Spring weather is always fickle.
It wasn’t raining when Xia Wei left the house, but as soon as she stepped out of the subway station, the sky looked like it had been punched with a hole, and the rain poured down as if it were free.
Xia Wei bought a transparent umbrella at the subway exit and pressed forward against the wind and rain when suddenly, a familiar car appeared at the intersection.
“Get in.” Song Qiao’s voice came from inside the car, her tone flat, making it impossible to tell whether she was passing by on purpose or just happened to be there.
Xia Wei didn’t dare to delay, pulling open the car door and getting in. By the time she reacted, the floor mat of the front passenger seat was already covered in water stains.
She glanced somewhat guiltily at Song Qiao. Song Qiao wore no particular expression, her eyes staring straight ahead as if the presence or absence of someone in the front passenger seat had nothing to do with her.
The car drove into the building’s basement parking garage and parked in a stall. The two of them unbuckled their seatbelts and pushed open their doors to get out almost simultaneously, with a coordination as if they had done it countless times.
“Coffee.”
Just as Xia Wei prepared to follow Song Qiao upstairs, she heard Song Qiao say another word. Having been completely thrown off by the sudden heavy rain, Xia Wei had long forgotten about preparing coffee for Song Qiao. Her footsteps paused, and just as she was about to say she would go buy some right now…
“Never mind, I’ll go down and buy some later.” Song Qiao changed her mind, a trace of imperceptible irritation in her voice.
Remembering the “rules and strange talks” stating that Song Qiao disliked rainy days, Xia Wei secretly rejoiced that she wouldn’t have to go out in the rain, while simultaneously wondering why Song Qiao hated rainy days—was it a pure dislike, or was there a story behind it?
As soon as they reached the first floor and the elevator doors opened, the people waiting outside swarmed in.
Xia Wei and Song Qiao were squeezed into a corner. Xia Wei propped her hand against the elevator wall to avoid the awkwardness of pressing her entire body against Song Qiao.
Song Qiao watched those unruly strands of hair behind Xia Wei’s ear, leaning back slightly, though she didn’t lean against the elevator wall either—she would never lean against any surface she deemed unclean.
Xia Wei didn’t even know where to look with her eyes.
Who asked her to turn around when making space earlier? Now she was facing Song Qiao directly. They were close enough to smell the faint cedar scent on her, close enough to see a small patch on her shirt collar soaked through by rainwater.
Noticing that Xia Wei’s eyeballs kept rolling around, Song Qiao simply closed her eyes.
Finally… Xia Wei let out a sigh of relief. The distance between her and Song Qiao right now was close enough to count how many eyelashes she had.
One, two, three—she counted silently in her mind, purely because her eyes literally had nowhere else to go.
As the elevator kept ascending and people exited one after another, the space gradually grew more spacious.
“Are they pretty?”
Song Qiao opened her eyes and looked at Xia Wei as she spoke.
Xia Wei abruptly stepped back, her back facing Song Qiao, but quickly turned back around, standing sideways to Song Qiao with her knuckles gripping her backpack strap turning white.
What could be more socially agonizing than being caught red-handed while secretly counting someone’s eyelashes? Xia Wei felt her ears burning; she knew they were red without needing a mirror.
Song Qiao stared at Xia Wei’s profile for two seconds, withdrew her gaze, and lightly pinched the pad of her index finger with her thumb.
The elevator doors opened, and Xia Wei strode out as if fleeing for her life. Song Qiao walked unhurriedly behind her, watching her clock in and walk inside.
When Xie Xiaoqing arrived, seeing Song Qiao looking completely dry and refreshed, she asked curiously, “Xiaowei, didn’t it rain when you came in?”
“Oh… no, right as I came out of the subway exit I ran into Director Song, and she brought me over.” Xia Wei didn’t hide it.
Upon hearing this, Xie Xiaoqing looked at Xia Wei as if looking at a rare sight.
“What’s wrong? Is my makeup ruined?” Xia Wei took out her phone to check.
Xie Xiaoqing had already started thanking the ceiling: “Thank goodness, you should be able to stay now.”
“Huh…?” Xia Wei looked at Xie Xiaoqing’s mystical demeanor, wanting to ask something yet not knowing how.
Xie Xiaoqing didn’t continue her divinations, though before returning to her own workstation, she didn’t forget to remind Xia Wei: “Remember Director Song’s coffee.”
Xia Wei nodded, picked up her phone, and headed toward the elevator bay.
