Chu Yiran didn’t sleep well all night.
In her dream, she stood in the corridor on the 62nd floor. Shen Yu sat behind a massive desk, leisurely opening a photograph—it was Song Qingwan’s face.
Then he looked up, staring coldly at her, and said, “Is this you?”
Chu Yiran jolted awake in bed.
The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. It was 5:40 in the morning.
Outside the window, the sky was gray and overcast.
She sat on the edge of the bed for ten minutes, gathering her composure, then began mentally preparing herself.
Thank the assistant, follow the procedure, receive a small gift—the whole thing probably wouldn’t take more than five minutes.
Shen Yu was swamped with work; it was highly unlikely he’d personally handle such a trivial matter.
Just a pen.
Even if Shen Yu was actually there, she could keep her head down when entering, bow her head to express thanks, and leave with her head lowered—avoiding eye contact, staying silent, and not exposing herself. It should be fine.
Probably.
Chu Yiran studied her face in the mirror again.
All the photos the original owner had sent Shen Yu were of Song Qingwan.
As long as she didn’t reveal her voice, she’d be fine.
Her voice.
Chu Yiran’s hand froze.
She had just sent Shen Yu a voice message last night, using this very voice.
Although she had deliberately softened her tone, the timbre couldn’t be changed.
What if she spoke on the 62nd floor and Shen Yu happened to be nearby and heard her?
Chu Yiran stood in front of the sink for a long time.
In the end, she decided: if she could avoid speaking, she would.
If she absolutely had to speak, she’d lower and roughen her voice, mumble a bit, creating as much distance as possible from the soft, sweet voice in the recording.
She left home at 7:30.
Today, she dressed even more plainly than usual: a dark blue shirt, black trousers, her hair pulled back tightly, with her bangs tucked completely behind her ears.
On her face, she only applied a basic primer—not even lipstick.
Overall, she looked like a walking office supply, utterly unmemorable.
After arriving at the company, she first went to the 35th floor and sat there for twenty minutes, pretending to work normally.
At 9:45, she stood up.
Lin Yuan peeked over from the neighboring cubicle. “Where are you going?”
“Running an errand.”
“Oh.”
Chu Yiran picked up her canvas bag and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for 62.
With each floor the elevator ascended, her heartbeat quickened.
35, 40, 45, 50.
There was no one else in the elevator besides her.
55, 58, 60, 61.
Ding—the 62nd floor arrived.
The moment the elevator doors opened, Chu Yiran felt the air was different.
The corridor was carpeted in dark gray, muffling every footstep.
The walls were clad in light-toned wood paneling, adorned with two abstract paintings she couldn’t understand but that clearly looked expensive.
At the end of the corridor was a reception area, where a young woman in a black suit sat behind the front desk and looked up at her.
“Hello, who are you here to see?”
“I’m Chu Yiran from the Administrative Department. The executive secretary from the President’s Office contacted me yesterday and asked me to come at ten today.”
The receptionist glanced at her computer and nodded.
“Please wait a moment. I’ll notify Secretary Wang.”
Chu Yiran sat down on the sofa in the reception area.
The sofa was soft—the kind you sink into and never want to get up from.
On the coffee table lay a current issue of a business magazine, featuring the CEO of some tech company on the cover.
She flipped through a couple of pages absentmindedly, not taking in a single word.
About three minutes later, a man around thirty years old walked over from the depths of the corridor.
He was of medium height, with a gentle expression and steady steps.
The badge read: Executive Secretary, Office of the President, Wang Yan.
“Chu Yiran, right?”
“That’s me.” Chu Yiran stood up as quickly as a spring.
Wang Yan smiled. “Don’t be nervous, I’m just here to pick something up.”
He took a small box from the paper bag in his hand and handed it to her.
“Mr. Shen asked me to pass this to you, to thank you for returning the lost item.”
Chu Yiran took it with both hands, bowing her head as she said thank you.
The box wasn’t large, square and neatly wrapped in a layer of dark blue velvet.
“Mr. Shen said the company needs employees who are this attentive.”
Wang Yan adjusted his glasses, looking at her badge. “Administrative Department? How long have you been here?”
