Bai Ying stayed at Tan Ming’s house until past midnight, until his temperature finally went down.
His body had not fully recovered yet. Bai Ying emerged from the eggshell chair where he had nested for several hours, slipping his feet into the cotton slippers Tan Ming had fetched for him. His legs felt completely limp, and he steadied himself with Tan Ming’s support.
“I’m really troubling you too much…” Bai Ying said dazedly as he fumbled for his outer coat.
He had long forgotten where his clothes were placed. Tan Ming took the windbreaker from the coat rack and draped it directly over Bai Ying’s shoulders. Under the dim yellow light, he carefully examined Bai Ying’s face. The flush at the corners of his eyes had not fully faded. For a long time, he had been sipping hot water from the cup Tan Ming held for him, and the tip of his nose was still red from the steam.
“How is it this late already?” Bai Ying unlocked his phone and glanced at the time, annoyed. “I’ve kept you from resting. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine. My schedule is already flipped day and night.” Tan Ming straightened his collar for him, his fingertips nearly brushing the skin at Bai Ying’s neck.
Bai Ying looked at him curiously.
“I’m a screenwriter. Day and night don’t mean much to me—it’s an old habit of us creative types.” Tan Ming smiled.
Bai Ying’s own schedule had been messed up by work too, so he didn’t find anything wrong with someone else’s habits. He just thought, “That’s impressive.”
Though he had been working for several years, Bai Ying still often got headaches writing planning documents that were tens of thousands of words long. Right now, he genuinely thought Tan Ming, who could write scripts, was amazing.
His words were sincere, and with those warm, moist eyes focused intently, they could make anyone who was praised feel light-headed.
Though he wasn’t the one who was sick, Tan Ming felt like he was dreaming that night, floating on clouds.
He walked Bai Ying back to the opposite door. Bai Ying earnestly said goodnight before closing the door.
Tan Ming stood there in a daze outside the door for a good while, his mind filled with those eyes shimmering with a faint mist and the pale skin revealed beneath his open collar. Only moments later did he realize he looked foolish just standing there at someone else’s door. He returned to his home in a daze. He gathered the slippers Bai Ying had worn, the blanket he had draped over himself, the cup he had drunk from, and the bowl and spoon he had used, unconsciously setting them aside in a special little area, separate from his other things.
“What am I doing?” After finishing all this, Tan Ming sat on the sofa and reflected.
All these unusual actions seemed to point toward something unbelievable.
“No way, right? This is only our first meeting.” Tan Ming’s gaze drifted to the side, unconsciously landing on the adorably out-of-place eggshell chair amid the room’s overall style.
At eight in the morning, Bai Ying was fully revived!
…Not quite fully.
His temperature was back to normal, and his head no longer spun, but still recovering from illness, Bai Ying felt weak all over. He lingered in bed for five minutes before stubbornly getting up to go to work.
Not going to work was impossible. Even if the sky fell, the working stiff had to clock in.
He put on his corporate drone skin in front of the mirror, grabbed his briefcase, and headed out. He felt like one of those NPCs in a game with fixed activity paths, respawning daily between home, the subway, and the office.
But occasionally, there were small interactions with other NPCs.
Bai Ying silently thanked his neighbor at the closed door and rushed off to work. When he reached his desk, Duan Yunjin had already taken Xiao Lu to the factory to argue with the person in charge, but Bai Ying hadn’t expected to find the breakfast Xiao Lu had left for him at his workstation.
Unsure when Bai Ying would arrive, Xiao Lu had prepared a bag of red bean mini buns and a bottle of room-temperature milk.
Bai Ying ate while feeling touched. There were still plenty of good people in the world!
Right, I wonder if Xiao Lu likes snakes?
Lost in thought, Bai Ying opened his chat with Xiao Lu.
Xiao Lu’s full name was Lu Changjun, a senior finance major at one of the top-ranked universities in the country—a school a scholastic slacker like Bai Ying wouldn’t even dare dream of. He couldn’t fathom what possessed such a talented student like Xiao Lu to intern at their rundown little company.
But after the rundown company was acquired by Minghong Group, it barely qualified to match Xiao Lu’s status.
Lu Changjun’s WeChat profile picture was a vibrant, oil-painting-style sunflower, as bright and passionate as his personality—lively and outgoing in a way none of their half-dead office drones could manage. In their chat history, most of the messages were Lu Changjun talking about the tasty things he had brought for Bai Ying.
…Diligent in feeding—that made for a qualified owner!
Bai Ying agonized for a long time but didn’t blurt out the rash question, “Do you like snakes?”
Coordinating materials with the factory was tedious and draining, something Bai Ying had done himself, so he didn’t want to disturb Xiao Lu at a time like this. Instead, he tapped on Xiao Lu’s profile picture and scrolled through his Moments.
Unlike Bai Ying, who was too busy or had nothing to post, Xiao Lu’s Moments were exceptionally rich.
A drink after work with a photo, gaming at home with a photo, watching a match with friends with a photo, back at school for an event with underclassmen with a photo…
He even went camping on weekends…
Bai Ying was shocked. Xiao Lu hadn’t skimped on overtime with them—how did he have so much energy!
On non-overtime weekends, Bai Ying reverted to his true form and lay at home like a corpse, feeling like he had one breath left.
Xiao Lu’s Moments had no time restrictions, so Bai Ying kept scrolling backward. He realized their crappy company had somewhat impacted Xiao Lu’s colorful life. Before interning, Xiao Lu posted several Moments a day, each in different settings.
