Xia Wei’s facial features scrunched up together, as if Song Qiao meeting Zhou Ci were a momentous affair. She knew how good her mother was at chatting—her entire family background was probably already thoroughly probed by now.
“Mhm.” Song Qiao walked to the door, paused, and looked back at her. “She asked if I was your girlfriend.”
Xia Wei’s face flushed red instantly, she swallowed hard, and her voice tightened: “What did you say?”
“I said I’m your boss.”
Xia Wei let out a sigh of relief, but before that breath was fully out, Song Qiao added another sentence: “She didn’t seem to quite believe it.”
With that, she pulled open the door and walked out.
Xia Wei sat on the floor pallet, staring at the closed door, the heat on her face taking a long time to subside.
Wait… Song Qiao didn’t seem surprised at all about her liking women.
True, those two from the visual side were so obvious; someone as smart as Song Qiao must have figured it out long ago.
Xia Wei scrambled up, changed her clothes, and walked out of the room.
Song Qiao was standing in the living room, her back to her. Sunlight poured through the window, stretching her shadow long.
She was wearing that slightly oversized T-shirt and athletic shorts, standing barefoot on the wooden floor with her hair draped over her shoulders. She didn’t look like the Director Song who silenced everyone in the conference room; instead, she looked like an ordinary person standing in a friend’s living room on a weekend morning.
“The porridge is in the pot.” Song Qiao didn’t turn around, her voice drifting over from that side, “Your mom said to make sure you drink it while it’s warm.”
Xia Wei walked into the kitchen, lifted the pot lid; the porridge was still warm. She scooped two bowls and placed them on the dining table.
Song Qiao came over as well, sitting opposite her without moving.
“Aren’t you eating?” Xia Wei asked.
“Already ate.”
Xia Wei remembered the amount of porridge her mother had cooked—enough for three or four people. Since Song Qiao said she had eaten, she probably really had.
She lowered her head and took a sip of the porridge. It was cooked down thickly with century egg and lean meat added, which was her favorite flavor.
“Your mom is a very nice person,” Song Qiao suddenly said.
Xia Wei looked up and saw Song Qiao looking out the window with a bland expression, revealing no particular emotion.
“Mhm,” Xia Wei acknowledged, lowering her head to continue eating her porridge.
“She asked if you’re seeing anyone,” Song Qiao said again.
Xia Wei almost choked on the porridge: “Why does she ask everything?”
The corners of Song Qiao’s mouth twitched, though it was unclear whether she was smiling: “She said you suffered a bad breakup before and stayed home for a long time, and she’s very worried.”
Xia Wei’s hand gripping the spoon tightened. She hadn’t expected Zhou Ci to tell Song Qiao these things.
“She told me to look after you more,” Song Qiao said, her tone remaining very flat, “saying that a person like you looks like she doesn’t care about anything, but actually can’t let go of anything in her heart.”
Xia Wei kept her head down, looking at the porridge in her bowl, her throat feeling a bit tight.
“Your mom understands you very well.” Song Qiao stood up, walked over to the balcony, and glanced at the drying clothes. “The clothes are dry.”
She reached out and took down the shirt with a light movement. Sitting at the dining table, Xia Wei watched Song Qiao standing on the balcony with the sunlight striking her body as the white shirt was shaken open and folded by her hands.
“Thank you.” Song Qiao walked over holding the shirt. When she reached the door, she paused without turning back.
“You don’t need to take to heart what your mom said.” Her voice drifted over, lighter than usual, “What kind of person you are is up to you to define.”
The door closed.
Xia Wei sat at the dining table, staring at the closed door with her spoon suspended in mid-air, motionless for a long time.
She looked down at the porridge in her bowl; it had already cooled.
Yet she felt as though something inside her heart was warm.
Song Qiao left a step ahead of her.
