An Yao swore that before she started her internship, she genuinely had no idea this company had been acquired by Yaowei Group.
Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t have come.
It wasn’t until the third week on the job, after half a month of monotonous internship life, that An Yao gradually realized her earlier concerns had been completely unnecessary.
On Monday, the Beiyang Economic Development Zone was blessed with a rare clear, sunny day.
An Yao finally stopped turning down her colleague Yara’s lunch invitations, and ditched her full protective getup of mask and hat, heading downstairs with her.
While waiting for the elevator, Yara glanced sideways at the new intern she’d been paired with.
The girl was wearing a thin, student-like hoodie and casual pants. She was on the slender side, wearing no makeup, but her skin was fair, and her almond-shaped eyes sparkled.
Her face was delicate and petite, but not overly thin—plenty of collagen, giving her a fresh, refined look. She was the quintessential southern beauty.
After a moment, Yara said with genuine feeling, “Yao Yao, you’re actually gorgeous. Honestly, you’ve been in the PR department for half a month now, and none of us really knew what you looked like.”
An Yao rubbed her nose awkwardly, using the excuse she’d given several times before: “My face had a pretty bad allergic reaction earlier.”
Yara clearly didn’t buy it. “Actually, we all guessed you were either socially anxious or hiding from someone.”
An Yao gave a faint smile. “No.”
The truth was—they’d hit the nail on the head. She was hiding from someone.
After all, a face allergy wouldn’t explain why she wouldn’t even come downstairs for meals, chaining herself to her desk for two straight weeks.
But no one would believe the real reason—the person she was hiding from was Yan Muzhou, the current president of Yaowei Group.
Actually, looking back now, An Yao also felt her recent behavior had been completely unnecessary.
In her eyes, the name Yan Muzhou represented all her teenage fantasies about love.
From around sixteen or seventeen, she’d had a crush on him for a few years, and later thought she’d ended that secret love with a grand finale.
But Yan Muzhou himself had never even known.
Most importantly, An Yao was now just a low-level intern, and Yan Muzhou, as the head of this massive group, would never cross paths with her.
She hadn’t even met their own department manager, let alone the group’s president.
With that psychological burden lifted, An Yao became much more natural.
After lunch, she even took a stroll around the group’s building to help digestion.
Yaowei was the Yan family’s enterprise—the largest beverage FMCG group in the country, sitting firmly at the top of the industry.
The building was the new headquarters, officially completed just two years ago, with a massive floor area capable of housing over fifty thousand employees.
She’d seen the news coverage when the plaque was unveiled.
There was still plenty of time before work started. After her walk, An Yao fished her work badge out of her hoodie pocket and put it on, planning to head back to her desk for a quick nap.
She was a senior this year, majoring in Visual Design at the School of Fine Arts at Nancheng University. Aside from her graduation project, she had nothing else on her plate at school.
Most of her classmates, except those preparing for graduate school, were doing internships elsewhere.
Internships for current students were hard to come by. An Yao had also been busy during college—taking commission work on art platforms on the side while helping out at her senior’s studio, leaving her no time to polish her portfolio.
So she adopted a scattergun strategy, picking the most well-known company among the three that had offered her a position—Eastern Tea Works—and hurried over.
Just as she neared the main gate of the group, her college roommate Qin Keran called her on voice.
“Yao Yao, you’re on your lunch break, right? I’ve got an urgent job. I took on an illustration commission last month, and the deadline’s in a few days, but I’m way too busy at work. Can I pass it to you? Please, save me!”
An Yao opened the backend of her commission-taking app and roughly checked her schedule. “I can do it, but you need to let the client know first.”
“Of course.”
Qin Keran thanked her repeatedly, then launched into her usual complaints about work: “I was cursed with bad luck to intern at an ad agency. This past month, I haven’t gotten off work before 2 a.m. even once. How about you?”
An Yao answered honestly, “I’m fine. Nine to six, weekends off.”
Qin Keran sighed. “See, your choice was right. Ugh, back then I just wanted to save on rent, so I picked an internship in Nancheng. If I’d known, I would’ve looked for one in Beiyang with you.”
An Yao corrected her: “I applied to companies all over the country, not specifically to come to Beiyang.”
