“I don’t know,” Lin Yuan lowered his voice. “But I’ve noticed a pattern—her temper always worsens after she takes certain calls.”
Chu Yiran recalled the conversation she had overheard outside Sun Wanqing’s office earlier.
“I know, I’ll handle this. Don’t rush me.”
Who was that “you”?
Could it be the person Lin Yuan had observed calling her?
She didn’t ask further and quietly finished her noodles.
After returning to the company in the afternoon, Chu Yiran compiled a detailed site inspection report based on her morning notes. She sent it, along with the seven issues that needed revision, to the venue supplier and Sun Wanqing.
The supplier was efficient. By four o’clock, they had sent back the revised layout plan for the dining area.
Chu Yiran printed it out and was about to deliver it to Sun Wanqing’s office when she encountered a stranger in the hallway.
A man in his early thirties, dressed in a light-colored casual suit and carrying a paper bag, was standing outside Sun Wanqing’s office.
Seeing Chu Yiran approach, he turned slightly.
“Hello, is Sun Wanqing here?”
Chu Yiran glanced at him.
This man didn’t look like an employee of the company—neither in attire nor demeanor.
Moreover, he addressed Sun Wanqing by her full name, without using her title.
“President Sun is in. Shall I let her know you’re here?”
“No need. I’m here on personal business,” the man smiled and knocked on the door.
The door opened from the inside.
The moment Sun Wanqing saw the visitor, her expression changed.
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve asked you out to dinner three times, and you refused every time. I had no choice but to come in person,” the man said, shaking the paper bag in his hand. “I brought your favorite osmanthus cake.”
Sun Wanqing’s lips tightened.
“Come in.”
She stepped aside to let the man into her office, then glanced at Chu Yiran standing in the hallway.
When their eyes met, Chu Yiran quickly looked down.
“President Sun, the revised layout plan.”
She handed over the printed document.
Sun Wanqing took it without saying anything further and closed the door.
Chu Yiran turned and walked back to her workstation. As she passed Lin Yuan’s desk, she asked in a voice only the two of them could hear:
“Have you ever met President Sun’s ex-husband?”
Lin Yuan’s fingers paused on the keyboard. He looked up at her.
“No, but I heard his surname is Fang.”
Chu Yiran nodded and said nothing more.
She returned to her seat, turned on her computer, and continued working.
But her mind kept returning to the words on that note.
The actual controller of Hengyuan Trading was Sun Wanqing’s ex-husband.
Could the man with the osmanthus cake be the person mentioned on the note?
If so, his appearance at the company to see Sun Wanqing suggested that their relationship hadn’t been completely severed after the divorce.
The three unusual expenses in the procurement records—720,000 yuan—might just be the tip of the iceberg.
Chu Yiran pushed these thoughts aside and opened the summit preparation spreadsheet.
She couldn’t dwell on it any further.
This matter had nothing to do with her. She was just a worker here to repay a debt.
But she had an increasingly strong premonition that this would somehow involve her sooner or later.
Before leaving work, she received an internal email.
The sender was the administrative secretary of the CEO’s office.
The email was brief: “During today’s company-wide briefing, a black fountain pen was left near the podium. Anyone who finds it, please contact the Executive Office.”
Chu Yiran stared at the email for five seconds, then slowly shifted her gaze to her desk drawer.
The pen lay quietly in the deepest corner of her drawer.
Chu Yiran pulled the drawer open, glanced inside, and closed it again.
Then she opened it once more, took another look, and shut it.
After repeating this three times, Lin Yuan beside her couldn’t hold back any longer.
“What kind of living creature are you raising in that drawer?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Chu Yiran quickly shut the drawer tight.
Should she return the pen or not?
The main issue was that she felt this pen likely belonged to Shen Yu—he had been sitting near that area.
After agonizing at her desk for ten minutes, Chu Yiran finally made a cautious decision.
She opened the internal messaging app, found the contact for the Executive Office’s administrative secretary, and sent a message.
