The moment their lips and teeth tangled, Xia Chan felt her breath slipping away. She finally lifted a hand and pushed him back.
He Huaisheng stopped. He looked straight into her eyes, leaned in again, and brushed a light kiss at the corner of her lips before letting her go.
Xia Chan’s heart gave a faint tremor. She steadied herself and asked, “Why are you here?”
“Mm.”
“……”
He Huaisheng gently rubbed the corner of her mouth with his fingertips. “...It tastes like cake.”
“I just had some birthday cake. Do you want it? I can go up and get you a piece.”
He Huaisheng shook his head.
Xia Chan lifted her gaze toward the house. “Let’s go to the car. I’m afraid my mother will come down.”
They got into the car. Xia Chan drove out, stopping on a quiet road nearby.
The streetlights spilled into the cabin, bright and clear. Worried he wouldn’t see well, Xia Chan turned on the overhead light.
“Did you have dinner with Cheng Zijin first?” she asked.
“Mm.” He Huaisheng took out a cigarette, lit it, took a slow drag, and rested an elbow against the window.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Only the hot, damp wind blew in, carrying the scent of tobacco.
Xia Chan glanced at him. “Let’s make things clear.”
“You can say it.”
She hesitated, then spoke seriously. “No matter what our relationship is, I don’t want to begin anything with you.”
He Huaisheng stayed silent.
“I’m afraid of suffering. So it’s better to stay the way we are.”
“You… can’t suffer losses.”
Xia Chan smiled faintly. “Of course not. You’ve got money. But if I can earn from you in a proper and well-behaved way, why would I take the crooked path?”
In the end, she was still afraid.
She thought of Zhou Lan—a woman who, in her youth, had been even more fiery than Xia Chan, always declaring she’d never lose out. She had believed she’d eventually profit greatly. Yet when the disaster came, she was already trapped too deep in the mud to escape.
When the man she loved was exposed for smuggling cultural relics, forging antiques, and laundering money through auctions, the charges were endless. All the other women in his life—the original wife, the “third grandma,” the “fourth grandma”—cut ties instantly. Only Zhou Lan spent four years of savings on lawyers and connections, fighting for him… and she really did succeed. His sentence was reduced to twenty years.
But Zhou Lan was left with nothing—worse than nothing, buried in debt, with only seven cheongsams she couldn’t bear to sell, locked away as her last thread of memory.
To repay her mother’s debts, Xia Chan had lived frugally for years—searching, picking, sometimes saving even for a box of foundation.
From luxury to austerity, Zhou Lan’s resentment had grown. Her old habits clung to her, unshakeable, turning life into a dull, gray mess.
Xia Chan hated her, yet the hatred always felt tangled, soft at the edges. She could never truly hate her.
The loss had been too heavy. Xia Chan didn’t dare repeat the same mistake.
He Huaisheng remained silent for a long time. He never said anything.
An unspoken agreement settled between them.
Xia Chan exhaled quietly. She’d long known she was sometimes too rational—she simply couldn’t tell whether it was a virtue or a flaw.
After a pause, she asked, “Where are you going? I’ll drive you.”
“Home.”
Xia Chan nodded and was about to start the car when He Huaisheng added, “Not… that.”
He seemed to find it difficult to explain, so he took out his phone and typed:
Not Golden Portuguese Garden. The place I took you last time—Huaiyin Street.
Xia Chan didn’t remember the way, so she opened navigation.
The ride passed mostly in silence, broken only by the navigation voice telling her where to turn.
At the intersection, He Huaisheng gestured for her to stop.
“I’ll… get off here.” He gave her one last look, thanked her softly, then got out.
Xia Chan watched him walk into the alley and disappear into the night. The locust trees lining both sides were lush now, no longer bare as they had been before, branches thick and shading the sky.
Even at night, the heat lingered outside.
Somewhere in the dark, cicadas cried faintly.
· · ·
The new product line under He Huaisheng finally went into production, and Xia Chan didn’t see him for a while. She figured he must have returned to the south.
