Chapter 3: Wild Antelope

                          

After a sleepless night, Fu Jianling rose at daybreak, slipped downstairs, and came back with breakfast. The door had barely opened when she saw the apartment already put into crisp order; in the kitchen, Xue Shiqi was stirring a shimmering egg-drop soup. Jianling paused, surprised. She set down the hot dry noodles and fried dough sticks, walked over, and smiled: “You used to sleep in whenever you could. Now you’re… voluntarily up? Three days apart and you become a new person.” She bowed, helping carry the egg-drop out.

Xue Shiqi dropped onto the sofa, open-palmed. “In the rivers and lakes, people are carried by the current. If someone’s serving me, I won’t lift a finger.” She grabbed the noodles on the table, bright-eyed: “Oh, I missed this taste.” Jianling watched her eat with gusto. “Indeed—before, you wouldn’t lift a hand at home. Even your underwear got washed for you.” Embarrassed, Shiqi muttered, “Not now. It’s tough to survive out there.”

Jianling said nothing. Truthfully, Xue Shiqi’s family wasn’t upper-crust, but far above ordinary. Her father, an engineer; her mother, an early entrepreneur with a garment factory. Even after they divorced, guilt translated into indulgence—as a teenager, Shiqi could want anything and get it; she had never dipped her ten fingers in spring water.

Breakfast done, Shiqi sent a text; no reply. She stepped onto the balcony and called. The subject must not have been guarded—she didn’t avoid Jianling, and her voice turned soft as silk: “Still not up?”

Jianling nearly felt goosebumps, retreating to her room to change into office wear and lay down the lightest, most composed makeup.

Once Jianling was out of earshot, Shiqi’s balcony voice bloomed shameless and sweet: “Serves you right—talked too much last night. Did you dream?” Then, coy, a giggle: “Nonsense, I wouldn’t chase you through your dreams with a kitchen knife! Flatter yourself.” Her laughter rang, loose and bright.

Jianling waited until the clock neared. Shiqi hung up, darted back to dress and tame her hair; she left her phone on the tea table.

For a heartbeat, Jianling wanted to pick it up—know, in a glance, who could turn Shiqi languid and warm—but her restraint held. Curiosity was useless, and questions weren’t the smartest path.

They locked up and went downstairs. At the building’s door, Shiqi hesitated, not leaving. “What are you waiting for?” Jianling asked. Shiqi blinked: “Oh… I thought you’d drive. So no? Let’s go.”

Jianling’s voice sharpened. “When did I say I bought a car? And do I look like a car owner?” Shiqi shrugged: “You have money—you’re just lazy.” She stuck out her arm to hail a taxi. Jianling caught her wrist. “Miss—bus. Please.” Shiqi withdrew, sulky. “What if we’re late?” Jianling’s tone stayed cool. “Do you work late every day in Beijing?” Shiqi shook her head fast. “No.”

Jianling let the matter drop and pulled her onto the bus. It was early—there were seats. They took the back row. Shiqi reclaimed her old-boss swagger, grinned into the window, and sang out station names like a child.

Near the company, Shiqi leaned close: “Don’t forget—after work, we’ll get new makeup.” Jianling laughed. “All this just to meet a man?” Shiqi was earnest. “Yes. He’s seen too many beauties. If you don’t dress up, you might feel small.” Jianling sighed. “If the cow won’t drink, don’t press the head. Besides, yesterday you said he’s divorced, with children. I can’t accept that.” Shiqi smiled, unbothered. “As long as there’s no wife, why care if he has kids? He’s truly good—calm. Ordinary men can’t match you; you need a strong one, right? You don’t love the weak.”

Jianling let silence do the work. Soon they reached the office building and walked to the elevators—where Su Zhaoyang strode over. Burly in a suit, briefcase in hand, white earbuds dangling; he was still on a call.

“Busy,” Shiqi muttered.

Jianling nudged her: hush. Su ended the call and smiled. “Seeing you first thing—the day brightens with beauty.” Shiqi returned his smile. “Jianling is more beautiful than last year.” Su nodded. “A few years back, you were both yellow-haired girls. Not anymore. Our company is blessed.”

A colleague approached, nodded nervously. “Mr. Su, you’re early.” It was chief designer Tan Piao, slight and brilliant—once promoted by Li Yu, former Central China GM. But now? Su’s arrival meant Li Yu had been transferred to Chongqing. Would Su promote Tan as Li had? A question mark hung.

Su went upstairs, shut the office door, and stayed in. In the cubicle rows, glances cut toward that door, nerves tightening. When it finally opened—he gestured to Shiqi. She went in.

Before Li Yu left for Chongqing, he’d told Personnel Manager Xu Ying to coordinate. No one expected that Su, on day one, would call in Xue Shiqi to arrange the roll-out. Xu Ying’s voice cut in the hall, cold: “Watch that woman. She’s not simple.”

In the pantry, Tan Piao poured water, murmured, “Shouldn’t we wait for Mr. Li to return for today’s meeting?”

Xu Ying didn’t flinch. “Get this straight: Li is Zhongsheng’s hiring manager; Su is his hiring manager.”

Tan paled. “So if Mr. Su’s here… Mr. Li won’t come back?”

Xu Ying knew what weight sat in Tan’s chest. She smiled. “Silly boy—if your ability is strong, your work rises with your leader. This is an opportunity. Understand?”

Su’s door opened again, catching the tail end of her words. He seemed pleased; appreciation flowed down easy. Shiqi, though, looked oddly joyless. She darted a glance at Xu Ying and headed to the conference room.

