Chapter 4: The Culture of Breaking the Ice

Chapter 4: Icebreaking Culture

[This life has ended. Please enter the settlement interface!]

“I’m dead?”

Jiang Ren suddenly sat up in bed, his left hand instinctively reaching toward his chest, as if a faint pain still lingered there.

Before him was a dim yet familiar room.

“So this is what it feels like to be shot.”

Expressionless, Jiang Ren recalled the scenes before his death: Xiao Bai’s warning, the sudden gunshot, the shattered door, the bullet aimed straight at his vital spot, and the three shadowy figures lurking outside in the darkness.

Due to the poor lighting, Jiang Ren couldn’t clearly see their faces, but he had his suspicions about their identities.

Surviving in harsh wilderness under terrible weather, breaking down a door cleanly, and shooting him with a high-powered firearm—it was clear these men possessed formidable survival skills and were ruthless killers. The lives stained on their hands were certainly more than one. Few groups met these conditions.

“Soldiers from an enemy country? Or poachers?”

The mountain village was located on the border of the Great Zhou Kingdom, and the wilderness connected directly to the national boundary. It wasn’t impossible for enemy soldiers to slip past border patrols and infiltrate this area.

Yet, the presence of the rare Snow King Tiger made Jiang Ren lean toward the possibility that these men were poachers.

He shook his head and went to the bathroom, washing his face with cold water.

His reflection in the mirror was clear.

He appeared unremarkable, even somewhat ordinary, but his eyes betrayed the face’s harmony—bearing a predatory gleam that seemed out of place.

Water droplets fell from his face, soaking his shirt.

The fabric clung tightly to his chest, faintly revealing muscles that looked slight but were actually well-conditioned.

Jiang Ren paid no mind and put on a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

Like magic, his eyes instantly appeared ordinary.

“Not bad.”

He was satisfied with his current look. He preferred being inconspicuous over flashy.

Then, he opened the system interface.

[This life has ended. Beginning settlement!]

[.]

[Life span: 15 (In this era, your lifespan is far below the average.)]

[Status: 3 (You are an ordinary student and a novice hunter, still at the preparation stage on the path of life.)]

[Reputation: 4 (As the sole young hunter within a thousand-mile radius, you have some recognition.)]

[Evaluation: ☆ (On the hunter’s path, the greatest danger isn’t nature or beasts, but other humans.)]

[Reward: 10 (Fate points)]

“This time, it wasn’t all for nothing.”

Jiang Ren nodded. He had finally found the right path.

This highly flexible simulated life offered settlement rewards with strong indications, likely related to the world’s name.

Although he could continue to start new simulated lives, he chose not to.

After four attempts, only two lives were effective, and the system blocked some cumbersome memories upon return, yet the experience still weighed heavily on him.

If he continued, he feared he would lose the ability to distinguish reality from simulation.

Early the next morning.

Jiang Ren awoke to the alarm, washed up, and prepared for work.

Though he had gained an opportunity, he still had to go to his job, which he was reasonably satisfied with.

Outside, fine rain drizzled continuously. Jiang Ren wore a white striped shirt, black sports pants, black-rimmed glasses, and carried an umbrella. After buying breakfast downstairs, he boarded the bus to his company.

Twenty minutes later.

After discharging the packaging into a roadside trash bin, Jiang Ren looked up at the rain-soaked office tower ahead. His steps blended seamlessly into the stream of commuters, moving with practiced swiftness.

The building housed many companies; Jiang Ren’s internet firm rented a floor within.

Clocking in, he reached his desk with some time before work began.

Several early-arriving colleagues were already engaged in their own activities—reading novels, scrolling short videos, gossiping.

Jiang Ren’s position here was programmer.

But rather than a programmer, he was more like a code monkey, assigned to write the most basic and laborious programs. His salary was average, even somewhat low.

However, the company did not promote overtime culture. Most days required only eight hours, with weekends off.

Of course, if one wanted a promotion and raise, those eight hours would no longer suffice.

“Jiang Ren, are you alright?”

At that moment, a man around thirty approached him with concern.

This was Zhuo Dazhi, the team leader of Jiang Ren’s group. Skilled and accomplished technically, but his harsh temperament had stalled his career; at thirty, he was still only a team leader.

“I’m much better now,” Jiang Ren said shyly.

He had cited illness as the reason for his absence, naturally not revealing the truth.

“That’s good. If you feel unwell, be sure to tell me immediately.”

Zhuo Dazhi nodded, then added, “While you were away, some changes happened. The old manager resigned, and a new manager was parachuted in from Fox. I heard he was a senior executive there.”

Jiang Ren was surprised. “Fox is one of the three giants in the internet industry. Their executives coming to our small internet company must have cost the boss dearly. Since when did the boss become so generous?”

Zhuo Dazhi shook his head, signaling ignorance, then said, “The new manager has been holding dinners with each department every night. Tomorrow it’s our turn. Try not to miss it.”

Jiang Ren nodded. “No problem.”

Looking around to ensure no one else was listening, Zhuo Dazhi lowered his voice and whispered, “They say the new manager is well-versed in Fox’s icebreaking culture. At the dinner, he might ask some pretty personal questions. You’d better prepare in advance.”

Icebreaking culture was a “unique” professional term originating from Fox. It referred to using extreme methods to force employees to expose their private lives before the team, stripping away pride and humanity, eliminating barriers among colleagues for tighter control.

Simply put, it was a form of workplace psychological manipulation.

Jiang Ren blinked in puzzlement. “Isn’t it said online that Fox’s icebreaking culture is all rumors, slander from competitors?”

“If a top internet company can’t control online opinion, what right do they have to be called top?” Zhuo Dazhi smirked, then patted Jiang Ren on the shoulder. “Anyway, don’t say this to anyone. Just prepare yourself.”

With that, he returned to his desk.

Jiang Ren lowered his head and began tidying his workspace.

His skepticism toward Zhuo Dazhi wasn’t because he believed the online falsehoods but stemmed from habit—he always masked himself. After all, his persona was that of a naïve young man without scheming.

Work was always dull.

The only thing that truly pleased Jiang Ren was two hours of slacking off near the end of the day.

After all, working hard only earned the deserved pay, but slacking off brought real rewards.

In the rainy twilight, the city remained vibrant and dazzling.

Jiang Ren got off the bus, ate, then returned to his rented room and turned on his computer to browse the hunter-related information he had gathered over the past few days.

After a long while, he left the desk.

As usual, he began training his muscles. With only a pair of dumbbells and some resistance bands, most exercises were bodyweight training.

Whenever his muscles ached unbearably from exercise, a strange joy welled up inside him—happier even than slacking off at work.

After a full hour, Jiang Ren showered, turned off the lights, lay down, and opened the system interface.

He always had a major flaw, one he neither could nor intended to change—that was holding grudges!

So even in the simulated life, he intended to get his revenge.

(End of chapter)