“I know.”
Qin Keran said, “But going to Beiyang is great for you. Isn’t that where you went to high school? You’ve got relatives there to look after you—perfect timing, place, and people.”
An Yao paused for a moment, then said, “Actually, I haven’t been in touch with them. My workplace is pretty far away.”
Her college roommates knew she was from Nancheng, but because of something that happened in her family, she’d attended high school in Beiyang, living with relatives for those three years.
But An Yao had never gone into detail with them.
For instance, they didn’t know that her so-called relatives weren’t real relatives, but her grandfather’s old comrade-in-arms—the founder of the prestigious Yaowei Group.
As she spoke, An Yao had already swiped her card through the turnstile on the first floor.
Even without paying special attention, she noticed the lobby was different from usual.
There were more security guards at the entrance, and more cleaners, coming and going as they mopped the floors and wiped the walls.
Several empty spots had been decorated with ornaments, the carpet underfoot was brand new, and even the trash can by the elevator had been polished to a gleaming shine.
The elevator had arrived, and employees with badges hanging around their necks crowded in, the noise growing louder.
She gave Qin Keran a few instructions about the illustration work, hung up, and rode up to the twentieth floor where the Eastern Tea Works division was located.
Most of the dozen or so people in the publicity department weren’t napping either. Aside from those staring at their computer screens, they’d huddled into small groups whispering to each other.
An Yao’s desk was right next to the break area, and several people, including Yara, were sitting in swivel chairs nearby, chatting.
Yara was the one she worked with most closely, essentially serving as her mentor during the internship.
Since An Yao had joined, she’d grown closest to her.
When Yara saw her come over, she lowered her voice: “We’re just talking about the big news at the group today.”
An Yao sat back down at her seat and followed along: “What big news?”
Yara whispered, “There’s a meeting with the group’s top brass today. Apparently they’re going to discuss the future development of the brands acquired from outside over the past few years. Our Director Chen has to go too.”
An Yao looked a bit confused. “A top-level meeting? Then we don’t need to go, right…”
Yara paused, then waved her hand. “Definitely not. We’re nobodies. Forget us—even Director Zhang isn’t qualified.”
An Yao blinked, even more puzzled about what this had to do with her.
Yara also caught on. Since An Yao was new to the workplace and unfamiliar with the group’s structure, departmental relationships, and personnel changes, she explained a bit more.
Oriental Tea Works was a recent acquisition by Yaowei. When their original office space lease expired, they moved the entire brand and staff to headquarters.
Since then, they had continued operating as an independent business division, with no major changes to the overall structure.
But eventually, the group would need to unify and reorganize.
Perhaps this meeting was the catalyst—if restructuring happened, it would involve layoffs, leadership changes, and so on.
“Though none of this really affects you anyway. Sigh, being a student was so much better.”
Yara patted An Yao on the shoulder: “Whatever. If they lay me off, I’ll just take the N+1 severance. It all depends on what attitude President Yan shows at today’s meeting.”
“With how capable you are, Sister Yara, the company definitely wouldn’t want to let you go.”
An Yao didn’t know what else to say to comfort her, so she turned to turn on her computer.
She had just opened Photoshop when she belatedly caught two specific words and turned her head back.
“President Yan’s attitude…”
An Yao paused for two seconds. “Which President Yan?”
Yara laughed: “Which President Yan could it be? The group’s CEO.”
Then she lowered her voice a bit: “Yan Muzhou. Even if you just joined, you must have seen that name in the news before, right?”
An Yao was silent. After a long moment, she gave a soft “Mm.”
To them, Yan Muzhou was just a big boss they’d never met—a name that appeared in the news and on the group’s promotional materials, an existence reduced to a symbol.
But An Yao had actually lived under the same roof as him for three years, experiencing countless joys and sorrows caused by him.
However, as things stood now, she wasn’t really any different from them.
An Yao didn’t rejoin the conversation.
But her colleagues, having gotten to this point, naturally continued chatting, their voices dropping even lower.
“I heard from a friend in the admin department that President Yan is not only young but also extremely handsome. But we’ve been at headquarters for over half a year and I’ve never seen him. I wonder if there’s a chance today.”
