Chapter 1 (Revised Edition)

On her thirty-first day working as a janitor at the mercenary conglomerate Shadow Company, YN finally received a thick stack of crisp bills. Overjoyed, she waited until no one was around, then quietly slipped into an open military storage trunk just big enough to contain her, eager to count her money.

The weather was splendid, and money was no longer a concern.

Treating her new cash like a precious treasure, YN carefully slid the stack from its pristine white band. Her love of money was such that even its thickness—about 1.16 centimeters—and the denomination—one hundred dollars—told her that after a month cleaning for Shadow Company, she had truly earned a full ten thousand dollars.

Thank heavens. Whispering her gratitude to every deity she could think of, YN finally thanked herself in her heart—she, YN, was no longer poor!

YN was adept at fanning out new bills, her movements practiced and precise. The spread of crisp bills looked like a lady’s fan, something cherished and often played with. She brought her “little fan” close to her nose and gently fanned herself, intoxicated not only by the scent of the money, but by the nearness of her goal and the promise of a carefree future.

Her body and mind relaxed, YN gazed reverently at the face of Benjamin Franklin printed on the hundred-dollar bill.

I, YN, declare: Benjamin Franklin, you are the handsomest man in the world! And my favorite man! Without comparison!

·

YN was in her prime, yet she was an unemployed pauper—though technically, she was an intelligence broker. Those who knew her reputation knew she was resourceful; if she accepted a job, there was no information she couldn’t steal.

But strangely, this skilled broker had recently vanished from the scene. Her remarkable achievements were slowly becoming legend.

As a diligent and clever “descendant of dragons,” YN, whose limbs were whole and healthy, wasn’t worried about money. She still had intelligence gathered previously.

Her focus was on how to use the information she had, earning money peacefully and securely to fulfill her goals.

There was no other reason—she was simply tired of living this way.

Glancing at her phone, battery critically low, YN felt a bit lucky: she wasn’t completely destitute; at least she had some assets.

Before her phone died, she found a good opportunity—so YN applied to a thriving mercenary group called “Shadow” as a janitor.

In Shadow Company’s recruitment room, three hiring managers sat, sometimes reviewing YN’s resume, sometimes scrutinizing her.

The applicant for janitor, Miss YN, had a face as smooth as a perfect egg, and clear eyes full of innocence and purity. Despite their different backgrounds, all three managers sighed at her beauty.

YN kept a gentle smile on her face, masking her nerves—her resume was fake. She had borrowed a personal resume she liked from intelligence she’d stolen, edited it, and applied it to herself.

The original resume was impressive. The owner was YN’s age, born the same day and month, graduated with all As from Harvard, worked at a top fifty global company, and enjoyed horseback riding and charity.

YN’s own life was nothing like that.

She’d even researched that Harvard tuition for one year was nearly sixty thousand dollars; to finish four years, tuition alone was two hundred forty thousand, not including living expenses.

Editing the resume line by line, YN felt as if her nose caught a whiff of dried apricots, sour and unappealing.

At sixteen, she’d immigrated from Russia to America with her adoptive parents, attending school for only two years before adulthood. Those brief school days were rare moments of happiness in her life.

One manager, after repeatedly reviewing YN’s resume, asked, “Miss YN, about your time at this ‘University of Life’…”

Here it comes—the classic soul-searching question from a recruiter.

YN leaned forward, since the manager had only spoken half his question.

He suddenly looked up, eyes earnest. “What did you major in?”

“Being a bull and a horse.”

YN answered almost without thinking, blurting it out as a bead of nervous sweat slid silently down her brow.

This interview was more nerve-wracking than stealing intelligence.

Though her resume was fake, YN’s life was real. She had tweaked and polished her years as an intelligence broker and worker, mixing truth and fiction to confuse the recruiters.

Since it was the University of Life, being a beast of burden was no longer the norm—for survival, YN had upgraded from “being a bull and a horse” to “being a herd of bulls and a herd of horses.” These days, you had to outdo everyone else, leaving no room for competition.

As a broker, she’d never failed. But now, if she entered Shadow Company, she only wanted to slack off. Without revealing her profession, she hoped to form bonds and connections, working comfortably and living peacefully.

Seeing the three recruiters exchange glances, YN skillfully used her bargaining talents to exaggerate her “University of Life” expertise, extolling her abilities to the skies.

Ridiculous—she really just wanted a janitor job and early retirement.

·

Shadow Company was wealthy, offering janitors a monthly salary of ten thousand, plus bonuses and dividends.

The intelligence confirmed: “wages always paid on time,” “weekends off,” “no overtime”—just these points were enough to entice YN, who knew all too well the hardships of corporate life.

In such a caring company, driving a sweeper and mopping floors, YN could hardly imagine how comfortable life would be.

In the end, nursing her retirement dream, YN was taken by one bespectacled recruiter to a separate interview room.

Once inside, the recruiter studied YN top to bottom several times.

After a moment, her gaze lingered on YN’s slender neck and below her collarbone, unwillingly moving upward. Looking at the gentle, delicate YN, she hinted, “Miss YN, are you sure you want to be a janitor? Have you considered other, more lucrative positions?”

YN immediately felt the recruiter’s scrutinizing gaze.

When the recruiter asked her to turn around and again surveyed her from head to toe, YN quickly dropped her smile.

This appraising look, as if she were a commodity about to pass inspection, was deeply unpleasant.

No need to guess—the recruiter’s gaze now must be glued to her hips. Before she turned, the recruiter had adjusted her glasses and stared at her chest for ages.

YN wanted the job. Shadow Company offered food, lodging, and insurance—excellent conditions. So she didn’t dare clench her fists and show her displeasure.

Inside her polished little boots, YN curled her toes around her yellow duck socks, channeling her irritation.

