Chapter 771: Overwhelming the Entire Group by One's Own Effort (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 771: Crushing the Entire Team Single-Handedly (Requesting Moon Tickets)

Inside the Office Area of the Imperial Dharma Pavilion’s Review Department.

Chu Wangji was directing his team of outsourced staff through functional testing of a cultivation manual.

Meanwhile, once again, the memory surfaced in his mind—Zhang Yu’s bold claim this month to boost the entire team’s performance by thirty percent.

Chu Wangji had only two words for that: arrogance.

“You’ve barely been in the Review Department for how many years? And you already think you can command all of us?”

His response to Zhang Yu was simple: non-cooperation.

“There are only so many ways to increase output,” he thought. “Either upgrade your Dharma Remnants or magical artifacts, work overtime voluntarily, or hire more outsourced labor…”

In Chu Wangji’s view, improving efficiency and monthly performance boiled down to just two words—spend money.

Add two more words, and it would be: take loans.

If he were willing to pour vast sums into his work—even borrow money to fund overtime—he could indeed raise his performance significantly.

But why should he?

“Am I supposed to burn through my own Daoist cultivation potential just to fulfill Zhang Yu’s empty promises? To prop up some superior’s political achievements?”

Chu Wangji refused to do such a thing.

In his eyes, Martial Sect Team Three had been functioning perfectly fine. As a seasoned veteran like himself, he never fought for first place; yet every month, he managed to avoid overtime entirely and still saved a bit of money—truly calm, composed, and effortlessly in control.

He could steadily accumulate his Daoist potential at this steady pace, waiting patiently for promotion opportunities.

But now… Zhang Yu had thrown everything into chaos.

Just then, a message popped up before Chu Wangji’s eyes.

Wen Zhiwei: No matter how he begs or pleads, I absolutely will not cooperate.

Chu Wangji knew this came from their small group chat among team members, where colleagues were discussing Zhang Yu.

Wen Zhiwei, like him, was a Level-Two Sect Affairs Officer, and he knew she was close to their team leader.

Ever since learning about Zhang Yu’s plan to raise the team’s performance by thirty percent, Wen Zhiwei had expressed strong dissatisfaction. From the moment she arrived at work today, she’d been rallying everyone not to comply.

Someone said, “I’ll just keep working at last month’s pace. Let the higher-ups realize Zhang Yu is full of hot air—can performance really be boosted so recklessly?”

Another added, “We mustn’t let Zhang Yu succeed. If he does, none of us will have an easy day ever again.”

Wen Zhiwei: “It’s settled! Nobody works overtime this month!”

While they were still coordinating in the group chat, a notification suddenly appeared in everyone’s vision—from the official Martial Sect Team Three work group. A message sent by Zhang Yu.

Zhang Yu: Reporting to Team Leader, I’ve completed the review of *Thundercloud Palm* and just submitted the report to the Daoist Canon.

The team members sneered inwardly, thinking Zhang Yu far too boastful.

Chu Wangji thought to himself, “Bragging about your performance right in the group chat? How arrogant! And even if your output is high, do you really expect everyone to obey you?”

Wen Zhiwei immediately typed in their private group: “Let him grind away on his own. When he’s drowning in debt, we’ll see how long he lasts.”

But soon after, Zhang Yu posted another message in the main group.

Zhang Yu: Reporting to Team Leader, I’ve completed the review of *Swan Shadow Saber* and just submitted the report to the Daoist Canon.

Team Leader Qu Yizhi read Zhang Yu’s message and recalled his words during the meeting.

“He’s just showing off,” Qu thought. “Craving attention, eager to snatch credit—does he really think acting like this will get him promoted?”

“This sect isn’t run that way.”

Meanwhile, Zhang Yu showed no signs of slowing down. He continued reviewing different manuals.

But the four-hour workday simply wasn’t enough. By the time he finished just two reports, it was already time to clock out.

Yet even after work, Zhang Yu didn’t stop. Back in his dormitory, he kept simulating various cultivation techniques—ones he’d gathered from the internal Dharma Realm during office hours.

After each simulation, he transmitted all the data, images, and insights from his mind to Ye Xingli via the Document-Seal Thought Imprint.

