Chapter 20
From ancient times until now, no matter what kind of company or institution, there was never a shortage of “slush funds.”
Whether for food and entertainment expenses or greasing the wheels of relationships up and down the chain, there were always costs that couldn’t be reimbursed through proper channels. Such money had to be siphoned off under other names.
And this money—used to cover expenses inconvenient to declare—was what people called a “slush fund.”
Naturally, the Star Guild was no exception.
Lu Chuan knew that it wasn’t realistic to seize complete control of the guild’s finances right after taking office. But going after the slush funds—that shadowy money no one admitted existed, with no way to trace the source—that, he could do.
What’s more, #888 solemnly informed him that an SS-grade item was protecting the entire building.
[It should be the SS-grade item—The Protection of Jesus. This item can envelop a designated area, and within it, all items and player skills are suppressed to the lowest possible level. Only those granted access are unaffected,] #888 explained. [Though, it doesn’t affect me.]
“So that’s it. That’s why other guilds have never managed to storm Star Guild’s headquarters. It’s not just because the president is still alive—it’s also because of this artifact guarding the place. Anyone else who comes here is just walking into a slaughterhouse.” Lu Chuan nodded, eyeing the item with great interest.
Excellent. The value of the Star Guild president’s seat had just gone up again.
He was even more interested now.
“Hurry it up—find me those slush funds.” Lu Chuan was impatient. If he wanted to be president, he had to start with money.
Otherwise, how long would it take him to climb the ranks?
[Host, what do you take me for?] #888 felt ashamed on behalf of the entire System realm. In all the history of systems, which host ever used their system to go hunt for slush funds?
“You’re the God of Wealth himself,” Lu Chuan said with righteous conviction. “You can carry me across world-lines, conjure gold, upgrade my skills. For high-tech like you, scanning ledgers and finding slush funds should be effortless.”
[W-well, it’s not that big a deal… no need to flatter me that much,] #888 mumbled, a little embarrassed. [But yes, it’s not hard. Stand back, host. I’ll scan the ledgers and pinpoint the errors.]
Lu Chuan stepped aside immediately.
The Star Guild had a long history and many players. Thanks to the relatively responsible financial directors of the past, the books, though full of holes, still had some basic rules in place.
But under #888’s scan, nothing could remain hidden.
[Host, I’ve found them.]
In less than five minutes, 888 had located the hidden slush funds.
“Let’s hear it,” Lu Chuan said, curious.
[Based on current calculations, the Star Guild has about 2,541 active slush funds. Among them, 327 overlap, and 7,490 have already been abandoned. The categories used include ‘research projects,’ ‘official trips,’ ‘overtime duty,’ ‘equipment purchases,’ ‘player training,’ and so on… The current deficit is around 400 billion, but I suspect that’s not the full picture, since some branch guild accounts aren’t included.]
Under the system’s calculations, nothing could escape.
Lu Chuan was stunned.
What? That much in the red?
“So how much do they blow on slush funds in just a single day?” he asked.
[Host, the combined profit from your last two dungeon runs isn’t even enough to cover one day of their spending,] #888 said after a pause.
Dungeon bosses had never once made Lu Chuan flinch. But these words from #888 actually did.
“I made nearly 500 million from two dungeons, and you’re saying those parasites burn through that much in just one day?” Lu Chuan clutched his chest, suffocated with rage. “Unbelievable. How can some people make money this easily? There are so many rich folks—why can’t I be one of them?!”
He had barely had a day to celebrate his clever rise from proletariat to capitalist when this crushing news landed.
Damn it—the Star Guild was his. These bastards were spending his money!
500 million a day!
At that thought, Lu Chuan nearly wanted to grab a blade and cut every last one of them down.
[Host, calm down.] Detecting his violent mood swings—dangerous for his sanity value— #888 was near tears. [That was the old way. With you here, I’m sure those expenses will be slashed.]
“Slashed? Slashed my ass!” Lu Chuan fumed. “I know their type. Spoiled on public funds—if I ban these categories, they’ll just invent new ones. These rotten accounts—someone’s gotta settle them. Since I’ve become finance director, I’ll be the one to do it.”
[Host, your money isn’t enough to plug even a single day’s deficit,] #888 warned.
“Am I the type to use my own money to fill holes?” Lu Chuan raised an eyebrow. Clearly, this system was too naive. It didn’t understand the depths of human cunning.
