Happy days always passed quickly. Bai Ying spent his last day of vacation idling at home, forced to face the dreaded nine-to-five grind.
His energy seemed to have been drained from his body. When Bai Ying arrived at the office, everyone’s faces screamed that they didn’t want to be at work.
Not everyone’s, though—except for Xiao Lu.
Bai Ying noticed that Xiao Lu’s gaze kept landing on him, as if he wanted to say something but hesitated to take that step. Had he run into a problem at work? Bai Ying wondered, then took the initiative to sit next to Xiao Lu and help him with his tasks. But no matter how he looked at it, Xiao Lu’s work was flawless.
What could be the issue?
Bai Ying couldn’t figure it out. Lu Changjun hemmed and hawed for half the morning like that. He actually wanted to bring up what had happened that day, but he didn’t know where to start. Lu Changjun felt like he’d ruined everything and didn’t even know how to apologize. He could only watch as his senior approached proactively, then left again.
He was afraid that the more he said, the more mistakes he’d make.
Lu Changjun mocked his own cowardice in his heart. To think he had moments like this.
That morning, Bai Ying spent a long time worrying about whatever potential issue Xiao Lu had. But as lunch break approached, everyone’s attention was diverted by something completely unexpected—they’d all gotten a raise!
“Holy shit, am I dreaming? Am I actually still asleep at home?” the art colleague said in disbelief.
“The company is actually being decent?” Duan Yunjin couldn’t believe the news either. Nothing major had happened at the company lately; profits were steady, and the workhorses had been grinding away diligently. Why the sudden raise?
Lu Changjun remained sullen. He had zero interest in the pittance of a bump to his intern wage.
Bai Ying was stunned for a long time.
…So what Qin Juanshu had said before was real. It wasn’t just some unscrupulous boss painting pies in the sky for his employees.
Duan Yunjin and the art colleague quickly cheered up, tossing all their doubts aside. This was a raise—they shouldn’t overthink it! The increase was quite substantial, and the art colleague was so moved he nearly teared up. “I knew something had to happen after Minghong acquired us!”
Besides the earth-shattering raise, Qin Juanshu—who had been scarce—started frequently wandering into the office. One time, he even grabbed an empty desk and worked there.
Normally, a boss inspecting the troops three times a day would be annoying as hell. If it were the old bald boss, he’d probably have been gossiped to death behind his back. But since Qin Juanshu had just given everyone a raise, the office’s tolerance for the boss reached an all-time high.
Xiao Lu, however, was not among those tolerant ones.
Several times, he’d mustered the courage to talk to his senior, only to be interrupted by Qin Juanshu. He watched helplessly as Qin Juanshu placed a hand on Bai Ying’s shoulder, leaning in slightly as if checking the computer screen—but his gaze was entirely on Bai Ying. Lu Changjun itched with hatred. If you’re going to talk, just talk. Why whisper in his ear? His senior’s earlobe had turned red!
After Qin Juanshu was called away by a phone call one time, Lu Changjun finally couldn’t take it anymore. He dragged a chair over to Bai Ying’s side and seized the opportunity to badmouth the guy right in front of his senior.
“Senior, is that jerk harassing you?” Lu Changjun stared at Bai Ying’s earlobe, which was too sensitive; a bit of warmth had easily turned the jade-like flesh red. It made Lu Changjun grind his teeth in fury. “Does inspecting work require getting handsy?”
Bai Ying unconsciously touched his earlobe and said seriously, “He was just resting a hand on my shoulder. You’re overthinking it, Xiao Lu.”
His senior’s innocence made Lu Changjun’s heart ache. “Then why doesn’t he do it to others?”
“Yunjin-jie’s a girl; he has to avoid suspicion. Brother Lin’s jacket…” Bai Ying glanced at the art colleague behind him, who was stubbornly revising a poster for the fifth time. “It’s covered in paint from himself—still looks wet and way too ‘unique,’ so the boss probably doesn’t want to touch it.”
It looked like he’d just been splashed with paint. The art colleague proudly declared that wearing this out meant no one crowded him on the subway!
“And he keeps sidling up to you for no reason—that’s definitely shady!” Lu Changjun racked his brains to slander his rival. “I counted: in two days, he went to Yunjin-jie three times, Brother Lin twice, and you a full ten times!”
Of course, he and Qin Juanshu mutually ignored each other like air; they never spoke.