Thus, when Ye Xingli arrived at work the next morning, she immediately connected to the internal Dharma Realm and began converting Zhang Yu’s nearly twenty hours of overnight effort into formal written reports.

Not long after the team entered the office area, they saw Zhang Yu post his third report.

Then the fourth, fifth, sixth…

At first, the team watched Zhang Yu’s flurry of submissions with annoyance, amusement, and skepticism—wondering how long he could keep it up.

But by the third day, when Zhang Yu’s submitted reports surpassed ten, both the main group and the private chat fell into an eerie silence.

When the count reached thirteen, the sheer weight of Zhang Yu’s explosive performance crushed them into speechlessness—as if a massive mountain had slammed onto their chests.

Those thirteen reports utterly shattered their own outputs, grinding them beneath his heel.

“He… he works too much!”

“He did a whole month’s worth of my work in three days! Just how efficient is he?!”

“It’s insane—completely insane!”

At that moment, Zhang Yu was no longer just another Sect Affairs Officer in their eyes.

Every move he made, every glance he cast, seemed born for work. Each message he sent felt like it propelled the project forward and lifted overall performance.

An earth-shattering aura of productivity radiated from him, as though determined to complete every task in existence.

Standing in the same office space as Zhang Yu, his teammates felt nothing but shame.

Though they were elites who’d passed rigorous trials to join the sect, they now felt like utter failures beside him—like lazy loafers wasting their days away.

“Workaholic king!”

“That guy’s a total workaholic!”

“At this rate, is he planning to multiply his monthly performance several times over?”

Countless thoughts raced through Chu Wangji’s mind. He could already picture their superiors witnessing Zhang Yu’s output, launching grand propaganda campaigns, and raising performance quotas across all teams.

“If this keeps up, the cost of working here will skyrocket again.”

To Chu Wangji, each of Zhang Yu’s submitted reports felt like rising floodwaters—starting at his ankles, climbing to his waist, and still surging upward, threatening to swallow him whole.

“Is it really so hard to keep work expenses low?!”

Just as Chu Wangji struggled to breathe under the crushing pressure of Zhang Yu’s performance, he received a private message—from Zhang Yu himself.

It was a complete review report—on the copyright assessment of *Dual-Yin Whirlwind Sword*.

And *Dual-Yin Whirlwind Sword* happened to be the very manual Chu Wangji was currently reviewing.

“He… he did my work for me?!”

Chu Wangji paled, as if struck by heavenly lightning—his mind reeling, his spirit shaken.

“My work… he took it? Then what am I supposed to do?”

Another day passed. When Chu Wangji received yet another report from Zhang Yu—covering yet another manual—he felt his legs go weak, as if he could no longer stand in the office.

“If he keeps doing all my work… what use am I? Will I be ‘optimized’ out by management?”

Optimizations of units, optimizations of departments, optimizations of teams, optimizations of Sect Affairs Officers... As a Level-2 Sect Affairs Officer with years of experience, Chu Wangji knew all too well that this cycle repeated itself annually within the Myriad Methods Sect.

The upper echelons of the sect could demand endless results, growth, and innovation.

Any dip in performance, any drop in profit—or anything deemed useless by those above—risked being “optimized.”

And where did one go after optimization? Aside from the rare few who turned misfortune into fortune, most long-serving Sect Affairs Officers, lacking new skills to fall back on, were tossed aside like garbage into places resembling trash bins.

Pay cuts, demotions, reassignments... In Chu Wangji’s mind, countless bleak images already flickered before his eyes.

At this moment, he felt an overwhelming wave of performance pressure radiating from Zhang Yu—a force so immense and irresistible it threatened to physically eject him from the office space.

Inside, he screamed: “No! Don’t take my job away!”

Just as panic and fury surged within him, Chu Wangji realized he wasn’t alone in receiving such alarming news.

Someone cried out in terror: “This is horrifying—he’s already done my work for tomorrow!”

Another stammered in dread: “Zhang… Zhang Yu just asked me what tasks I have coming up next. What does he mean by that?”

“Damn it…” Wen Zhiwei gasped. “Is he really going to single-handedly… crush the entire Martial Path Team Three through sheer overachieving?!”

