Yu Siba immediately reined in his smile, cleared his throat, and said casually,
“Dimples bring good fortune.”
Ji Wenze stepped into the elevator, teasing, “Yet I don’t see you smiling often.”
“They don’t pay for that in my salary,” Yu Siba replied.
Ji Wenze paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed out loud.
The executive parking spots were all independently marked out. It was Yu Siba’s first time in the B1 basement, but he didn’t feel anything unusual.
Ji Wenze’s car was as businesslike as he was—neat, black, neither flashy nor out of place.
“Sit in the passenger seat,” Ji Wenze said casually.
Yu Siba, thinking of the limited-edition merch, didn’t hesitate. He opened the door and slid in, eyes scanning instinctively.
He had seen how old Qian’s car looked—a row of three solar-powered prayer wheels stuck to the dashboard, a gold “wealth and fortune” charm hanging from the mirror, all gaudy, with a lingering smell of smoke.
Ji Wenze’s car, by contrast, was immaculate, as if staged for an appearance. Even though Ji Wenze smoked and drank, the interior smelled faintly clean, like cold water—pleasant enough even if someone got motion sickness.
Well… the taste isn’t bad, Yu Siba thought silently, revising his earlier judgment.
He buckled his seatbelt. Ji Wenze tilted his head and, like a magician, handed him an A4-sized box.
Gold-flecked background, silver embossed lettering, black silhouette, with the Valor Pact logo in the top left corner.
Yu Siba held his breath and took the box with both hands.
It had some weight pressing against his palms, yet his heart felt like it was on a seesaw, already soaring skyward.
“Uh… should I open it now?”
“It’s yours—do as you please,” Ji Wenze said with a light laugh. “Seatbelt fastened.”
Yu Siba complied without a word. He carefully placed the box on his lap, trying to appear calm, but his fumbling with the seatbelt betrayed him.
Excited!
The car roared out of the garage. Once it stabilized, Yu Siba peeled away the outer packaging of the box and froze slightly.
This year’s carnival limited-edition merch came in two versions: photos and hand-drawn. The small booth had offered the photo version, and Yu Siba had planned to snatch the hand-drawn one himself.
But now, it was in the boss’s hands.
Ji Wenze watched him open the box, eyes sharp with interest, carefully lifting one piece to the windowlight to examine it, glowing with admiration, not setting it down for a long while.
“You like it that much?” he asked with a faint smile.
“Yes!” Yu Siba answered firmly.
The hand-drawn version made Execut2 even cooler—grayish-blue hair, cold expression, ranking top three in any shonen manga popularity chart.
Cradling his idol’s merch, Yu Siba wanted to plant a kiss on it, but for appearances, he barely managed to keep a normal demeanor in front of the boss.
If Execut2 had merch, that practically confirmed he’d attend the carnival! Yu Siba felt giddy; he might as well have floated through the ceiling.
“Boss, you asked earlier if the player I voted for is my favorite…”
The joy spilling out, Yu Siba admitted, “Actually, no.”
Ji Wenze turned the wheel slightly, smiling faintly, not too eager.
“Why tell me? I don’t know them.”
Yu Siba paused, realizing he’d overshared. He pressed his lips together and restored his usual calm, composed tone.
“My mistake. Boss, have you collaborated with this game’s official team before?”
“Not officially,” Ji Wenze said. “There’s an S.S. esports arena in Qin City. When I was at the head office, I handled part of it and knew their owner a bit… you know this project, right?”
“I do,” Yu Siba said, though not from work experience.
The arena’s founder had once been a famous esports player and, after retiring, devoted himself to revitalizing domestic FPS games—building arenas, youth programs, investing in games… buzzing with activity. Yu Siba wasn’t close to him, but he knew him.
The founder probably never imagined the gift he sent would end up back in Yu Siba’s hands, haha.
“Duan, from Heng Yun, is his father,” Ji Wenze added.
Yu Siba quietly muttered to himself: connections.
No wonder Ji Wenze could become a boss—he could never. Yu Siba also knew the founder, but one, he didn’t know the father’s identity, and two, even if he did, he wouldn’t dare leverage it for a project.
Yu Siba examined the Execut2 merch carefully, then cautiously put it back, finally looking up seriously.
“Thank you, Boss.” It was worth ten thousand times more than overtime pay.
“No need,” Ji Wenze said. “Consider it a little apology to soothe you.”
The lightness Yu Siba had felt vanished, replaced by clarity. He already knew this merch wasn’t easy to get.
He stayed silent, waiting for Ji Wenze to continue.
“I just learned about Lu Jinren giving you trouble,” Ji Wenze said. “Ting Ji focuses on internal performance—Lu Jinren wouldn’t lead a team himself.”
Yu Siba, holding the gift, couldn’t afford to sulk, and said only: “I don’t care, as long as he doesn’t take our group’s projects.”
Ji Wenze chuckled, “He doesn’t have the ability.”