She wasn’t idle either.
A parcel of land in eastern Chongcheng—speculated on for four or five years—was finally being publicly tendered, set to become a new commercial center. He Qihua planned to partner with the “land king” Ju Heguang to bid, and preparations were underway.
With the boss moving, the secretary’s office naturally had to move with him. Every day, documents piled into small mountains.
Everyone was busy. He Qihua had an upcoming five-day business trip to the south and needed a secretary to accompany him.
Though not an easy task, it was still better than staying in the office, so many people volunteered.
Yet in the end, he simply circled Xia Chan’s name.
Xia Chan ignored all the chatter. She focused on learning He Qihua’s preferences, booking flights and hotels, arranging schedules—ensuring everything was flawless.
Two days later, she flew to Yangcheng with him and checked into a Kaiser chain hotel.
The first two days were spent accompanying him to meetings.
On the third day, He Qihua left alone—didn’t even take a driver—giving Xia Chan a full free day.
It was her first time here. Unsure where to go, she thought for a moment and sent a message to He Huaisheng.
He replied quickly: You’re in Yangcheng?
Xia Chan: On a business trip with He Qihua.
Huaisheng: How many days are you playing?
Xia Chan: Just today. Don’t know where he went.
After a while, he responded:
Got it. If you want to go to Chimelong for the day, go. Do you need me to find someone to accompany you?
She said no.
He sent her an address and told her to take a taxi—someone would pick her up.
Xia Chan couldn’t refuse. When she arrived, she saw a black Toyota parked by the road.
Unsure if it was the right car, she hesitated. Just then, the window rolled down. A man wearing sunglasses sat in the back.
Her heart skipped. She rushed over, opened the door, and slid inside. “Why is it you?”
“...Ground companion.”
“Aren’t you afraid of He Qihua seeing you?”
“…He’s busy.”
Xia Chan didn’t press the matter. “Is this really okay?”
He nodded.
She didn’t question further. “Then let’s not go to Chimelong—too many people. I haven’t had breakfast yet. Find me a place.”
The driver turned the wheel and drove off.
Xia Chan stared ahead, uneasy. After a moment, she turned toward He Huaisheng.
He had taken off his sunglasses and was looking at her.
Their eyes met. Xia Chan immediately looked away.
After a while she tried again: “Is the company alright today?”
He shook his head.
She felt the conversation running dry, so she simply stopped talking.
The car eventually turned into a quiet lane. He Huaisheng led her into a small, tidy restaurant.
Xia Chan ordered dry-steamed siu mai and crystal shrimp dumplings. He Huaisheng added glutinous rice chicken and rice rolls.
“I can’t finish that,” Xia Chan said.
“Leave it.”
“Wasteful.”
“I’m paying.”
“…You paying is still wasteful.” She tried to snatch the menu.
He stopped her and handed it to the waiter.
The food arrived quickly.
Xia Chan tried a shrimp dumpling first—the wrapper thin, the filling tender. Her appetite instantly awakened.
As she ate happily, she noticed He Huaisheng watching her. “Did you already eat?”
He nodded.
“Then don’t look at me.”
He nodded again—still looking.
“……” She stared back. “I think you just like going against everything I say.”
“No.”
Xia Chan gave up and continued eating.
Afterward, they got in the car again. The driver asked where she wanted to go next.
“Somewhere with few people… but still fun?”
She didn’t dare risk being recognized.
The driver laughed. “Fun places always have people.”
In the end, He Huaisheng gave an address.
Half an hour later, the car left the main road, weaving past old low houses before a massive factory loomed ahead—red brick walls, tall chimneys reaching out of sight.
The driver explained, “This is Mr. He’s friend’s studio. It’s great inside.”
Inside, a huge graffiti mural filled an entire three-story wall. Beneath it, an abandoned train carriage rested quietly.
Xia Chan walked toward it, but a voice boomed through the empty factory: “You brought me a model?”
A man leapt from the carriage—thirty-something, elegant but eccentric, as if wearing a rag with holes cut through it.
