Chapter 2

On my computer, I found a photo in the employee group chat.

It was a screenshot of an electronic agreement.

The document was titled:

“Confirmation of Conversion to Co-Creation Partner”

Signer: Xia Qing.

Signed at: 8:42 p.m. last night.

Signing method: Electronic signature with facial recognition.

The clauses beneath it were densely packed.

I zoomed in.

A few lines stabbed at my eyes.

“I voluntarily confirm my participation in the Star Chart World co-creation plan.”

“As of the date of this confirmation, both parties have completed the interim settlement of salary, performance pay, project bonuses, reimbursements, and other payments.”

“The original employment relationship is adjusted to a project-based partnership.”

“After receiving profits from the red-envelope fund, I will raise no further claims regarding wages, bonuses, overtime pay, economic compensation, or other matters accrued before the date of confirmation.”

My hands and feet went cold as I read.

Messages were still flying through the group chat.

“HR, come explain this!”

“When did I agree to give up my wages?”

“I claimed a red envelope, not a contract selling myself!”

“Boss, stop playing dead!”

“What was that dinner at Jinlan Villa really for?”

“Ms. Zhou, you knew last night, didn’t you?”

She didn’t respond.

I read each message one by one. So the so-called 888,888-yuan red-envelope fund wasn’t a payout at all.

It was a way to wipe clean, with a single stroke, the money the company owed its employees under the label of “red-envelope profits.”

Then they repackaged the employment relationship as a project partnership.

Turning employees into so-called “co-creation partners.”

Sharing the risk.

With profits that could amount to nothing.

How lovely.

With a midnight shower of red envelopes, the boss had hooked everyone’s greed.

Then he’d used a high-end dinner to lull everyone’s suspicions.

Xia He called.

I answered.

Her voice was so hoarse I barely recognized it.

“Zhaozhao, are we finished?”

I drew a deep breath.

“Don’t cry yet. Tell me exactly what you did.”

She sobbed.

“At the dinner, the boss told us to open the red-envelope page. He said last night was just an advance claim, and that to transfer the money to our accounts we still had to complete the Win-Win system confirmation.”

“I thought it was a hassle, but everyone was tapping through it. Ms. Zhou said it was just confirmation of our payment details, and if we didn’t sign, we wouldn’t get the red envelope.”

I closed my eyes.

“Did anyone read the agreement?”

Xia He fell silent.

A few seconds passed, then she began crying even harder.

“No.”

“The private room was dim. Everyone had been drinking, and all we could see on the screen were the red-envelope amounts and a countdown. Ms. Zhou was right beside us, rushing us and saying we’d hold up the lucky draw later.”

“I thought it was just the event rules.”

“I really thought I was only claiming a red envelope.” Her voice trembled. “The system said ‘Co-creation profits pending settlement.’ Today HR announced that last night we’d confirmed the co-creation plan, and our wages, performance pay, and reimbursements would all be folded into the fund’s profits instead of being paid separately.”

By the end, she was nearly breaking down.

“My twelve thousand wasn’t money at all.”

“It was just a number they used to offset what they owed us.”

5

I didn’t go straight to the office.

First, I saved all the screenshots of the employee chat history.

Then I backed up every photo, voice message, and screenshot of the agreement Xia He sent me.

Next, I opened my computer and logged in to my personal email.

At seven that evening, Xia He messaged me again.

“Zhaozhao, Ms. Zhou told us not to make a scene. We signed the agreement ourselves.”

“The boss also said grown-ups have to take responsibility for their choices.”

I gave a cold laugh.

Adults certainly should take responsibility.

But first, you have to let people know what they’re choosing.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I was waiting.

Waiting for the red-envelope link to pass the twenty-four-hour mark.

At 1:08 a.m., I opened the 888,888-yuan red envelope in the main employee chat again.

The page didn’t say “fully claimed.”

Instead, a new entry had appeared:

“Confirm a supplemental claim for employees who missed out.”

Beneath it was a line of red text:

“The current red-envelope event has ended. Please complete confirmation of the event terms as soon as possible. After the deadline, you will be deemed to have forfeited your co-creation profits.”

I started a screen recording.

Then I tapped.

The first page showed the red envelope’s cover.

888,888.

Cash Red Envelope Fund.

Claim it before it’s gone.

Below that was a small box, checked by default.

“I have read and agree to the ‘Cash Red Envelope Fund Event Rules.’”

The words “event rules” were blue.

I opened them.

The first layer looked perfectly ordinary.

Random allocation.

Event duration.

Withdrawal method.

Payment subject to system approval.

Final interpretation reserved to the company.

At the bottom of the page was a line of tiny gray text, almost impossible to see:

“Additional explanation.”

I tapped it.

What appeared wasn’t an explanation.

It was two agreements.