The dawn light filtered through stained-glass windows etched with ancient symbols, painting the sprawling jade-tiled courtyard of the Jade Pavilion Records Department in a kaleidoscope of soft hues. Xu Liang arrived at the office with a heavy heart and an even heavier mind, still reeling from the nightmarish welcome of the previous day. As he stepped through gilded archways into the center of the Bureau, the quiet click of his worn leather shoes on polished stone reminded him all too well of his former corporate world—only this time the stakes were far more mystical, and the memo files far more numerous.
Inside the main hall, long rows of desks made of carved hardwood and imbued with protective enchantments stood alongside towering shelves crammed with scrolls, sealed documents, and glittering certificate tokens. The atmosphere was paradoxically serene and frenetic; hushed murmurs intermingled with the rustle of parchment, and the occasional burst of animated conversation echoed like a distant chime. Xu Liang paused at the threshold, taking a measured breath to steady his nerves. Though his body might have been a mortal remnant, his mind, battered by years of corporate drudgery and now mystical mayhem, sought refuge in the familiar logic of procedure—even if the procedures now bordered on the surreal.
He made his way to his assigned cubicle—a modest space tucked between two ancient filing cabinets engraved with cryptic runes. On the desk lay a stack of untreated documents: an endless series of complaints, duel petitions, tax discrepancies, and even a mysterious "Artifact Misplacement" claim that hinted at secrets far beyond lost treasures. As he settled into his ergonomically designed chair (which, in this realm, was no less elaborate than an enchanted lotus seat), Xu Liang felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. He recalled the earlier chaos: the duel petition from Inner Disciple Shen Mu, the panicked appearance of the paper messenger spirit, and that odd tribunal notification regarding Elder Wen's celestial furnace theft. The enormity of his new role began to crystallize in his mind—this was no mere clerical assignment, but an integral node in the tangled network of cultivation bureaucracy.
He toggled his eyes between the looming pile of scrolls and his hidden compartment beneath the desk where his cherished talismans and his discreetly kept sword slept. Though he pretended to be an average foundation establishment cultivator—completely ordinary in the eyes of the sect—inside, he carried the quiet, overwhelming power that he had long mastered in secret. Yet now was not the time for demonstrations of strength. Instead, he had a day's work to complete, and in these halls routine was everything.
Xu Liang began with the "Celestial Furnace Theft" case. Sitting at his desk, he carefully unrolled the luminous parchment that bore the official complaint of Sect Elder Wen from Azure Peak. The script shimmered with enchantments binding each character to its meaning. Elders in this Bureau were treated with reverence, but even among immortals, claims of theft could snowball into machinations of dark politics. Xu Liang's analytical mind, honed as much by corporate audits as by clandestine cultivation secrets, parsed every detail of the document. The celestial furnace was not just a household item—it was a symbol of power, a relic that embodied the divine fire of a sect's legacy. Its disappearance could implicate a high council of immortal kings and spark disputes that might erupt into literal duels across the lands.
He frowned as he compared the eyewitness accounts with the department's registry of prized artifacts. His nimble fingers moved deftly over the enchanted ink, and the Bureau's digital archive—a system of hovering, translucent orbs that pulsed with recorded data—displayed the relevant details in a shifting hologram. As he carefully sealed his decision with an official stamp that glowed with a faint forensic light, Xu Liang could almost feel the inquisitive gaze of fate upon him. He marked the case as "Under Investigative Suspension," sending it into the labyrinthine workflow of higher officials for further scrutiny.
Before he could file the report completely, a series of paper spirits began to flutter through his workspace. These tiny, magical constructs, born of more errant magical runes than purposeful design, were notorious for their unpredictable behavior, often carrying additional notifications or even secret messages. One in particular—a slender, blue-tinted spirit with flickering eyes—soon alighted on his desk, unfolding a new scroll before him.
"Urgent Notification," the delicate script proclaimed as the paper spirit quivered in the ambient light. Xu Liang leaned forward, reading: "Tribunal Hearing Requested – Elder Wen's Celestial Furnace Theft Claim. Immediate preparation for a formal hearing required by the Celestial Tribunal Council. Respond by First Light." The note seemed to pulse ominously, and Xu Liang's stomach sank. A tribunal was not an everyday event—it was a high-stakes, high-visibility affair that could attract the attention of the top echelon of cultic leadership. With reluctance, he swiftly annotated the document with a formal receipt stamp and filed it into the designated "Urgent" folder, his mind already racing through mitigation strategies. This not only meant further bureaucratic delays but also signaled that darker forces might be stirring behind the mundane veil of paperwork.
