A faint, ambiguous smile tugged at the corner of Ji Wenze’s lips as he glanced sideways at the image on the tablet, caught somewhere between curiosity and embarrassment.
The mirror, gradually clearing of its built-in defog, reflected a male body marked by clear signs of training. A bathrobe hung loosely over his shoulders, and the interplay of light and shadow sharply outlined the chest muscles.
On the tablet, the man—or rather, calling him a boy felt more accurate—leaned against the dim backstage of the arena. His team jacket slouched over his shoulders, barely giving structure to his lean frame. His expression was indifferent, almost avoiding the camera, and when he raised a hand toward the lens, his knuckles were sharply defined.
Ji Wenze tore his gaze away and looked at himself in the mirror, yet the photo on the tablet lingered stubbornly in his mind.
The gray-blue-haired youth, simultaneously dramatic and inexperienced, wore a cold expression, emanating an aura of solitary invincibility.
Ji Wenze lowered his eyes, picked up the silver-framed glasses tossed in the drawer, perched them on his nose, and looked up again. The final hints of similarity between the reflection and the photo were now gone, concealed by the glasses.
No wonder Xue Jian had said, “Nobody dares to recognize you now.”
A corner of Ji Wenze’s lips lifted in a casual smile. But across the network, the streamer on the tablet seemed determined not to let him relax.
The close-up shot was repeatedly zoomed in and out, like a deliberate visual effect, testing Ji Wenze’s patience.
Finally, he couldn’t help squinting.
Ten years ago, hadn’t Execut2’s gray-blue hair already looked thin?
Almost as if responding to him, Yu Sibo’s voice came through:
“My sense of style is impeccable! Look at this hair color I picked—carefree, soaring, perfectly light!”
“…Perfectly light,” Ji Wenze echoed, almost wondering if Yu Sibo’s silence at the dinner earlier had been an act.
His team leader’s skill with words was wasted not being in management.
He switched on the hairdryer; the whirring drowned out Yu Sibo’s voice. Yet even after drying his hair, when the dryer was turned off, the tablet still carried the streamer’s enthusiastic, almost commercial-style commentary. He praised photos and camera angles in a full 360-degree rotation.
No matter how hard Ji Wenze tried, he couldn’t fall asleep while listening to such relentless self-promotion.
He carried the tablet out of the bathroom, tapping the screen a few times with his left hand. The white glow illuminated a faint scar on the inside of his wrist.
His gaze lingered there before switching hands to type.
He sent a conspicuous message, deciding to manipulate the streamer with money, setting the price at 5,000.
[404: Don’t want to hear this, can we switch to match commentary?]
He only received a reply after nearly two minutes, by which time he had already settled under the covers. Even a trivial 10-yuan message would have disappeared by then.
Ji Wenze thought sharply: 5,000 could make someone work two extra months at the company. And now he was just buying two hours?
“Wow, thank you to Boss 404 for the 5,000 SC! You’re too generous!”
Hearing Yu Sibo thank him for the gift, Ji Wenze couldn’t help a quiet laugh. Their model employee, Yu Sibo, even at night, spoke with more energy than during the day. Truly remarkable.
“Boss said, ‘Don’t want to hear this, want to hear… match commentary?’” Yu Sibo paused.
Ji Wenze set the tablet aside, donned a sleep mask, and prepared to sleep soundly.
“…I’ll refund you, boss!”
Ji Wenze lifted the mask slightly, squinting. The young man’s stubborn voice finally sounded a little like the Yu Sibo he knew from the day.
“I want to say it.”
On the screen, the tall, thin, pale-blue-haired boy remained, and in his current subordinate Yu Sibo’s lean body, it was as if he were shielding that blue-haired boy behind him, firmly refusing in that unwavering tone:
“If you don’t like Execut2, it’s better not to watch my stream—room manager!”
“Contact the boss and refund him.”
In the end, not even two hours of purchase were secured.
404 disappeared from the viewer list.
After the stream ended, Yu Sibo felt a twinge of regret for having lost his temper briefly. But only a little—after all, viewers who didn’t like Execut2 would leave sooner or later. Their early exit merely limited his losses.
Contacting the room manager afterward, he learned that Boss 404 hadn’t requested a refund. In fact, he politely explained: “I just prefer your commentary. Very professional.”
Yu Sibo sat frozen, holding the mouse.
Good… calm-minded boss.
I’m really not human, TUT
He messaged the room manager a simple acknowledgment, shut down, washed up, and collapsed into bed, a messy mop of hair on his head.
Next time… if Boss 404 comes again, I’ll have to make up for it a little!
Satisfied with that plan, Yu Sibo flipped onto his back, pulled out his phone.
Thanks to the 5,000 big donation, today’s stream had a total revenue of 5,312. After J-Station’s share…
Following his “don’t work, don’t think” principle, Yu Sibo punched the numbers into the calculator and transferred the pre-tax 2,656 from his payroll card to a bank card ending in 0629.
The balance quickly jumped from an 8 to a 9—six figures.
Yu Sibo smiled, dimples forming. 0629—Execut2’s birthday. This card was reserved to save money for one day returning it to the card god.
