Chapter 68: [Bonus Update] Part 1

Bai Ying had thought about resigning someday.

He had imagined many reasons for it. Perhaps the advertising industry treated snakes like workhorses until they couldn’t take it anymore. Or maybe Shen City’s high cost of living made it impossible to survive in the field. Or he might find a gentle, considerate, and patient owner, happily becoming their pet snake without ever worrying about livelihood again. But none of his guesses included the current situation.

Bai Ying locked himself in his small cubicle. Once alone, tears finally fell uncontrollably, like a string of pearls, one after another. Even quitting was such a hassle for a wage slave. Bai Ying opened his computer, cried as he finished writing his resignation letter, printed it out, signed his name, and then meticulously deleted all his personal information from the machine.

After clearing the computer, he had to pack up the other office supplies—company property that needed to be inventoried upon departure. Bai Ying found a cardboard box, the same one Qin Juanshu had used to help him move desks not long ago. He hadn’t expected to use it again so soon.

Back then, he had felt his career was finally on track. Even without an owner, he was about to live a better life through his own efforts.

But now, the owner was gone, the job was gone, and even his friends were gone…

Tears splattered on the box, leaving dark water stains.

But who could he blame? Qin Juanshu and the others for falling for him? No one could control someone else’s heart—not even their own. Such accusations made no sense. Blame Qin Chi for his unreasonable scolding and insults? Bai Ying did hate his arrogance and lack of empathy, but Qin Chi was Minghong’s chairman. He was just a rootless little snake in the human world, powerless against him. After thinking it over, Bai Ying felt he could only blame himself.

If he had been more perceptive and kept his distance from the start. If he had never sought an owner or gotten involved with these people…

The teardrops on the box multiplied until Bai Ying could barely see. Numbly, he stuffed everything that wasn’t his into it.

The people guarding the small office were anxious beyond measure.

The door wasn’t locked, but they didn’t dare enter. It was originally a tea room converted into an office, so the soundproofing was terrible. They occasionally heard muffled sobs from inside. Anyone who knew Bai Ying a little knew he rarely made noise when crying. He must have been utterly heartbroken.

“How about I go in and check?” Duan Yunjin cleared her throat lightly.

These men all had impure intentions, but she was Bai Ying’s true friend!

The others looked at her like she was a savior.

Duan Yunjin strode in without hesitation. A minute later, she rushed out in disarray, clutching her chest. “No way. Seeing him cry like that hurts my heart too much. If I stay longer, I’ll start crying too!”

Qin Juanshu gritted his teeth. “I’ll go in.”

His resolve was firm; his hand was already on the doorknob before anyone could stop him.

Qin Juanshu’s figure vanished behind the door.

He saw Bai Ying squatting on the ground packing. Silently, he went over to help. It had been just like this not long ago, but last time he had brought Bai Ying to his side. This time, he was sending him away.

Bai Ying knew he was there but didn’t chase him off—or acknowledge him.

Bai Ying’s belongings were few; a briefcase could hold them all, with room left for the company laptop. Everything in sight belonged to the company. He finished packing quickly, walked to the desk, silently picked up the printed resignation letter, and handed it to Qin Juanshu.

Qin Juanshu didn’t take it. Instead, he gently wiped the tears from Bai Ying’s face with a tissue.

Bai Ying was like a doll unresponsive to the outside world. He didn’t refuse the wiping of his tears but said nothing, only shaking the paper at the end. “Resignation letter.”

Qin Juanshu took it, glanced at it, and tore it up.

A spark returned to those dull eyes. Bai Ying looked up and glared at him.

“Don’t resign,” Qin Juanshu said earnestly. “I know you don’t want to stay here anymore, but don’t resign. I’ll fire you. Take the severance package. The company will compensate for the damage to your reputation.”

Bai Ying’s lips moved, but he was too lazy to refuse. “Whatever.”

As long as he could leave.

Qin Juanshu sighed and apologized again. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you apologizing for your father?” Bai Ying asked, resentment creeping into his gaze toward Qin Juanshu.

