As he was looking at his phone, Jiang Wenzhe’s phone suddenly vibrated.
It was a message from someone with a profile picture of a crude, gray-and-white silhouette:
[Jiang Wenzhe, is this you?]
Jiang Wenzhe’s fingertip hovered over the phone’s keyboard; he had just typed the character for “yes” but hadn’t had time to send it yet.
Immediately afterward, the phone rang.
A pleasant, cheerful female voice cut through the cold electronic screen, reaching straight to his eardrums: “Jiang Wenzhe! Is this you, too?”
The man’s expression softened slightly: “If it’s not I, then who else could it be? Do you know any other Jiang Wenzhes?”
“Hehe,” a crisp laugh rang out from her throat, “So you’re the ‘wen’ from ‘smell’ and the ‘zhe’ from ‘pluck flowers,’ huh?”
When Jiang Wenze gave Lin Sangyu her phone, he made sure to install WeChat for her, add his contact information, and save his number in her phone’s address book.
With the phone pressed to his ear, Jiang Wenzhe spoke while glancing sideways at the hurried pedestrians on the street: “Looks like you’re not completely illiterate after all.”
Lin Sangyu raised her voice and huffed, “I’m not illiterate to begin with—I studied Chinese characters very diligently back when I was at the orphanage!”
Jiang Wenzhe said helplessly, “Fine, you’re not illiterate. That’s good enough.”
“That’s more like it,” Lin Sangu said. “By the way, what does the ‘AAA’ before your name mean?”
Jiang Wenzhe cleared his throat, paused for a few seconds, and replied, “It means something very important. If you run into any problems in the future, you should call me right away.”
“Oh.” Lin Sangu drew out the syllable, as if she half-understood.
The lights around them suddenly dimmed. The car gradually slowed down and finally came to a stop on the basement level of the Jianglan Group headquarters building. The driver opened the door and said respectfully, “We’ve arrived, President Jiang.”
“I’m hanging up—time to get to work,” Jiang Wenzhe said, cutting off the call without hesitation. The moment he stepped out of the car, he resumed his usual dignified demeanor, rarely smiling.
No sooner had Jiang Wenzhe entered his office and taken his seat than his personal assistant, Yang Ning, began her report with great efficiency: “Mr. Jiang, here are this quarter’s financial reports for your review. Also, the product image design you requested the day before yesterday has been finalized, and the files have already been sent to you.”
“Good,” Jiang Wenzhe said as he opened the design draft and began reviewing it. “Continue. What’s on the schedule for this afternoon?”
Yang Ning replied clearly and concisely, one word at a time: “There are quite a few meetings this afternoon. Since you were away the past two days, an additional departmental briefing has been scheduled. They’re from 2:00 to 3:30 p.m., 4:00 to 5:00 p.m., and 5:00 to 6:00 p.m.”
“Hmm, that’s a hassle,” Jiang Wenze said, taking note.
“It’s part of my job—it’s what I’m supposed to do,” Yang Ning offered a practiced smile. “I’ll take my leave now.”
“Wait a minute,” Jiang Wenzhe looked up from his computer, and the atmosphere in the office instantly grew tense. “Tell them to redo the initial draft—it’s not up to standard. Change the virtual avatar’s appearance to genderless or neutral, and remove any unnecessary accessories from the clothing.”
“Got it. I’ll go have them redo it right away.”
Yang Ning quickly excused herself, her palms already covered in a thin sheen of sweat; it wasn’t until she stepped out of the office that she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
No sooner had his assistant left then a carefree voice exploded in his ear, growing louder as it approached: “Wen Zhe, I’ve missed you so much.”
Jiang Wenzhe silently activated his soundproofing before asking, “What do you want?”
“I’m here to compliment you.”
Jiang Wenzhe: “If you’re sick, go get treated.”
“I’m complimenting you, and you’re not even happy about it,” Tang Lin stroked his nonexistent, flowing white mustache, deepened his voice, and said with feigned gravity, “I’m complimenting you for finally being able to resist the allure of beauty—two whole days! You didn’t even show up for work for two days!”
Jiang Wenzhe snapped at him, “Is that why you came to your rival’s company during work hours?”
“Rival?” Tang Lin suddenly burst into laughter, looking up at the sky. “Wen Zhe, Wen Zhe, you’ve finally admitted that I’m your rival.”
The Jianglan Smart Link Group, where Jiang Wen Zhe operates, and the Shengyi Industrial Group, where Tang Lin operates, are both industry-leading benchmark enterprises. However, the two groups have different focuses: Jianglan leans toward cutting-edge high-tech, while Shengyi specializes in the real-economy industrial chain.
The two groups’ business spheres were completely distinct, and they even shared a natural upstream-downstream partnership dynamic; as a result, they had been collaborating for over a century.
The so-called “rivalry” they spoke of was less about corporate competition and more about the tense standoff between two spoiled princes of their generation.
Of course, this “rival” label is simply how the outside world defines the two of them.
Jiang Wenzhe closed the file and asked him, “What’s the matter? Is that Miss Huang of yours ignoring you again? That must be why you’ve come to see me twice in three days.”
“………” Caught off guard by this sudden blow, Tang Lin’s defenses crumbled. “The thing I regret most today is coming to see you.”
Jiang Wen extended his hand toward the door and said politely, “Goodbye. No need to see you off.”