Yu Siba didn’t expect the boss to be so blunt, clearly showing no favor toward Lu Jinren. He realized this was likely a move to win him over.
“You were recruited from the design institute by Qian Yuanxin? Why not stay there?” Ji Wenze changed the topic, paused, then smiled: “Just casual chat.”
Yu Siba pursed his lips, fully alert. Trusting a boss’s “just casual” was foolish—“casual” meant “ready to flip at any moment.”
“Ting Ji offered more,” he replied succinctly.
Ji Wenze tapped the steering wheel twice.
So, until joining work, Yu Siba was financially tight? Otherwise, Respit2 had a lucrative livestreaming side job. Combined with a stable design institute position, it would’ve been better than joining a private company with endless overtime and constant pressure.
“And now? Which matters more: money or stability?” Ji Wenze asked.
“Both,” Yu Siba said. “Right now is fine.”
“Why feel stable now?”
Yu Siba tilted his head.
“Yu Heng Residence—wasn’t it given by you personally?” His tone was calm, but there was a hint of subtle pride, though he still hugged the box tightly like an octopus, as if afraid the boss would snatch it.
Ji Wenze chuckled, retracting his gaze, tracing the leather on the steering wheel.
“Don’t pin your hopes on others, Yu,” he said. “Hell is other people. Heard that before?”
Yu Siba hugged the box tighter, murmured, “Hmm,” then shook his head.
“Not entirely. There are good people.”
“Who?” Ji Wenze’s eyes flickered.
Yu Siba counted in his mind, then said simply, “Many.”
“Many…” Ji Wenze repeated, then laughed.
“Fine, then I’ll be a good person too.”
The car stopped by the subway station. Ji Wenze gestured for him to open the box, picked out a postcard other than Execut2, and finally grabbed a certification card from the corner.
He wrote a string of letters and numbers on it, then placed it back.
“WeChat. Remember to add me. Anything comes up, tell me directly.”
Click—the door unlocked. Ji Wenze tapped the box lid, saying,
“Go home early. No need for extra shifts unless necessary.”
Yu Siba didn’t fully recover from the daze until he sat on his sofa at home.
Opening the gift box, the first thing he saw was the certification card with Ji Wenze’s WeChat, conveniently covering Execut2’s square.
The WeChat ID was straightforward: initials plus phone number. He stared for two seconds, then slipped it back into the box.
Why would he need this? Ji Wenze was right—other people are hell, but could it be that the boss himself was the worst hell imaginable?
Add the boss on WeChat? Wait at home just to be summoned anytime? He wasn’t that dumb.
With no livestream tonight, Yu Siba sat cross-legged on the sofa, the little speaker playing music, carefully adding moisture protection to the Execut2 merch.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated urgently. The company software spammed notifications—all from Lu Jinren.
[Is the plan done? System shows you clocked out. What’s going on?]
Yu Siba clicked his tongue and replied:
[Boss Ji told me to leave.]
He didn’t say it was finished—this was a line he wouldn’t cross.
If he sent it now, Lu Jinren would assume this was his normal speed, and deadlines would tighten… as a lazy “fake perfectionist,” Yu Siba wasn’t about to work himself to death.
Lu Jinren: [I told you this is due tomorrow morning. Do it at home.]
Yu Siba: [Computer’s no good.]
Lu Jinren: [Figure it out yourself. Send it before work tomorrow. Don’t keep the client waiting.]
Yu Siba: [Boss Ji said to finish it during the morning meeting.]
Lu Jinren: [Then have Boss Ji talk to me.]
Clearly, he assumed Yu Siba wouldn’t go to the boss himself—probably Qian Chong’s scheming behind the scenes.
Yu Siba didn’t care. He didn’t add Ji Wenze on WeChat to complain, meticulously finished applying protective sheets to the merch, and let Lu Jinren wait a while before replying.
[But finishing will be late.]
Lu Jinren: [I want to see it by 1 AM.]
[Got it.]
Yu Siba went to his computer, placed the protected Execut2 merch beside the screen, admired it for a while, then sent the completed plan via scheduled email.
00:59—timed send.
Stay up all night, old dude.
He playfully teased the new director, snapped photos of the merch, and sent them to Pupu with a cat emoji wearing sunglasses.
Pupu replied almost instantly:
[Where’d you get this? Did you raid the competition??]
Yu Siba typed eagerly:
[Surprise, Founder-san gave it. Here’s how it happened…]
Pupu responded with a flurry of question marks.
[Impossible. Our batch only has one per person. Founder-san already posted theirs on Weibo.]
Yu Siba paused: [Maybe Founder-san asked for an extra one to give as a gift?]
After debating for a while with no conclusion, Pupu said:
[He’s in Shanghai now. Tomorrow’s celebration banquet, ask him in person.]
Yu Siba shrugged and accepted it.
[Don’t be late.] Pupu reminded him.
[Relax. Our group never works overtime on Fridays.] Yu Siba replied.