The ambient hum of conversation reached his ears as he scanned the room. Around him, fellow clerks—immortal cultivators molded by ancient traditions yet stuck in roles reminiscent of modern-day administrative drudgery—muttered their own grievances. At a nearby desk, a weathered old man in tattered robes named Master Long was calmly recalibrating his quill, which he used in lieu of a pen. His lined face suggested he had witnessed countless organizational disasters, and his eyes held a secret spark of rebellious humor. Master Long caught Xu Liang's eye and gave a slow nod of solidarity—a silent "we're all in this madness together" message that buoyed Xu Liang's resolve.
Just as he began to settle into a steady rhythm of processing forms, a sudden clamor erupted from the corridor. The heavy double doors swung open with a gust of enchanted wind, and in strode Deputy Supervisor Li—a sharp-featured cultivator known for his no-nonsense attitude and a reputation for wielding both bureaucratic authority and mystical force. His robe was impeccably tailored, embroidered with intricate patterns that denoted rank and, more importantly, his connection to the sect's central leadership. As he surveyed the room with piercing eyes, an aura of impatience seemed to hang in the air.
"Report, Xu Liang!" Deputy Supervisor Li's voice boomed like a reverberating bell. "We have received multiple escalations regarding the duel petition processed earlier and additional claims concerning spirit stone inconsistencies. I require a complete status update—and swiftly!"
Xu Liang's pulse quickened. He had anticipated a formal inquiry once the day's mounting paperwork reached a critical mass. In a steady, measured tone honed by years of boardroom presentations, he replied, "Deputy Supervisor, I have processed Elder Wen's complaint and flagged the tribunal hearing for urgent review. Additionally, I have provisionally marked the duel petition from Inner Disciple Shen Mu as 'Under Procedural Delay' pending additional documentation. As for the spirit stone adjustments, the discrepancies have been noted and forwarded to the Treasury Review Division."
The Deputy's eyes narrowed for a moment as he scrutinized the report. "Ensure that every form is by the book, Xu Liang. Mistakes in these documents could lead to… dire consequences." His tone left little room for further argument, and with a brisk nod, he swept from the room, leaving behind a silence that suddenly felt even heavier than before.
Xu Liang exhaled slowly and turned back to his desk. His mind was a swirl of anxiety, exhaustion, and that steady, simmering resolve to maintain order amid chaos. Every seal he pressed, every annotation he made, served as a small act of rebellion against the rising tide of bureaucratic absurdity. Yet beneath that veneer of control, the storm of responsibilities threatened to overwhelm him. Each document was a thread in a vast tapestry of intrigue—one that could unravel at any moment, exposing men and women whose ambitions and rivalries were as volatile as explosive talisman arrays.
In a rare moment of respite, Xu Liang glanced down at a framed photograph on his desk. The image, a faded reminder of his previous life in a cramped office cubicle and cheap coffee machines, depicted him smiling—once full of hope and youthful ambition. Now, that very memory was tinged with the bitter irony of fate. He had handed in resignation notices more than once, dreaming of a quiet life away from deadlines and micromanagers. Instead, he had been thrust into a mystical milieu where the same office politics persisted, albeit with a supernatural twist. With a wry smile, he mused, "Some things never change."
The day pressed on and the once-quiet office transformed into a feverish stage of magical commotion. A young cultivator, garbed in vibrant robes and clearly new to the ways of immortal bureaucracy, approached Xu Liang's cubicle with trembling hands clutching a scroll that seemed to twitch as if alive. "Official Xu Liang," the young disciple stuttered, "I require assistance with my Application for Spirit Stone Tax Relief. The figures do not add up in my monthly cultivation allowance—and I fear that my calculations might lead to a misalignment of qi."
Xu Liang took the scroll with practiced ease; such requests were common, yet the stakes were never trivial. In the world of cultivation, numbers were as sacred as incantations. "Calm yourself," he said in a soothing tone. "Let's go over the figures." The disciple's eyes, wide with both fear and hope, followed as Xu Liang scrutinized the intricate symbols scribbled in what looked like a blend of ancient mathematics and mystical accounting. With deft strokes of his enchanted brush, Xu Liang recalculated the spirit stone depreciation—a process that eerily resembled balancing a corporate budget, albeit with the potential to literally tip the scales of cosmic energy if mishandled.