He couldn’t explain the weight of that unexpected 200,000 back then. He only knew that without it, he might have dropped out and become a tutoring teacher.
Getting into Q University from a small city was eighteen-year-old Yu Sibo’s only valuable asset. He had promised, once he earned money, he would return it to the card god—but the card god refused.
He said: “Life is important. Save up a million first, then worry about returning it.”
Yu Sibo knew it wasn’t about interest, but it didn’t stop him from adding to the savings now—livestreaming, overtime… everything not needed for daily life went in.
Seeing the balance start with a “9,” Yu Sibo buried his head in the blanket, giggling.
Once he saved a million, he planned to ask Boss Xue to arrange a meeting with Execut2—or, if necessary, have Xue deliver it. Knowing his idol’s personality, a single phone call might suffice.
He drifted to sleep with these sweet fantasies—but had a less-than-pleasant dream.
He dreamt that when he finally saved a million, he was an old man with white hair. He went to Xue Jian, only to be told that old Execut2 had already passed away. The black-and-white portrait stripped the iconic gray-blue hair, and the normally cold mouth was forcibly curved into a smile by the editor. Looking at it sharply, it looked exactly like Boss Ji!
Yu Sibo woke in a start, suddenly realizing that having a face resembling his idol nearby might not be a good thing.
Had he just been looking at his boss too much lately…? Fine, no more.
His heart still racing, he tossed and turned before finally falling asleep again.
The nightmare left him groggy all morning. Only after lunch did he feel a little awake.
The early spring sunlight was just the right temperature. Yu Sibo’s workstation was by the window, and he stretched comfortably in the sun before drifting to the pantry.
“The procurement guys are so nice, they know I talk a lot… and they’ve started leaving throat lozenges here!”
From afar, Gao Xiangri’s voice carried.
“Seems like it’s from the CEO’s office. I saw Assistant Yang over there,” a colleague explained.
Gao Xiangri suddenly went silent.
Yu Sibo wandered in, grabbed a lozenge, and eyed him curiously.
“Team leader?! You’re like a ghost! You scared me.”
The brief pause had apparently been accidental. Gao Xiangri perked up, exclaiming: “Team leader, why are you eating that? Medicine is one part poison!”
If there’s free stuff, a streamer takes it, Yu Sibo thought.
He leaned against the wall, shook open a coffee packet, closed his eyes, and said: “Talking in my sleep.”
Several teammates laughed, drawing curious glances from other departments.
“Isn’t Team Leader supposed to have a frozen expression? Why is your team so relaxed?”
“Jealous… good pay, handsome team leader, great atmosphere.”
“How do I get into that team…”
“Working hours! Why are you all hanging out here?”
Suddenly, a harsh voice interrupted.
A middle-aged man stood at the pantry door. Medium build, square face, scholarly appearance—but his narrow eyes behind the glasses ruined any sense of friendliness. He didn’t look approachable.
Gao Xiangri frowned, stepped forward like a wall: “Who are you?”
“Lu Jinren.” The man glanced at Yu Sibo beside Gao Xiangri, a small smile tugging his lips. “Yo, Yu Design. It’s been a year since the Fengshang Jiayuan project.”
Yu Sibo looked up, brow slightly furrowed. After a moment: “Director Lu.”
Gao Xiangri realized: “Oh… you’re the Lu Design who lost Fengshang Jiayuan to our team?”
Muffled laughter spread.
Lu Jinren’s face darkened, chest heaving before forming a cold laugh: “Unlucky, Yu Design. Now you have to call me Director.”
“Hmm.” Yu Sibo responded lightly, sipping coffee. “So this is ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em’?”
More laughter echoed from the crowd.
“You!” Lu Jinren glared, but couldn’t shoo away the other department colleagues, his face turning red.
From outside, intern Xiao Mu called: “Team leader? Master!”
Gao Xiangri: “Pantry.”
Seconds later, Xiao Mu, out of breath, leaned against the wall outside the pantry: “Reception’s got a situation with Tianjiao…”
Lu Jinren’s initial delight turned into a frown. He slammed the table, scolding: “Yu Team Leader! Lazing around while mistreating clients!” He motioned to Xiao Mu: “Take me there.”
Xiao Mu looked at him, confused: “Who are you? The client specifically wanted our team leader…”
Lu Jinren slapped his temp badge on the table: “Don’t you think I qualify?”
Seeing Director printed on it, Xiao Mu paled, glancing at his master.
Gao Xiangri looked at his team leader.
Yu Sibo sipped coffee, exhaled, and said: “Take him.”
Lu Jinren finally smiled, satisfied: “Yu Team Leader, it’s been a year. You’ve improved.” He turned and walked ahead of the hesitant Xiao Mu.
Gao Xiangri hesitated.
Yu Sibo finished his coffee calmly, tossed the disposable cup in the trash, grabbed a wet wipe, wiped his hands, and headed out.
“Let’s go. Let’s see what progress Director Lu has made.”
Gao Xiangri hesitated, sent a quick message, then followed, suppressing his worry.