*
When Lin Sangyu accidentally tapped into WeChat’s Video Feed, it was like opening the door to a whole new world.
So the phones those “phone zombies” on the street were playing with were really this much fun, huh?
The rhythmic music, the vast array of video content, and the seamless video transitions… it all left Lin Sangyu dazzled.
A thought struck her, and Lin Sangyu switched back to the chat window.
[Jiang Wenzhe, how much does the phone cost?]
[Question sign emoji]
[Kiss emoji]
Jiang Wenzhe saw Lin Sangyu’s message the moment his phone vibrated.
But he didn’t reply right away. He continued working, and only after finishing his review of the financial reports he was currently handling did he leisurely open WeChat.
[Four thousand.]
He’d simply left out the first digit.
[Men and women shouldn’t send each other emojis like that.]
[And definitely shouldn’t kiss.]
He furrowed his brow slightly, his fingertips tapping away as he sent two more messages in quick succession.
Upon seeing the messages, Lin Sangyu silently noted to herself:
Men and women really shouldn’t kiss.
She replied with: [OK emoji]
Then, Lin Sangyu followed her gaze upward and saw the four-digit figure “4,000.”
What?!
That’s so expensive!
Lin Sangyu quickly caressed her precious phone—it was worth a full 8,000 in spicy snack sticks.
There used to be a small supermarket right next to the orphanage, and parents would often bring their kids there to shop for snacks. It made Lin Sanyu’s mouth water like crazy. Every day in the orphanage courtyard, she’d stand by the rusty fence, inhaling that faint, oily scent of spicy strips wafting through the air.
Little Lin Sanyu, of course, didn’t have any money to buy spicy strips.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way. She learned from others that she could earn money by collecting trash.
The older residents in the nearby neighborhood would get up at 5 a.m. to collect trash, but there’s always someone better—little Lin Sangyu understood the importance of getting a head start as early as age six.
“You guys come out at 5 a.m. to collect trash, right? Well, I’ll be out at 4 a.m.!”
The orphanage had lax security, and Lin Sangyu’s dorm happened to be on the first floor. At 3:30 a.m., she would quietly get up and sneak out of the dorm building by climbing out the window. Because she had long gone hungry and was malnourished, her frail frame could easily pry open the rusty fence—breaking through the orphanage’s final barrier—and slip away.
Dragging a burlap sack longer than she was, she made her way through the moonlit night, guided by the dim glow of streetlights and accompanied by the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds.
Taking the orphanage as her center, she scoured every corner within a one-kilometer radius. Then, as the first light of dawn broke, she became the scrap yard’s very first customer.
Lin Sangyu kept up this routine until the day she left the orphanage.
Her slightly warm cell phone pressed tightly against her palm, its warmth spreading through her entire body.
Lin Sangyu thought to herself, Jiang Wenzhe really is a good person.
She must not let Jiang Wenzhe down.
Starting tomorrow, she would work hard to earn money and pay off the owed debts for him.
When Jiang Wenze arrived home at 7:00 p.m., Lin Sanyu was sitting on the living room couch watching TV.
“You’re finally back.”
Seeing the front door open, Lin Sanyu shot up from the couch, ran cheerfully toward the doorway, wrapped her arms around Jiang Wenze’s neck, and hooked her legs around his waist.
Jiang Wenzhe gave her a gentle shove but couldn’t budge her, so he just let her hang onto him like a sloth.
Lin Sangyu chattered away in his ear: “I’m telling you, I wasn’t just playing on my phone the whole time.”
“Mm, impressive,” Jiang Wenzhe said casually.
He didn’t mention a word about how, just ten minutes ago, he’d seen her playing on her phone on the security feed.
Lin Sangyu continued to praise herself: “Just leave that phone safely in my hands—I’ve got that much self-control.”
Jiang Wenzhe shook his head in exasperation. With one hand cupping Lin Sangyu’s hips and the other, he walked into the dining room and poured himself a glass of plain water.
After finishing it, he asked, “Have you been drinking water today?”
Lin Sangyu buried her face in the crook of his neck and said, “I had the soup delivered at lunch and dinner.”
“Then you should drink some. From now on, at least three glasses of plain water every day.”
With that, Jiang Wenzhe used his own cup to pour a glass for Lin Sangyu as well.
Lin Sangyu took the glass and, recalling the conversation on her phone that morning, thought she was being discreet as she rotated the rim of the glass, turning the part Jiang Wenzhe’s lips had touched toward the front before gulping down the water.
Once Lin Sangyu had finished drinking, Jiang Wenzhe asked expressionlessly, “Are you looking down on me?”
He hadn’t even started looking down on her yet—so why was she the one doing it first?
“What?” Lin Sangyu felt the hand beneath her gradually tighten; she stared with wide, round eyes, at a loss.
“Never mind, I misspoke,” Jiang Wenzhe turned his face away, set Lin Sangyu down on the dining table, and said evasively, “I’m going to take a shower.”
He had barely taken a step when Lin Sangyu grabbed the hem of his shirt: “What about me? Don’t you want to wash me again?”
Jiang Wenzhe stared at her without speaking.
Lin Sangyu’s eyes drooped, her long lashes falling downward, her voice tinged with sadness: “Fine, if I have to wash myself, I’ll just do it.”
Jiang Wenzhe watched her hand as it prepared to let go; the muscles in his cheeks stiffened for a moment before he clenched his teeth and said, “I’ll wash you.”