In the back alley of Hanamizaka, the air was filled with the subtle fragrance of Sakura Blooms.
Lu Heng leaned against the wall of the alley, his entire body hidden in the shadows.
Holding a bottle of Dango Milk, he watched the Japanese-style street and sparse pedestrians, tilting his head back to take a sip.
This scene felt surreal, but the sweetness in his mouth eased his tightly strung nerves a little.
*I really didn’t expect to face this kind of situation right after transmigrating…* His mind wandered aimlessly.
*Where’s my promised system?
Where’s the standard-issue Vision?
Where’s my otherworldly romance?
That’s not how light novels are written!*
Ultimately sighing, he turned his thoughts back to his journey walking from the Tenryou Commission to Hanamizaka.
Along the way, pedestrians had been few and far between.
Hanamizaka, however, had quite a few idle people sitting beneath trees and along the riverbank, with no shortage of young and middle-aged faces.
Sitting there expressionless with eyes full of bewilderment, it was glaringly obvious that many had no work.
And even though it was lunchtime, the restaurants were pitifully empty.
He had seen the Tenryou Commission’s relief grain distribution point—there was nothing there, and the front doors were shut tight.
If he hadn’t happened upon the notice board by the street, he wouldn’t even have known what the place was.
By contrast, outside the entrance of the Yashiro Commission, a long queue was packed shoulder to shoulder.
Staff from the Yashiro Commission could be heard shouting to maintain order, and the faint aroma of porridge wafted through the air.
At the time, Lu Heng hadn’t stayed long, simply skirting around from the side in silence.
In his heart, he made up his mind: he had to go to Liyue!
Anywhere would be fine!
“The prices are ridiculously high, too.
A single bottle of Dango Milk actually costs three hundred Mora!
Even though it’s just a street stall dessert, it’s completely priced for rich people, isn’t it?
“The taste isn’t bad, though. But once I run off to Liyue, I might not ever come back…”
Lu Heng lamented, drinking the last mouthful of Dango Milk before setting the bottle down by his feet.
“Lu Heng!”
Lu Heng turned his head and saw Kujou Otake running over, clutching something heavy in his arms.
He was panting heavily, drenched in sweat, with his clothes askew.
“The… the money is all here. Where’s the liability disclaimer?” Otake pulled a coin pouch from his chest and handed it to Lu Heng.
Lu Heng put on a professional smile and accepted the pouch with one hand.
It was quite heavy.
Opening it for a look, besides tens of thousands of Mora, there were several bearer drafts from Northland Bank inside, totaling four hundred thousand as promised.
He quickly checked them to confirm their authenticity.
Not bad.
That way, even when he went to Liyue, he could exchange them for Mora.
Joy bloomed in Lu Heng’s heart as he drew out the pre-written liability disclaimer from his breast pocket.
Otake received it like a precious treasure, snatching the sheet of paper like a drowning man clutching a straw, reading it carefully.
The paper was filled with terms that sounded extremely high-end, phrases like “decoupling the chain of liability” and “hierarchical cost reduction and efficiency optimization.” Kujou Otake read it in a daze, feeling only a profound, intimidating sense of sophistication.
*Even someone as smart as me can’t understand it, so it must be real!
It can definitely fool those old geezers in the upper management!*
At the thought, Otake couldn’t help but feel a little relieved.
“Alright, Young Master Otake, this is my specialty! Keep it safe. If trouble arises, just throw this document at them. Don’t go spreading it around!” Lu Heng urged solemnly.
After finishing it, Otake carefully folded it and stuffed it into his breast pocket.
Then he turned and left immediately, as if fearing that staying one second longer would get him dragged off to prison.
“Good thing he’s an idiot.”
Once Otake was far off, Lu Heng couldn’t help but sigh with emotion.
He stuffed the coin pouch into his breast pocket.
“Ideally, I should have spent money to hire a kid to deliver the draft, but… besides the money to buy a ticket on a black ship, greasing palms up and down the line is also a hefty expense.” Lu Heng suppressed his thoughts.
His predecessor’s family had fallen on hard times, and in order to keep his post earlier, he had already spent all his Mora bribing people.
Where would he find a single Mora now?
“No! The more money, the better. I have to talk to the editor in person to see if I can get an advance sign-on fee.”
