"You're fired, Jiang Yu."
Director Liu didn't even look him in the eye when he said it. Just signed the letter and tossed it across the table like it was trash.
Jiang Yu picked it up silently. He already knew. The signs had been there all week.
He didn't say anything—not yet. Not as his boss leaned back in his leather chair, smug as hell.
"Office politics are part of the job," Liu added with a shrug, pretending this was normal. "But you crossed the line. Sharing sensitive cost breakdowns with competitors? That's corporate sabotage."
Jiang Yu's fingers tightened around the paper.
"I didn't leak anything."
"Sure," Liu snorted. "But your 'friend' Chen Ming gave us the report. He says you did."
Jiang Yu looked through the glass wall of the meeting room.
There.
Chen Ming, in his favourite blue button-up, pretending to review spreadsheets.
His childhood friend. His co-worker. He's a setup artist.
The betrayal didn't sting as much as it insulted him. Chen Ming didn't even do it smartly. Just dirty. Opportunistic.
"Clean out your desk," Liu said with finality. "We won't call the police, out of respect for your past efforts."
Jiang Yu gave a cold smile. "How generous."
He walked out with a single cardboard box. No one looked up. Some probably thought he actually leaked data. Others didn't care. They'd believe whatever made their own desk feel safer.
Elevator down. Lobby. Front steps.
The company logo behind him gleamed like a slap in the face.
Rainclouds gathered above, but it didn't rain.
Just silence. Cold wind. Humiliation.
He took a deep breath.
He reached into his pocket to grab his phone.
And then—
[SYSTEM INSTALLATION COMPLETE]
Rebate System Activated.
User: Jiang YuLinking to financial behavior…
▶ Welcome.
Every transaction you make will now generate a rebate.
The smarter the spend, the greater the return.
Jiang Yu blinked.
"…The hell?"
A glowing, semi-transparent panel hovered in the corner of his vision. Like a game UI. Details, balances, percentages… all about money. Expenses. Rebates. Bonuses.
Transaction Potential: Emotional Value—Indirectly Rebated through Targeted Spending.
System Note: No scams. No hacks. Just money. Smarter money.
Jiang Yu stared at it.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't the system itself that changed everything—it was what he could do with it.
He didn't even fully understand it yet.
But one thing was certain:
"I'll rebate every cent they robbed from me… with interest."
Rain finally started falling as Jiang Yu stood by the curb, still staring at the glowing interface only he could see.
Rebate System Activated.
Current Balance: ¥0.00 Rebate Rules Initialised:
All purchases for self → Rebate 5x the amount.
All purchases for females → Rebate 10x the amount.
Rebate credited instantly. No limits, no caps. Spend smart.
Jiang Yu blinked slowly.
"5 times for myself... 10 times for girls?" He stared at the half-empty coffee cup in his hand.
¥24 spent → ¥120 rebated to system wallet.
(Transaction: For self—mood recovery)
His hand tightened around the cup. "Wait. Is this real money?" The system pinged again.
Withdrawable. Transferable. Untaxed. Untraceable.
"…You're kidding."
Jiang Yu opened his banking app. ¥120, sitting in a fresh digital wallet called "RE:BATE."
The coffee was decent. The return was god-tier.
And then his phone vibrated again. A girl in business attire had stepped out of the same building, holding an umbrella in one hand and a dead expression on her face. Someone else was fired, maybe. The company really was cleaning house today.
Jiang Yu watched her struggle to open her half-broken umbrella.
Without thinking, he stepped up.
"Here," he said, offering her his own. "You'll need it more than I will."
She blinked. Hesitated. "…Thanks."
She walked away quickly.
The moment she took it—
¥40 (umbrella) – Transaction tagged:
For females: ¥400 rebated.
+ Small boost: "Public Kindness Recognition"
Jiang Yu's jaw almost dropped.
"Ten times…"
He stared down at the empty space where his umbrella had been. "All this time, I thought using money for girls was stupid…"
"But now—"
He smiled wryly.
"It's the most profitable move of all."
Having said that...
He looked and sighed, thinking how this system of his came at a really good time.
He was broke. Like, not "tight-budget" broke—real broke.