As the wind blew down the corridor, she instinctively shivered. Did Song Qiao really want an iced Americano in weather this cold?
Thinking of this, Xia Wei tapped her phone a couple of times, looked at the generated pickup code, and let out a long sigh of relief.
She was the only one in the elevator going downstairs.
The rain outside was still falling, though much lighter now—not enough to make her look like a drowned rat, but not much better either. Xia Wei held her umbrella and walked along the wall.
The coffee shop didn’t have many people this morning. She didn’t wait long before carrying two cups of coffee back toward the building.
It was already past nine o’clock, and there weren’t many people downstairs either. Just as the elevator doors were about to close, Xia Wei saw two people running over hand-in-hand, reaching out to block the door.
“Thank you.” Both of them were carrying heavy computer bags.
Xia Wei nodded and stepped back into the corner to stand properly.
She recognized these two; she had seen them in the office yesterday, but they obviously didn’t recognize her—or rather, they didn’t notice her standing in the elevator at all, completely immersed in their own world.
“It’s all that female devil’s fault, insisting on seeing the new poster by last night as if she wouldn’t live to see today, and then we almost ended up late again.” One girl with a high ponytail couldn’t help complaining.
The other girl wearing glasses hurriedly tugged at her sleeve, signaling with her eyes to look at the lit-up elevator button, which happened to be the floor for the PR and Production Department.
The elevator instantly quieted down, and the high ponytail secretly sized up Xia Wei.
Seeing the other party looking over, Xia Wei also raised her eyes to look back without dodging her gaze, causing the girl to guiltily look away.
“Ding…”
The elevator arrived.
Seeing that the two hadn’t moved, Xia Wei strode out of the elevator directly. Perhaps because her hearing was too sharp, the voices of those two behind her drifted back into her ears.
“Look at you, can’t you keep your mouth shut just in case it reaches the female devil’s ears?”
“I’m scared of her? She’s someone whose very own assistant was bought off by someone else; if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t have wanted to work here ages ago.”
Xia Wei’s footsteps faltered.
She accurately caught the four words “assistant” and “bought off.” Combining this with the cryptic remarks between Sister Ming and Song Qiao last night, she boldly guessed—the departure of the previous predecessor might not have been very honorable.
She placed her umbrella in the umbrella rack outside the PR and Production Department and walked in carrying the coffee.
Song Qiao’s office door was open.
Xia Wei knocked lightly. Song Qiao glanced up, and seeing it was Xia Wei, went back to looking at her computer screen.
“Director Song, your coffee…” Xia Wei walked up, reached her hand into the bag, and hesitated, “Do you want it hot, or iced?”
Song Qiao’s gaze finally moved away from the screen, landing on the bag in Xia Wei’s hand, and then looking at her—a few strands of her hair were still damp, plastered against her cheeks, and water stains were splashed on her shoes.
“I don’t drink traditional Chinese medicine, thank you.”
When she said this, her eyelids didn’t even lift, her tone sounding like she was rejecting a bitter medicine handed to her face, full of righteous disdain.
Xia Wei desperately suppressed the urge to laugh, silently putting down the iced Americano and remembering to adjust the angle so that the cup opening faced Song Qiao’s direction, pushing it slightly inward.
Out of the corner of her eye, Song Qiao caught sight of the cup opening’s direction. She looked up wanting to say something, right as she met Xia Wei’s lowered face with her lips pressed together, suppressing her laughter so hard her features were slightly distorted, prompting her to frown slightly…
“Thank you, go get to work.” Song Qiao ultimately didn’t say anything else, lowering her head to look at the screen again. Her tone was flat, but that “thank you” carried a tiny bit more warmth than the “get in” from this morning.
Xia Wei backed out, standing in the corner of the corridor. Recalling Song Qiao’s straight-faced delivery of “hot Americano is traditional Chinese medicine,” she finally couldn’t hold it in and laughed out loud.
“What good thing are you thinking about? You’re even laughing out loud.” Xie Xiaoqing happened to be coming back from the pantry.
Xia Wei reined in her smile: “Sister Xiaoqing, do you drink hot Americanos?”
“I do.” Xie Xiaoqing motioned for Xia Wei to look; her own mug currently held a hot Americano.
Xia Wei lowered her head and chuckled: “Sister Xiaoqing, how does it taste?”
“Pretty good.” Xie Xiaoqing didn’t know what Xia Wei was laughing at, but answered anyway.
