Chapter 9: Workplace Setbacks and the Desperation of Job Hunting

With the formalities wrapped up, they clutched the keys to their new home and trudged along a muddy dirt road toward the public housing complex.

This so-called housing district was a haphazard collection of reclaimed properties from an older community—a line-up of boxy, uninspired shacks crammed together like sardines. Not a single shred of individuality to speak of.

Shao Ye fished out the keys and swung open the front door. A modest courtyard greeted them—if you could even call it that. The bamboo fence was more of a flimsy gesture than an actual barrier, and the house, a single-story structure, could’ve been mistaken for a slapdash rural build.

Inside was a bare-bones layout: a small living room merging into an open kitchen, and further in, the lone bedroom. Up against the wall sat a double bed and a creaky wardrobe. The bathroom, naturally, was awkwardly tucked into the bedroom itself.

“This is amazing! It’s got a kitchen, a bathroom, and even a little yard!” Shao Ye exclaimed, beaming like he’d just stumbled upon a palace. To him, this was an upgrade—a far cry from the ramshackle shed he used to call home. Still, a flicker of unease crossed his face as he glanced at Lu Zhanxing, wondering if his companion could stomach such a crude living arrangement.

Lu Zhanxing, however, wasn’t nearly as thrilled. His cold gaze swept the space, and a silent judgment hung heavy in the air. 'Kitchen and bathroom? Isn’t that just basic functionality?' he thought. As for the laughably tiny "yard"—less than four square meters, really—calling it a courtyard felt like a sick joke.

Noticing Lu’s sour mood, Shaoye tried to smooth things over. “Lu-ge, I know it’s not much, but it’s the best we can do for now. In this district, unless you’re someone like Boss Bai, living large with your dirty millions, this is the reality for most people. Having a roof over our heads is already more than some can dream of. Let’s stick it out, okay? I promise, once I find my sister and pay off Bai’s debt, life will definitely get better.”

Lu Zhanxing’s voice was steady, though his expression remained impassive. “Ah Ye, I’m not upset. If it weren’t for you, I’d have already been dragged back to the capital planet for execution. So you don’t owe me any apologies. I’m just… unaccustomed to this environment. It’s not disgust—it’s unfamiliarity.”

Over the past few days, Shao Ye had begun to grasp the true essence of Lu Zhanxing. Beneath that frosty exterior lay a profoundly gentle soul. He was the kind of man who said little, revealed even less, but carried the weight of his care in every action.

Thoughtful. Responsible. Quietly dependable.

With that realization, navigating their dynamic became far less daunting.

Shao Ye had always worried his bounty notice would leak into the Dust District. But when he stopped by the administrative building today, he learned the Dust District’s network had been severed from the eight major star systems for over two years.

Unless the Alliance forces decided to show up personally to drag him out, no one in this forsaken dump would have any clue where he’d disappeared to these past three years.

These days, the Dust District had an air of “self-governing autonomy,” if you were trying to spin it nicely. In plain terms, it was a den of opportunists. The Alliance couldn’t be bothered to clean it up, leaving it to rot in chaos. Even the space pirates and rebel forces only swung by to loot occasionally, deeming the place too poor to waste time on.

Now, the real power lay with a handful of major gangs, led by none other than Boss Bai.

Shao Ye leaned back and said casually, “Let’s rest tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go job-hunting.”

“Sure.” Lu Zhanxing’s gaze swept over the greasy, crusted stains on the dining table and then the cobweb-covered beams above. He hesitated, falling silent.

Shao Ye noticed the look of distaste on his face. Without a word, he grabbed a broom and rag. “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

“This is our place. No way I’m letting you do it all alone.” Lu Zhanxing picked up a cleaning tool but clearly had no idea where to start.

Shao Ye smirked inwardly. 'This guy’s a pampered young master through and through. Let’s see how long he lasts in this slum.'

Yet, surprisingly, under Shao Ye’s instructions, Lu got the hang of it quickly. He cleaned with a precision that screamed military-grade discipline, as if someone had drilled it into him.

Watching this tall, clean-cut guy bustling around in the grimy kitchen, Shao Ye couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of contrast. He was like a cold beam of moonlight piercing the garbage heap—out of place but strangely striking.

The bed was thankfully large enough. Neither of them protested sharing it, but they both politely kept to their respective edges.

The next morning, Shao Ye took Brother Lu out to find work. With his new identity, Lu Zhanxing was effectively a blank slate, which meant no professional certifications. He had no choice but to settle for manual labor.

Money was tight, and Brother Lu’s physical condition was excellent, so he signed up as a sorter at a grocery warehouse—low pay but quick to start.

With Brother Lu sorted, Shao Ye focused on landing a mechanic’s job. He had the certificates and the skills, so it should’ve been straightforward. Yet, inexplicably, rejection after rejection followed.

As for Boss Bai’s mechanical factory?

That was off the table. Too many complications.

By the end of the week, Shao Ye was still jobless, despite wearing out his shoes scouring the district. The only silver lining? Brother Lu’s job paid weekly, just enough to scrape by.

Then payday came, and Shao Ye was floored.

The job promised a minimum hourly wage of 1.8 Alliance credits. But the supervisor docked it to 1.6, claiming Brother Lu was “untrained.” No amount of arguing made a difference. The supervisor’s tone was icy: “Company policy. Take it or leave it.”

