19 Refusing Aventurine's Money Again

The Harmony Festival was truly a solemn occasion, deeply revered by the Family and, consequently, an incredibly demanding event for the staff.

After getting the hang of her secretarial duties, Rachel realized that this job was at least twice as busy as juggling university studies, student council responsibilities, and preparing for Sunday school all at once. Still, she managed to keep her head above water.

"Here is the summary of registration declarations for Pathstriders from other Paths arriving in Penacony. The Mourning Actors from the Everflame Mansion have accepted the invitation and filed for five spots. As for the Galaxy Rangers, they received the invitation but did not book in advance. Currently, there is only one Ranger who has arrived in Penacony with an invitation, claiming to be checking in."

Rachel handed the file to Sunday.

Sunday took it and immediately spotted the name "Acheron" under the Galaxy Rangers section.

Out of Rachel’s sight, he let out a silent sigh, then pressed the "Admission Permitted" stamp next to the name Acheron.

Before returning to her desk, Rachel noticed a new email from the Interastral Peace Corporation.

It had been delivered in a very traditional yet strictly formal manner. The wording was rigorous and precise, with every sentence reading as if it had been lifted straight from a standardized template. When she agreed to serve as Sunday's temporary secretary, Rachel had been inundated with historical materials regarding Penacony. In those records, the IPC’s image was truly as villainous as the Stone Boss from the Penacony animated shorts.

Aside from being hideous, obnoxious, overbearing, unlovable, shortsighted, and cold-blooded—along with a host of other unpardonable qualities—there were hardly any flaws left to list.

Such historical baggage had led to Penacony’s unwelcoming attitude toward the Corporation. For many Amber Eras, this was the first time a senior IPC executive would step foot on the Planet of Festivities in an official capacity while still in office.

Moreover, they actually possessed an invitation from the Family.

Rachel remarked casually, "I thought that given the relationship between the Family and the Corporation, you wouldn't have sent them an invitation. Is the relationship between the departments of the Corporation, like the Strategic Investment Department, not good? They seem so clearly divided."

Sunday looked up from his paperwork, his golden eyes veiled by a dim filter brought on by the exhaustion of his work. "Indeed. Given the relationship between the Family and the Corporation, the Family should never have sent them this invitation."

Hearing this, Rachel sensed a hint of hidden meaning. "It sounds like this invitation wasn't sent out by the Family?"

"Correct," Sunday replied.

He answered so bluntly that Rachel nearly jumped out of her skin. "Ah?"

No, wait. If it wasn't sent by the Family, could the Corporation have forged it themselves? She knew the Corporation’s reach spanned the entire galaxy; they had their hands in everything, and no field was free of their interference. The technology to manufacture an invitation wasn't complex...

Sunday saw exactly what she was thinking.

He shook his head. "It wasn't a forgery by the Corporation, but rather sent from within the Family itself... Ha, there are some discordant voices within our ranks. They have hidden themselves well for a long time, making them very difficult to track. So, this time, I intend to play along—I will acknowledge these invitations directly. In doing so, I can judge who these people are and what their individual motives might be based on their actions."

It was a logical and decisive strategy. Rachel felt a sense of admiration for such methods.

"Then, should I keep a close watch on the visitors from the Corporation?"

Sunday smiled. "Yes. To prevent the Corporation's envoy from carrying any dangerous items in their excessive luggage that might threaten the safety of the dreamscape, Rachel."

Rachel stood up straight, looking at him.

Sunday continued, "I am afraid we must confiscate all the stones in his possession. I would like to entrust this task to you. Is that acceptable?"

Rachel thought for a moment. "It is, but why all the stones?"

Sunday replied, "Now I can answer your initial question. The relationships between the various departments of the Corporation are not merely poor; in some respects, they are like fire and water. I originally expected the IPC to send someone from the Marketing Development Department—a department notorious for being unscrupulous, known for destroying what they cannot obtain. I did not expect... the Strategic Investment Department. They are perhaps slightly better than the Marketing Development Department, but only just."

Sunday’s ability to manipulate the Memetic energy within the dream was extraordinary—far beyond what Rachel, a novice who had only recently entered the dreamscape, could imagine. He waved his hand gently, and an image "floated" before them. "The senior executives of the Strategic Investment Department are known as the Ten Stonehearts. They serve under the command of the Emanator of Preservation, Diamond. Diamond grants these individuals 'Cornerstones,' through which they share in the power and authority of his Emanator status."

"Ah—I understand now."

Every stone could potentially be a tool for sabotage within the dreamscape, and the Family needed to prevent all of it.

After all, this was no ordinary Pathstrider. Behind this individual stood an Emanator.

Once a mortal becomes an Emanator, they can no longer be called a mortal. It is a completely different realm of existence, much like the Aeons compared to everyone else—it is a fundamentally different plane.