Bai Ying reflexively defended Qin Juanshu. “The art stuff is specialized; outsiders can’t butt in, so President Qin didn’t interfere much. Yunjin-jie is experienced and doesn’t need much instruction. I’m in-between, so he came by more. He’s just concerned about the business.”
Because Lu Changjun had raised his voice without realizing, Duan Yunjin next door overheard and chimed in. “Yeah, yeah, the boss caring about work is normal. Xiao Lu, you’re being petty!”
The art colleague hadn’t caught the full conversation, but he heard Duan Yunjin’s last line and spoke up for Qin Juanshu too. “Xiao Lu, President Qin’s not that kind of sleazy boss. Don’t badmouth him!”
Gossiping about the boss wasn’t a classic drone pastime?
Lu Changjun despaired. He realized that because of the raise, everyone had entered “President Qin is always right” mode. That man was so cunning—he’d come up with this trick!
He should’ve secretly bought the crappy little company when he started his internship here!
The raise turned everyone except Xiao Lu. But on Friday after work, when Qin Juanshu announced no overtime over the weekend, everyone grew uneasy again.
Duan Yunjin murmured, “We’ve only worked two days, and now another holiday. Weekends are supposed to be off, but…”
The art colleague looked horrified. “But the company never made sense before! And these past two days were nine-to-five with lunch breaks—real eight-hour days. Am I still in the country?”
Bai Ying: “Something’s off…”
Duan Yunjin: “It’s not severance pay, is it…”
Art colleague: “The last supper…”
The whole team fell into anxious despair. Why was the company suddenly so nice? Were they getting fired? Was the company collapsing? Was the world ending? Come Monday, everyone arrived jittery, as if facing judgment day.
Only Lu Changjun maliciously speculated that Qin Juanshu was using candy-coated bullets to corrupt his senior’s pure heart. Senior, don’t let that old guy fool you!
Then a pile of heavy tasks came down.
Amid the suffering, everyone secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Duan Yunjin said, “Now it’s normal.”
The familiar feeling was back—the style of working people like oxen and horses!
But it wasn’t quite the same as before. Qin Juanshu even announced they’d pay overtime as per the law, recording all the hours since joining Minghong. An ad agency that followed rules? Everyone felt a bit dazed.
Thinking that their pay might hit five figures with overtime, it suddenly seemed bearable…
The torturous projects they were handling were inherited from old Zhonghe anyway. Qin Juanshu seemed intent on completely severing new Zhonghe from the old one, starting by clearing out the backlog. Bai Ying reported to him several times and heard that Qin Juanshu was personally handling client deals.
It wasn’t easy for Qin Juanshu either. He’d studied biological pharmaceuticals in university and founded his own pharma company with his mother’s inheritance before even graduating. He’d stayed in pharma ever since; advertising was a totally foreign field. Zhonghe’s scale was manageable, but when things got busy, he still felt stretched thin.
Luckily, he’d called in his marketing-savvy assistant.
Early Tuesday morning, Du Si—who hadn’t adjusted to the time difference yet—dove into work with boundless energy and radiant spirits. She had an inexplicable, innate aura of a chosen workaholic that inspired awe at first sight.
“So scary. She seems like the type who’d pull three all-nighters and still smile, saying ‘that’s it?'” Duan Yunjin whispered to Bai Ying.
Bai Ying nodded solemnly. He could feel the hierarchical oppression from a top-tier drone over lowly wage slaves.
Du Si was indeed a woman who turned fierce at work. Her arrival clearly boosted efficiency, but she wasn’t the type to do everyone’s job alone—she dragged the whole team along.
After Du Si familiarized herself with Zhonghe, the backlog cleared at a terrifying pace. They had to admit they learned a lot, but…
It was well-known that snakes had tiny brains, so snakes were always dumb. Some particularly stupid ones even mistook their own tails for food.
Even in human form, the little white snake wasn’t much smarter. Its brain spun furiously these days, nearly sparking.
Du Si was too good at assigning tasks, always pushing just enough to keep up without crashing brains entirely. Plus, Qin Juanshu dangled bonuses and vacation after finishing the old business. Bai Ying barely held on.
One day, dizzy from the rush, he got a call from Qin Juanshu: “Are you on your way back now?”
Qin Juanshu had his finger on every project’s pulse and employee movement.
“Yeah, just signed the factory contract and heading back.” Bai Ying glanced out the car window. “Almost at the company.”
