Chapter 38: Yue's Furious Memo
Assistant Yue had always believed in one sacred principle of the Celestial Bureau: If the paperwork flows, so does peace.
Unfortunately, Ne Job had managed to dam, flood, and then set fire to that flow — all before lunch.
The corridor outside her office still smelled faintly of smoke and divine printer ink. Heavenly auditors were arguing with clerks about misplaced scrolls. Someone had accidentally faxed an arrest warrant to the Department of Reincarnation. And in the middle of it all, Ne Job was waving a clipboard, shouting something about "team spirit" while tripping over a celestial filing box.
Yue's left eye twitched. Her right hand, already holding a quill, began to scratch out the first words of a document she rarely had to use — the Furious Memo.
It wasn't an ordinary reprimand. It was the kind of bureaucratic weapon that could make gods resign voluntarily. The parchment glowed faintly red, pulsing with divine irritation. Each stroke of her pen released a faint spark of administrative wrath.
> To: Intern Ne Job (a.k.a. Disaster Class Entity)
From: Assistant Yue (Currently Losing Sanity)
Subject: Your Continuing Attempts at Workplace Annihilation.
She paused, inhaled through her nose, and wrote faster.
> Summary of Offenses:
1. Causing mass confusion among the Audit Squad by "helping."
2. Submitting an "updated workflow chart" that accidentally summoned the Forgotten God of Paperwork.
3. Using the emergency seal as a sticker for morale.
4. Calling Lord Bureaucrat Xian "Uncle X" in front of investigators.*
By the time she reached offense number twelve ("accidentally weaponizing the breakroom coffee pot"), the parchment was smoking.
Yue leaned back and rubbed her temples. Her once-perfect bun was now slightly tilted — an ominous sign to anyone who knew her. She could still hear Ne Job in the next room arguing with the celestial printer.
"Why does it say 'Error 404: Faith Not Found'?! I just fed it incense!"
She slammed the door open. "Because," she snapped, "you overloaded the divine toner cartridge with mortal Wi-Fi packets!"
Ne Job blinked innocently, halfway through balancing a spirit scroll on his head. "So… not helpful?"
"Not even remotely!" Yue hissed. "Do you realize the auditors are now cross-checking our reports because of you? Lord Xian is in an emergency meeting trying to convince Heaven this wasn't a corruption scheme!"
Ne Job raised a finger. "Technically, it wasn't corruption— just inefficiency!"
That word made Yue's fury flare like divine flame. "Inefficiency," she said, voice trembling, "is corruption with extra steps!"
The air in the room shimmered. The Furious Memo floated up by itself, glowing brighter. Ne Job backed away slowly. "Uh… Yue? Is that supposed to do that?"
"Only when I mean it," she replied flatly.
For a tense moment, the memo hovered between them like a glowing storm cloud of divine paperwork. Then — poof — it zipped straight into Ne Job's chest. He yelped, glowing briefly before the light faded.
"There," Yue said, dusting her hands. "Now every time you make a mistake, you'll get a mild administrative shock."
Ne Job looked horrified. "How mild are we talking?"
As if in answer, a tiny spark zapped his finger the moment he tried to touch another document.
"YOW! Okay! Ow! Noted!"
Yue exhaled slowly, feeling a fleeting sense of control. "Good. Maybe now the Bureau will survive until tomorrow."
But just as she turned to return to her desk, she noticed something strange — a small glowing envelope lying under a pile of misplaced forms. The seal bore an unfamiliar insignia: a stylized Feather of Judgement.
Her heart sank. That was the insignia of the Shard Court — the higher tribunal that even Heaven's auditors feared.
She picked it up carefully. The envelope pulsed faintly, like it was alive.
Summons, the header read.
To: Assistant Yue of the Bureau of Celestial Logistics.
You are hereby requested for a confidential hearing regarding discrepancies found in your division's workflow records.
Her hands trembled slightly. "They're not coming for Ne Job," she whispered. "They're coming for… me."
Ne Job tilted his head, still nursing a small burn on his finger. "Uh… Yue? You look like you just saw a ghost."
"Worse," she murmured, clutching the envelope. "I saw bureaucracy in its final form."
He blinked. "There's a final form?"
"Yes," she said grimly. "It's called Accountability."
For a moment, silence hung between them — broken only by the soft hum of the celestial printer trying to reboot itself.
Then, in typical Ne Job fashion, he smiled. "Don't worry! I'll come with you. You're my supervisor-slash-guardian-slash-survivor buddy!"
Yue's eye twitched again. "You will not—"
Too late. He was already packing his "Field Audit Survival Kit," which included a lucky talisman, a thermos of divine coffee, and what looked suspiciously like a stress-relief hammer.
Yue pinched the bridge of her nose. "By all that is sacred in the Bureau… this is how I die."
Ne Job beamed. "Don't worry, Yue! If they try to blame you, I'll totally confess!"
She blinked. "…Confess to what, exactly?"
He paused. "I'll figure that part out when we get there."
Somewhere deep inside, Yue felt her composure fracture into helpless laughter — half despair, half disbelief. "You… are unbelievable."
Ne Job smiled wider. "Thanks! I get that a lot!"
Yue turned back to her desk, taking a deep breath. "Fine. But if we're doing this, we're doing it by the book. No improvising, no slogans, no divine stickers."
"Got it!" Ne Job said brightly, saluting with his clipboard.
The Furious Memo sparked again.
"OW!"
Yue allowed herself a small smirk. "Good. The system works."
As they left the office together, Yue tucked the Shard Court summons into her robe, her expression unreadable.
Behind her calm face, her mind raced — if the Shard Court had found something in her records, then the Audit Squad's visit wasn't random at all.
Someone had set this up.
And as the corridor lights dimmed, she whispered under her breath, "If they want war by paperwork… then they've chosen the wrong secretary."