Chapter 33
Song Chengyan’s visit had coincided with the end of the workday, and Xie Zhang had spent some more time with Song Jingmo afterwards.
By the time he’d composed himself and left the office, most of the lights were off, and the building was almost empty.
【I thought your company was full of workaholics, since you always worked late at home.】
Xie Zhang, looking at the phone held aloft by his shadow, glanced at the chibi shadow perched on his wrist, a smile touching his lips: “In the early days, everyone worked a lot of overtime. It was unavoidable, so I compensated them financially.”
His voice was calm.
“Later, as long as the decision-making process was smooth, the workload was manageable, and there was no need for overtime.”
Song Jingmo scratched his head.
Something about that didn’t seem quite right…
Wait, smooth decision-making?
Was that even possible?
Weren’t most decisions made by having the lower-level employees create multiple versions, then picking and choosing, minimizing the risk for the higher-ups?
Especially in creative fields like game design and writing?
He typed out his question, no longer hesitant to be direct.
Xie Zhang glanced at the message, then said softly: “The art and writing teams have a heavier workload, but if the initial direction is clear, any deviations are minor.”
“And the team leaders are highly skilled and well-paid. I expect efficiency, not wasted time and effort.”
Song Jingmo understood.
Xie Zhang was a meticulous workaholic who couldn’t tolerate ambiguity and had no patience for shirking responsibilities.
And Xu Yi was even more of a workaholic, his workload comparable to Xie Zhang’s. He might not be an expert in every project, but he was involved in all of them, ensuring everything was organized and presented clearly to Xie Zhang.
This was the difference between a young startup and an established corporation. A single, decisive leader, and a highly capable secretary who managed everything smoothly.
No wonder Xie Zhang’s company, despite a few setbacks, had never suffered any major losses.
Song Jingmo considered this. Working for Xie Zhang would be pleasant, and being Xie Zhang would be even better, more freedom and control.
But everything had its pros and cons. A startup was inherently more vulnerable than a giant like the Song corporation.
Like when he’d had his accident, and Xie Zhang had been… unwell, the company, despite Xu Yi’s efforts, had struggled, and Xie Zhang had worked tirelessly to stabilize things.
This was why, despite the bureaucratic inefficiencies of large corporations, people still flocked to them, seeking stability and seniority.
Passing by the secretary’s office, Song Jingmo was surprised to see that even Xu Yi, the king of workaholics, had left.
He checked the time on Xie Zhang’s watch; it wasn’t even 9 pm yet.
Whenever he’d contacted Xu Yi before, asking what he was doing, the answer had always been “working overtime.”
8 pm was prime working time for Xu Yi.
Xie Zhang seemed to know what he was thinking.
As Song Jingmo pulled out his phone to type a question, Xie Zhang said: “Xu Yi is probably busy.”
A question mark appeared on the screen, then Song Jingmo noticed that his phone was in airplane mode.
He checked Xie Zhang’s phone; it was also in airplane mode.
Wi-Fi and data were both off.
A subtle way of avoiding distractions, yet keeping the phone accessible for Song Jingmo to type.
Song Jingmo deleted his half-typed question, then heard Xie Zhang say, as he pressed the elevator button: “The new CEO’s flight arrives at 8 pm. Xu Yi is probably at the airport.”
Song Jingmo followed him into the elevator, confused.
He wasn’t supposed to start for another two weeks.
And why turn off their phones?
As if avoiding contact.
Xie Zhang pressed the button for the parking garage, a smile touching his lips: “He’s my old college roommate. He went abroad after graduation and only recently decided to return.”
Back then, before Song Jingmo’s accident, Xie Zhang hadn’t needed any help.
But after the accident, he’d immediately thought of his highly capable and trustworthy roommate.
But back then, he hadn’t been thinking of hiring him; he’d been thinking of entrusting him with the company.
Otherwise, how could a relatively new company, despite its promising prospects, attract a CEO from a Fortune 500 company?
Song Jingmo wasn’t particularly interested, but since Xie Zhang had brought it up, he typed: 【Does he know Xu Yi?】
But the timing didn’t seem right. Xie Zhang’s roommate would have graduated when Xu Yi was just starting college.
The parking garage was quiet, Xie Zhang’s footsteps echoing through the space.
“Hmm.”
Xie Zhang hesitated.
Song Jingmo, sensing gossip, perked up.
“There was a dinner with a client. Xu Yi had a bit too much to drink.”
The chibi shadow giggled, typing quickly:
【Did he drunkenly confess his love for your roommate?!】
Drunken confessions, a classic trope!
Xie Zhang, seemingly uncomfortable discussing other people’s private lives, simply hummed in agreement.
