The Daily Struggle of a Corporate Slave 35

Chapter 35

Jing Ciying didn’t answer Pei Songji’s question. He didn’t know how to.

He pretended to be asleep, hiding in the darkness.

The question seemed to have exhausted Pei Songji’s courage. He didn’t ask again, and the room fell silent.

They both pretended to be asleep, although neither of them was.

Jing Ciying’s mind raced, replaying memories.

He remembered his years working for Pei Songji. He hadn’t been perfect at first, but Pei Songji had been patient.

Neither of them was perfect.

They had just been thrown together by fate, their lives intertwined.

He had always kept Pei Songji at arm’s length, their professional relationship creating a barrier.

But now, looking back, he realized Pei Songji wasn’t a bad person.

Just… not right for him.

And he wasn’t right for Pei Songji either.

Their paths had briefly intersected, but they were ultimately destined to diverge.

He finally drifted off to sleep, waking up to daylight.

The room was quiet, but someone had been there. A thermos sat on the table, presumably containing breakfast.

He turned to see Pei Songji was already awake.

“You’re awake,” Pei Songji said, glancing at his watch. “You have about an hour. Don’t worry, I’ll have my driver take you to work.”

“An hour?” Jing Ciying bolted upright, checking his phone.

Almost 8:00 am. He usually needed an hour to get to work.

“You…” he almost said, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

But he stopped himself. Pei Songji had probably never woken anyone up in his life. He had always been the one waking Pei Songji.

Pei Songji, sensing his panic, said, “My driver can get you there in half an hour. You’ll be fine.”

A car would indeed be faster. He calmed down.

He would definitely be late if he took the subway.

“What’s this?” He noticed a set of clothes beside him.

“I had someone buy them for you. They’re freshly laundered. You can’t go to work in yesterday’s clothes.”

He hadn’t changed before falling asleep; his clothes were indeed wrinkled. He didn’t refuse, intending to check the price tag and repay Pei Songji later. But the tag had been removed.

He didn’t have time to worry about it now. He quickly changed and went to the bathroom.

Mr. An, the driver, was waiting for him when he emerged.

Pei Songji, anticipating he wouldn’t have time for breakfast, had instructed the driver to bring the thermos, telling him to eat in the car.

He usually skipped breakfast, intending to just have a few bites.

But when he opened the thermos, he saw shrimp congee with mushrooms and red bean steamed buns.

He stared at the food, a wave of emotion washing over him. He took a tentative sip.

He froze, a sense of disbelief washing over him. He pulled out his phone and called Pei Songji.

“The… the congee…”

“Is it good?” Pei Songji asked.

“Yes.”

Of course it was good. The Pei family chefs were the best.

But how could they replicate his aunt’s cooking?

“This is my aunt’s signature dish,” he said. “It tastes exactly the same. Did she make it?”

“No,” Pei Songji replied. “I met your aunt at the market near your apartment. I told her I was your friend, and she made it for me. She said it was your favorite. I tried it; it was delicious. So I asked her for the recipe. I wanted to make it for you myself, but… I can’t right now. So I gave the recipe to my chefs. Is it to your liking?”

The Pei family chefs were indeed skilled; the congee tasted exactly like his aunt’s.

But he didn’t want to admit it.

He shook his head, then realized Pei Songji couldn’t see him.

“It’s not as good as my aunt’s,” he lied.

Pei Songji didn’t seem offended. “I’ll make it for you myself when I’m discharged.”

Jing Ciying was about to refuse, but he said, “Get discharged first, then we’ll talk.”

It wasn’t a rejection, so Pei Songji agreed readily. “Okay.”

Jing Ciying hung up, staring at the thermos, then picked up a steamed bun.

He took a bite, the sweetness spreading through his mouth, triggering a childhood memory.

His parents were always away, so his aunt would visit every weekend with Ruoruo.

His sister would take them out to play, returning in the evening.

The aroma of food would greet them as they approached their apartment.

His grandfather would be watching the evening news, his grandmother emerging from her room to greet them.

His aunt would come from the kitchen, carrying a tray of his favorite shrimp congee and red bean steamed buns.

He hadn’t thought about those days in years. He had thought he had forgotten.

But some memories were deeply intertwined with food.

A single bite could bring them back.

“Mr. Jing, we’re here,” Mr. An’s voice said.

He looked up; they had arrived at Huaisi.

He hadn’t eaten much. He knew Pei Songji would throw away the leftovers, but he couldn’t bear to waste it, so he took the thermos to his office, intending to finish it later.

Thanks to the ride, he wasn’t late, but it was a close call. He immediately started working, forgetting about the food.

He finally had a break and was about to eat when his phone buzzed. A video call from Pei Songji.

He answered, puzzled.

“What is it?”

Pei Songji didn’t answer his question. “Are you working?”

He was about to eat, but he said, “Yes. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

“I’m hanging up.”

Pei Songji quickly said, “Wait! Don’t hang up! Just… put your phone down. I won’t disturb you. I just want to watch you for a while. Is that okay?”

Jing Ciying hung up.

He started eating, his mind filled with sarcastic remarks about Pei Songji.

Didn’t he have more important things to worry about?

Like facing his grandfather’s wrath? He might get beaten again.

He took a large spoonful of congee, and a wave of nausea hit him.

He rushed to the restroom, barely making it to the toilet before he vomited, his stomach emptying itself.

He rinsed his mouth, looking at his pale reflection in the mirror.

He splashed cold water on his face and rested for a while before returning to his desk.

His colleagues noticed his pale face.

“Jing, are you okay? You look terrible.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“Maybe,” he said, sitting down, dismissing their concern.

He was used to sleepless nights and irregular meals, juggling work and caring for his sister. His health had always been precarious.

He was used to his body’s occasional rebellions.

Some hot water would fix it.

It was lunchtime. He was about to eat the leftover steamed buns when Mr. An entered, carrying a thermos.

“Mr. An?” he asked, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Pei asked me to bring this. He said you never eat properly.”

“I…”

He was about to protest when he saw the steamed buns in his hand. He fell silent, accepting the thermos.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Eat up. I have to go.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t eat. As soon as Mr. An left, he called Pei Songji.

Pei Songji answered quickly, his silence suggesting he had anticipated the call.

“You don’t have to bring me lunch.”

“Don’t you like it?” Pei Songji asked.

“It’s not that.” He knew Pei Songji was being deliberately obtuse. “You don’t have to do this.”

Pei Songji remained silent.

“If you do this again, I won’t visit you at the hospital,” Jing Ciying threatened.

That got a reaction. A reluctant “Okay.”

Jing Ciying heard a hint of…aggrievement in his voice.

He couldn’t associate that emotion with Pei Songji. It felt surreal. He was about to hang up.

“Are you coming to the hospital today?” Pei Songji asked quickly.

“I…” He had been planning to go home, but the shrimp congee, and his own guilt at rejecting Pei Songji’s kindness, made him change his mind. “I’ll come after work.”

“Okay,” Pei Songji said, quickly ending the call before he could change his mind.

Jing Ciying: “…”

He stared at the thermos, then opened it and started eating, feeling a strange sense of frustration.

He was trying to push Pei Songji away, but somehow, they seemed to be getting closer.

Perhaps employees were destined to be at the mercy of their bosses.