Rachel asked, "Understood. Should I also remove the gemstone decorations from his clothing?"

The appendix of the email contained a photo of the envoy. Although it was a passport-style photo, the subject's attire was anything but professional, so Rachel felt it looked more like a glamour shot.

It was dazzling, opulent, and overflowing with luxury. Heaven knows how many gems were hidden under that big fur-collared coat.

Sunday: "..."

He had the distinct feeling that Rachel intended to pry off every glittering thing on the Corporation envoy’s body the moment he gave the word.

He tactfully reminded her, "Do try to maintain proper etiquette."

Rachel looked skeptical. "If necessary, I will bring a set of clothes that fits him, have him remove the ones he is wearing, and change into the attire prepared by the Family so he can better enjoy his relaxation in the dream—what are you thinking? Why do I see a look of distrust on your face?"

Sunday raised his hand, his slender fingers curled into a fist, and coughed lightly into it. "Cough—no, Miss Rachel, you are overthinking it. I have the utmost trust in you."

Rachel: "..."

His lack of conviction was written all over his face, yet he spoke of the "utmost trust." Still, he was the boss and he signed the paychecks, so his word was law.

She nodded to Sunday. "I will handle it."

Sunday waved a hand. "But there is no need for the clothes-changing business. Leave some room for maneuver; do not push the Corporation too hard."

"Understood," Rachel replied.

***

The status of the Interastral Peace Corporation remained high; even the Family could not afford to openly burn bridges with them. After all, the very trade network connecting the galaxy was a product of the Corporation.

Penacony’s operations also required trade with the Corporation, so giving them a subtle snub was one thing, but going too far would be inappropriate.

Holding to this standard, Rachel stood at the VIP passage, ready to welcome the IPC envoy named Aventurine.

If his personal style matched the aesthetic of his ID photo, he would be a guest she could never miss.

He was far too conspicuous.

It was like a peacock mixing with other birds; no one with normal vision could possibly overlook him.

For some reason, upon seeing this short but undoubtedly jewel-bedecked gentleman, she felt he looked quite familiar. This feeling was mirrored by the background music playing for him.

After a track that fit the gentleman’s temperament perfectly—especially when he wore his sunglasses—the music, which usually played only one song, unexpectedly cut to a second track.

When Rachel took the suitcase full of gemstones from Director Aventurine, her hands were trembling.

Of course, the trembling might also have been due to the sheer value of the bag; it was the first time she had ever seen gemstones measured in such a way...

By the bagful... It was truly absurd.

The second song’s melody was tinged with sorrow, yet it was hauntingly beautiful—a classic that anyone who had spent any time watching video essays would know: "Young and Beautiful."

*I've seen the world*
*Done it all*
*Had my cake now*
*Diamonds, brilliant*
*And Bel Air now*
*Hot summer nights, mid July*
*…*
*Will you still love me*
*When I'm no longer young and beautiful?*

This was a song from the film *The Great Gatsby*. If one were to summarize the entire story and this song with a mocking attitude, it would be: "During my darkest hour, my bank account only had a cold four billion left, and no one loves me."

And to extend the thought, that great Mr. Gatsby was a man who loved to throw money around...

Rachel glanced quietly at the man wearing colorful sunglasses, who seemed to smile with perpetual confidence.

She had no way of knowing what sorrow lay buried in his heart, nor did she have the luxury of caring. But if he were willing to give her some money, she would certainly become a very happy little girl.

In such an exchange, he would lose a trivial amount of wealth, and the world would gain a happy person—was that not a very profitable trade?

Her expression seemed to catch the attention of the Corporation executive, and he spoke directly to her.

"You don't look happy, Miss."

Before Rachel could finish, the man pulled out his phone. "Let's add each other—there, done. I hope this bit of credits brings you a better mood. By the way, must my bag of gems be confiscated? I know the Family is wary of Cornerstones, but I’ve already brought raw gemstones. It’s not against the law to want to spend a little more money in the dream, is it? The pocket change on my phone isn't much, you know."

It was obvious to everyone that this was a harmless bribe. Rachel gritted her teeth and returned the credit transfer. "I am sorry, Mr. Aventurine, this is not something I can decide."

Strangely, the moment she returned the money, a wave of familiarity washed over her.

It was as if she had been pelted with money by a wealthy patron like this before, seemingly with the same face and the same confident smile (though that was unlikely, as she had never met this Mr. Aventurine face-to-face). In that memory, she had been teary-eyed and tight-lipped, saying:

*I'm sorry, but although money is my life, some principles are more important than life itself.*

But—

Come to think of it.

Rachel thought to herself, she had never been showered with money like that in her life. The Oak Family provided her with work-study opportunities, and the stocks were a result of information from Sunday that she had managed flexibly—but being directly showered with cash had never actually happened.

Besides, what was her status? Would she really have the heart to refuse money thrown at her twice?