“He knew Xu Yi was my secretary. He asked me not to give Xu Yi his information beforehand.”
Xie Zhang had considered rejecting him.
It felt like he was… selling his secretary.
But his roommate, having shared a dorm with him for four years, clearly knew him well. He’d briefly explained the situation, promising to let Xu Yi explain everything personally later.
So Xie Zhang had agreed.
Song Jingmo was even more intrigued.
He was about to ask Xie Zhang for more details, then, looking at his serious face, he deleted his question.
Asking Xie Zhang about this would only result in a dry, factual account, devoid of any juicy details.
He’d get the full story from Xu Yi later!
Song-shadow, clinging to Xie Zhang’s wrist, stretched, then froze, hearing hurried footsteps echoing through the quiet garage.
He quickly retreated to Xie Zhang’s feet, his shadow wavering between left and right before settling in the middle.
Safe and inconspicuous.
An older man, well-dressed and seemingly affluent, but with a fawning, almost servile demeanor, emerged from behind a pillar.
He approached Xie Zhang, saying: “Xiao Zhang, it’s me! Your uncle!”
Song-shadow, who had been discreetly observing the man’s shadow, looked up, intrigued.
He’d never met any of Xie Zhang’s relatives in their seven years together.
But he noticed Xie Zhang’s demeanor shift, his expression hardening, his eyes darkening.
“Your secretary is incredibly rude. I’ve tried to contact you so many times, but he keeps blocking me—we’re family! Xiao Zhang…”
“No.”
Xie Zhang’s voice was cold and firm.
“No what… Xiao Zhang, we’re family. We haven’t spoken in years, how can—”
“My secretary isn’t blocking you. I don’t want to see you.”
His harsh tone surprised not only the man but also Song Jingmo.
He’d rarely seen Xie Zhang so blunt.
Xie Zhang turned and walked towards his car, ignoring the man.
“Xiao Zhang! Fine, Mr. Xie! About what I mentioned before, could you help your uncle out…”
“Just eighty million! I’ll pay you back, I promise…”
“Your aunt isn’t well, and your cousin is… useless. If the company goes under, what will we do…”
Xie Zhang didn’t turn back.
But after a few steps, he noticed something was amiss. He looked down at his shadow.
It was stretched out behind him, not at his feet.
Xie Zhang: “…?”
He slowed down, glancing back through the side mirror of a nearby car.
The man, who had been following him, had tripped and fallen face-first onto the ground.
Xie Zhang watched as the chibi shadow, perched on the man’s head, pulled his hair, pinning him to the ground, his entire form bristling with anger.
Like a tiny black hedgehog.
Xie Zhang thought.
Cute.
Song Jingmo, unaware of Xie Zhang’s observation and his new nickname, was furious.
Eighty million? Seriously?
How dare he ask for such a sum?!
Xie Zhang’s company wasn’t a money-printing machine! Eighty million would cripple them!
The tiny Song-shadow raised a shadow hammer, repeatedly hitting the man’s shadow on the ground.
But even in his anger, he knew he couldn’t reveal his presence, so he stopped hitting the man directly, instead forming shadow boxing gloves and pummeling his shadow with a flurry of punches.
The garage was dark and empty; he could blame it on flickering lights.
Seeing the man get up, groaning and clutching the spot where his shadow had been hit, Song Jingmo, intrigued, hit him again, harder.
The man felt a strange, throbbing pain, as if he’d been beaten.
But no normal person would look at their own shadow. He struggled to his feet, and seeing that Xie Zhang hadn’t left yet, he shouted: “Xie Zhang, don’t you want to know what happened to your parents?”
“Eighty million! Just eighty million, and I’ll tell you everything!”
Xie Zhang, who had been watching the shadow, his expression softening, instantly turned around, his eyes cold and sharp.
The Xie corporation had collapsed too quickly. He’d been investigating for years, but he’d been too young at the time, unable to find any concrete evidence.
Song Jingmo, still holding a chunk of the man’s shadow, hesitated, then returned it.
The man shuddered, his lips turning white, as if he’d been plunged into icy water.
He looked at Xie Zhang, gulping nervously.
The quiet garage seemed to darken around Xie Zhang, the shadows twisting and writhing, threatening to engulf him.
The man instinctively stepped back, towards the light.
Song-shadow, returning to Xie Zhang’s side, wrapped a tendril around his finger, a silent gesture of comfort, urging him to ask questions, but not to give the man any money.
Focused on Xie Zhang, he didn’t notice anything unusual about his own behavior, even growing impatient with the man’s silence.
Speak!
Why are you trembling?
You’re the one who came here!
Tsk!
