The next day, Lou Fan called as promised.
“I invested in an art gallery a while ago. I already told the person in charge this morning—you can just go directly.”
He didn’t tell her that he had barely slept the night before.
He spent the entire night sorting through all the projects he had invested in over the past few years.
Bar? Too noisy, not good for prenatal care.
Murder mystery games? Full of young people, and with how she looks… she’d just attract trouble. No.
He even considered keeping her close as a secretary—light work, not tiring—but then he wouldn’t be able to focus on his job at all.
In the end, after much hesitation, he dug out a forgotten investment from a corner of his memory: an art gallery.
“That time at a drinking party, the owner got me drunk and convinced me to invest. I forgot about it afterward, but yesterday I checked the financial report—it’s actually doing pretty well. Just go there and treat it like a place to relax. Look at paintings every day—maybe you’ll give birth to a Da Vinci.”
Chuxia laughed. She was used to his nonsense.
“Thank you so much, Lou Fan.”
The man on the other end immediately perked up.
“And you’re not going to show your gratitude?”
“If Young Master Lou is free tomorrow, I’ll treat you to a meal.”
“Rare occasion—the little miser is spending money.”
He often teased her as a “pixiu” (a mythical creature that only takes in wealth and never gives it out), because she never spent money unless necessary. He had always wondered where all her money went.
“Alright, I’ll be at the gallery tomorrow anyway.”
The next day, Chuxia chose a well-designed dress—fashionable but not flashy, perfectly suited for an art gallery.
When she arrived, the manager was already waiting at the entrance, extremely attentive.
“Mr. Lou said you’re here to learn. If you have any questions, just come to me directly.”
Chuxia nodded obediently.
After a full introduction to the gallery, she was taken to an office where a desk had already been prepared for her.
After the manager left, she greeted her colleagues one by one—but everyone responded coldly, barely nodding before returning to work.
The office atmosphere was relaxed; everyone dressed stylishly, chatting about art during breaks.
Chuxia tried to join them, but every group she approached dispersed almost immediately.
By the morning, not a single colleague had initiated conversation with her, and no one had told her what to do.
So she took the initiative.
“Teacher Wu, may I ask what I should do?”
Wu Jingzhong, a graduate of the Central Academy of Fine Arts who became a curator and quickly rose to a supervisory position, glanced at her.
Politely but distantly, she said:
“Miss Li, just sit there. We wouldn’t dare trouble you.”
Chuxia immediately understood what was going on.
It was likely that Lou Fan’s instructions to “not let her get tired” had been passed down in a way that made everyone treat her as a privileged, untouchable “air-dropped connection.”
Naturally, no one liked a parachute hire.
Wu Jingzhong thought she had been properly put in her place.
But instead, Chuxia calmly began arranging her desk, adding small green plants and picking up a laptop.
She even disappeared for two or three hours and returned with expensive afternoon tea for everyone.
Someone recognized the brand immediately.
“Xiao Li, isn’t this from that famous downtown dessert shop? The delivery fee alone must be a lot.”
Chuxia smiled gently.
“Just a small treat. I want to learn more about paintings, so I’ll need everyone’s help.”
Wu Jingzhong sneered.
“Some people really do have it easy in life. Others work themselves to death, while some are born in Rome.”
Another colleague chimed in:
“Not necessarily born lucky. Some people are just good-looking—that alone gives them more opportunities than hardworking people.”
Laughter and side glances spread around the room.
Chuxia smiled softly and spoke with a gentle tone that carried a sharp edge.
“I just saw a painting in the storage room. It’s very avant-garde, but I wonder why it hasn’t been displayed?”
Someone replied:
“Why else? No fame. It won’t sell.”
“Oh,” Chuxia said lightly. “So even with talent, it still won’t sell? Then it seems people shouldn’t rely only on hard work. Being good-looking is also a kind of ability. Everyone should rely on their own strengths and let results speak.”
The atmosphere instantly stiffened. Wu Jingzhong’s expression twisted.
That afternoon, she received news: an investor was coming. She prepared the best-selling artworks and waited at the entrance.
Soon, a Rolls-Royce drove in.
But then she saw something unexpected—
Chuxia walking slowly toward the car while on a phone call.
A tall, handsome man got out of the car at the same time, smiling as he looked at her.
“Just a few steps and you still made me pick you up?” Chuxia complained.
“How dare you talk like that to your financial backer?” Lou Fan laughed. “You’re really going to burn bridges now?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She walked up to him, and he naturally took her hand.
“Do you like it here? How are you getting along with your colleagues?”
Chuxia simply smiled.
“Everything’s fine.”
From afar, Wu Jingzhong saw them holding hands and immediately broke into a cold sweat.
She had just offended the investor’s woman.
Her earlier arrogance disappeared completely.
At the end of the workday, Chuxia invited Lou Fan to a black-diamond-rated French restaurant she had booked. It was a bit remote, deep into the Fifth Ring Road.
She didn’t expect that even in such a place, she would run into two familiar faces.