Xia Wei went into her room to tidy up. The T-shirt and shorts Song Qiao had worn were neatly placed on the bedside. She raised a hand to slap her own forehead—if not for those clothes, she would have thought last night was a dream.
She had brought her intoxicated boss home and even let her sleep in her bed.
Song Qiao returned to her showflat-like apartment, showered, put on makeup, changed clothes, and drove to work, reverting to her usual stern and aloof Director Song persona, as if last night’s accident had never happened.
Xia Wei picked up her coffee at the coffee shop as usual, and upon coming out, happened to see Song Qiao’s car drive past her and enter the underground parking garage.
The person in the driver’s seat had a calm expression, eyes fixed ahead, and didn’t notice the person standing by the roadside.
Xia Wei lined up to wait for the elevator as messages continuously flooded into her phone from Fang Tian’s bombardment.
Fang Tian: How is it, how is it? Did the female devil wake up? What was her reaction?
Fang Tian: Speak up?
Fang Tian: Hello, are you there?
Fang Tian: You aren’t skipping work today, are you?
Fang Tian: Hey, talk to me, you black-hearted wretch, my gossip soul has floated over to smack you.
…
Xia Wei: Waiting for the elevator. She ran into my mom this morning.
Fang Tian: Oh, my lord. And then?
Remembering the look Song Qiao gave her when looking back at her bedroom door, Xia Wei typed a few words on her phone and sent them.
Xia Wei: My mom asked her if she’s my girlfriend.
Fang Tian: Auntie is this fierce? How did she reply?
Xia Wei followed the crowd forward, lowering her head to reply: She said no, that she’s my boss, but my mom didn’t believe it.
Thinking for a moment, she typed a few more words: Good thing too, my mom probably won’t make me go on blind dates anymore.
Fang Tian: Auntie already said the other person is a pretty big sister, you could check it out just in case it works out…
Xia Wei: No time.
Putting away her phone, the elevator doors opened.
She was first in line, and the moment she looked up, a familiar figure was standing in the corner of the elevator. The instant their eyes met, just as Xia Wei was about to greet her, the other person looked away first.
Xia Wei’s smile faltered on her face for a second. Without overthinking it, she followed the crowd inside.
Packed shoulder-to-shoulder, she got squeezed next to Song Qiao again, though this time she was facing away from her.
The elevator ascended all the way while people conversed in low voices or scrolled through their phones.
Xia Wei could sense that close distance behind her, could smell that faint cedar scent, and almost felt that gaze resting on the back of her head—though she wasn’t sure, maybe the other person wasn’t looking at her at all.
People trickled out of the elevator as the space gradually became roomier. Xia Wei stood in place without moving, her fingers clutching her phone, hesitating whether to turn around and say hello.
Not saying hello felt too deliberate, while saying hello made it look like she was deliberately trying to grab attention.
Biting her lip, she decided to pretend she hadn’t seen anything, casually taking a small step forward to walk right out once the elevator arrived.
Xia Wei felt there was no sound behind her whatsoever—even the breathing was so quiet it couldn’t be heard. Had she not known beforehand that Song Qiao was right behind her, she would have thought there was nobody there at all.
When the elevator reached the PR and Production Department’s floor, Xia Wei stepped out, casting a sidelong glance back at the corner of the elevator—Song Qiao was looking down at her phone with the screen light reflecting on her face; her expression was hard to make out, but her posture clearly communicated: I didn’t notice you.
Xia Wei withdrew her gaze and briskly walked toward the PR and Production Department.
Xie Xiaoqing was already there, pouring soy milk into a cup. Seeing Xia Wei walk in, she raised an eyebrow: “Morning, Xiaowei. You’ve got great color today.”
“Morning.” Xia Wei put down her bag, opened her computer, and her gaze inevitably drifted toward the Director’s office.
The door was closed, and nobody was inside yet.
“Stop looking, Director Song went to the Business Department.” Xie Xiaoqing took a sip of soy milk, her tone as casual as if discussing today’s weather.