“Hello, this is Chu Yiran from the Administrative Department. While cleaning up teacups after the briefing, I found a black fountain pen in the front row. How would be the most convenient way to return it?”
She had carefully worded this message.
She used “front row” instead of “first row,” deliberately keeping the location vague.
As soon as the message was sent, the other side replied instantly.
“Just leave it at the reception desk on the 37th floor. I’ll have someone pick it up.”
The 37th floor was the Human Resources Department. Chu Yiran went there every day to submit materials, so it wouldn’t seem unusual at all.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
If she dropped it off first thing tomorrow morning, this matter would be settled.
She wrapped the pen in a tissue, placed it in her canvas bag, packed up her things, and left work.
By the time she stepped out of the building, the sky had already darkened.
The night view of Hecheng’s CBD was beautiful, with glass curtain walls reflecting colorful lights in the darkness.
But Chu Yiran was in no mood to appreciate it.
Her current mental state could be summed up in four words: seeing enemies everywhere.
At work, she had to dodge the undercurrents stirred by Sun Wanqing, avoid Shen Yu’s appearances, and steer clear of whoever had slipped her that mysterious note.
Outside work, she had to deal with Shen Yu’s other identity and maintain a delicate, ambiguous relationship with Song Qingwan.
Managing four or five different threads at once was no easier than playing four games of chess simultaneously.
And in every game, her opponent was far more skilled than her.
Back at her apartment, Chu Yiran took a hot shower, changed into her pajamas, and sat cross-legged on her bed, sorting through the day’s thoughts.
Her phone lit up—a message from S.
“How are you feeling today?”
Chu Yiran stared at the screen, silently reciting “Amitabha” in her mind, then pressed the voice message button.
“Much better. The nurse said I’m recovering well and might be discharged tomorrow or the day after.”
She deliberately paused briefly after the words “discharged,” then continued in a lighthearted tone: “Then I’ll be able to see you.”
This was a risky move.
Proposing a meeting herself, in contrast to her previous evasions, would make the other person feel her attitude was shifting.
But she had also left herself some room to maneuver.
“Might be tomorrow or the day after.”
“Might” meant there was still room for change.
If Shen Yu pressed for a specific time, she could continue stalling by citing fluctuations in her health.
After sending the voice message, it took nearly a minute for the other side to reply.
It was also a voice message. Chu Yiran tapped to listen.
“Okay.”
Chu Yiran held her phone, stunned for a long moment.
The fourteen-million-yuan sucker had waited on the other end of the phone for three months, waiting for someone who never existed in the first place.
She suddenly felt a sharp pang somewhere deep inside.
It wasn’t fear, nor was it guilt.
It was a faint, indescribable sense of remorse.
She quickly pushed the thought aside.
Emotions were the last thing she needed.
In this game, she had only one goal: to survive, repay her debts, and walk away unscathed.
Any emotional fluctuations beyond that were luxuries she couldn’t afford.
Chu Yiran closed the chat window and opened her notes, updating the latest progress in her self-rescue plan document.
“First month’s salary expected deposit date: the 15th of next month.”
“Estimated savings for the month: around six thousand after deducting rent and living expenses.”
She stared at the number for three seconds, then put her phone down.
Better focus on surviving this month first.
Just as she was about to turn off the lights and sleep, her phone vibrated again.
This time, it wasn’t S—it was an internal company email.
Sender: Executive Secretary of the CEO’s Office.
“Ms. Chu Yiran, thank you for picking up the lost fountain pen.”
“After verification, this pen is a personal item belonging to President Shen.”
“President Shen’s assistant has expressed a wish to thank you in person. Please come to the 62nd-floor CEO’s Office at 10 a.m. tomorrow to receive a small token of appreciation.”
Chu Yiran stared at her phone screen, feeling her blood pressure rise as sharply as the floor number.
She had picked up Shen Yu’s pen, and now Shen Yu wanted to thank her in person.
Did the heavens think her life hadn’t been exciting enough lately?