Perhaps this action would offend Yae Miko, but officers from the Tenryou Commission could come to arrest him at any moment.
If Kujou Otake leaked even a little, or if he realized what had happened on his own, the Tenryou Commission would immediately send men to arrest him!
He didn’t dare gamble!
If he reached Rito without enough money, it would be a total failure.
Could he really just swim across the sea to Watatsumi Island?
So he not only had to throw up a smoke screen, but also make a big haul of money!
Weighing the pros and cons, Lu Heng made up his mind.
Orienting himself, he walked toward Yae Publishing House.
At the entrance of Yae Publishing House:
Here, people came and went in a lively, bustling crowd.
Authors slumped on benches wailing and tearing their hair out alongside helpless editors formed a unique landscape—likely because the deadline was approaching.
Lu Heng took a deep breath, hesitated no longer, and pushed open the door to enter.
Behind the counter, Editor Kuroda was staring at a pile of rejected drafts, sighing with a face full of frustration.
“Hello, Editor Kuroda!” With a professional smile, Lu Heng spoke familiarly.
“Why the long face today?”
Kuroda looked up at the young man before him, unable to recognize who he was, feeling as if he had never seen him before.
However, seeing how naturally friendly Lu Heng acted, he assumed he was one of their contracted veteran authors.
Feeling miserable inside, Kuroda couldn’t help but vent:
“Sigh, all these light novels submitted lately are completely identical boilerplate! And some are just way too bizarre! What is this? ‘Reincarnated as a Slime and Becoming a Demon Lord’? And what’s ‘Reincarnated as a Hilichurl: The Aloof Married Woman Fell for Me’? Can this even pass censorship?!”
Kuroda clutched his forehead in despair.
“If this keeps up, I won’t meet this month’s sales target…”
Although Lu Heng really wanted to discuss the details of “Hilichurl and Aloof Married Woman,” he had more important things to do.
“Mr. Kuroda, I completely understand your pain. Readers nowadays are sick and tired of those illogical power fantasies.”
Lu Heng’s expression turned serious as he pushed the arranged manuscript in front of Kuroda.
“That’s why I’ve brought a monumental masterpiece capable of shaking Inazuma… no! Capable of shaking all of Teyvat and pioneering a brand-new genre!” With that, he tapped his finger firmly beside the manuscript.
Kuroda rubbed his temples, reached out to take it, looked at the title-less cover, and then looked at Lu Heng.
With a sigh, he said, “So it’s a new work by a newcomer? Fine. What’s the outline? Is there a cheat system? Any engagement-cancellation tropes?”
“None of those.” Lu Heng raised a single finger and wagged it.
A mysterious smile curled at the corner of his lips as he said, “The title is—*Yes, Lord Harbinger!*”
“Harbinger? You’re writing about the Fatui?” Kuroda froze, raising his head in surprise.
“You want to write a story about Snezhnaya?”
Looking at the confident young man before him, Kuroda’s interest was piqued.
He opened the first page, his eyes falling upon those lines of text.
The more he read, the wider his eyes grew.
Chapter One: Relief Grain
“Lord Regrator, the fifty thousand catties of relief grain allocated for the front line have vanished without a trace, leaving only an empty shell on the books. If Lord Pierro asks, what should we do?” asked a subordinate named Psyduck.
“Do not panic. This is precisely the moment to demonstrate our crisis public relations capabilities.” The Ninth Harbinger, Regrator Pantalone, held a cup of black tea.
“We shall handle it according to Snezhnaya’s Standard Four-Stage Crisis Strategy.”
“Four-Stage Strategy?”
“Stage One: We declare that nothing has happened and that the grain is completely safe.”
“Stage Two: We say that perhaps a minor hiccup occurred during transport, but we should not act yet, for we must wait and see.”
“Stage Three: We say that perhaps we ought to act, but existing rules and regulations render us powerless.”
“Stage Four: We say that perhaps there really was a way to recover the grain back then, but regrettably, it is now too late.”
Psyduck gasped.
“Then… then where did those fifty thousand catties of grain go?”
“It isn’t lost.”
Pantalone set down his teacup without batting an eye.
“It has simply entered a state of structurally delayed, decentralized pre-allocation.”