“My name is Ban Hao. Ban from Lu Ban, Hao from Meng Haoran.”
“I’m Xia Chan,” she said. “Xia from Xia Shang Zhou, Chan from Diao Chan.”
Ban Hao laughed. “Come sit in the carriage. I’ll make coffee.”
The doorway was high, no steps. He leapt up easily.
Xia Chan hesitated, unsure how to climb—until He Huaisheng stepped forward and held her by the waist.
Stunned, she quickly grabbed the handrail, pushed off, and climbed inside.
He followed with effortless grace.
The carriage still kept its original green-train layout. Xia Chan and He Huaisheng sat face-to-face. Outside the window was part of the graffiti—two nude figures intertwined.
Flustered, Xia Chan immediately looked at He Huaisheng instead.
Then—click.
She whipped her head around. Ban Hao stood holding a Polaroid camera.
He pulled out the photo, handed it to her. “A gift. No charge today!”
Xia Chan held it between her fingers.
It captured the moment she had lifted her eyes toward He Huaisheng—
embarrassed, conflicted, curious… and something else she herself couldn’t name.
One phrase could describe it:
A ghost hidden in her heart.
He Huaisheng noticed Xia Chan staring at the photo for a long time, her expression flickering between uncertainty and shock. Just as he reached out to take it, Xia Chan reacted quickly, dodging to the side.
“This is mine,” she said, slipping the photo into her bag and refusing to look at it again.
A moment later, Ban Hao arrived with two cups of coffee. “One hundred a cup. Pay first, drink later.”
Neither He Huaisheng nor Xia Chan moved.
Xia Chan blinked at him. “Tell him?”
“Otherwise, he can’t hear it,” Ban Hao said.
“It’s too expensive. I can’t afford to drink it. Let Mr. He enjoy it alone.”
Ban Hao couldn’t help laughing. He placed the cups on the table, fetched another cup for himself, pulled over a wooden stool, and sat down.
As he drank, he glanced at Xia Chan. “Miss Xia is good-looking. Will you model for me for two hours?”
“How much per hour?”
Ban Hao turned to He Huaisheng. “Old He, what’s Miss Xia’s hourly rate?”
He Huaisheng shot him a look but didn’t answer.
“Three hundred an hour, all right?” Ban Hao offered.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit low?” Xia Chan countered.
“Five hundred. Not a cent more.”
Xia Chan put down the coffee cup, sat upright, and said without hesitation, “Let’s start.”
But the moment the words came out, He Huaisheng fixed his gaze on her and said, “...Sit and drink your coffee.”
Xia Chan was embarrassed. “That’s a thousand yuan.”
“……”
Ban Hao stared at He Huaisheng as if he’d seen a ghost. “Can you talk?”
Xia Chan asked back, “He can’t?”
“I’ve known him five years and never heard him speak! Two grown men, sitting together, staring at their phones...”
Xia Chan burst into laughter, almost choking on her tears. “He can read lips.”
“I didn’t know that at first!”
She laughed even harder and turned to look at He Huaisheng. “Mr. He, isn’t that a bit unkind to your friend?”
He Huaisheng merely glanced at her.
After finishing their coffee, Ban Hao led Xia Chan around his studio.
The green-painted caravan was small, mostly serving as his living space. The real work area was the vast factory hall divided into three sections: oil painting, sculpture, and pottery.
In the sculpture area stood a half-finished human figure—male, completely naked, and extremely detailed below the waist…
Xia Chan forced herself to maintain a neutral “this is art, don’t make a fuss” expression and slowly looked away.
…She really found He Huaisheng’s friend’s artistic tastes intriguing.
After the tour, Ban Hao suggested Xia Chan make her own pottery cup to take home. She’d never tried pottery before, so she practiced under his guidance. The first few attempts failed—the clay was too dry, then too thin—but eventually she got a feel for it.
Ban Hao was still teaching when his phone rang. One glance showed it was an important call. “I’ll take this. Let He Huaisheng teach you.”
