Xia Chan straightened her back and pushed open the door.
It wasn’t He Huaisheng’s voice that greeted her. Standing in the center of the living room was a middle-aged man in a tailored suit—his hair slicked back, shoes polished to a mirror’s shine.
His expression was cold and sharp. He glanced briefly at her.
“Please ask your Manager Liu to come over.”
Xia Chan’s heart skipped, recognizing him immediately—the man who had accompanied He Huaisheng the night before. Three years in the hotel industry had tempered her nerves; she no longer trembled like a newcomer. Taking a quiet breath, she bowed slightly.
“Please point out any shortcomings in our service.”
The man’s tone was cutting. “Letting a guest fall ill with a fever in the guest room—is that your idea of hospitality?”
Xia Chan answered at once, her voice calm but sincere.
“I gave Mr. He fever medicine this morning and offered to call a doctor from the Wellness Department, but he declined. Respecting our guests’ wishes and privacy is our rule. Still, Mr. He’s illness is my negligence. Please allow me a chance to make it right.”
Her explanation was flawless. The man’s stern gaze lingered a moment before he said curtly, “Then go get the doctor.”
A sheen of cold sweat spread across Xia Chan’s back as she turned and hurried out. She called the Wellness Department, and five minutes later, a doctor arrived carrying a medical kit.
“Doctor Tang,” Xia Chan greeted, stepping forward.
Tang Jingshan followed her briskly inside.
“What did the guest take for his fever this morning?”
“Paracetamol.”
“How long has he had the fever?”
“I’m not sure,” Xia Chan admitted quietly.
Tang Jingshan cast her a brief, disapproving look, then bent over He Huaisheng.
“The guest needs intravenous fluids,” he said after checking. He added that he’d report to the Assistant Manager before leaving to fetch the IV supplies.
Xia Chan quickly called the Housekeeping Assistant Manager. Moments later, Chen Rong arrived with Tang Jingshan, who began administering the drip.
Only when the IV was set and the color began returning to He Huaisheng’s face did the middle-aged man’s tension ease.
Chen Rong apologized again, promising to personally monitor the situation.
When they left together, the elevator doors closed around them with a quiet hiss. As they descended, Chen Rong’s reflection flickered in the polished wall.
“You haven’t been performing well these past few days,” she said evenly.
“Yes,” Xia Chan replied without excuse.
Of everyone in housekeeping, Chen Rong was the one Xia Chan truly respected. At thirty, she had worked her way up to Assistant Manager through grit and discipline. Two years earlier, Xia Chan had been promoted to foreman under her guidance—years that had shaped her professionalism and resilience.
They stepped out onto the second basement floor. A cool draft swept across the corridor. Chen Rong paused.
“Things are going to change.”
Xia Chan understood the double edge in her words. “It might take a while.”
A rare flicker of emotion crossed Chen Rong’s otherwise composed face.
“What are your plans?”
Xia Chan stayed silent. What plans could she make? Leaving Kaiser for another job with similar pay would be nearly impossible.
Chen Rong sighed. “The roadblock won’t clear easily.”
Xia Chan smiled faintly. “We still have to try.”
“Have you heard the rumors?”
“I have.”
“Then don’t repeat today’s mistake. They’re watching closely.”
“Yes.”
Chen Rong gave her a final piece of advice, her tone softening.
“Know your limits, Xia Chan. Don’t reach for what isn’t yours—it’ll only make life harder.”
“I understand,” Xia Chan said quietly.
She was a woman who easily offended in private but couldn’t afford to offend anyone at work. Every step she took had to be measured—light and cautious.
Throughout the day, she checked Room 1208 every half hour. By evening, Mr. He’s fever had subsided. He was resting soundly.
Before her shift ended, Xia Chan made one last visit. The door stood slightly ajar.
Peering in, she saw the middle-aged man had left. He Huaisheng sat on the sofa, typing steadily on his laptop.
Caught off guard, Xia Chan froze. She fumbled for her intercom, about to call Liu Baona for assistance, when He Huaisheng suddenly lifted his gaze.
Their eyes met.
Xia Chan instantly bowed, her mind scrambling for composure. She couldn’t move forward or retreat—both would seem improper.
To her surprise, He Huaisheng gestured lightly for her to approach.
She stepped forward, head slightly lowered. He typed a few words, then turned the laptop for her to see:
What time does the restaurant start serving dinner?
Xia Chan quickly typed a reply on her phone and showed it to him:
At five o’clock, Mr. He. Would you like the housekeeping department to bring food to your room?
He shook his head, turned the laptop back, and continued typing—silently dismissing her.
Xia Chan waited, uncertain, but he never looked up again. She stood awkwardly for a moment, then heard footsteps outside the door. Relief washed over her as she waved to Liu Baona.
He Huaisheng’s eyes flickered toward her once more.
Xia Chan turned to Liu Baona and said softly, “Ask him if his fever’s gone down—and whether he’d like the doctor to check again.”
Liu Baona used sign language to translate.
He Huaisheng shook his head.
“Ask him if he has any other needs.”
He Huaisheng shook his head again.
“If you need anything, call the front desk—oh wait, he can’t speak—no, don’t sign that part!”
Liu Baona stifled her laughter, her fingers dancing midair with amusement.
He Huaisheng paused, then made a few signs in return—his movements calm, deliberate, graceful.
Xia Chan couldn’t help noticing the shape of his hands: long fingers, clear knuckles, movements that carried a quiet, composed strength.
Liu Baona turned to her with a mischievous smile. “Sister Xia Chan, Mr. He asked for your WeChat.”
Xia Chan blinked. “WeChat can use sign language too?”
Before she could protest, He Huaisheng had already drawn his phone from his pocket.
