The door to the "Anything You Ask" shop clicked shut, sealing out the ceaseless acid rain of Sector 13.

  John stood there, holding the heavy basalt tablet like it was a nuclear landmine ticking down to zero. Across from him, Daoist Singularity was bent over, rummaging through a pile of electronic scrap and antique magical artifacts, his butt facing the door.

  "Uh... Boss?" John asked, feeling awkward. "According to the rules, shouldn't I... sign something? Like pressing a bloody handprint on parchment? or swearing an oath to some ancient codex?"

  That was how necromantic pacts worked in his experience—full of ritual and the metallic tang of blood.

  "Bloody handprint?" Singularity didn't even turn around, his voice muffled by the junk pile. "How unsanitary. Plus, DNA in blood is too easy to forge; the data security is garbage. We live in a civilized society; we prioritize efficiency and user experience."

  He finally straightened up, clutching something that looked like a Type-C data cable, except the plug was made of warm, smooth jade.

  "Come here. Hand out. We're using the biometric channel."

  John hesitated but extended his right hand.

  Singularity wasted no time. He jammed the jade plug right onto the pulse point of John's wrist.

  Zzzt—!

  There was no pain, only a numbing electric jolt that shot up his arm and straight into his brain. John felt his vision jump; suddenly, endless waterfalls of green code cascaded across his retinas—a chaotic mix of square characters (Hanzi) and binary streams he’d never seen before.

  "System initializing... Biometric lock engaged... Connecting to [Underworld Private Cloud v3.0]... Signing [Cross-Plane Spirit Net Lifetime Service Agreement] (Auto-checked 'I Agree', cancellation unavailable)..."

  "This..." John stared at his hand in horror. "What kind of black tech is this? A soul implant chip?"

  "Correction: It's called 'Psionic Drive'."

  Singularity pulled up a folding stool and sat down, putting his trademark sunglasses back on. Class was in session for the rookie.

  "Listen up, kid. In the magic system over here, mana comes from bloodlines or natural elements. But in our Eastern... uh... 'Cyber-Daoism', the logic is different."

  Singularity pointed to the green-armored statue on the altar holding the double-barreled shotgun, his tone suddenly turning weary and ancient.

  "Do you know why I came all the way from the Underworld in the East to this godforsaken New Babylon?"

  John shook his head. "Globalization?"

  "Fiscal deficit." Singularity groaned, clutching his forehead in pain.

  He pointed at the statue, a flash of fanatical yet helpless nostalgia in his eyes.

  "A while back... well, recently, a certain 'Physical Security Consultant' paid a visit to our Underworld and conducted a... extremely thorough 'forced demolition'."

  "He blew up the Bridge of Helplessness, punched through the Eighteen Levels of Hell, and even split our core database—the original Book of Life and Death—in half with a sword. But thanks to that, the old system crashed completely, giving me the chance to build this new 'Cyber Underworld'."

  At this point, Singularity let out a long sigh and slumped on the stool. The aura of a high-level master vanished, replaced by the vibe of a middle-aged corporate slave crushed by a mortgage.

  "But... infrastructure costs money!"

  "Maglev upgrades for the Bridge, 5G live streaming for the Home-Viewing Pavilion, central heating for Hell... R&D, materials, labor—the costs were astronomical! To cover it, I took out a massive loan from the 'Celestial Bank' upstairs."

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  John listened, bewildered. "So... couldn't you just earn it back in the Underworld? Toll fees?"

  "Earn my ass!" Singularity jumped up, agitated. "That's the key problem!"

  "That 'Green-Armored Consultant' was too damn efficient! He slaughtered every demon in the Underworld, wiped out the troublemakers, and scared the ghosts straight. Now the Underworld is a model community. No one locks their doors, no one steals lost items. Everyone just soaks in hot springs and watches live streams all day."

  Singularity spread his hands, looking helpless.

  "No evil ghosts causing chaos means no 'Merit' production. No suffering means no 'Prayers'."

  "The entire domestic market is 'absolutely saturated'! It's a dead pool! I can't collect enough Merit to pay the interest on the Celestial loan!"

  He pointed outside to the filthy, chaotic, oppression-filled city of New Babylon.

  "So I had to 'go offshore.' Come to this plane to set up 'overseas operations'."