“One week.”
“To notice something left behind at the venue in such a short time, that’s impressive.”
Chu Yiran thought to herself, I’m not attentive, I’m terrified.
I wish I had never picked up that pen.
Just as she thought the matter was over, the sound of a door opening came from deep down the hallway.
A faint scent of wood drifted over.
The back of her neck instantly broke out in goosebumps.
Wang Yan turned around. “Mr. Shen.”
“Hmm.”
Just one word, coming from about three or four meters behind her. The voice wasn’t loud, but the air in the entire reception area seemed to compress all at once.
Chu Yiran froze in place.
She didn’t turn around.
Her eyes were fixed on the blue velvet box in her hands, her mind filled with only one thought: Don’t speak, don’t speak, don’t speak.
“Was the pen found?” Shen Yu’s voice asked casually.
“Yes, it was picked up by this colleague here.” Wang Yan stepped aside, gesturing toward Chu Yiran.
At this point, not turning around was no longer an option.
Chu Yiran slowly turned, keeping her gaze fixed below the other person’s chest.
A dark gray suit, the collar of the shirt unbuttoned one notch, no tie.
She gave a slight bow, her voice low and hoarse. “Hello, Mr. Shen.”
After saying those three words, her throat tightened, and the tail end of the word “Shen” carried a faint, uncontrollable tremor.
The air was silent for about two seconds.
Chu Yiran’s heart pounded wildly. She didn’t know if Shen Yu had noticed that tremor.
Then Shen Yu said, “Administrative Department?”
“Yes.” Chu Yiran nodded.
“New here?”
“Yes, I’ve been here a week.”
Shen Yu didn’t ask anything more.
She heard him walk through the reception area, heading in another direction.
The footsteps faded, and the scent of wood grew fainter.
Chu Yiran loosened her grip on the box.
Wang Yan looked at her and smiled. “Nervous?”
“A little.”
“That’s normal. Most employees are like that the first time they meet Mr. Shen.”
Chu Yiran nodded to him and turned to walk toward the elevator.
She really wanted to run, but she restrained herself, walking slowly step by step.
The moment the elevator doors closed, she leaned against the wall, her knees weak.
The 62nd-floor Office of the President—she never wanted to go there again in her life.
When the elevator reached the 35th floor, she walked back to her workstation and stuffed the blue velvet box into the deepest part of her canvas bag.
Lin Yuan leaned over. “What errand took you so long?”
“Just delivering a document.”
“Oh, why is your face red?”
“I took the stairs.”
“From the 35th floor?”
“Exercising.”
Lin Yuan gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her but couldn’t be bothered to ask further, then turned back to his work.
Chu Yiran sat at her workstation, and it took her a while before she remembered something.
When she said “Hello, Mr. Shen,” the tail end of those three words trembled slightly.
In the quiet corridor of the 62nd floor, that faint tremor might have been clearer than she imagined.
And Shen Yu was someone more sensitive to speech than to written words.
Chu Yiran buried her face in front of the keyboard.
She mentally noted to herself: next time she encountered a similar situation, she’d rather pretend to be mute than speak.
Not a single word.
It wasn’t until she returned to her apartment that evening that she took the velvet box out of her bag and opened it.
Inside was a fountain pen.
It looked almost identical to the one Shen Yu had lost—black body, no brand logo, slender and understated.
But the weight in her hand told her this pen wasn’t cheap.
At the bottom of the box lay a small gilded card with two words printed on it.
“Thank you for the gift.”
Chu Yiran placed the pen back in the box, closed the lid, and pushed it to the corner of her desk.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that this pen carried an unusual weight.
A low-level employee who’d only been at the company for a week found a pen, and the CEO gifted her an identical one in return?
That was far too formal.
The more Chu Yiran thought about it, the more uneasy she felt. In the end, she forced herself to stop thinking about it, turned off the lights, and went to bed.
Her phone screen lit up in the darkness.
A message from S.
“Are you asleep?”
Chu Yiran stared at the screen, her heartbeat quickening again.
She flipped her phone over, screen facing down.
No reply tonight.