Same back-breaking work, lower pay—all because of some fabricated excuse. Sure, some might argue, That’s what happens when you don’t have qualifications. But this was grunt work—since when did lifting boxes require a degree?

What’s next?

Spending years studying useless theories, handing schools your hard-earned money, just to end up as an “intern” in another exploitative black-market gig?

For now, they had to swallow this insult. But the supervisor’s next move was downright disgusting.

The wages were supposed to include a base rate plus performance bonuses. However, the company required employees to hit the fifth bonus tier in their first week just to qualify for any bonus at all. And the bar only got higher after that.

Reaching that fifth tier? For a newbie, it’d take at least two extra hours of unpaid work.

But the supervisor had a neat little trick: he staggered shifts. One hour on, one hour off. No chance to pick up other jobs or even rest at home. And during those “off” hours? Employees were expected to “catch up” on their tier requirements—for free.

Call it what it was: unpaid overtime.

Even if you managed to hit the fifth tier, the bonus bumped your hourly rate by a laughable 0.2 credits. So, for an hour of back-breaking work, you might earn a grand total of 1.8 credits.

What kind of joke was this? Working twice as hard for scraps barely worth the effort.

Every day, Lu Zhanxing grinds through over ten exhausting hours of work. Yet, when the timecards tally up, his "productive hours" barely scrape five. It’s this ridiculous “work one hour, rest one hour” scheme—one where even forgetting to clock in docks your pay—that would test the patience of a saint.

Who in their right mind could stomach this?

“Lu-ge, they’re walking all over you! How can you just take it?” Shao Ye blurted, equal parts furious and heartbroken. He knew exactly how brutal this line of work could be.

He’d done his time in quick-delivery jobs before meeting Boss Bai. Back then, barely old enough to be legal, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and bear it. The endless running, hauling heavy loads with nothing but his bare hands—no carts, no shortcuts. Shao Ye could recount the misery like it was etched in his bones.

Lu Zhanxing clenched his fists so hard that the veins on his knuckles bulged. But after a tense pause, he let them fall open, his voice flat and resigned. “Ah Ye, we need the money right now.”

Shao Ye had no comeback. The sheer cruelty of life slapped him silent. It was a suffocating reality: swallowing indignity because the weight of survival left you no other option.

By the next day, desperation pushed Shao Ye to swallow his pride and approach Boss Bai.

Conflicted didn’t begin to cover it—guilt and unease gnawed at him, yet the financial noose tightened with every passing second. He had no choice but to step back into the lion’s den.

When he knocked on the door to Bai’s office, a guard stepped in to relay the visitor. “Boss, that Shao Ye kid is here.”

Bai’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as he closed the folder in his hands. “Told you he’d crawl back on his own. Let him in.”

Shao Ye entered hesitantly, lowering himself onto the edge of the sofa. When the secretary brought tea, he didn’t dare touch it, sitting stiff as a board, nerves on edge.

Bai stared at him unblinking, his eyes cool but amused. Then, he chuckled. “You didn’t used to be so uptight around me, A-Ye.”

Shao Ye offered an awkward laugh. “I was young and reckless back then. Didn't know better.”

“So, now that you’ve grown up, you’re keeping your distance from me?” Bai’s question hung in the air, deceptively light yet laced with challenge.

Shao Ye scrambled for an answer but chose instead to dive straight to the point. “Boss Bai, can I... can I work for you again?”

“Of course you can,” Bai replied easily. “You’re one of the rare gems in the Dust District—I’d never say no to that.”

Bai’s words carried the same weight they always did, unflinchingly casual yet somehow disarming. For Shao Ye, it was a relief. Securing his old job as a mechanic was a lifeline he hadn’t dared to hope for.

Mechanics were at the higher end of the pay scale for Dust District laborers, and Bai’s factory, though far from perfect, treated its workers better than the soul-sucking quick-delivery gigs.

But Boss Bai wasn’t done. “That said, your old spot’s already filled.”

“That’s fine. I’m happy to start from the bottom,” Shao Ye said quickly. He was confident—he’d done this work before and could climb the ranks again, no matter how long it took.

To his shock, Boss Bai countered, “Actually, my new factory needs a chief mechanic. Starting salary: 5,000 credits a month.”

Shao Ye froze, convinced he must’ve misheard.

Chief mechanic?

Five grand?

It felt like the kind of absurd dream you’d wake up laughing at.

Boss Bai, unfazed, slid a prepared contract across the desk. “Take a look. If it all checks out, you can sign today and start tomorrow.”

Shao Ye’s hands shook as he skimmed the document, the reality of the situation dawning on him. Boss Bai wasn’t known to deal in empty promises, and this offer?

Too good to pass up. Grabbing the pen, he scrawled his name without hesitation.

As the ink dried, Boss Bai’s gaze flickered, landing on the ring glinting on Shao Ye’s left hand. His demeanor shifted instantly, and he stood, crossing the desk in two long strides to grip Shao Ye’s wrist.

“What’s this?” Boss Bai demanded, voice tight.

Caught off guard, Shao Ye blinked. “Oh, this? Just a wedding ring.”