Chapter 7: The Contract

“…No, no, that’s not it. Where do you think I’m from?” Cang Xingyu asked in shock.

“How should I know?” Hill retorted confidently.

“No… never mind. Why do you think I’m that, uh… heiress?”

“Come on, stop pretending,” Hill interrupted bluntly. “Do you think dressing in rags can hide your background? You look like someone who hasn’t suffered much hardship—no signs of long-term hunger or obvious scars.”

There was no rebuttal to that.

After reconstructing her body recently, she indeed looked healthier, no longer gaunt and pale as before.

Cang Xingyu was left speechless.

“Isn’t it obvious? Either you’re some heiress who came here to experience life for a few days and knows nothing about this world or how to disguise yourself properly…”

Hill’s eyes scanned her up and down. “Or you’re just a kid who likes to put on airs and doesn’t even know what you’re talking about. Which do you think is more likely?”

There was another possibility: that she was a soul from a peaceful society who had transmigrated into this body from another world…

Cang Xingyu silently argued to herself.

She hadn’t expected Hill’s perceptiveness to be so sharp, almost immediately deducing that she truly had no understanding of this world.

What surprised her even more was how absurd Hill’s conclusion was.

Realizing that adopting this identity might rationalize her many oddities, Cang Xingyu decided to go along with it.

“Alright. How did you figure it out?”

Hill smiled smugly. “From your curiosity about everything here and your flawless use of the common tongue, it’s clear you’re not ordinary. Besides, who would be foolish enough to refuse a well-paid agent job?”

“Here, anyone with a surname and a known family name is usually an heiress born with a silver spoon,” Hill sighed. “This place is full of kids abandoned on the streets since childhood, naming themselves because they don’t have surnames. If anyone finds out your real name, it’ll be a huge problem.”

“But isn’t it normal to give your full name when registering?” Cang Xingyu was puzzled.

“Normal? Maybe in your circles,” Hill sneered. “Sure, maybe in your circles. But here, that’s like announcing you’re a spoiled rich kid who doesn’t know the rules. If you want to stay, better ditch your old habits and learn to blend in. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee what might happen once you step outside this door.”

But... the original owner of this body really was named Cang Xingyu.

She hadn’t inherited any memories yet, only knowing one thing: the original’s name was definitely Cang Xingyu, and so was hers.

A new doubt stirred in her mind, but she just continued along with Hill’s words. “Alright. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

Hill sized her up again. “Your uncontrolled supernatural ability—I’ve never heard of anything like that. These abilities consume mental energy. If what you said is true, you’d run out quickly. I guess only special great families have such powers. For ordinary folks like us, even seeing one supernatural is rare, let alone your type.”

“...”

Hill didn’t probe further. She clearly took great pride in having found a weakness in Cang Xingyu, as if she had caught a rare little animal. Excitedly, she patted Cang Xingyu’s head. “But none of that matters! Don’t worry, Xingyu, I’ve got your back from now on!”

Cang Xingyu smiled helplessly.

It seemed she still had a long way to go to truly fit into this world.

…

Cang Xingyu was seated inside the C Sector Administrative Bureau. From the moment Hill led her through the doors, she felt the weight of gazes sticking to her back.

The spacious hall featured rows of neatly arranged seats along both sides, for agents waiting to handle their affairs. Though somewhat worn, the chairs were carefully maintained with no visible damage.

At the far end, a row of orderly service windows displayed digital screens overhead, showing the names of services and current queue numbers.

Although the screens flickered occasionally, overall they remained clear and stable. For such an environment to function normally was no small feat.

Among the agents waiting at these windows, approximately five percent were supernatural ability users. While not high, this proportion was far greater than what she’d seen outside.

Yet, as she looked down at her tattered clothes, a sense of incongruity welled up inside her.

From the moment she entered the hall, many agents had cast unfriendly, even subtly hostile, glances her way.

Fortunately, Hill noticed this in time.

She swept those people with a cold gaze; not one dared meet her eyes. They quickly averted their gaze, suddenly engrossed in their documents.

Cang Xingyu realized once again—becoming an agent for the Rain Drop Commission was truly a rare opportunity.

Although the bureau’s facilities and technology still lagged far behind the modern society she remembered, here they represented the highest level of organization and system.

“Let’s go, wait over there,” Hill gently pushed Cang Xingyu, signaling her to follow.

[Agent Employment Contract]

Cang Xingyu quickly scanned the contract’s contents.

It matched Hill’s earlier explanation.

As an agent, she was to voluntarily accept or be assigned various tasks and, upon completion, receive corresponding qualification points and remuneration based on the task rating.

Qualification points measured an agent’s experience and capability, primarily used for promotion. The salary was the agent’s direct income source.

Agents were classified into three ranks: trainee, official, and senior, each with corresponding qualification point thresholds.

Trainee agents underwent a mandatory seven-day probation period and had to complete enough tasks to accumulate points to advance to official agent status.

Promotion from official to senior agent was extremely difficult, requiring ten years of experience and very high qualification points.

Senior agents were the backbone of the commission, qualified to accept tasks of all levels, including some extremely challenging ones exclusive to them. Their points and salary far exceeded those of lower ranks.

…

Every job required signing a “commission contract” like this one.

Unlike ordinary contracts, commission contracts implanted a beacon within both parties’ mental worlds, whose power corresponded to the task’s difficulty.

If either party breached the agreement, the beacon would trigger a violent explosion within the violator’s mind, inflicting immeasurable damage.

“That’s right, this employment contract itself carries commission authority,” Hill’s voice came from above. “Even though you’re here now, I’m not in a rush—you can take your time to consider.”

Cang Xingyu carefully examined the task ratings and salary clauses at the bottom of the contract, feeling a surge of joy.

Though she hadn’t understood much about agent income before, the figures before her astonished her.

The Rain Drop Commission, though small, was a highly rated institution.

As an agent here, even doing nothing guaranteed a weekly fixed salary of at least a thousand New Coins.

If she diligently accepted tasks, even the lowest-rated commissions could push her weekly pay beyond four thousand.

More importantly, as a supernatural agent, she qualified for various additional allowances.

She once again deeply felt how privileged supernatural beings were in this world.

At employment, supernatural agents received a substantial pre-deposit at cooperating hospitals and workshops.

The bureau opened exclusive electronic accounts in their names, preloading this amount for their use anytime.

Just moments ago, Hill had invoked “employment benefits” to secure an extra expense entry on the Rain Drop Commission’s account from Fran, then took Cang Xingyu to a special “hospital.”

Unlike the disinfecting, bandaging, and surgery she knew, almost all “hospitals” here were operated by supernatural practitioners.

Hill had the “doctor” perform a basic recovery treatment on her shoulder wound, charging over a thousand New Coins.

But now, her shoulder was completely healed, with no trace of injury.

A scene from earlier flashed through Cang Xingyu’s mind. She realized the task she’d done for Hill—retrieving lost letters—was actually a lowest-level F-rank commission, paying a mere fifty New Coins.

Yet in this society, even that fifty New Coins was enough to drive countless people to exhaustion, some even risking their lives.

Recalling the tired eyes of those she’d seen that morning, Cang Xingyu shivered involuntarily.

She lowered her gaze to the contract in her hands, with no hint of regret left in her heart.

“I’ve made up my mind.”

She picked up the pen and solemnly signed her name at the bottom of the contract.