Chapter 1

“Beep—” With a soft sound, the door was carefully pushed open just a crack.

A pair of jet-black eyes peered through the gap, cautiously scanning the room.

This was a studio barely large enough to accommodate forty or fifty people; the space was modest, and a single glance revealed nearly everything at once.

Inside, the studio was sectioned into several small areas, each partitioned into individual workstations, every one equipped with a computer.

Jiang Qiubai took a cursory look—of the dozens of workstations, only a handful had their monitors lit.

Of these, more than half lingered on the system’s desktop, while the rest displayed various garish and colorful websites.

In short, not a single person was seriously working.

But then, it wasn’t hard to understand—after all, who would still be motivated to work in a studio rumored to be on the verge of bankruptcy, with several months of unpaid wages?

Why hadn’t these people left?

Having just tamed this new body, Jiang Qiubai searched his mind for relevant memories.

Then, with a trace of sympathy, he looked at the few employees left in the studio.

According to the memories, anyone with even a modicum of ability had already cut their losses and jumped ship months ago, leaving behind two months’ salary.

Only these few recent graduates, unable to find other work, clung to a last shred of hope, waiting for the boss to have a sudden change of heart and make good on his promise to settle their wages.

But then… Jiang Qiubai thought of the less-than-six-figure balance left in the original owner's account.

If he hadn’t crossed into this world, these people would likely wait months more without seeing a cent.

The employees, objects of Jiang Qiubai’s deep sympathy, were huddled together in heated discussion, too absorbed to notice someone peeking in.

“It’s already the twenty-eighth. Didn’t the boss say he’d pay the wages from three months ago before the end of the month?” a man grumbled, slamming his phone onto the table. “I’m waiting on that money to pay off my credit card.”

“Just wait a little longer. Only two days left in the month,” a colleague beside him tried to console. “If we don’t get paid on the first, we’ll all go confront him together.”

“If we’re going to make a fuss, we should do it now. I spoke with Xu from accounting yesterday—she said the company’s accounts were empty when she left last month,” someone at the center of the group interjected.

“Are you serious, Old Liu?!” The man desperate for his salary was rattled. “Didn’t the boss say he was out looking for investors not long ago?”

He did look—just didn’t find any, Jiang Qiubai silently added, involuntarily shrinking back.

Someone scoffed, “Do you even have to ask? Who would invest in a studio in this state?”

He went on, “During campus recruitment, all the boss talked about was how, once the game was a hit, we’d get raises. Forget about raises, I haven’t seen a paycheck in months.”

Another immediately chimed in, “Yeah, why did I ever fall for it? Dreamed of becoming a founding member in a startup—must’ve lost my mind.”

“So what, you’re saying there’s no way we’re getting paid this month?!”

“We can’t just sit around and wait!” The first man slapped his thigh, unable to contain himself. “When the boss comes in, we need to demand an explanation!”

“Yes! We’ll go together!”

“If he doesn’t pay, we’ll sue!”

The handful of employees left in the studio all voiced their support, each louder than the last.

Seeing that someone had already begun searching up relevant labor laws, Jiang Qiubai lowered his gaze.

He still didn’t know why, one moment, he had been celebrating the success of his new game, which boasted monthly revenues in the hundreds of millions, and the next, he’d crossed into the body of someone with his exact name, even his appearance.

But here he was, and letting the employees talk much longer would leave him a lone commander without an army.

Jiang Qiubai closed the door, adjusted his collar, took a steadying breath, and opened the studio door again.

This time, he didn’t bother to be quiet. Instead, he coughed softly as he entered, immediately drawing his employees’ attention.

In an instant, the heated discussion ceased as though someone had pressed pause.

Standing at the doorway with hands clasped, Jiang Qiubai leisurely observed the employees’ faces, contorted by the abrupt change of circumstance.

What was it like to be caught bad-mouthing the boss in person?

The employees: Thanks for asking. Still in the studio, social life now deceased.

The man who’d threatened to sue instinctively tucked away his phone and retreated behind his colleagues, thoughts racing.

Why had the boss shown up now?

How much had he overheard?

The man desperately tried to recall what he’d just said, swallowing hard.

He’d spent most of the last few minutes searching how to file a lawsuit, not saying much—he should be fine, right?

Besides, the company door was pretty soundproof… The boss might not have heard.

He kept reassuring himself, mustering the courage to sneak a glance at Jiang Qiubai, only to meet a gaze filled with ambiguous amusement. Quickly, he looked away.

Strange—the boss felt completely different today.

He sensed something was off but chalked it up to his own guilty conscience.

“G-good morning, boss,” finally, one brave soul broke the deathly silence.

“Good morning, boss,” the others echoed awkwardly as they came to their senses.

Jiang Qiubai responded with a faint acknowledgment, his finely drawn features inscrutable, leaving everyone guessing.

He didn’t seem angry—everyone exchanged surreptitious glances.

Nor did he, as usual, launch into empty promises on arrival. How odd.

Something unusual was afoot.

All eyes landed on the man in the center.

Old Liu, it’s your turn!

“Boss, what brings you in so early today?” Old Liu forced a smile, inwardly groaning.

There was no escaping—on paper, he still held a leadership title, even if his pay was no different than anyone else’s.

“I wanted to settle everyone’s wages. If I didn’t come early, I’d delay your leaving,” Jiang Qiubai said, stepping forward and casually pulling out a chair to sit.

“Wait, you’re actually going to pay us?” the man waiting to pay off his credit card blurted out.

…

He realized instantly what he’d just blurted out, and under the exasperated stares of his colleagues, tried to recover, “I—I mean, uh—”

His mouth hung open, but his brain was tied in knots—he couldn’t get another word out.

Damn it, would the boss use this as an excuse to withhold their salaries again?

On the verge of tears, he wished he could slap himself.

Why can’t you think before you speak?

The others, interrupted before they could celebrate, were now only left feeling anxious.

“Not only will you get your wages, but I’ll even give you a raise,” Jiang Qiubai said, unconcerned, for the original owner had certainly been less than virtuous. “But before that, there’s something I’d like to tell you all.”