“In my world, there was a hero who single-handedly balanced the accounts of several entire regions. Even though he was a troublemaker and picked fights, in the eyes of leaders he was a saint. Whenever he was in trouble, they’d go out of their way to help him, even at their own expense.” Lu Chuan suddenly changed topics. “Do you know who this debt-clearing saint was?”
[Who?]
“The Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Sun Wukong.” Lu Chuan said with utmost seriousness.
[Host… what exactly are you implying?] #888 didn’t even know where to start.
“The story of the Great Sage teaches us this: to truly clear rotten accounts, you must overturn everything and find a scapegoat.” Lu Chuan said gravely. “I figure there are plenty of old fossils in this guild who don’t like me. Odds are, they’ve got some worthless descendants. Whether we can balance the books—it’ll depend on them.”
[So what do you need me to do?] #888 understood his role well.
“First, keep upgrading and expand your storage space. Then find the guild’s resource warehouses—especially the ones with valuables. Gold, items, anything. Before balancing accounts, we move out as much as we can.” A confident smile spread across Lu Chuan’s face. “As for me—time to make enemies. As many as possible.”
The Star Guild was about to undergo a sudden upheaval.
“Sorry, sir, this can’t be reimbursed.”
“Director Lu says your institute’s application for ‘The Aesthetic Design of D-Class Items’ is denied. Also, your other projects will all be cut. You’ll be notified before the end of the day.”
“Director Lu says only nutrient solutions are provided by the guild headquarters. Fresh vegetables, meat, and other luxuries are no longer covered.”
“Doesn’t matter if you’re a C-rank player—even B-rank won’t do. Only A-rank and above get wider reimbursement privileges, and they must fill out the forms themselves.”
“Funding for item purchases? Sorry, that’s for the Item Management Department. We only handle the money.”
…
Lu Chuan’s “three fires” upon taking office began with summoning all finance staff for urgent retraining. He distributed a hefty self-written ‘Financial Standards Manual’ and demanded strict enforcement.
Anyone who thought connections or background would protect them was welcome to complain to the vice-guildmaster. But they should also ask around about Lu Chuan’s reputation—coveted by all Five Major Guilds. Who was riskier to offend: this future god-tier player, or some entitled old-timers in the guild? They could decide for themselves.
The finance staff were bewildered. They hadn’t expected such a strong-handed newcomer. But after some quick inquiries, they learned he really wasn’t someone to provoke. Even the vice-guildmaster favored him. He had arrived and immediately assumed this post, issuing sweeping rules. Clearly, the vice-guildmaster was backing him.
Realizing this, the staff didn’t dare defy him. They worked diligently, abandoning the old habit of rubber-stamping expenses.
And thus, the players—who had never in their lives suffered for lack of money—were now suffering plenty.
“What the hell? Why can’t I reimburse my family’s birthday expenses?”
“This is serious business! I got injured in the last dungeon, and I can’t even claim medical costs? A split nail doesn’t count as an injury?”
“Who’s in charge here? Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is? Who my grandfather is?”
…
As expected, Lu Chuan’s new rules quickly left the players miserable, demanding explanations.
But the first wave was only small fry.
Those with true power and influence didn’t bother to step forward yet. Such petty reimbursements meant nothing to them—they had plenty of other ways to make money.
Still, they wanted to use this as a chance to test what game this newcomer was playing—and whether the vice-guildmaster was really pulling strings behind him.
Lu Chuan was more than happy to step forward.
“I’m Lu Chuan.” He looked at the crowd of players blocking the entrance of the headquarters building and said with a squinting smile, “I don’t care how things were before, but from the moment I take office, all reimbursements and project applications must follow my rules. Even A-rank players are no exception. You’re free to keep an eye on me.”
“A rookie like you—does the vice-guildmaster even know you’re doing this?”
“Yeah, do you think the guild is your private property?”
“Kid, don’t stick your nose in too far, or you won’t even know how you died.”
The crowd was riled up; several players even wanted to act right then and there. Unfortunately for them, powerful anti-violence items inside the building prevented combat—otherwise fists would already be flying.
“If you’re not satisfied, you can go talk to the vice-guildmaster—if you can even find him.” Lu Chuan’s smile didn’t waver. “You all know exactly how many benefits you’ve skimmed off here in the past. The fact that I’m willing to let bygones be bygones is already generous. You also know the guild’s current situation: we need to streamline and strengthen. Between me, a powerful new recruit, and you lot—old, useless, and still full of demands—any fool could see who should be kept.”