Chu Wangji was utterly defeated. He knew he couldn’t out-compete Zhang Yu, didn’t want to be optimized, and desperately clung to his current position. So he went straight to Zhang Yu, pleading with him to stop touching his work.

“As long as you leave my tasks alone,” Chu said earnestly, “you can name your terms.”

Looking at Chu’s serious expression, Zhang Yu simply smiled. “Then accept my guidance.”

Chu frowned. “Guidance?”

Before he could react further, Zhang Yu activated Formless Martial Manifestation—and instantly simulated two martial arts techniques. One of them was precisely the technique Chu had been reviewing.

Watching his own assigned martial art flow effortlessly through Zhang Yu’s hands, then seamlessly fused into one technique after another, Chu’s mind went utterly blank.

He knew that thanks to the Wu-Yi through Wu-Shi systems, those responsible for martial reviews could simulate virtually any martial art under heaven.

But he’d never imagined Zhang Yu could not only simulate a technique at lightning speed but also integrate it fluidly into countless others.

Such martial talent, accumulated insight, and cultivation depth left Chu staring helplessly across an unbridgeable gulf.

Zhang Yu gave a faint smile. “You’ve never seen this martial art simulated quite like this before, have you?”

Chu opened his mouth—but no words came out.

Gazing at the martial art being freely wielded and interwoven in Zhang Yu’s grasp, Chu finally understood the true scale of their difference.

“In my hands, this martial art will never shine as brilliantly as it does in his…”

At that moment, Zhang Yu produced the Document Thought-Seal.

Quietly, he said, “Accept my guidance. You wouldn’t want to see all your work finished by me before you even begin, would you?”

Instantly, torrents of data, insights, experiences, and realizations flooded into Chu Wangji’s consciousness—giving him immediate clarity, structure, and conclusions about his pending review, as if handed the answers right before an exam.

Dazed, Chu thought: “I’ve never felt like this during work before.”

He sensed that if he simply connected to the Internal Dharma Realm now, he could complete his review report in no time.

Staring at Zhang Yu before him, Chu understood clearly: as long as Zhang Yu was willing, he could endlessly elevate his performance.

And with every boost in output, Chu would become increasingly dependent on Zhang Yu.

Should he ever lose that support, maintaining high performance would drag him deep into overtime territory—where he’d slowly burn away his immortal cultivation potential through endless paid shifts.

“Someone like Zhang Yu…”

Watching Zhang Yu’s retreating back, Chu muttered inwardly: “is practically half my father already.”

Chu’s sudden surge in performance didn’t escape notice.

Gradually, more and more teammates sought out Zhang Yu, asking to receive his guidance.

“Brother Yu, please don’t touch my work.”

“Senior Yu, I’d like to accept your guidance.”

“True Lord Zhu Yi, please teach me!”

With each martial simulation, Zhang Yu transmitted his insights, comparisons, reflections, and understandings of various martial paths directly into the minds of Chu and the others.

They, in turn, handled all the paperwork themselves—organizing Zhang Yu’s realizations into polished reports.

Soon, more and more members of Martial Path Team Three saw their performance rise, while those who didn’t began panicking, worrying, and seriously considering accepting Zhang Yu’s guidance.

...

“Impossible! How could I possibly beg Zhang Yu?!”

When Qu Yizhi, team leader of Martial Path Team Three, saw Zhang Yu’s message—and realized Zhang Yu had already completed his assigned work—he roared inwardly: “Trying to threaten me? Dream on!”

As team leader, Qu still had to complete review tasks himself. Though his results weren’t included in the official rankings among team members, his usual output easily placed him in the top three of the entire group.

Without such capability, he’d never command respect or manage effectively.

But now, as he watched his subordinates’ performance soar—one by one overtaking him—Qu began to feel genuine anxiety.

“At this rate, won’t I end up near the bottom?”

The thought sent a chill through him; he could almost feel the Overtime Line chasing him down.

And seeing more and more team members aligning themselves with Zhang Yu set off alarm bells in his head.

He knew he couldn’t let things deteriorate further.

So Qu messaged Zhang Yu: Come to my office.