Without the instructor, the clay that was just taking shape began collapsing. Xia Chan panicked. “He doesn’t know how!”
“He does.”
With that, Ban Hao hurried off to answer the call.
Xia Chan stood there helplessly, watching the clay become more crooked by the second. Then He Huaisheng said quietly, “Don’t stop.”
He walked behind her, rolled up his sleeves, removed his watch and slipped it into his pocket. Then, reaching around from behind, he covered her fingers with his and steadied the clay.
Xia Chan’s whole body went stiff.
It felt like she was held in his arms without actually being held. His breath brushed the back of her neck, stirring her hair.
Together, hands intertwined and smeared with clay, they lifted, shaped, and guided the spinning form…
The scene reminded Xia Chan of the movie Ghost, which had a moment very much like this.
Finally, He Huaisheng adjusted her fingers slightly, and a simple teacup appeared.
He turned off the wheel. “Okay.”
Xia Chan looked up at him. He looked back, then slowly reached out and wiped a streak of clay onto her cheek.
Xia Chan instinctively raised her hand to wipe it away—then remembered her hand was muddy too. So she simply pressed her entire palm onto his shirt.
That made her grin triumphantly. She lifted her other hand to smear his face, but he grabbed her wrist. She struggled, but he held it firmly.
He lifted her clay-covered hand and pinched her chin, leaned down, and bit her lip without warning.
Xia Chan twisted away, but he held her tighter.
Irritated, she grabbed his shirt and wiped both her hands clean on it.
Not to be outdone, He Huaisheng slid his fingers directly into her hair.
Xia Chan almost exploded. She lunged forward and bit his lip.
He Huaisheng hissed and let go.
“I washed my hair this morning!” she shouted.
He looked at her—and suddenly laughed.
Furious, she smeared clay over his face and shirt again.
By the end, his white shirt was completely ruined, his face smeared messily. Only then did Xia Chan stop.
Ban Hao came back from his call, saw the scene, froze, and quickly turned around covering his eyes. “...Carry on, carry on…”
He Huaisheng grabbed Xia Chan’s wrist and pulled her toward the door.
After a moment he paused, signed something to Ban Hao, and asked him to finish the cup and fire it.
“I don’t understand! Speak if you dare!” Ban Hao complained.
He Huaisheng ignored him and dragged Xia Chan straight out of the factory.
Outside, in the corner, there was a faucet. He opened it, let the rusty water flow until it cleared, then reached for her hand.
Xia Chan pulled back. “I’ll wash it myself.”
She rinsed the clay off her hands and cleaned her face.
He Huaisheng bent down to wash his face too.
Xia Chan noticed mud still stuck to his brow. “It’s not clean.”
He washed again.
She wet her fingers and reached toward his eyebrows.
He paused, looking at her.
She rubbed the mud gently from his brow bone.
He blinked. Then he caught her hand.
Their hands were wet, pressed together.
Xia Chan felt a faint itch in her palm and unconsciously curled her fingers.
A beat later, he released her.
She looked away, took tissues from her bag, pulled out two, and handed them to him.
He wiped his face. “Let’s go.”
But Xia Chan didn’t move. “He Huaisheng.”
He turned.
“…I’m serious. Don’t do that again.”
His expression remained flat.
Xia Chan rolled her eyes and continued wiping her hands.
Then, with visible effort, he spoke: “How… don’t talk about yourself?”
Xia Chan froze. What was that supposed to mean?
But He Huaisheng didn’t look at her again. He walked to the parking lot.
“He Huaisheng!”
He stopped by the car, took out a cigarette, lit it, lowered his gaze, and smoked quietly.
Xia Chan stood a distance away, watching him, unable to guess what he was thinking.
—
When she got into the car, the driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror, said nothing, and drove.
“Where are we going?” Xia Chan asked.
“My place.”
Xia Chan tensed. “Why your place?”
“…Bath.” The more he spoke, the worse it sounded.
She leaned forward toward the driver. “Please take me back to the hotel.”
The driver ignored her.
She turned to He Huaisheng. “Tell him to take me to the hotel.”