Lu Chuan was a master at fanning the flames. “If I leave, plenty of guilds will be begging me to join. But if you leave, with your measly skills, you wouldn’t even clear a C-rank dungeon at another guild.”
That was a cruel thing to say!
But they couldn’t refute it.
One by one, the players shouted threats through gritted teeth.
“Just you wait, brat.”
“Don’t think we don’t have people backing us.”
“We’ll make you pay!”
Lu Chuan only nodded. “Mm. I’ll be waiting.”
That made them even angrier.
After dismissing the troublemakers, Lu Chuan turned to the wide-eyed finance staff standing behind him. “What are you all standing around for? Get to work.”
“Director, having you is a blessing for us finance people!”
“We’ll get right to it.”
The finance staff had always been overlooked, so Lu Chuan’s presence made his image in their eyes soar instantly.
Too bad they didn’t know that Lu Chuan was actually the worst nightmare for finance people.
“System, did you find anything yet?” Lu Chuan urged.
[I found one warehouse. It has a lot of stored gold, plus some miscellaneous item cards. The place is semi-abandoned, and only because a few people filed repair requests did it leave a trace in the records.] #888 dutifully reported. [But their accounts are a mess, full of falsified records, so much of it can’t be traced.]
“I see.” Lu Chuan rubbed his chin. “I still need to get a feel for the guild’s situation. No rush. Worst case, I can always call on that cheap master of mine.”
Ever since the vice-guildmaster had assigned him to take Lu Chuan through dungeons, Shen Li’s mood had been sour.
He had requested permission to check Lu Chuan’s sanity value, but the vice-guildmaster rejected it.
“Sanity is important for players, and Lu Chuan’s clearly not high. There’s no need to push him further.” The vice-guildmaster smiled. “He’s only cleared two dungeons. Judging by his performance, his sanity should be around 80. That’s already dropping fast enough. If we push him harder, we’ll only drive him farther away.”
“But—”
“No buts. Besides, letting him stir things up isn’t a bad thing. He’s not normal anyway—if word gets out, we’ll have an excuse.” The vice-guildmaster smiled again, and his clothes seemed to twist into something eerie and claw-like, writhing around his body.
“Just keep an eye on him, take care of him,” the vice-guildmaster concluded.
In the days since Lu Chuan took office, waves of complaints, curses, and pleas had flooded toward Shen Li.
Everyone knew the vice-guildmaster had dumped Lu Chuan on him, so naturally they assumed Lu Chuan’s actions reflected both Shen Li’s and the vice-guildmaster’s will. Even when Shen Li claimed ignorance, nobody believed him.
Left with no choice, Shen Li contacted someone else.
“…That’s basically the situation. He’s here to replace you. You’re about to drop off the rookie leaderboard anyway, so teach him a thing or two about dealing with people. Our guild isn’t short on money, there’s no need to be so stingy.”
“Yes.”
Shen Li ran a hand through his hair. As an S-rank player about to challenge the God-tier leaderboard, he knew all too well with his inhuman instincts: keeping Lu Chuan under control might be harder than breaking into the God-tier itself.
When work time end, Lu Chuan returned to the luxury flat the guild had assigned him.
To be fair, the Star Guild had given him a great place. It had full fitness equipment, piles of dungeon strategy manuals, and lists of elite players from other guilds along with their classes and skills—intelligence you couldn’t buy on the market.
For now, Lu Chuan was satisfied. But satisfied didn’t mean content.
High-end wage slaves were still just livestock. These things were only tools to keep him stable. If he wanted to truly possess them, he had to climb higher.
[Host, a player has arrived outside.] #888 had been monitoring the surroundings, as instructed. Lu Chuan had warned it that plenty of cocky players would be coming to challenge him, so #888 had to be ready.
Sure enough, someone showed up.
“Where?”
[At the left window.]
Lu Chuan nodded, walked to the window, and pushed it open. “We’re all guildmates in Star Guild. Why hide in the shadows?”
Before the words had even faded, a pair of furry claws gripped the sill.
With agile movements, the intruder vaulted through the window into the room using only upper-body strength.
This was the 28th floor.
Lu Chuan was mildly surprised. Clearly this player had pushed their physical abilities to the limit, and those claws just now revealed inhuman traits—their level had to be high.
He turned his head and saw the uninvited guest cloaked in a black robe, hiding the claws that had just appeared.
“Don’t worry, I was sent by Captain Shen.” The voice was soft and girlish. Seeing her small stature, Lu Chuan immediately guessed who she was.