  "Look at this place!" Singularity stared at the neon lights outside, the greedy gleam of a capitalist in his eyes. "Chaos, poverty, exploitation, sky-high resentment... it's a 'Blue Ocean of Merit'!"

  John’s mouth twitched. So you're here to harvest leeks?

  "Therefore," Singularity picked up the tablet from John's hand and tapped the screen, "you are my 'Regional Agent' in this new market."

  "In this new system, what is a 'Ghost'?"

  Singularity snapped back into CTO mode.

  "It is residual, high-intensity data flow. Because this world sucks so much, the dead don't want to leave, causing data congestion. Your job is to clear this congestion, earn Merit, and then..."

  Singularity rubbed his fingers together.

  "...we split it 30-70. You get three, I get seven. I have a loan to pay, after all."

  John looked at the Bagua radar chart on the tablet.

  "So... what exactly does this 'Yin-Yang iPad' do?"

  "It's an antivirus terminal," Singularity explained. "Or, a 'Cross-Plane Cloud Server Interface'."

  "Did you think I wanted you to catch ghosts yourself? You're afraid of blood. I'm hiring you as a 'Sysadmin'."

  "When you encounter 'viruses' (evil ghosts) you can't handle, this tablet lets you connect to the Underworld's cloud database. You can request to call down those powerful antivirus programs that have already 'ascended'—in other words, 'Heroic Spirits'."

  "This is what we call '摇人' (Calling for backup)."

  John understood. "Like... summoning a familiar?"

  "Similar, but more advanced. This is Cloud Leasing."

  Singularity tapped the air, and a holographic chart unfolded in front of John.

  "As I said, the Underworld is operating in debt. Every cross-plane transmission burns money."

  "Summoning a Heroic Spirit consumes two things:"

  Your Psionic Power (Battery life).

  Merit Points (Server rental fee).

  "Not enough psionic power, you go brain dead. Not enough Merit, the Underworld doesn't ship."

  John looked at the chart, his throat dry, staring at the bright red "Credit/Debt" section.

  "How much Merit... do I have now?"

  Singularity glanced at the data on the tablet and shrugged. "Zero. Actually, less than zero. Since I just prepaid you 500 credits as startup capital, based on the exchange rate, you currently owe the Underworld 50 Merit Points."

  "But I want to save my mom..."

  "If you want to save your mom, you have to hustle for Merit." Singularity put away the chart, his tone serious. "Go solve those supernatural incidents no one cares about. Go crossing over those pitiful souls. The system will settle rewards based on your performance. It's the only way."

  He pulled a handful of crumpled talismans from under the counter and stuffed them into John’s chest.

  "This is the Newbie Gift Pack: 'Electronic Requiem Charm' (Single-use), 'Cyber-Eye Drops' (literally eye drops), and the tablet. Remember, charge it when the battery is low. Any standard Type-C cable works, but it supports 66W fast charging, so use that. Don't blame me if it dies at a critical moment."

  John held the pile of "magical artifacts," his feelings complicated.

  "One more question," John asked. "Why me? Besides being cheap and hemophobic."

  Daoist Singularity paused for a second. He took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes that held, for the first time, a trace of emotion that wasn't calculation.

  He looked at the green-armored statue on the altar, as if recalling a silent figure charging through a sea of blood.

  "Because of the 'hemophobia'."

  Singularity put his sunglasses back on, a meaningful smile curling his lips.

  "That 'Physical Security Consultant' was strong, sure, but he only knew 'Physical Ascension.' He made a mess of the Underworld. And his 'kill 'em all' style won't work in this human realm full of tangled karma."

  "We need a more... elegant, low-cost solution."

  "You faint at the sight of blood, so you won't kill. Because you won't kill, you'll find ways to 'solve the problem' instead of 'solving the person who raised the problem'."

  Singularity patted John on the shoulder.

  "That's called 'Refined Operations.' That is the kind of agent Underworld 3.0 needs."

  "Go, Agent 9527. Your first client is waiting. Help me pay off the debt, and your mom gets saved."

  "Remember our slogan: Anything You Ask, No Refunds."

  John took a deep breath, tucked the tablet into his jacket, and pushed the door open.

  The rain was still falling, but the world in his eyes was different now.

  Amidst the flickering neon lights, there seemed to be invisible data streams flowing. And in his hand, he held a key to another world.

  Even if the service provider behind that key was buried in debt and desperately needed him, the temp worker, to fill the hole.

  [Message from Singularity]

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