He looked at her, then told the driver, “Go back to the hotel.”
Xia Chan exhaled in relief.
He typed on his phone, turned the screen toward her:
I haven’t eaten lunch. Are you really going back? You can come to my place and change clothes.
Xia Chan asked, “Do you actually have women’s clothes there?”
Then realized she had said “actually.”
“…My sister’s,” He Huaisheng wrote.
Xia Chan thought for a moment. Leaving early did feel like a waste of time.
“Fine,” she said.
He Huaisheng’s Yangcheng residence was like the Golden Portuguese Garden in Chongcheng—full-floor apartment with elevator access straight to the door.
Inside, the décor was the same minimalistic, icy cold style.
He went into a bedroom and returned with a set of women’s clothes.
Xia Chan checked the size. It should fit.
After she showered, she saw him sitting on the sofa. “I’m done.”
He nodded and went to shower.
Xia Chan sat down with the hair dryer. Her hair was long—drying it was always a chore. She was almost done when the bathroom door opened.
He Huaisheng stepped out wearing only a towel, water dripping from his firm, defined muscles, and walked past her without a glance, entering the bedroom.
Xia Chan inhaled, pretending to see nothing, and continued drying her hair.
Soon after, he came out dressed in a white shirt and black pants, looking clean and fresh.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked.
“Anything,” Xia Chan said, switching off the dryer.
He seemed to think for a moment.
“Does He Qin live with you?” she asked.
He shook his head. “She’s… in the Imperial Capital.”
“For work?”
“Studying.”
Xia Chan calculated—He Huaisheng was around thirty, He Qin was twenty-two.
So young. So lucky to have a wealthy brother.
When she was twenty-two, she was aimlessly wandering, with nothing except Xie Xingzhou.
She suddenly realized she hadn’t thought of Xie Xingzhou much lately. Busy days left no space for old memories.
She combed her hair with her fingers. “Let’s go out to eat.”
He nodded. “What do you want to eat?”
“Anything.”
In the car, he gave the driver an address. They arrived at a private dining place—a quiet two-story building.
Walking inside, Xia Chan remembered how she had once sat with Chen Rong in a similar restaurant and joked that He Huaisheng “pretended to be crazy.” What had he thought at that time?
After the food arrived, she couldn’t resist asking.
He Huaisheng was quiet for a moment.
“You were right.”
Without those words, he would never have noticed her.
This sounded a bit like self-mockery. Xia Chan paused for a moment, pondering, then lifted her eyes toward He Huaisheng.
He was picking vegetables. Sensing her gaze, he looked up at her.
Xia Chan asked softly, “Were you like this before?”
He Huaisheng’s hand paused. “…… I’m not telling you.”
“……” Xia Chan let out a faint snort.
After a moment, He Huaisheng spoke again, voice slow and calm. “Not being able to hear… also has its perks.”
“But the drawbacks are bigger. For example, if Mr. Cheng hadn’t been beside you back then, you wouldn’t have heard me say bad things about you.”
“Bad things… I don’t need to hear those.”
“……” Xia Chan thought for a while before adding, “Then if a delicate little girl confesses to you in the future, you won’t be able to hear it. What a pity.”
He Huaisheng went silent.
Xia Chan smiled. “Do you know there’s cochlear implant technology now? You’re not short of money—why not get one?”
He Huaisheng looked indifferent. “I know… we’ll talk about it later.”
Whether he chose to do it or not was his own freedom. Xia Chan naturally couldn’t interfere.
She just felt it would be a pity if this person never got to hear anything clearly for the rest of his life.
The dishes were authentic Cantonese; Xia Chan was quite satisfied. Since joining Xinghui and working next to He Qihua, she rarely had the chance to sit and eat peacefully—no calls, no messages, no sudden assignments. Now that she was busier than ever, moments like these felt even rarer.
After finishing the tea, Xia Chan began thinking about where to go that afternoon. The driver suggested they visit an orchard on the outskirts of the city to pick oranges.