Bai Ying felt deep respect.
Suddenly, he stopped scrolling and even stopped nibbling his bun.
He saw a photo.
It was a picture of Xiao Lu at the python exhibit. A massive python with dark green-black scales coiled around jagged branches, its body low, vertical pupils eerie, eyes gleaming with menace.
The terrifying giant python was separated from Lu Changjun by only a sheet of glass, as if it could shatter the barrier at any moment and sink its fangs into a human neck.
Yet Lu Changjun showed no fear, smiling at the camera as brightly and cheerfully as ever.
Bai Ying blinked.
He had specifically taken a photo at the python exhibit—he must like snakes!
Bai Ying jubilantly added Xiao Lu’s name to his mental notebook of potential owners.
But—
Bai Ying felt a twinge of worry again. Did Xiao Lu only like those majestic giant pythons? His true form wasn’t that big.
Maybe he needed to find a chance to chat with Xiao Lu and subtly let him know that keeping pythons casually wasn’t allowed in the country—the permits were a huge hassle—but something his size would be no problem at all!
Bai Ying was already fantasizing about his life as a pet snake, saying goodbye to the rat race and lounging around. But his glee didn’t last long before he heard an displeased voice.
“Eating breakfast and playing on your phone during work hours? Has Minghong’s discipline gotten this lax?”
Bai Ying still held the mini bun in his hand. He looked up and met Qin Juanshu’s expressionless face.
Bai Ying froze instantly. If he shifted back to his true form right now, he’d be a stiff, straight log.
He silently set down the mini bun.
Qin Juanshu looked at him coldly, his gaze far from friendly.
Caught slacking by the new boss he had splashed with coffee just yesterday, Bai Ying felt doomed. He already foresaw a grim future of reprimands, pay cuts, bonus deductions, even firing.
Yet Qin Juanshu only tossed out, “Come to my office once you’re done eating,” before turning and leaving.
Bai Ying stared down at the half-bag of mini buns left, unsure whether to eat or not.
An art colleague leaned over, whispering, “Holy crap, why’d he show up now? Not early, not late, but right this moment.”
Bai Ying thought to himself that he had actually shown up yesterday too, but got splashed with coffee and stormed off in a rage.
The art colleague fretted, “And he wants you in his office. New boss probably wants to make an example out of you, right?”
Bai Ying gazed sadly at the loving breakfast from his potential owner Xiao Lu, never imagining it would become his last meal.
Ten minutes later, Bai Ying finished the mini buns and marched righteously to Qin Juanshu’s office.
He had suddenly realized: their crappy company trampled labor laws with overtime and never cared about rules, so why not slack? Why not eat mini buns!
And yesterday, Qin Juanshu hadn’t watched where he was going either—the collision wasn’t solely his fault!
Feeling enlightened, Bai Ying pushed open the door with gusto, but wilted instantly upon facing Qin Juanshu’s icy expression. He obediently fetched a chair from the corner and sat opposite him.
Qin Juanshu silently stared at his chair.
No chair meant stand—yet he fetched one for himself?
Used to the company’s previous shoestring operations where everyone hauled in their own chairs for the boss’s office, Bai Ying had no clue what he did wrong. He only felt the office temperature drop several degrees. After a long moment, he ventured uneasily, “Should I not be sitting here?”
If not here, where? On his chair?
Qin Juanshu said coldly, “Sit.”
“…Oh.” Bai Ying obediently placed his hands on his knees, not daring to ask why Qin Juanshu had summoned him.
Qin Juanshu tossed over a stack of files. “Is this your team’s recent business?”
Bai Ying glanced and nodded.
Qin Juanshu sneered, “Such a minor job, and after nearly ten days, it’s still not done?”
Bai Ying mumbled weakly, “The client is pretty demanding…”
Qin Juanshu grew irritated. After getting splashed with half a body’s worth of coffee by Bai Ying yesterday, he had lost the mood to inspect the office area and stayed in his office reviewing this formerly obscure ad company’s—now Minghong Group subsidiary studio’s—past and current projects. The more he read, the tighter his brows furrowed. Young Master Qin felt like his horizons had broadened; he never knew there could be such a useless company and useless employees.
They had taken on promo work for a low-budget web drama that wasn’t even third-rate. A competent agency could bully the weak client, but Bai Ying’s team was completely led around by the nose. Even after Minghong’s acquisition and backing by a big group, there was no improvement.
Thinking he had to manage this trash studio for a long time, Qin Juanshu’s vision blackened.
New hires weren’t instant either, and without roots in the country, his only current options were these employees whose strengths were unclear.
Qin Juanshu wanted to quit and return abroad to his thriving business, but thinking of that illegitimate son taking over the Qin Family if he left, he stewed in anger while pondering the studio’s future strategy.
First, he needed to understand the employees.
Starting with this one. Qin Juanshu looked at Bai Ying and realized he had been so focused on past projects yesterday that he had only skimmed employee info. There was still much he didn’t know. He started casually with a question: “What’s your salary at Minghong?”
Bai Ying answered straightforwardly: “Five thousand pre-tax.”
In land-scarce, sky-high Shen City where a single room rental cost two thousand, five thousand pre-tax.
Qin Juanshu fell silent. The follow-up questions suddenly became hard to ask.
Expecting competence from five-thousand-yuan employees was his mistake.
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