"Here," he explained patiently, "if you adjust for the seasonal yuanqi influx and the expected wear on your qi core, the numbers balance correctly." The young disciple's relief was palpable, and he bowed low before retreating back to his station, leaving Xu Liang to reflect on the strange similarities between his former life and this new existence. Even in this realm of magical mysteries and esoteric martial arts, it seemed that the principles of accounting and procedure applied with the same ruthless precision.
As the clock's chimes resonated through the pavilion—a sound imbued with both technological and mystical qualities—a sudden, urgent summons echoed over the intercom. "All clerks to the Great Hall immediately. A special assembly has been called by the Celestial Tribunal Council regarding the recent escalations in case management." The announcement, delivered in a voice both authoritative and eerie, sent ripples of apprehension through the gathered staff. Xu Liang's heartbeat quickened. An assembly called by the Tribunal was never a sign of routine administrative review; it was a portent that the quiet undercurrents of bureaucratic discontent were about to surge into open confrontation.
Gathering a few essential scrolls and documents, Xu Liang joined the throng of clerks converging in the Great Hall. The chamber was vast—its vaulted ceilings inscribed with verses extolling the virtues of order and the discipline of regulation—and crowded with high-ranking officials, senior clerks, and even a few robed figures whose faces were hidden by intricate masks of celestial design. At the center, behind a towering dais, sat Chairman Zhu—a gaunt, imposing figure whose mere presence seemed to command the very fabric of bureaucratic law. His eyes, steely and punctilious, swept over the assembled clerks.
"Today," Chairman Zhu intoned, "our sacred order stands at a crossroads. The cases of frivolous duel petitions, the unauthorized dispute notifications, and the escalating claims on treasured artifacts have all converged into a crisis that threatens the very foundation of our sect's administrative integrity." His gaze fell upon Xu Liang, and for a moment, a spark of recognition flashed in his eyes. "We must remain unwavering in our dedication to procedure and impartiality. Every case, every claim, every petition must be processed with the meticulous care that is our legacy." The room fell silent in reverence, though a murmur of disquiet—like the rustle of ancient parchment—lingered beneath the surface.
After the assembly was adjourned, Xu Liang found himself lingering on the outskirts of the Great Hall, absorbing the weight of the Chairman's words. In that moment, the full magnitude of his predicament settled over him. The Tribunal's involvement signified that his every keystroke, every seal, every slight oversight might have repercussions far beyond the mundane. And yet, there was a sense of grim determination in the air. His colleagues, battle-hardened by years of navigating treacherous politics and labyrinthine regulations, scanned each other's faces with stoic resolve. For all the absurdity, there was a code—the unspoken covenant of immortal bureaucracy that demanded resilience, ingenuity, and at times a touch of subversive flair.
Returning to his cubicle, Xu Liang allowed himself a brief moment of private reflection. The ceaseless torrent of documents and the incessant demands for numerical precision were wearing on him, yet he recognized that his role was crucial. By ensuring that every application, every dispute, every piece of enchanted paper was processed with exacting accuracy, he was not only upholding the sanctity of the Bureau but also inadvertently keeping the chaotic ambitions of rival factions in check. In a world where power played hide-and-seek behind layers of protocol, Xu Liang's careful adherence to procedure was both a shield and a sword—a tool that, when wielded correctly, could alter the tide of fate.
He returned to his stack of inquiries, determined to dissect each case with the calm methodical approach of a seasoned auditor. Soon, a new document landed on his desk—a petition that bore an unusual seal, one he had not seen before. Intrigued, he unrolled the scroll to reveal a request for the verification of an "Ancient Array Formation" allegedly designed by a reclusive cultivator known only as Little Sparrow. The petitioner, a minor but ambitious cultist from the Eastern Lotus Sect, claimed that the array was capable of countering certain demonic spells. Xu Liang's trained eyes noted discrepancies in the script: the claim was peppered with hyperbolic flourishes and lacked the rigorous standards expected of official submissions. In his quiet yet incisive manner, Xu Liang annotated the petition with a request for additional supporting documents and compelled the petitioner to resubmit with proper authentication. It was a small victory, but in the swirling cosmos of immortal office politics, even a minor error could lead to magisterial mayhem.
As the morning crept steadily onward, the pace of incoming requests grew exponentially. A messenger breezed in—this time, not a paper spirit, but an actual human cultivator clad in crisp white robes, his eyes wide with urgent disbelief. "Official Xu Liang!" the young man panted. "There is an emergency in the training grounds! A section of the sect's protective barrier has collapsed, and several disciples report that unstable qi currents are wreaking havoc on their cultivation practice. We fear that if not corrected immediately, this anomaly will cause widespread disruption!"