Halfway through the drive, He Huaisheng received a text. His expression shifted the moment he finished reading it.
Xia Chan asked, “What’s wrong?”
He Huaisheng sent her a WeChat message to explain: I have something to deal with. I need to go back to the company. I can’t accompany you. The driver will take you there.
Xia Chan hurriedly asked, “Then how will you get there?”
Uncle Ding will come pick me up.
Xia Chan thought for a moment. “Then I’m not going. Next time. I’ll just go back to the hotel and take a nap in case He Qihua comes back early. I don’t want to rush.”
The car returned to the hotel. Before Xia Chan got out, He Huaisheng said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Your work is more important.”
She stepped out and waved at him. “See you later.”
He Huaisheng nodded. There was a brief pause, then he added, “I’ll… be back in Chongcheng next month.”
Xia Chan froze.
Before she could ask him what he meant, the window closed and the car drove off.
She stood there, replaying his last sentence again and again—yet still couldn’t figure out what he meant.
Did he think she’d look forward to him coming back? What a joke.
Fortunately, she didn’t go to the suburbs. At four in the afternoon, He Qihua returned to the hotel and asked Xia Chan to sort out a document.
The content was complicated. Xia Chan didn’t even have time to think about dinner; she finally finished everything at six-thirty. He Qihua called and told her to bring the documents to his room at seven.
He Qihua was strict with time—never early, never late. Xia Chan arrived three minutes ahead of schedule. She planned to knock exactly at seven, but noticed the door was slightly ajar, and there was a phone call going on inside.
Xia Chan held her breath and instinctively stood to the side.
She listened for a moment—and suddenly felt a chill down her spine.
What He Qihua was discussing… seemed directly related to the call He Huaisheng had received that afternoon.
The call continued, but seven o’clock arrived.
Xia Chan watched the second hand hit twelve, took a breath, and knocked lightly. “Mr. He.”
The voice inside paused, and after a moment, He Qihua said, “Come in.”
Xia Chan pushed open the door. He Qihua had already hung up.
She handed over the printed materials and stood aside quietly.
He flipped through them quickly, waved his hand, and signaled her to leave.
Xia Chan nodded and was about to go when He Qihua suddenly called her back. “Prepare tomorrow’s meeting materials.”
Xia Chan’s expression was calm. She nodded. “Okay.”
When she returned to her room, her palms were slick with sweat.
Her heart pounded violently. She had to sit on the edge of her bed for a long moment before her breathing finally steadied.
Then she picked up her phone and sent a WeChat message to He Huaisheng: Are you preparing for the bidding meeting?
He replied quickly: Yes.
Jingxing Hotel, the most stable hotel in South China, was planning to replace all its facilities. It was a significant order, and Xinghui’s Yangcheng branch was preparing to bid.
Xia Chan’s fingers trembled. She mistyped several times before finally managing to send a full sentence:
He Qihua seems to have told your opponents your bidding price. I don’t know who they are.
He Huaisheng replied: How do you know?
Xia Chan answered: I delivered documents to him. I overheard his call at the door.
After a long time, he replied:
Got it. Pretend you didn’t hear anything.
Xia Chan drew in a deep breath and asked:
Why would He Qihua do this? Even if it’s just a branch, winning the bid benefits Xinghui as a whole.
He Huaisheng: The order isn’t that big. He wants to use it as a favor.
Xia Chan: To whom?
But before he could answer, she added:
No, don’t tell me.
There was clearly more to this than she imagined. Perhaps ignorance was safer.
He Huaisheng: Okay.
Xia Chan’s anxiety still hadn’t eased. She and He Huaisheng were practically grasshoppers tied to the same rope now.
She typed: Then go handle your work. I’m going to dinner.
He Huaisheng replied immediately:
Eat on time from now on.
Xia Chan stared at his last sentence for a long time—then quietly deleted their conversation history.
She stayed in Yangcheng for two more days and returned to Chongcheng with He Qihua.
Work didn’t change much, but Xia Chan continued paying attention to the bidding situation.