“No. I’m apologizing for my one-sided feelings hurting you,” Qin Juanshu said. “Qin Chi doesn’t need anyone apologizing for him. He has no right to forgiveness. He deserves retribution.”

Bai Ying stared at Qin Juanshu for a moment, the resentment in his heart gradually fading.

There was no point resenting Qin Juanshu; their relationship was already poor. He probably hated Qin Chi even more than Bai Ying did. Exhaustion washed over Bai Ying. He pulled out his employee badge—remembering how not long ago, he had happily used it to take Yun Ze to Minghong’s cafeteria. He set the badge on the desk next to the shredded resignation letter, brushed past Qin Juanshu, and left without a word.

Yun Ze and Lu Changjun, stationed one on each side of the door, instinctively moved to follow as he emerged. But Bai Ying’s single sentence—”I want to be alone”—stopped them in their tracks.

Bai Ying couldn’t face them right now. Seeing them reminded him of how he’d botched all his relationships. How had this happened? His male friends—even potential owners—had all fallen for him.

His mind was a blank slate now, past beliefs shattered in an instant. The world before him felt utterly alien.

Only Duan Yunjin mustered the courage to follow.

“I drove here today,” Duan Yunjin said. “Want me to take you home?”

“No need, Yunjin-jie. I can get back myself,” Bai Ying said softly. “Lunch break’s almost over. Haven’t you eaten? You’ve got a long afternoon ahead. Don’t go hungry.”

He had heard that Xia Dao filming was complete and it was about to premiere, with platforms starting pre-promotion. Zhonghe must be swamped. Bai Ying didn’t want to affect Duan Yunjin’s work.

Duan Yunjin really couldn’t leave easily.

She could only say apologetically, “I don’t know why those guys acted like that, but I’ll always be your friend. Little Bai, if you’re unhappy and need to talk, or run into trouble and need help, come find me anytime.”

“Thanks, Yunjin-jie.” Bai Ying’s nose stung, tears threatening again.

“Oh no, don’t cry! My tear ducts are weak—if you cry, I’ll cry too!” Duan Yunjin pleaded.

Bai Ying forced a smile, tears still shimmering in his eyes.

Clutching his briefcase, he took the elevator down to the first floor. It wasn’t just him inside; many had been at the cafeteria earlier, their gazes inevitably falling on him. Duan Yunjin, who insisted on at least escorting him downstairs, shielded him with her body, glaring fiercely at anyone who dared look.

Bai Ying no longer cared about the stares. After crying so hard, he felt detached, like his soul had left his body—brain empty, unresponsive to the world. Just like his old daily routine of drifting soullessly to work, a half-dead live snake.

He stared only at the descending numbers on the elevator display. When it hit “1,” he walked out through the opening doors and straight to the entrance. The automatic doors parted. Bai Ying turned and waved vigorously at Duan Yunjin.

Her eyes were red too. She waved back, then turned her face away and sniffed.

Late July, the outdoor sun blazed fiercely.

Even the breeze was stiflingly hot, irritating Bai Ying’s post-cry eyes. Head down, he watched only the sidewalk underfoot. He knew the commute path well—could probably walk it blindfolded. But after today, he might never return.

Ten minutes later, Bai Ying reached the subway station. Shen City’s wealth meant the AC blasted full force, a stark contrast to the scorching outside. He shivered and hugged his briefcase tighter.

He scanned in, took the escalator down another level. Few waited for the train—it was a workday during work hours, too hot for people to linger outside. Bai Ying walked inward to an empty spot. Nearby, some laughing teenage boys—high schoolers by the look, carrying racket bags—seemed fresh from a game.

They noticed the lone young man who had just passed. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt and black slacks—Minghong’s required uniform. Without summer heat, it’d need a suit jacket overtop. Hot outside, fine in AC. The fully buttoned, skin-concealing attire lent him an air of abstinence, yet his red-rimmed eyes suggested recent tears—utterly pitiable.

The chatting boys fell silent.

They shoved each other, egging someone on to get his contact info. No one stepped up before the train arrived. Doors opened; Bai Ying boarded. The high schoolers exchanged glances and piled into his car.

Bai Ying blankly shifted aside, puzzled by the sudden crowd.