Chapter 206

206 Special Edition – Miracle of the Immortal Path (Part 1)

(first‑person rewrite, casual + emotional beat pacing)

1 · Paperwork Panic

Forestry Bureau, Wildlife Conservation Office. I’m perched on a nylon chair, blinking at the department head like a dehydrated goldfish.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, adjusting state‑issued spectacles. “You’re the new director of Lingyuan Zoo and… you want to adopt injured or abandoned wildlife?”

I nod so hard my spine squeaks. “Yes! Absolutely! Zero‑cost biodiversity, right?”

He hums, tapping a folder. “Well, technically you meet the qualifications, but city policy shunts rescues straight to the municipal zoo. No private‑park precedent.”

Translation: dream on, kid.

“Could I at least apply?” I ask, clinging to optimism the way koalas hug eucalyptus.

He sighs. “Leave your info. I’ll ask the higher‑ups.”

Tiny sliver of hope? I’ll take it.

I scribble my number, thank him, and shuffle toward the lobby—already picturing tonight’s budget spreadsheet.

“Little Duan!” a voice booms from above.

I ignore it. Surely can’t mean me.

“Director Duan?”

Okay, definitely me. I pivot and spot an older gentleman on the mezzanine, porcelain teacup in hand. The same aquarium‑obsessed uncle I’d bumped into twice at the flower‑and‑bird market.

“Uncle! You work here?” I laugh, halfway between surprise and relief.

“Come to my office for tea,” he beckons.

Free caffeine and maybe insider intel? Sold.

2 · Fish‑Keeper’s Fate

His office is cozy: single desk, mild incense, and—of course—another aquarium. Four goldfish glide like lazy comets.

“The star koi you rushed to the vet last time?” I ask, scanning the tank.

“Home tank now. I moved the living‑room TV to fit a monster setup.” He chuckles, motioning for me to sit. “Next time, come admire the whole fleet.”

I grin. “Only if you promise to visit my aquarium again. I saw you Sunday, didn’t even spot you.”

He glows with pride. “Those fish… pristine. And the rest of your zoo—night‑and‑day compared to my last visit.”

Compliments from a fellow fish nerd? Straight dopamine shot.

“So,” he sips tea, “paperwork troubles?”

I spill everything: the rescue idea, qualifications, brick walls. He listens, nodding, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“There’s a backlog,” he starts. “Abandoned babies, confiscated exotics, injured locals—the city zoo shoulders it all. They’ve begun scouting other facilities to rehome elderly stock.”

I lean forward. “We’re ready. Inspections welcome. Retired lions, orphaned owls, you name it.”

He raises a brow. “Careful. Geriatric animals bleed money—special diets, vet specialists. One wrong illness can bankrupt a small park.”

My heart drums, but I nod. “Understood. We’ll expand responsibly—within our means. Promise.”

His gaze softens; he pats my shoulder. “I’ll connect you with the city‑zoo director and flag your park for future rescues.”

My jaw unhinges. “That’s… incredible. Thank you, Uncle—uh—Director…?”

He laughs. “Didn’t even peek at the plaque, did you?”

I’d sprinted straight for the fish. I turn; gold letters read Deputy Director Sun Aiping. Oops.

He flips me a business card. “Text me your number. And call me Uncle Sun—rank’s just paperwork.”

My gratitude is a mess of bows and stammers, but he waves it off. “Just swing by for fish talk. That’s payment enough.”

3 · Back at the Zoo

I relay the victory to the team. Xiao Su whistles. “Director, are you secretly old‑money? First fancy enclosures, now government hookups.”

“If I were rich,” I mutter, gesturing at our peeling office walls, “we’d have central heating.”

She pokes my arm. “Fine, protagonist aura then.”

I scowl, but only a little.

4 · Building a Megaphone

Two viral campaigns taught me one thing: paywalls hurt. We need our own channels. Cue frantic phone calls; the ad agency that boosted us before agrees to spin up official WeChat + Weibo accounts.

Handles locked: @LingyuanZoo. Xiao Su and I will run them—she’s the photo wizard, I’m the copy gremlin.

First Weibo post: We’re here!
Attached: a little monkey forming a heart with finger and tail, grin wider than payday.

Press send. Refresh. Refresh again. Likes climb; dopamine hits.

5 · Future‑Proofing

Between social posts and enclosure sketches, I email Deputy Director Sun my formal proposal. He replies with a thumbs‑up emoji and a line: Coffee soon. Lots to discuss.

Translation: miracles in progress.

I lean back in my swivel chair—the one that squeaks like a duck in distress—and let myself breathe.

Free animals, new followers, and the immortal workforce still unpacking their divine HR welcome kits.

Running a half‑mythical zoo? Exhausting. Exhilarating. And utterly, hopelessly worth it.