Xia Wei froze: “I wasn’t looking.”
So it wasn’t that she deliberately avoided taking the elevator with her; she had gone to the Business Department instead.
Xie Xiaoqing chuckled without calling her out.
The door to Song Qiao’s office remained locked, so she had no way to deliver coffee inside.
Finally, after Xia Wei looked toward the entrance for the umpteenth time, Song Qiao’s figure appeared.
“Director Song, your coffee.” Xia Wei wiped the water drops off the cup walls and handed it over.
“Thank you.” Song Qiao took it and, just like usual, carried the coffee into her office.
All morning, Song Qiao didn’t call for Xia Wei.
Today’s chat window was completely quiet, with the last message still being last night’s “Mhm.” Xia Wei refreshed it twice to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.
Xie Xiaoqing went to deliver a file, and when she returned, her expression was somewhat subtle.
“What’s wrong?” Xia Wei asked.
“Nothing much.” Xie Xiaoqing sat down and hesitated. “Director Song seems… a bit different today. I said three sentences to her, and she only replied with one word.”
Xia Wei didn’t respond.
The image of Song Qiao curled up on her bed surfaced in her mind—her eyelashes trembling slightly as she drank water through a straw, her standing on the balcony shaking out a shirt with the sunlight striking her body.
Those images overlapped with the current cold Director Song, giving her an indescribable sense of incongruity.
At lunchtime, Xia Wei and Xie Xiaoqing sat in the downstairs restaurant.
Picking up a piece of food with her chopsticks, Xia Wei casually asked, “Is Director Song in a bad mood today?”
Xie Xiaoqing pondered: “Doesn’t look like a bad mood. During the meeting, whatever needed to be said or asked was fully covered, and her tone was normal. It’s just… how should I put it, she feels like she extra doesn’t want any extra communication with people today.”
“Extra communication?”
“Just that strictly business vibe—finished speaking and it’s over, not taking an extra look or saying an extra word.” Xie Xiaoqing took a sip of soup. “Normally she’d at least ask ‘how’s the progress going?’, but today she directly said ‘send me the progress’. Two words missing.”
Xia Wei was taken aback.
She hadn’t expected Xie Xiaoqing to notice even that.
“You observe Director Song quite closely,” Xia Wei noted.
Xie Xiaoqing glanced at her and laughed: “Oh, working here long enough makes reading people part of basic professional literacy.”
Xia Wei smiled slightly. Perhaps Xie Xiaoqing would be more suited for the butler role in a romance novel who says, “President hasn’t smiled like that in a long time.”
At two in the afternoon, Song Qiao finally sent a message over:
Song Qiao: Redo a version of the Starlight Project budget table, calculate the price difference for the KOL alternatives.
Followed closely by another line: Give it to me before off-work.
Xia Wei stared at these lines for a few seconds and replied with a “Got it.” Song Qiao’s messages looked no different from usual, but whether due to Song Qiao looking away this morning or not, this ordinary sentence felt filled with an indifferent tone when it reached her eyes.
Song Qiao was avoiding her; she wasn’t sure if she was overthinking it.
While working on the budget table, Xia Wei found a few data points that didn’t match up and needed confirmation from Lin Yuan.
She got up and walked toward Lin Yuan’s desk. Passing by Song Qiao’s office, the door was open. Song Qiao sat at her desk with her laptop open, fingers tapping away at the keyboard. The moment Xia Wei passed by, Song Qiao’s gaze lifted—just a fleeting second, so brief that had Xia Wei not been looking at that exact moment, she wouldn’t have noticed at all.
Then that gaze shifted away, returning to the screen.
Xia Wei walked over and tapped Lin Yuan’s desk. Lin Yuan looked up, and she asked about the data. Lin Yuan pulled out the original files for her to see. As she lowered her head to take notes, her peripheral vision swept toward Song Qiao’s office—the door was still open, but the person inside hadn’t come out.