But after a long wait, with no sign of Zhang Yu appearing at his desk, Qu’s expression darkened slightly.

He sent another message, pressing harder.

This time, he finally got a reply.

Zhang Yu: Busy with work. I’ll come once I’m done.

Frowning at the response, Qu reflected: Zhang Yu, though risen from the lowest ranks, was shrewd and calculating—no naive fool.

What did this reaction mean?

“Does he… resent me?”

“Has he realized I’ve been blocking him?”

...

While guiding his teammates through scripture reviews, Zhang Yu noticed something peculiar.

Each time he simulated a technique and engaged in mental exchanges with the reviewers, he found that nearly every martial art they were assigned seemed stylistically mismatched.

If it had been just one or two people, he might have dismissed it as coincidence.

But when almost everyone showed the same pattern, Zhang Yu knew it was no accident—it was deliberate sabotage.

And within Martial Path Team Three, there was only one person with both the motive and opportunity to orchestrate this: Team Leader Qu Yizhi.

“So this guy’s deliberately targeting me? Holding me back?”

Zhang Yu understood well: within the sect, appealing to reason or sentiment rarely worked against fellow disciples.

So he had no intention of wasting breath on pointless negotiations.

Instead, he would force Qu Yizhi to come begging to him.

So, gazing at the message Qu Yizhi had just sent again, Zhang Yu simply replied: “Chief, don’t worry—I’m about to speed things up.”

He closed his contacts list and immediately plunged back into his work.

From the very beginning of the month, he had ceased all cultivation of his Nascent Soul Sacred Body, devoting himself entirely to the tasks of Martial Dao Team Three.

At work, he simulated martial techniques; after hours, he still simulated martial techniques; and whenever team members came knocking on his door, he was—once again—simulating martial techniques.

At this moment, Zhang Yu seemed to have transformed into a machine designed solely for analyzing martial cultivation methods, ceaselessly dissecting techniques and transmitting his findings to each member of the team.

Alone, he single-handedly propelled the entire Martial Dao team’s performance forward.

…

Watching his own performance ranking steadily plummet, Qu Yizhi grew increasingly agitated.

“At this rate, I’ll really end up dead last in this month’s rankings.”

The thought brought to mind Director Luo Wuji’s instructions from the last meeting.

He had personally promised the director, right in front of everyone, to give Zhang Yu his full support.

If no one else’s performance improved, then clearly Zhang Yu lacked ability and had merely been boasting.

But if, by month’s end, everyone else’s results rose while only his remained stagnant—how would the director view him?

“He’d probably think I’m deliberately sabotaging things…”

Recalling Director Luo Wuji’s words, Qu Yizhi understood that the man wanted one final breakthrough in performance before the March evaluations.

“If the director concludes I’ve willfully ruined his plans…”

The mere thought sent chills crawling across his scalp.

“Do I really have to work overtime—or spend resources to boost my efficiency?”

The idea of expending his own Immortal Dao potential filled him with profound reluctance.

After turning it over in his mind again and again, accepting Zhang Yu’s guidance—collaborating to drive Team Three’s growth and fulfill his promise to the director—this once unthinkable option now appeared to be the best possible path.

“But what about the deputy director?”

Just then, Qu Yizhi’s eyes flickered as a new message arrived.

It was Director Luo Wuji reporting the Audit Department’s recent progress to the Pavilion Master during a meeting at the Yu Fa Pavilion—and within it, he’d even mentioned Team Three’s rising performance.

Reading this, Qu Yizhi’s resolve slowly hardened.

He walked over to Zhang Yu’s desk and said, “True Lord Zhang, may I have a word in private?”

They stepped into a cultivation chamber, where Qu Yizhi began, “True Lord Zhang, do you know Deputy Director Lu Hengzhang?”

At this, Zhang Yu’s heart stirred slightly, and he mentioned that Lu had once served as his interviewer.

Qu Yizhi continued, “Deputy Director Lu seems particularly interested in you. He’s repeatedly told me to give you, as a newcomer, more challenges—to temper and refine you further.”

Zhang Yu’s gaze sharpened. Inwardly, he thought, “Could it be that Lu Hengzhang is plotting against me?”

(End of Chapter)