The guild’s strongest rookie—[Lucky Star].
Her profile was right there in the handbook the guild had given him.
[Lucky Star], real name Starry Shasha, one of many orphans taken in by the guild (all guild orphans bore “Starry” as their surname).
At five years old, her high aptitude in every category got her selected for the guild’s rookie training program.
At ten, she graduated early; at twelve, she passed the super-rookie training and became one of the guild’s ten heavily nurtured seed players.
At sixteen, she used a special item to enter the dungeons under the name [Lucky Star]. After just two runs, she rocketed to 13th place on the rookie leaderboard, making her one of the guild’s most prized prodigies.
Unfortunately, her gentle temperament and overly unique class skill made her unsuitable for long-term party play. Her subsequent performances weren’t as dazzling, so her rank rose slowly. But precisely because she couldn’t team up, she avoided the guild’s bloody internal strife that killed other more highly favored geniuses.
Since then, [Lucky Star] had only listened to Shen Li and the vice-guildmaster; others could hardly get an audience with her.
“That Captain Shen would trouble you to come to me—what does he want to say?” Lu Chuan hadn’t expected Shen Li to send Starry Shasha herself. A king vs. king meeting this soon wasn’t ideal.
“Captain said that if I stay near you, others will be more restrained. It’ll help keep you alive.” Starry Shasha spoke slowly. “Don’t worry. My skill only works in dungeons. In the real world it’s suppressed—especially here at HQ, where everyone’s skills are suppressed.”
“No need, no need.” Lu Chuan studied her carefully, and already had a grasp of her character.
She was still just a child. Having been in training all her life, she knew nothing of scheming or manipulation.
The fact that she cloaked herself entirely in black to keep her skill from affecting others said it all.
She was the guild’s most powerful, most celebrated rookie. Others should have been bending over backward for her—yet she chose to inconvenience herself. That meant she truly didn’t want to trouble anyone, only wanted to do her job, with no interest in power struggles.
In other words, an honest person.
Tch. Too bad—honest people got bullied in every world.
“[Lucky Star], I heard your skill is super interesting.” Lu Chuan leaned in and patted her shoulder. “Perfect—I need a bookkeeping genius to help me clean up the guild’s rotten accounts. You must be sick of those old fogies hogging power and making trouble for Captain Shen and the vice-guildmaster. Why don’t we work together and drag them all down?”
Starry Shasha thought Lu Chuan was lying.
A newcomer, taking a finance director role, beating those old foxes? Impossible.
“But, I also need you to do one thing for me.”
See? As expected—he couldn’t manage it himself and wanted her help.
“I need you to lure over the useless juniors of those old fogies. You don’t have to do anything—just hang around in front of them a bit, then bring them to me. That’s all. Then you can step aside.” Lu Chuan smiled broadly and handed her an address.
#888 immediately recognized it—that was the same half-abandoned warehouse it had just found.
The host was about to stir up trouble again.
#888 felt a headache coming on. If the host put half this energy into running dungeons, he’d probably already be at the top of the rookie leaderboard.
But Lu Chuan firmly believed that making money in the Star Guild was even easier than making money in dungeons.
He would first pocket the easy money, then go make more in the dungeons.
One step at a time. You can’t skip the big business and waste time on the small.
“These next few nights I’ll be working at this place, handling the rotten accounts from before. Everyone who padded their reports or inflated their expenses—I’ll make them cough the extra back up. If anyone asks, just tell them that.” Lu Chuan stretched his back, speaking casually. “Later, if we go collect compensation, we’ll split the profits thirty–seventy.”
Starry Shasha frowned in confusion. “You thirty, me seventy?”
“No, you thirty, me seventy.” Lu Chuan sighed with mock regret. “You’ve got Captain Shen and the vice-guildmaster behind you, so I’ll give you two extra shares.”
——-
Author’s Note:
All the operations described here are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real situations is purely coincidental.
This is an infinite world with no laws and no countries, so it’s naturally disorderly. In this story’s setting, the five major game guilds are like five superpowers. Five hundred million a day in expenses isn’t even including branch finances (lower divisions are where the real accounting tricks happen). The figures here—just food and trivial spending after cutting the big reimbursements—I might even be underestimating.
I knew he wouldn’t play fair in any scenario so this doesn’t surprise me at all. BUT THE FACT THAT HIS SANITY WAS EXCEEDINGLY LOW SINCE THE BEGINNING???