Chapter 20: The New Roommate

“Which floor does Granny Fang live on?”

“Second floor.”

“I’m on the fifth floor.”

An old woman and a young girl climbed the stairs together. When they reached the second floor, Di Qiu waved, “See you tomorrow morning. Thank you for today, Granny Fang.”

Zhu Yufang simply turned away, leaning on her cane and stooping as she headed toward her dormitory.

Humming a little tune, Di Qiu leapt up to the fifth floor. With time still early, she hurried to review the events of the day.

The most important thing was to understand the tasks and rewards from the Microcosmic Bureau.

The moment she opened the door, the light was already on.

“Strange, I remember leaving the light on before I went out.”

Immediately, her eyes caught sight of a young woman in the dorm room—a girl with long black hair and straight bangs, delicate features, seemingly the same age as her.

Di Qiu was momentarily stunned, then guessed she might be a new student checking in today.

The girl was bending down by her suitcase, pulling out clothes. It seemed she had just arrived. Hearing the door open, she paused and looked up, sharing the same slight surprise as Di Qiu.

They exchanged a brief glance and greeted each other: “Hello.”

Meng Congling quickly scanned the surroundings of Di Qiu, then lowered her head to pick up clothes from her suitcase. After closing it, she stood upright and looked toward Di Qiu’s bed. “Is that your bed?”

“Yes,” Di Qiu nodded.

Hearing this, the girl simply nodded back. “I just arrived today.”

With that, she took her clothes and entered the washroom.

Di Qiu withdrew her gaze, stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and sat down on a chair, beginning to explore the watch issued by the Microcosmic Bureau.

When she lightly tapped the watch screen, a virtual display popped up with a line of text.

[Welcome to the Microcosmic Bureau, Grade A Logistics Officer·Di Qiu]

[Bind Device] [Enter Directly]

Oh? What does “Bind Device” mean?

A flash of insight hit Di Qiu. She pulled out her phone and tried clicking [Bind Device]. The next second, her phone vibrated, and an app called “Microcosmic Bureau” appeared on the home screen.

The words [Bind Device] flickered, then changed to [Binding Successful], stayed for two seconds, and then shifted to [Change Device].

The neighboring option [Enter Directly] remained unchanged.

Di Qiu’s eyes darted between the phone and the screen above the watch. She decisively opened the Microcosmic Bureau app first. A UI appeared with three sections: [Messages] [Tasks] [Forum].

After a quick glance, she tapped the [Enter Directly] option on the watch screen.

The next moment, the display changed—it was similar to the app but in a vertical, simplified layout, now including her identity information.

[Di Qiu · Grade A Logistics Officer]

[Points]

[Messages]

[Tasks]

[Forum]

After some exploration, Di Qiu grasped the situation.

Apparently, since some people preferred using their phones, there was an option to bind devices.

Privacy was not an issue; when logistics officers browsed any mysterious-related content about the Microcosmic Bureau, only the watch wearer could see it—passersby couldn’t peek.

This was emphasized in a must-read post for newcomers in the forum.

After browsing further, Di Qiu gained a clearer understanding of the different ranks’ benefits in the Microcosmic Bureau.

The highest was the Celestial Rank, the number of people classified.

Next was the Earth Rank, the second-strongest, also confidential.

Then came Grade A, currently with 1,360 people.

Fourth was Grade B, with 6,981 people.

Fifth was Grade C, totaling 19,459 people.

Sixth was Grade D logistics personnel, numbering 20,003.

Aside from the Celestial and Earth ranks, the Microcosmic Bureau’s logistics personnel number fewer than 100,000.

That was fewer than she had imagined.

Given the academy’s existence for at least a century, and considering the bureau’s logistics officers were recruited internally, plus the external supernatural recruits from society, the numbers shouldn’t be so low.

It was hard not to suspect these statistics were fabricated to mislead outsiders.

The forum displayed about 30,000 people online at the moment.

Di Qiu also learned about the task system.

The [Tasks] page had three main categories: [Available], [In Progress], and [Completed].

The [Available] section was divided into six tiers: Celestial, Earth, Grade A, Grade B, Grade C, and Grade D.

Completing tasks granted varying amounts of task points.

One point could be exchanged for 10,000 yuan in cash.

Collecting 100 points could be exchanged for a low-grade energy pack.

Three hundred points for a medium-grade energy pack.

Five hundred points for a high-grade energy pack.

Di Qiu glanced at the points awarded for Grade D tasks, usually around ten points per task.

That meant roughly ten tasks were required to earn a low-grade energy pack.

No wonder Deng Jingxiang had mentioned that if one didn’t pursue energy rewards, the pay was sufficient—doing ten tasks meant about a million yuan earned.

Simply delightful.

However, there were strict requirements. Except for the Celestial and Earth ranks, each other rank had to complete at least five mysterious tasks monthly.

Grade A had an additional requirement: among those five tasks, at least two had to be Grade A mysterious tasks.

Reading this, Di Qiu broke out in a cold sweat, feeling a bit pressured.

A month had about three weekends. As a student, without cutting into class time, she would need to finish one task per weekend day.

Browsing the task categories, she found two main types.

One was searching for sealed mysterious locations.

These yielded fewer points: below Grade A tasks awarded up to five points; Grade A and above ranged between seven and ten points. Locations marked above 10 points signified S2-S3 level mysteries.

The other type involved solving mysterious cases, with the task indicating the level and location of the anomaly.

Some tasks required both discovering and resolving the mystery, uploading a video as proof of completion.

This self-sufficient task type awarded relatively higher points; even solving an F3-level mystery granted at least fifteen points.

Higher-level mysteries offered even more points.

With rewards understood, Di Qiu’s main concern shifted to penalties.

Looking at the top of the watch display, she tapped the × in the corner, and the screen retracted into the watch, which then only displayed the time—truly magical.

Having witnessed the Microcosmic Bureau’s technology today, she realized the bureau’s technological level was far beyond what the nation publicly displayed.

Just as she was engrossed, the bathroom door quietly clicked open. Meng Congling glanced toward Di Qiu’s direction and saw her head bent over her phone, her gaze resting on the distinctive watch on her wrist.

After a few seconds, Meng Congling looked away and took her laundry to the balcony to dry.

Di Qiu flipped through more information about penalties.

Most focused on punishment for tasks.

Unfinished tasks for the month could be carried over to the next, with a year-end settlement.

If any tasks remained unsettled by year-end, a penalty of 1,000 points would be deducted the following year.

If negative points were not cleared that year, the next year’s penalty doubled.

Reading this, Di Qiu gasped softly—rounded up, doing nothing and lying idle could result in a debt of millions.

Harsh indeed.

Pressure mounted immediately.

Though it seemed like a welfare bureau, everything had its price.

It seemed she had to hurry and master her supernatural abilities—at least learn how to fly and leap about.