CDJMM – Volume 5 -Chapter 5 Civilization Rescue Team (5)

After rigorous training, Lawrence could now plant rice with complete proficiency!

He planted the rice seedlings quickly and well. From afar, the rows were perfectly straight—he was easily the best in the entire seedling-planting squad!

He looked at the neat, uniform seedlings he planted, then at the crooked, messy rows his underlings had planted… and the corners of his mouth couldn’t help but lift in satisfaction.

Straightening his back, wiping the sweat from his forehead, he proudly put his hands on his hips and praised himself in his heart: As expected, gold shines no matter where it is. Even as the commander of the Black Lion Mercenary Corps—even in farming—his level was unrivaled.

Amazing. Fantastic. Truly worthy of him!

A lazy voice came from behind him.

“Um, excuse me, is Lawrence here? I’m the new guy. The devil boss told me to report to you.”

He turned around, chest out, chin lifted. “I’m Lawrence. And you are—”

The rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat.

His eyes widened as though he’d seen a ghost. “Jones! You old dog—how the hell are YOU here?!”

The man he called Jones was an unshaven middle-aged uncle: balding, beer-bellied—the very picture of a greasy man in the midst of a midlife crisis.

Lawrence instantly went on high alert. Jones, despite having such a pathetic, downtrodden office-worker face, had personally sent countless idiots who underestimated him straight to hell—many of them not even knowing how they died.

Will Jones, Europe’s most notorious information broker. Rumor had it that he was from an Italian mafia family.

Jones snickered, his shifty little eyes darting around. “Long time no see, Lawrence. I heard you went missing—so THIS is where you ended up.”

His gaze swept over the people working in the rice paddies. “Where’s Panther? Is Panther here too? Don’t tell me your whole mercenary group is here?”

Lawrence curled his lip, silently confirming it, then laughed gleefully. “You must’ve done plenty of bad shit in your life. Serves you right—karma finally caught up with you! Hahahaha!”

Jones clicked his tongue in amazement. “Didn’t think the three of us would reunite in hell. Fate is a damn magical thing.”

Lawrence rolled his eyes. “Who’s brothers with you? Enough nonsense—why are you still standing there? Get down and start farming!”

Jones grinned, revealing a lecherous, sleazy smile. “I don’t need to farm. The devil boss assigned me a different job.”

Lawrence froze. “What job?”

“The boss said I’m a brain-worker, so I need to fully utilize my talents.” Jones glanced at Lawrence, who looked like he’d rolled through a mud pit, then raised his chin proudly.

“So, the boss is sending me to the Employment Guidance Center to give pre-job training to the newcomers.”

Lawrence: “Huh?!”

“What newcomers? No—why the hell don’t YOU have to farm?!”

“Didn’t I just say I’m a brain-worker? We’re not the same. As for the newcomers…” Jones wiggled his eyebrows.

“Boss saw you guys working too hard, so he found you some helpers!”

Lawrence was furious at first—then ecstatic.

“Hahahahahahaha! I finally don’t have to farm anymore!”

…Maybe.

Jones just smiled silently, watching Lawrence celebrate. For once, he felt a little sympathetic.

This foolish little brother of his was still far too naïve.

Jones had faced countless storms in his lifetime, but even so, standing on that podium made his legs tremble.

The room was filled to the brim—every seat taken by top-tier figures from the dark world. Some were people Jones used to curry favor with; others were so far above him he wasn’t even qualified to shine their shoes.

The leader of a terrorist group from an African nation…

Mexico’s biggest drug lord…

The patriarch of Italy’s number-one mafia…

The heads of Eastern Europe’s largest mercenary army…

The boss of the biggest assassin organization in the Americas…

Compared to the monstrous crimes these people had committed, Jones was practically angelic enough to enter heaven.

These savage criminals from all over the world sat neatly like elementary school students, looking up at Jones as he prepared to teach.

…Under the combined murderous aura of so many big bosses, Jones felt like a tiny white mouse that had wandered into a nest of cats—pitiful, weak, and helpless.

Thanks to his years of intelligence-gathering, which had granted him an extremely thick skin, he barely managed to stay calm instead of kneeling and begging for mercy.

Well, no matter what, this was hell. If the devil wanted to use him, the devil would protect him.  Besides—when else would he ever get the chance to boss around this many big shots?

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain steady.

“Class is starting.”