Yara: “No way. When top executives come for meetings, they definitely use the dedicated passage—car in, car out, private elevator straight up.”
“True. But President Yan really is low-key. He’s never shown his face in the media.”
Before long, An Yao received a message from Qin Keran, telling her that the client had agreed to let her do the illustration and had expressed appreciation for her style.
She planned to finish the work Yara had assigned quickly so she could leave right on time and head back to her rented apartment to work on the artwork.
Even if Yan Muzhou was coming to the group for a meeting, it had nothing to do with her.
Just as Yara said, he would definitely be chauffeured in with private elevator access—even if he came, she wouldn’t run into him.
Oriental Tea Works’ winter new products had already launched, and the entire marketing department was busy creating graphics and illustrations.
As an intern, An Yao’s contributions were actually quite limited.
In the afternoon, the full-time employees in the department were having a brainstorming session, and she was responsible for purchasing coffee per Yara’s instructions and going downstairs to pick it up.
When An Yao went downstairs, she noticed the first-floor lobby had noticeably fewer people, but the number of security guards had multiplied several times compared to noon.
As she was heading out, a security guard urged her to hurry back, saying the group had an event today and she should go and return quickly.
An Yao was puzzled.
Wasn’t it just a high-level meeting? Why all this fuss? Could there be some other event?
The deliveries for this building were usually placed in the delivery lockers, but An Yao hadn’t received a pickup code. After calling the delivery driver, she learned that he had mistakenly taken them to Building B.
An Yao couldn’t make a quick round trip, so she waited downstairs for nearly ten minutes before finally getting her hands on eight cups of coffee.
Carrying two insulated bags in one hand, she walked back toward the main entrance, only to be stopped by the security guard from earlier, who told her in an unfriendly tone to use the side door instead.
An Yao turned around, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a car pull up at the building entrance.
A group of bodyguards and assistants, along with several middle-aged men of unclear positions, surrounded the young man in the back seat as he stepped out of the car.
Through the gap between the two security guards’ shoulders, she caught a glimpse of a face that was both familiar and unfamiliar.
It was Yan Muzhou.
Time seemed to stand still.
Nearly four years had passed since she’d last seen him, and even from a considerable distance, An Yao could still make him out clearly.
The man wore a impeccably tailored black suit, his expression serious and indifferent—just like before. His presence was overwhelmingly imposing, noble yet cold, as if he paid no attention to anything around him.
Compared to four years ago, before An Yao had returned to Nancheng, his features and temperament seemed more mature.
Several middle-aged men addressed him eagerly as “President Yan.”
Yan Muzhou gave a slight nod, his demeanor still aloof and distant.
Whether it was her imagination or not, as he walked toward the main entrance, it seemed like his gaze met hers for a brief moment.
But at the same time, the security guard nearby was glaring at her, frantically signaling with his eyes for her to leave.
Besides the people there to receive Yan Muzhou, she really did seem to be the only “unrelated person” around.
An Yao quickly turned her head and hurried toward the elevator lobby, walking in the opposite direction from Yan Muzhou and his entourage.
Much like how she’d felt on many occasions before, they occupied the same space, yet it was as if they existed in different worlds.
…
Back at the publicity department, after delivering the coffee, An Yao sat at her desk, staring blankly at the dark computer screen for a long time.
He probably didn’t see her earlier, right?
After all, he had so many people around him.
Even if he did see her, it didn’t really matter. She was just here as an intern, with no other purpose whatsoever.
The afternoon passed quickly. An Yao finished her work, packed up, and left for the day.
When she reached the entrance of the subway station, everything was still as usual—nothing had happened.
She was still like she’d been as a teenager, overthinking everything.
Just as she was about to board the train, her phone suddenly vibrated.
These days, aside from delivery drivers and couriers, very few people contacted her directly by phone.
An Yao looked down and saw the name “Yan Muzhou” on the caller ID.
Her heart pounded like thunder, and she didn’t even notice that a train had already pulled up in front of her.
After a long moment, An Yao took a deep breath and answered.
Through the receiver, she heard a cold, deep voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar.
“An Yao, I saw you at the group’s entrance this afternoon.”