Song Wuli slowly walked back to his workstation, noticing that many people’s gazes were fixed on him.
The younger employees seemed to have reached their limit of patience with Song Wuli and were probably planning some kind of action against him.
What kind of situations hadn’t he seen before? It was easy for him to guess what those young people were thinking—it was nothing more than a strike.
But a strike by just one person wouldn’t have any effect.
Besides, there were rumors about layoffs at the company lately; if he struck alone, he would definitely be targeted for dismissal.
Therefore, to survive the layoff crisis and deal with Song Wuli, they would need the support of almost the entire team.
Only then could they create real pressure to force his hand.
The ten or so young employees in Copywriting Team Two and the more than twenty in Copywriting Team One—could they really unite?
Song Wuli suspiciously opened his computer and absentmindedly started working.
Huang Yijun surprisingly hadn’t arrived early today; nobody knew where he had been.
With half a minute to go before work started, he arrived just in time, running down the hallway, sweating profusely.
He was still wearing a Yinlin T-shirt and a hat, sporting a different style every day—just how much did he like Yinlin?!
That wasn’t all.
On his desk, several Yinlin Figures had appeared at some unknown time—definitely unapproved by Huang himself.
The figures were posable and had removable clothing.
In front of them was a small box, resembling a Storage Bank.
Huang Yijun first placed some snacks next to the figures, then dropped a few coins into the Storage Bank, closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, and silently prayed.
It felt like this guy had gone completely obsessed.
After praying, he took away the snacks he had offered the day before, ate them, replaced them with new snacks, and then began his day’s work.
It had to be said—thanks to Song Wuli pushing work hours to a new level, Huang Yijun had followed suit with overtime, clearing almost all of his daily tasks.
The quality was good.
So every day he handled mostly the latter half of the previous day’s team work, with little backlog left.
When Huang Yijun checked the copywriting from Team Two yesterday, he noticed something off—the amount of content was less than usual, only about half of what they normally produced.
Was yesterday’s work just too difficult?
He examined the content slowly.
His frown deepened.
It was all just ordinary stuff.
The NPC copywriting for Shao Hao, which the company had focused on earlier, had already been finalized and submitted some time ago.
The update was supposed to go live in the game in a few days.
Now, Team Two only had unimportant copywriting—just some routine daily tasks and minor character profiles.
So why was the copywriting submitted by Team Two so little?
He casually asked a colleague, who replied that after working on the important content, it felt strange to go back to the simple daily stuff and they needed time to adjust.
What nonsense was that? Did writing copy really require a few days to get into the right mindset?
He questioned several others and got similar answers.
Some said they were on their period; others said they were adjusting their mood, and some said they were researching materials.
In short, everyone’s output had sharply declined.
With a hint of suspicion, Huang Yijun finished reviewing Team Two’s submissions and made his usual edits.
Since Song Wuli had been on paid leave for the past few days, not working, if he had been working, his output would have been equivalent to three people’s.
Huang Yijun guessed he’d still be busy for a while, and it wouldn’t be like today, where by noon he had almost nothing to do.
Something was off.
The company was about to lay people off, yet these young employees’ work efficiency was dropping?
During lunch, Huang Yijun talked about this with Qian Dehao and Song Wuli.
Song Wuli actually came to lunch with them today, setting aside work—a significant improvement.
Huang Yijun was very friendly, sitting close enough for the brothers to almost smell each other.
“Old Song, why don’t you learn from those young guys—work a few minutes, slack off a few minutes, make it a work-rest balance,” Huang joked, trying to make Song Wuli laugh.
But Old Song couldn’t laugh.
He knew what was going on—those young people were scheming to get rid of him, the ‘scab’.
Before, he just didn’t get along with those younger colleagues, but now he felt like a boss about to be ganged up on by a team of young players.
What a surprise to come back from leave to this.
Qian Dehao seemed to have caught wind of something, saying during lunch, “Old Huang, this might not be so simple.”
Huang Yijun heard the serious tone and asked, “What’s up?”
Qian Dehao said, “Those young people, their dissatisfaction with Old Song is pretty high. They used to talk about him all the time, but in the last few days, suddenly no one mentions him—like they’ve been told to keep quiet. So, I think it’s more complicated than it seems.”
Huang Yijun laughed, “No way, what can these young guys really do? Old Qian, you’re seeing things.”
Qian Dehao said nothing, his expression still serious as he continued eating.
Huang realized he wasn’t joking and changed the subject. “Let’s lighten up—today we’re here to celebrate Old Song’s return from leave.”
After that, Huang pulled out his phone and played “Hao Yun Lai.”
He and Qian Dehao took out Lepao from their pockets and set them off right there in the cafeteria, shooting colorful confetti into the air.
Compared to the overexcited Huang Yijun, Qian Dehao was calmer, looking a bit like he was forced to join in.
Song Wuli felt awkward, looking around at everyone’s eyes and wishing he could crawl into the ground, covering his face in embarrassment.
He felt both ashamed and happy, wiping at his eyes.
Huang Yijun put an arm around his shoulder, “What’s wrong, Old Song? Crying already? You’re a man—what’s with the tears?”
Song Wuli couldn’t hide it and held his forehead, bowing his head to wipe his eyes repeatedly.
After the commotion lasted ten minutes, the three of them cleaned up the colorful confetti left by the Lepao and tidied the place.
After a short break, they resumed work in the afternoon.
Huang Yijun remembered Qian Dehao’s words and carefully observed the young employees during the afternoon, occasionally walking around to patrol.
He noticed those young people acting strangely—speaking less, silent during work, mostly zoning out, and not actually doing anything.
When asked, they said they were “thinking.”
One person doing that might be an exception, but if a dozen young employees all acted that way, it was suspicious.
As team leader, Huang Yijun had to handle team affairs and quietly messaged Xiao Liu and Xiao Zhao, who were close to him.
Their answers were the same—they said they were working hard but needed to adjust their mindset, and couldn’t come up with good copy.
Huang Yijun pressured them a bit, and Xiao Liu finally sent a private message: “Brother Huang, don’t ask anymore. It’s complicated.”
The implication was that the water was deep and there was trouble.
That night, Old Song worked overtime until 9 p.m., then went to a milk tea shop to work a part-time job.
Xia Shiyao naturally came too, sipping juice and waiting for him.
Near midnight, the two headed out to meet someone from the Witch faction.
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