“Alright, Xu Ying—inform everyone. As soon as work time starts, the meeting begins.”

Xu Ying nodded.

All morning, Su detailed Central China’s new high-end brand: Yuanhe Era. Appointments and promotions rolled out like a precise gameboard. Chief designers Cao Pin, Tan Piao, Pei Yijun; senior designers Mu Feifei and Cai Lan; Engineering Manager Du Yingchao, Zhao Shunxiang, Liu Zhao; Xu Ying appointed account manager and personnel manager of Yuanhe Era; Xue Shiqi taking Xu’s former role—personnel manager of Kaiya Zhongsheng Central China HQ; Fu Jianling appointed Deputy Creative Director of Yuanhe Era, her image manager role taken over by a Beijing colleague Su brought along. Others weren’t listed—but the room filled with faces: some collapsing, some quietly snickering.

Among those collapsed: Xu Ying.

After, Xu Ying told Jianling, “You’re a good friend, and look—you’ve done what took me years. Even you got splashed.” Jianling knew they didn’t have seniority on paper; but in seat placement, Shiqi had yielded. The reasons? Two or three petals of unknown. The certainty? Shiqi meant to tie Jianling to Su Zhaoyang.

The Yuanhe project would need two months to stand fully. Of the two longest-tenured top designers, Su chose Cao Pin—this surprised Shiqi. On MSN, she quietly messaged Jianling, fishing for thoughts. Jianling had a subtle premonition she didn’t name.

After work, Shiqi pulled Jianling to meet the man. They touched up makeup, changed into elegant clothes. The venue: a food club owned by the man’s cousin—exotic, curated.

At the door, Jianling faced Shiqi, all calm steel. “I won’t let you lose face. But whether he looks down on me or not—my answer is NO. Okay?” Shiqi deflated, half-playful. “Fine, fine. Your stubborn head—NO is NO. Anyway, the person’s here—think of it as making a friend.” Jianling raised a brow. “What kind of friend? Rivers-and-lakes friend?” Shiqi ignored her.

They saw him soon: handsome, decent. Not young, but the years had been sharpening, not dulling—entrepreneurship in his eyes, a clean grace in posture. He waited with a financial magazine in hand. But when he saw Jianling, the edge of anticipation clipped—subtle disappointment settling.

Jianling didn’t feed it. Most of the time, she gazed at the menu.

Shiqi had planned to leave early, to create room for them—but even she felt it: mutual dismissal. It’s strange—beautiful woman, decent man—yet neither took the other seriously.

His name was Hong Mingliang, forty-two, with a son studying abroad. He ordered, then cut straight to the bone: “She won’t do.” Shiqi’s voice stiffened. “Mr. Hong—that’s my best friend. No need to say it to her face.” Hong smiled. “Xiaoqi—I’ve seen many women. Your friend is the smart-stubborn kind. If I wasn’t planning to marry—I wouldn’t be able to win her, nor should I.”

Shiqi frowned. “You don’t plan to get married—then why ask me to introduce you? You just want fun?” Anger flashed; the table nearly flipped in her hands.

Hong was frank. “It can be that; it can not be. Depends on Miss Fu.”

Jianling wasn’t surprised. Because he was honest, she didn’t dislike him. “Obviously—I’m not suitable for you, Mr. Hong.” She paused. “And most of these meetings are farce.”

Hong looked closer. Appearance acceptable, personality sharp—a confidante could be fine, as long as money and sex didn’t muddle it. He handed a card. “No malice. Not looking down. Just want to be friends.” Jianling knew arguing would be useless. She took the card, tucked it away.

After the meal, Hong suggested taking them to a friend’s party. Shiqi, a nocturnal runner, was delighted—she dragged Jianling along. In the car, Jianling asked, “A dance?” Hong laughed. “Xiaoqi belongs to Mr. Su. So today, I’ll ask you as my companion.” Jianling glanced at Shiqi. Shiqi rushed to explain: “Mr. Su’s assistant.”

Hong smiled, said nothing. At the club, cars lined up like a show; security flowed like black ink at the edges.

Jianling stepped out—and saw Ge Li.

He stood not far—back turned; every so often, he swung his head to direct someone, voice loud, swallowed by noise. The black car from last time—the one that had sent Jianling home—was parked in front of him. Ge Li rested a hand on the body, bending to talk to someone inside—maybe his boss. Jianling couldn’t see. Curiosity nudged her—rare in her—she drifted, foolishly, nearer. Ge Li turned.

“Ah!” He was startled—almost flustered, silent.

Jianling noted the timing—it wasn’t the right moment to say hello.

Shiqi didn’t recognize Ge Li at first. “Jianling, what are you doing? Let’s go.”

Jianling turned, just as Hong reached to gently hold her arm. It wasn’t rude—but he was the kind of gentleman who believed in self-staging. She sidestepped, smooth as a sleeve.

Ge Li watched them walk in. When the tightness in the air followed Jianling’s figure through the club doors, he turned back to the man in the car. The man said nothing—but his chest rose and fell hard, excitement compressed into breath. After a moment, he spoke, slow: “Maybe in a few days… arrange for us to meet.”

Ge Li nodded; then: “No matter how many years—it’s hard to believe she’d forget you.”

It sounded like truth. It sounded like consolation. The man raised a hand, leaned on the seat—smiled, helpless. “No. You don’t know all of her. She’s a wild antelope—not fierce, but unlike you—able to face emptiness and desolation.”

Ge Li’s voice softened. “Didn’t you say—from now on, you’ll reclaim what you lost?”

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