by a crying message: “Lan Lan! It’s mommy’s fault! Please come home!”

My hands trembled on the keyboard, then clenched into fists. I sat there in a daze, then quietly sent her a message:

“Hello, I’m Lan Lan’s friend.”

Almost instantly, she replied with four messages:

“You’re Lan Lan’s friend?!”
“Where is Lan Lan? How is she?”
“Can you contact her?”
“Why can’t I reach her? Has something happened to her?!”

“Tell me, where do you work? I’ll come right away!”

I stopped, hands frozen. I wasn’t good at chatting, nor did I know how to handle this. It wasn’t that I lacked the courage to tell the truth—whether she could accept her daughter’s tragic fate aside, all chat records here were monitored by backend programs and the tech department. Any signals for help or negative information about the park would be intercepted.

Interception was the least of it; I could easily be killed by the lackeys. Here, management had zero tolerance for sending SOS messages or attempting escape. No matter how good your sales, if you were caught, your fate was either death or mutilation.

As I pondered, a voice behind me said, “Well, not bad! This one’s promising! See if you can lure her over!”

I jolted and turned to see Song, staring at my screen. He’d clearly been watching for a while.

Seeing my lack of reaction, Song smirked and held up ten fingers. “Bring someone over! That’s a hundred thousand in sales! Five percent commission as a reward!”