Not only did he get fired without warning, but that stingy bastard of a boss didn't even pay him for the full month. Just a passive-aggressive "final settlement" that barely covered a week.
"You should be grateful we're not pressing charges," Liu had said. Yeah, right.
He had maybe ¥200 to his name. His rent was due in five days. And the fridge in his apartment was so empty, even cockroaches had stopped showing up.
Starving was no longer a figure of speech—it was a Tuesday.
And asking his parents? That was never an option.
His mom worked morning shifts at a bakery, his dad drove long-haul trucks, and both still sent every spare yuan to support his little sister's college tuition.
She had just gotten into her dream university in Beijing.
He couldn't ask. He wouldn't.
So when this weird-ass rebate system showed up in his life out of nowhere?
It was like the universe gave him a second shot—but not with some heroic superpower, not some grand fate.
Just… money.
Smart money.
"If all I have to do is spend, then I'll spend smart."
Jiang Yu pulled out his phone again and looked at the system balance.
RE:BATE WALLET: ¥520
Total Earned Today: ¥520
Next Target: Spend Strategically
He exhaled through his nose, then looked around.
The city buzzed with after-office traffic. Girls in heels and skirts rushed by holding overpriced drinks, couples fought over dinner plans, and delivery guys weaved through cars.
Opportunities everywhere.
"Okay, rebate system... let's hustle."
The city never truly quieted down, but the further Jiang Yu got from the central office blocks, the less it buzzed. The walk to his apartment wasn't long—about twenty minutes if he took the usual shortcut through the small shopping street behind the station.
As he turned the corner, the scenery began to shift.
No more glass towers or flashy billboards. Just a wide, tree-lined sidewalk, apartment complexes with drying laundry on the balconies, and the faint sound of TV shows leaking out of open windows.
The neighbourhood was called Huali District—middle-class, respectable, and surprisingly peaceful for being only two train stops away from downtown. The kind of place young professionals and small families chose when they wanted the illusion of the good life without selling organs for rent.
He passed by the small row of shops he'd grown used to.
On his right:
Aunt Mei's steamed bun stall — always open till late, and she always threw in a free one if you looked miserable enough.
"Juice Power," a trendy little smoothie joint run by two college girls who looked like they belonged on magazine covers.
Xing Yu Convenience Store, manned by Old Li, who never asked for ID but always gave unsolicited life advice.
On the left:
A narrow bookshop that hadn't changed a single display in three years.
A dim barbershop with one flickering neon light.
And finally, the stairwell to his own building—Unit 5C of Mapleview Residences.
The building was six floors tall, pale white with beige trim, and had a lobby that permanently smelt of lemon cleaner and wet dog. His apartment was on the third floor—no elevator, of course, but the stairs were wide and clean, and the security guard downstairs actually did his job.
His place? Small, one-bedroom, but cosy.
White walls, laminate floors, a window just big enough to let in afternoon light. The furniture was a mismatched collection from second-hand apps and discount stores but arranged with intention.
He had a desk in the corner, neat and covered in sticky notes. A bookshelf he'd built himself. A secondhand couch with a thin blanket folded over the armrest—rarely used because he was always too tired to sit when he got home.
And the kitchen—functional, but bare. Two pots. One dull knife. A rice cooker he inherited from his ex-roommate. The fridge rattled when it ran, and right now it contained a half-bag of frozen dumplings, a single egg, and a bottle of chilli sauce.
He stood in the centre of the room and exhaled.
Silence.
For a second, the world paused—just Jiang Yu and the low hum of his fridge.
Then—
SYSTEM UPDATE:
Current Spending Trend: "Survival Mode"
Rebate Opportunity Suggestions: High.
Jiang Yu gave a tired laugh.
"Yeah? You think?"
He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at the system wallet balance.
¥520. Enough for groceries, barely.
But now that he knew the rules?
"Five times for me. Ten times for girls."
He looked at the cracked mirror hanging by his door. His reflection stared back—slightly unshaven, shirt wrinkled, but eyes sharp.
He wasn't going to be broke for long.
He was going to invest in himself.
"Let's start with groceries. Then I'll rebate my way into something nicer than dumplings."
A pause.
"…Maybe Juice Power's got a promo today."