Xu Liang's heart thumped. Disruptions to training grounds were no trivial matter—they could endanger lives, upset entire sect hierarchies, and perhaps even trigger a full-scale internal investigation. Yet, true to his inherent calm, he nodded firmly. "Submit the official report immediately, and I will process it with the highest priority." He tapped his brush lightly over a blank form and dictated precise instructions for the urgent submission. In that instant, a part of him—the part that had once thrived under the orderly chaos of spreadsheets and audits—felt a spark of satisfaction. Even amid calamity, there was comfort in structure.
Throughout the afternoon, as Xu Liang continued to process an avalanche of documents, his mind wandered intermittently. Between meticulously stamping petition after petition, he caught whisperings among his colleagues about secret meetings and shadowy figures influencing decisions behind closed doors. There was talk that some powerful factions within the Celestial Tribunal Council were maneuvering to tighten control over the Bureau, precisely because the flow of mundane paperwork concealed a network of danger and ambition. It was in these rumors that Xu Liang glimpsed the deeper irony of his situation: the same forces that revered ancient martial prowess were now entangled in the minutiae of administrative protocol. And in the midst of it all, here he sat—a man who had mastered the art of surviving corporate dysfunction in his previous life—forced once again to channel that same resilience and subterfuge in a realm where every signature, every seal, and every carefully measured stroke of his brush could tip the scales of destiny.
As twilight began to bruise the sky with shades of indigo and rose, exhaustion tugged at him like a persistent specter. Yet even the creeping weariness of a long day could not dull his vigilance. Xu Liang reviewed his day's work—a cacophony of stamps, annotations, and urgent alerts—and allowed himself a rare moment of introspection. His hidden strength remained securely shrouded behind the façade of the ordinary office clerk, but with every case processed and every bureaucratic snafu corrected, he felt that he was chiseling away at something far greater than mere paperwork. He was, in his own way, ensuring that justice and order prevailed in a world teetering on the edge of chaotic ambition.
Before he could close his ledger for the night, however, a final message arrived on his personal scroll—a direct summons from a senior official of the Celestial Tribunal Council. The message was terse and cryptic: "Attend the Preliminary Review Conference at the Eastern Wing. Urgent adjustments required." The gravity of the message set his pulse racing. Xu Liang carefully tucked the scroll away, aware that this might be the moment when the threads of fate would converge into a singular point of decision. He gathered his personal effects—a small charm for concentration, his discreetly concealed sword, and a vial of restorative elixir—and made his way to the Eastern Wing. The corridors he traversed were lined with portraits of revered founders and immortal heroes, and as he passed, it almost felt as though he was walking through the annals of his own destiny.
In that quiet moment of transition between the bustling office and the sanctum of the Council, Xu Liang allowed himself a small, ironic smile. Despite the endless parade of nonsensical forms and the maddening ritual of bureaucratic processing, he found himself oddly comforted by the order inherent in it all. Much like the balance sheets of his former corporate life, every piece of paperwork here had its place—a place that, when arranged with precision, could hold back the tides of chaos and ambition. And though he was but a modest clerk in this ancient institution, he knew with a quiet certainty that his unique talents—both in the realm of numbers and in the hidden depths of power—might one day alter the very face of this immortal bureaucracy.
Re-entering the main hall under the dim glow of lantern light, Xu Liang prepared his final report and steeled himself for the uncertain hours ahead. The Preliminary Review Conference loomed like a storm on the horizon, promising to unveil the undercurrents of sect intrigues and to test the mettle of every clerk who dared shoulder the burden of administration. And as he pressed the final seal on his day's work, he resolved silently: no matter how overwhelming the avalanche of paperwork became, he would stand as the last bastion of rationality amid the swirling chaos of immortality.
In that defiant moment, Xu Liang realized that the true measure of his strength was not merely in the hidden sword at his side or the arcane talismans he safeguarded—but in his unwavering commitment to order in a world that cherished disorder. And with that determination burning quietly in his heart, he stepped forward into the uncertain gloom of the Eastern Wing, fully aware that tonight's confrontation might just set the stage for events that would shake the very foundations of the Cultivation Administration Bureau.
So ended another long, arduous day in the immortal bureaucracy—a day defined by ceaseless petitions, staggering demands, and the persistent echo of ancient protocols. Yet beneath the veneer of officious routine, Xu Liang's eyes shone with a fierce, unspoken promise: that even in a world built on paperwork and protocol, one man's resolve could become a quiet catalyst for dramatic change.