Chapter Fourteen: The End of the Wage Earner

The next afternoon, Yang Luo, filled with gratitude, shouldered his backpack, packed his test results and diagnosis, and returned to the company.

He went upstairs and entered the familiar cubicle area. Just as he was about to reach his own workstation, he suddenly noticed something was different.

...Hmm?

The mouse wasn’t in its usual spot, the monitor’s angle had been subtly adjusted, and for some reason, the wires on the power strip looked unfamiliar. Moreover—why was there a balding middle-aged man sitting at the neighboring desk that had always been empty?

Yang Luo stood beside his workstation, and for reasons he couldn’t name, a vague shadow seemed to settle over his heart.

He hadn’t stood there long before his team leader—who was in the middle of discussing project requirements with the other planners—noticed him and came over.

“Ah, Luo,” the team leader greeted him with the same easy smile as always, instantly dispelling the chill that had crept into Yang Luo’s chest. “You’re back. Leave your bag here, then head over to Meeting Room Five for a bit. HR and I will come talk to you shortly.”

Yang Luo nodded to show he understood, but his feet didn’t move right away.

“Um…” He nodded toward the middle-aged man, hesitating. “Is that a new hire?”

“Oh—” The team leader glanced that way and smiled, untroubled. “That’s someone we requested from the central office. The project’s at a critical stage, after all. With you gone, we needed someone to fill in.”

“From the central office, I see…” Yang Luo felt a bit of relief.

He forced a smile at the team leader, set his backpack on the desk, and turned toward Meeting Room Five.

...

He pulled out a chair and sat, waiting for the team leader and HR to arrive.

Meeting Room Five was no stranger to him; every week the server group met here, and every year he’d come for talks with HR about raises and benefits. After three years, he knew every detail of this room.

Yet today, staring at the snow-white ceiling and the bright fluorescent lights, he was gripped by an unfamiliar sense of dread.

…Is it because my feelings have changed?

He gave a bitter laugh.

Just then, the door opened quietly. The team leader and HR slipped inside. Yang Luo composed himself and sat up straight, facing them.

“Ah, Luo, no need to be so formal,” said the team leader, still wearing that familiar smile.

But the HR manager’s face was expressionless. Yang Luo knew him—Huang Cheng, who always congratulated him cheerfully on his annual raise or year-end bonus. He’d thought they got along decently.

But today, Huang Cheng’s expression was entirely different. What’s more, he was carrying two thick stacks of papers.

“…Oh, okay.”

Yang Luo was briefly stunned but quickly regained his composure and nodded. At the same time, the two sat before him. The team leader reached for the thicker stack of documents from Huang Cheng and placed it in front of Yang Luo.

“Here, Luo, take a good look. I hope you’ll find these terms acceptable,” the team leader said with a smile.

Acceptable?

The phrasing struck him as strange. A sense of foreboding surged in Yang Luo’s heart.

His hands stiff, he picked up the document and began to read, page by page. The further he went, the fewer words there were—and the slower he read.

Yang Luo’s body began to tremble. The impact was like a volcanic eruption within him.

It was a long time before he looked up, glaring at the two men, his eyes blazing with anger—

“…The company wants to fire me?!”

“Not only fire me, but make me resign voluntarily—and only offer fifty thousand yuan in compensation?!!”

Rage pounded through his chest, the familiar stabbing pain returning to his heart, but Yang Luo no longer cared. All he wanted was to vent his fury and confront these two men.

Yet neither the team leader nor Huang Cheng seemed surprised. They merely exchanged a glance. Huang Cheng made a writing gesture; the team leader shook his head, and Huang Cheng’s expression relaxed.

“Yang Luo—” Huang Cheng turned to him, his voice devoid of warmth. “Let’s be direct. You have a cardiac sarcoma, a malignant tumor. There’s no chance of recovery, and you won’t be able to return to work. So, it’s best if you accept this mutually beneficial outcome. The fifty thousand yuan the company is offering is purely out of humanitarian concern. If you refuse, you won’t get a cent…”

“The hell with your fifty thousand!” Yang Luo roared, eyes bloodshot, ignoring the agony in his chest.

“My monthly salary is thirty thousand. According to the N+1 rule, after eight years I should get two hundred seventy thousand in compensation. Not to mention, my heart tumor was caused by years of overtime. And you give me fifty thousand in the end? Has the company no conscience left at all?!”

“N+1, huh…” Huang Cheng sneered.

The team leader, still smiling amiably, explained, “About that N+1… You’ve been here a long time, Yang Luo. You know the gaming industry’s been struggling lately.

“The company’s profits are already down this year. If we pay you N+1—two hundred seventy thousand—that comes straight out of our project group’s profits. Then our server group’s annual bonuses will take a hit.

“You’ve worked in the server group for three years. Shouldn’t you consider everyone else?

“Besides, even if you don’t accept, we can transfer you to a position with no duties and pay you a minimal wage—one or two thousand a month. After a year, N+1 would only amount to less than ten thousand. Even if you try to stage a scene and die on the job, unless it’s deemed a work-related death, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The team leader’s gentle, persuasive smile struck Yang Luo as utterly unfamiliar for the first time in three years.

Clutching his chest and fighting the pain, Yang Luo gasped, “I haven’t been incompetent. What grounds do you have to transfer me? Don’t think I don’t know labor law…”

The two men exchanged another glance, their cold smiles making Yang Luo shiver.

“Well…” The team leader took the other, shorter document from Huang Cheng’s hands, but before he could hand it over, Yang Luo snatched it.

One look, and Yang Luo was thunderstruck.

Employee Yang Luo—Absence Record:
2020
May 3rd, half day.
May 17th, one day.
June 11th, one day.
…
2021
February 7th, one day.
April 19th, half day.
…
2022
May 1st, one day.
…
May 17th to May 21st, five consecutive days.
Multiple absences over three years; performance unsatisfactory.

This record… This absence record…

“These were all times I took annual leave! I asked you to submit the requests on the internal system…” Yang Luo’s vision clouded.

He forced his eyes from the document to the team leader, who simply shrugged and smiled.

“Well, those internal requests can always be withdrawn. But skipping the punch-in? That’s a solid record. And you didn’t record audio or video, did you?

“You see, now we have evidence of ‘incompetence.’ So I advise you to accept the resignation proposal. We’ll transfer the fifty thousand quickly. That way, you can get treatment sooner and maybe live another year or two, haha…”

The rest faded out as his hearing dulled.

At that moment, his blood surged, and the pain in his heart soared past endurance. Yang Luo could no longer support himself; he heard nothing more.

As consciousness slipped away, only overwhelming anger and resentment remained in his heart.

“You… you bastards…”