The big bosses: you’re dead.jpg

“Hm? Don’t you even know basic classroom etiquette?” The devil suddenly appeared above the podium, holding a pointer, his gaze radiating pure malice. “Don’t you even know how to greet your teacher?”

Before the words finished, every desk in the room turned to dust.

Silence fell—cold, dead silence.

The devil lifted the pointer, smiling politely but chillingly. “Do you want me to personally teach you?”

Mexico’s biggest drug lord immediately bolted up, chest out, stomach in, and bent 120 degrees at the waist.

“GOOD AFTERNOON, TEACHER!!!”

The rest of the big bosses scrambled to their feet, fighting to bow first and greet Jones. In an instant, the entire room was filled with a joyous atmosphere of respecting teachers and valuing education.

Jones puffed out his chest proudly, coughed, and forced down the excitement. “Hello, students. Class begins now.”

“Hell is our home, and building it relies on all of us. Since the 18th Party Congress, His Majesty the Demon King has followed the General Secretary’s guidance, resolutely implementing the new development concepts of innovation, coordination, green development, openness, and shared prosperity…”

The criminals tried their best to stay awake, pinching their thighs to keep from yawning.

The Italian mafia boss’s performance was especially moving—wearing a mysterious smile, nodding thoughtfully, even tearing up when Jones mentioned “the people’s yearning for a better life.”

Jones nodded approvingly. As expected of a mafia don—he must attend meetings all the time. No wonder he’s picking this up so naturally.

“…Regarding the current food shortage caused by air and soil pollution in hell, His Majesty has issued the following directives…”

The criminals perked up. Their eyes sharpened—they knew the key part was coming.

“1. Establish an agricultural machinery certification course. Students must master tractors, trenchers, seeders, harvesters, sprayers, etc.
2. Tuition is US$100,000 per person per month. Everyone must also purchase 100 units of agricultural machinery.
3. Each student must recruit 20 native workers per week to participate in reforestation projects.
4. Anyone who cannot complete Tasks 1 through 3 will receive a complimentary one-way ticket to heaven, courtesy of His Majesty.”

“That concludes today’s training. Class dismissed!”

Jones flashed an eight-toothed smile. “I hope every one of you will participate—none missing—in the great cause of building a socialist hell.”

The devil applauded. “Excellent job, Teacher Jones!”

He looked down at the stunned criminals with a warm smile.

“You won’t disappoint me… right?”

“R-Right!”

“I’ll accept the reform wholeheartedly!”

“T-To hell with heaven! I don’t want it!”

“I was born a hell man and I’ll die a hell ghost!”

And so, the very first hell vocational training session ended successfully—a harmonious and triumphant session.

Zhao Luejun was an instructor at Yinda Mechanical Technology Institute, specializing in agricultural machinery. This project, a government partnership, aimed to provide free training to farmers to contribute to building a moderately prosperous society.

Zhao’s work was noble… but poorly paid.

So he developed a side job—putting screen protectors on phones under a bridge. It barely counted as “using his professional skills.”

One day, a young man found him and said they needed him for extracurricular training: classes every weekday evening, full days on weekends, with a monthly salary of 50,000 RMB.

Zhao Luejun: !!!

The young man smiled apologetically. “Sorry, we don’t offer insurance or benefits. I hope you don’t mind.”

Zhao Luejun waved a righteous hand. “That’s nothing! Do I look like someone who cares about benefits?!”

He eagerly asked, “Where is your company? Can we sign the contract now?”

“Our company is a bit remote—in the mountains. We’ll send a car to pick you up for every class.”

Zhao Luejun nodded, then—barely holding on to a shred of reason—asked cautiously: “You guys… are a legitimate company, right? Isn’t the salary a bit too high?”

“Well, since you asked, I’ll be honest. The salary is high because the job is special.” The young man lowered his voice.

“The students are… foreign criminals imprisoned in foreign countries.”

“H–Huh? Why is our country teaching foreigners these things?!”

“They requested it themselves!” The young man said passionately: “After undergoing socialist reform, they vowed to change their ways, earn an honest living after release, and build new socialist rural communities with their own hands. They strongly requested that our country send instructors.”

“For the sake of international communist solidarity, our nation agreed.”

He patted Zhao’s shoulder. “A brave, noble teacher like you is exactly what our prison needs. As an outstanding Party member, don’t let the organization down.”

Zhao was deeply moved, tears welling up. He nodded firmly.

“Leave it to me! I guarantee they will all graduate successfully!”