In late September, the bidding ended. The results came out—not Xinghui, but a company that had been established in Yangcheng for less than three years.
People began criticizing He Huaisheng again, saying he was weak, incompetent, unable to uphold Xinghui’s decades-old foundation—losing even to a new company that appeared out of nowhere.
Xia Chan, knowing the truth, couldn’t help but feel frustrated on his behalf.
But there was one thing she couldn’t understand:
Since He Huaisheng already knew someone had sabotaged him, why did he still lose the bid?
She sent him a message. Two days passed with no reply.
Before Monday’s morning meeting, Xia Chan was sorting documents when He Qihua called her into his office.
Her heart pounded, but her expression remained calm.
There was a stack of documents on his desk. When Xia Chan glanced at them, she realized it was her resume.
He Qihua opened it and skimmed. “You’ve done well these past six months.”
Xia Chan said, “Mr. He is too kind. I’ve only just begun to understand things. There’s still a lot to learn.”
“Don’t be modest.” He closed the file. “Someone from the PR department just resigned. I want to transfer someone from the secretary’s office. Are you interested?”
Xia Chan thought briefly. “I’ve had little contact with PR work. I may not be competent.”
“Your learning ability is good.”
Xia Chan couldn’t tell if He Qihua truly wanted to transfer her or was probing her career plans. After thinking it over, she said, “Mr. He, I don’t want to transfer to PR for the time being.”
He Qihua looked up. “Why?”
“In any job, you only really begin learning after a full year. I don’t think I’ve mastered my current tasks yet. I don’t want to be greedy. I still want to follow your lead for a while. If PR still needs people later, I’ll obey the company’s arrangements.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Finally, he waved her off.
After that, Xia Chan waited for the company’s notice.
She prepared herself mentally—it wouldn’t be too bad to move to PR. Better than living in constant fear under He Qihua.
In the end, she wasn’t transferred. Instead, the secretary’s office made internal adjustments—she was assigned to a secretary team.
It meant she no longer had to do menial document sorting. She could begin following major projects.
Xia Chan gradually sensed something and developed a bold guess—but she had no one to confirm it.
The curiosity gnawed at her.
One day after work, she couldn’t help herself and sent He Huaisheng a message: Are you busy?
No reply.
Two messages sank like stones. Xia Chan felt a little stifled. She tossed her phone aside and focused on driving.
She was almost home when her phone vibrated.
She stepped on the brakes and grabbed it.
He Huaisheng: At the hospital. Didn't see the messages.
Xia Chan’s heart tightened. She quickly typed:
Are you sick?
He Huaisheng: No… the veterinary hospital.
Xia Chan laughed.
What kind of illness do you have that human medicine doesn’t work?
No reply for a while.
She hesitated—was the joke too much? He wasn’t someone who couldn’t take teasing.
Just as she was considering apologizing, he asked:
Where are you?
Almost home.
Come pick me up.
Xia Chan froze.
Are you in Chongcheng?
Didn’t I tell you? I’d be back this month.
After a pause, she replied:
Did you? I don’t remember.
He ignored that and simply sent the address—without giving her any chance to refuse.
She hesitated, but still turned the car around toward the veterinary hospital.
When she arrived, He Huaisheng was standing at the entrance, holding a cage.
Xia Chan got out, walked over, and crouched to look inside. A black Chinese pastoral cat blinked back at her.
“You have a cat?” she asked.
“He Qin… gave it to me.”
“Does it bite?” Xia Chan took the cage, opened it, gently stroked the cat’s head and nose. The cat immediately rumbled with a low purr.
She took it out. “What’s its name?”
He Huaisheng seemed reluctant. “…… Tangtang.”
“That’s not a good name.” After holding it for a while, the cat grew impatient. Xia Chan put it back in the cage. “Let’s change it.”
“To what?”
Xia Chan stood up and smiled at him. “Rich.”
He Huaisheng: “……”
Xia Chan ignored his silent protest, picked up the cage, and walked toward the car.
“Come on, Fugui. Sister will take you home.”
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