“Come to my office when you get back,” Qin Juanshu added. “Drive safe—no rush.”
Qin Juanshu said no rush, but the fast pace had Bai Ying running after he got out of the car. The elevator happened to stop on the first floor; he squeezed in.
Bai Ying wondered if he’d gone punchy from overwork. The elevator looked different somehow. Had Minghong secretly renovated?
It stopped on the fifteenth floor. Bai Ying stepped out into bright lights and floors so clean they reflected people—but the color seemed lighter.
He didn’t dwell; he pushed down the odd feeling and headed straight for Qin Juanshu’s office. It was nearly noon; he was eager to hear instructions and grab lunch.
Weird, the door color seemed lighter too…
His brain hadn’t caught up, but his body had already knocked twice and turned the handle. The door swung open slowly.
This was a private executive office. Maybe all bosses had similar tastes—the layout resembled Qin Juanshu’s. But no matter how similar, this wasn’t his office!
The unfamiliar surroundings blanked Bai Ying’s mind.
A cold voice came from behind the sole desk: “I don’t think I told you to come in.”
The young man flipping through files snapped the folder shut in displeasure and looked up coldly at the intruder. He was impeccably dressed, without a single flaw. Bai Ying spotted a small mole at the corner of his eye, but his overly aloof demeanor made it do nothing to soften him.
Bai Ying only glanced once before bowing frantically in apology. “Sorry! Sorry! Wrong floor!!!”
Ahhh, Bai Ying’s an idiot!
He cursed himself inwardly. All the off-kilter signs along the way clicked: same floors, same route, but unfamiliar office and person. He’d gone to the other building of the Twin Towers!
The two near-identical towers belonged to different conglomerates, their main entrances facing opposite directions. Bai Ying had no time to blame the taxi driver; he just wanted to turn into his original form and slink away.
Social death. The little snake had no hole to crawl into.
In short… Bai Ying was an idiot!
“Sorry!” Bai Ying said firmly. He’d leave the way he came; may the kind soul pretend nothing happened! He slammed the door shut, completely missing how the youth’s eyes widened upon seeing his face.
The youth stood abruptly, even stumbling over his chair.
Ignoring the pain in his shin, he yanked the door open again—the one that had just closed—and chased out. At the corner, a figure flashed by. He called out, “Wait!”
The figure stepped back, but the youth’s heart sank. It wasn’t him.
The mistaken one was a group executive, who looked surprised but smiled instinctively. “Young President Yun, something wrong?”
“Not you,” the youth said coldly.
The executive wasn’t surprised either. Everyone knew that Yun Ze, the only son of the Yunxin Group’s chairman, was cold-hearted and aloof, always wearing an icy expression toward everyone. He usually looked at people as if they were blades of grass, his tone flat and unchanging. So why had his voice just now sounded… somewhat panicked?
It was as if something vitally important was about to vanish without a trace, impossible to find no matter how hard one searched.
Curious, the executive glanced toward Yun Ze as he dashed to the elevator. But the doors had just closed. Even though Yun Ze rushed over immediately and slammed the down button, the already descending elevator wouldn’t stop for him.
Yun Ze stood stunned outside the elevator, utterly lost.
The final image etched in his mind was the pair of eyes like limpid autumn waters peering through the narrowing gap in the elevator doors.
It was just like the first time he’d seen that person more than twenty years ago—that “girl.” She had been hugging her knees at the foot of a wall overrun with Boston ivy. At night, the ivy leaves turned into a dense expanse of black, her skirt smeared with dirt, her whole figure seeming to blend into the enveloping darkness. But when she lifted her face, the moonlight was as clear as water, and ripples seemed to dance in her eyes.
There was no mistaking it. Even if he couldn’t immediately figure out how the girl from his memories had become a man, no matter how many years passed or how the world changed, he would recognize her at a glance.
They were the same person.
Yun Ze murmured the name he hadn’t been able to voice as a child. Back then, they were two little mutes at the orphanage. He had driven off all the naughty kids who wanted to bully the “girl,” never saying a word, but his glare was so fierce it terrified everyone—whether the kids who got beaten or the onlookers. Only the “girl” would come up and take his hand.
Hand in hand, they had stumbled through the most precious stretch of his life, one deep step and one shallow.
Countless times, he had called out to her in his heart with the gentlest tone: Little Ying sister.
“…Little Ying sister.”
Ding. Another elevator finally arrived on the fifteenth floor, but it was already too late.