Resigned, Xia Chan pulled up her WeChat QR code and held out her phone. He scanned it, and a moment later, the notification appeared—Friend request received.
She accepted. He Huaisheng slipped his phone back into his pocket, as calm as before.
Xia Chan said to Liu Baona, “Tell him the restaurant serves dinner from five to nine-thirty. If he wants to dine, he can go there. If he prefers other hours—ah, never mind.”
He Huaisheng read her lips and nodded slightly.
They left the room together, walking toward the elevator.
As soon as the doors closed, Liu Baona burst out, unable to contain her excitement. “Mr. He looks even more handsome when he’s sick than he did this morning!”
Xia Chan chuckled. “You don’t mind that he’s deaf?”
“That’s fine. I know sign language,” Liu Baona said proudly.
Xia Chan smiled, shaking her head.
“But really,” Liu Baona added, “men like Mr. He are for admiration, not possession. Look, not a hair out of place—how could anyone reach him?”
After a short break in the lounge, it was time to clock out. The hotel operated in three shifts: Xia Chan, Chen Aijia, and Fu Ruyu rotated every eight hours.
At three o’clock, Chen Aijia arrived to take over. Xia Chan gave her a detailed report.
“He had a fever during the day—it might come back tonight. Keep a close eye, and bring someone who knows sign language, just in case.”
Chen Aijia smiled knowingly. “I heard he’s very handsome.”
Xia Chan replied with a smirk. “Broad shoulders, narrow waist, easy on the eyes. And one rare advantage.”
“What’s that?”
“Most men are fine until they open their mouths. He Huaisheng doesn’t have that problem.”
Chen Aijia laughed. “Any man who catches your attention must be something special.”
Xia Chan shrugged and changed out of her uniform. “See for yourself.”
When she returned home, the apartment was quiet.
She went to wash up, but the water ran cold. Frowning, she checked outside and found a repairman’s ad taped to the wall. She made the call, waited for the man to fix the heater, took a quick shower, and then collapsed onto her bed.
Her phone rested on the nightstand. After a moment of hesitation, she unlocked it and scrolled to a familiar name—Xie Xingzhou.
Her thumb hovered over it.
Then, with a sigh, she locked the screen, tossed the phone aside, turned over, and pulled the blanket over her head.
Sleep came lightly.
A sudden clang jolted her awake.
She sat up, heart racing, and opened the door—only to find a pile of clutter in the living room. Zhou Lan was hauling things in, one by one.
Xia Chan’s face darkened instantly.
Zhou Lan ignored her and began wiping a porcelain vase with exaggerated care.
“Look at the quality—this one’s genuine.”
Xia Chan’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Oh? They sell ‘genuine’ ones at Sanmenkou wholesale now?”
“Don’t believe me? I’ll get it appraised tomorrow,” Zhou Lan said smugly.
Xia Chan eyed the heap on the table. “How much did you waste this time?”
Zhou Lan beamed. “Didn’t spend a cent. Won it at mahjong!”
“You’re playing cards again?” Xia Chan’s voice rose sharply.
“What’s wrong with that?”
Xia Chan’s laugh was cold. “Still pretending you’re some kept woman?”
Zhou Lan’s eyes narrowed. “At least I can keep a man. Can you?”
The words cut deep. Anger flared—hot, blinding.
Xia Chan’s eyes fell on the vase. Before she could stop herself, her foot lashed out.
Crash!
Shards scattered across the floor, white and blue fragments flashing under the light.
Zhou Lan froze, then screamed, “Are you insane?”
Xia Chan felt oddly calm. “Maybe,” she murmured, stepping over the broken pieces and walking away without another word.
The next morning, the cold wind howled as she entered the hotel. It was barely seven, the sky heavy with clouds.
In the duty room, Fu Ruyu was removing her uniform, chatting as she changed.
“Nothing happened last night. Aijia said Mr. He went to dinner.”
Xia Chan arched a brow. “And that’s newsworthy?”
“Not really—but apparently, when he arrived, the entire staff suddenly found excuses to ‘pass by.’ The front desk, concierge, even the bellboys.”
Xia Chan sighed. “These people are turning the hotel into a circus.”
Fu Ruyu laughed, pulling on her jacket.
“Your collar’s off,” Xia Chan said, adjusting it. That’s when she noticed the faint red mark on Fu Ruyu’s neck.
“The battle was fierce, I see.”
Fu Ruyu blinked, confused. “What?”
Xia Chan gestured toward her neck.
Realizing, Fu Ruyu tugged her collar up, cheeks burning. “Ah… that…”
Xia Chan chuckled.
She remembered meeting Fu Ruyu’s boyfriend—a quiet doctoral student with thick glasses and a temper that simmered beneath his calm face. They had argued during dinner once; it had been uncomfortable to watch.
The morning meeting was run by Assistant Manager Chen Rong—Liu Hongyi was absent. Afterward, Xia Chan reviewed the room assignments when the door burst open.
Liu Baona rushed in, breathless. “Sister Xia Chan, something terrible happened!”
“What’s the panic about?”
“Come to Room 1208 first—I’ll explain on the way!”
They hurried through the corridor.
“Four luxury cars just pulled up,” Liu Baona whispered. “A Rolls-Royce Phantom led the convoy—Mr. He Qihua, CEO of Xinghui Technology! The concierge nearly fainted. He didn’t eat or rest, just went straight up to the twelfth floor!”
Xia Chan’s steps quickened, her brows tightening.
By the time they arrived, a small crowd had gathered at Room 1208. Seven or eight people stood outside, tense.
Chi Yue, trembling, said, “Mr. He, I—I can’t open the door for you…”
Xia Chan moved closer, but before she could speak, her phone vibrated in her pocket.
She glanced down—
A new message on WeChat.
He Huaisheng: Please help me block the people outside.
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