Since the recruiter was also a woman, YN tolerated the discomfort for now.

YN reaffirmed, “Yes, I only want to apply for janitor.”

The recruiter’s gaze stayed fixed on YN’s waist and hips, not asking her to turn again.

YN wore a well-washed, slightly fuzzy black cropped sweatshirt, faded jeans, and old but clean boots.

With no extra money, YN couldn’t buy proper interview attire. This sweatshirt, jeans, and boots were her best outfit.

Oddly, the recruiter noticed YN’s black gloves, well-fitted and of better quality than her sweatshirt, showing no signs of wear despite frequent friction.

The recruiter, sharp-eyed, saw that the vibrant young woman was cleanly dressed, but clearly broke.

Regardless, her bare face, lacking even lipstick, couldn’t diminish her beauty. Like a doll placed in the window’s farthest corner, enchanted but unreachable.

Such a stunning figure and face—wherever she applied, she’d be in demand. To apply for janitor at Shadow was almost a waste.

If she were willing to sell herself, she’d earn far more than cleaning.

The recruiter suddenly switched to a more ingratiating tone, “Miss YN, you may turn around now.”

Her thick, glossy black hair, even left loose over shoulders and waist, was envy-inducing!

A girl with exquisite looks but empty pockets could hardly resist the lure of cash, a few more words—

“You don’t have to be a janitor. I have positions that pay easily, requiring no effort… per hour…” The recruiter paused, smiling kindly and flashing five fingers before YN.

“Would you like to reconsider?” She lowered her gaze, emerald eyes winking coquettishly.

If YN didn’t understand the hint after all these years, she’d wasted her experience!

“Per hour… fifty thousand dollars?!” YN stared at the recruiter’s wrinkled, line-filled palm with astonished eyes, feigning shock and covering her mouth at the outrageous rate.

The recruiter hadn’t expected such naiveté; she had meant five hundred dollars an hour. Fifty thousand—what a dream! If money were so easy, she’d do it herself!

YN calmly watched the recruiter’s face pale, her shock shifting to a polite smile. “Thank you for your generosity.”

The recruiter, gently rebuffed, was still reluctant. In her view, escort work wasn’t shameful—everyone earns their living as they can. She was merely offering a broader path to wealth.

“Miss YN, do you look down on this job?”

“No.” YN’s tone turned serious. “I respect all work equally.”

·

Having received her salary, YN, counting bills in the trunk, lulled by good weather, a cheerful mood, and the safety of the cramped space, soon succumbed to sleep.

When she awoke, the trunk lid was closed, and her surroundings dim.

·

YN rubbed her sleepy eyes—had she fallen asleep?

She could hardly believe it.

Pulling her legs up, she stacked her ten thousand dollars neatly on her knees, then slid the white band back over the bills.

Lifting the hem of her maid skirt, YN tucked the money into the tactical thigh pouch strapped inside her leg.

Working as a janitor for Shadow Company was as pleasant as she’d hoped.

The cleaning staff were few, men and women, mostly elderly who had lost their families or middle-aged with disabilities.

Their daily job was to clean the headquarters building and every armory in the base.

On her first day, YN’s beauty and freshness stunned everyone.

Emma, the department head, welcomed her but felt the standard gray uniform would hide YN’s charm, so she ordered a custom black-and-white maid dress for her.

Though YN wasn’t picky, Emma wanted her to start each day with joy in a suitable and attractive outfit.

Despite her intentions to slack off, YN worked diligently, quickly winning everyone’s affection and becoming well-acquainted with the team.

YN had asked Emma for a break after payday, which explained her retreat to the trunk.

After a while, craving movement, YN heard lively voices outside.

The trunk lid wasn’t fully closed; she pressed her ear to the gap—clearly, a Shadow squad leader or commander was rallying soldiers before a mission.

Shadow Company’s mercenaries were called “Shadows.” Their operation codes all used “Shadow.” The CEO, Philip Graves, was “Shadow-1.”

YN didn’t know the rank of the speaker, but his voice was full of passion and power, more inspiring than any she’d heard on base.

A chorus of “Yup” followed his speech, echoing in YN’s ears.

This was part of Shadow Company culture. Whether mercenaries or janitors, everyone responded to commands with “Yup.”

It was American slang, sometimes playful—perhaps odd in a mercenary company driven by profit.

But YN soon adapted, and each time she said “Yup,” she was the loudest and happiest.

It must be a squad leader rallying his team before a mission.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop; when she left, she intended to apologize and ask to be let go.

Wearing Emma’s custom maid dress, YN waited for the voices to subside, then pushed open the trunk lid.

At that moment, the passionate voice outside turned dark—like a sudden storm sweeping the calm sea.

“All Shadows, listen: after the mission, eliminate everyone. Not a single survivor.”

Shadow Company’s CEO and commander, Philip Graves, was issuing the most secret orders to his squad.

YN, suddenly emerging, naturally heard Graves’ confidential command…

Looking around, she saw a squad of mercenaries in black uniforms, alert and aiming their guns at the same spot.

The muzzles were trained on her; YN hunched over, quickly raised her hands, and shouted, “I’m one of you! Don’t shoot, I’m one of you!”

What was happening?

YN felt that if she moved, she’d be riddled with bullets by this lethal Shadow squad.

She dared not move a muscle, but instinctively her eyes scanned the area—the cockpit lined with mech panels, suffused with ominous red light—when had she, along with the trunk, been loaded onto a plane?!

After YN declared herself friendly, the squad kept their guns trained on her, waiting for orders.

She couldn’t help glancing at the only squad member without a helmet, standing at a distance.

The moment their eyes met, chills ran down YN’s spine—this commander would really order her death.