“Cough… doesn’t it feel like drinking traditional Chinese medicine?” Xia Wei asked.
Xie Xiaoqing froze for a second, then burst out laughing alongside her, instinctively glancing toward Song Qiao’s office direction—that certainly sounded like a deadpan joke Song Qiao would make.
The two were chatting too intently, completely unaware that the surrounding atmosphere had frozen long ago.
“Everyone to Meeting Room Three for a meeting.”
Holding a computer in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, Song Qiao stood at her office doorway, sweeping a glance at Xia Wei out of the corner of her eye.
Just as Xia Wei let out a breath of relief, Song Qiao added: “Three minutes.”
Without another word, Song Qiao headed straight for Meeting Room Three. Her pace was unhurried, but that retreating figure carried an inherent aura of “if you’re late, you figure it out.”
Xia Wei was still dazed when the surrounding activity ramped up—closing laptops, grabbing notebooks, picking up mugs; everyone was moving.
“Don’t just stand there, do you really think there are three minutes?” Seeing Xia Wei still in a daze, Xie Xiaoqing grabbed her arm and pulled her outside.
Meeting Room Three was closest to the PR and Production Department, essentially monopolized by them.
After Song Qiao took her seat, opened her laptop, set down her coffee, and connected the projector, everyone in the PR and Production department found their spots and opened their laptops with a synchronized precision that looked rehearsed.
Sitting in the corner, Xia Wei checked the time, then looked at the fully assembled meeting room, suddenly realizing something—Song Qiao’s “three minutes” was never three minutes.
That was her rule.
And everyone in this department had already learned to survive under that rule.
Song Qiao’s gaze swept across the meeting room; everyone was present.
Her fingertips tapped lightly on the keyboard, and the projection on the computer screen lit up, showing the Starlight Project schedule on the first page. Tasks marked in red accounted for nearly half, looking from a distance like a patch of early warning signals.
“Let’s go over the KOLs first.” Song Qiao’s voice wasn’t loud, but everyone in the meeting room heard it clearly. “Lin Yuan.”
Lin Yuan stood up, clicked the remote control, and switched to the page displaying the KOL communication matrix. Xia Wei noticed his hand was shaking slightly, unsure whether it was from nervousness or staying up too late last night.
“Twelve KOLs, nine have already confirmed their timeline cooperation, three—” Lin Yuan paused, “three are still in talks.”
“What are they still talking about?” Song Qiao opened her notebook, her tone sounding like she was asking what was for lunch today.
“The opposing talent agencies are requesting an increase in secondary distribution authorization fees, with an increase of about thirty percent over the original contract.”
The meeting room fell silent for an instant. Thirty percent was not a small sum; this increase was enough to make the KOL budget for the entire project overrun.
Song Qiao didn’t speak, tapping her fingers lightly twice on her notebook.
Sitting in the corner, Xia Wei watched Song Qiao’s profile, trying to glean some emotional tendency from her expression, only to find the usual blank expression.
“What about the backup plan?” Song Qiao asked.
“There are three backup candidates; their influence is slightly lower, but their cooperation is better, and the price is also…” Lin Yuan hesitated, “fifteen percent lower than the original proposal.”
“Then what are you hesitating about?”
Lin Yuan opened his mouth, saying nothing.
Song Qiao raised her eyes to look at him. That gaze wasn’t harsh, but it was enough to make Lin Yuan swallow back the words he originally wanted to say.
“I understand, I’ll go contact the backups right away.” Lin Yuan sat down and wrote a line in his notebook, pressing his pen tip so hard it almost tore through the paper.
“What about the visual design side? Why didn’t I receive the new version of the poster last night?” Song Qiao flipped a page in her notebook.
A girl wearing glasses stood up, her voice somewhat strained: “The revision feedback was received, the design team is currently revising it, and the third version can be out before tonight.”
“Tonight.” Song Qiao repeated the word as if tasting its flavor.
The atmosphere in the meeting room grew heavy once more.
The bold ones looked openly, the timid ones looked out of the corner of their eyes; in short, everyone focused their attention on the bespectacled girl.
Xia Wei recognized her—she had seen her in the elevator just earlier. So despite staying up all night, she still hadn’t delivered the new poster.
The girl bit her lip: “We worked overtime all night yesterday and finished half of it…” trying to explain.
“Fine.” Song Qiao closed her notebook. “Before noon today, send the new version to my inbox.”
The words were spoken flatly, but everyone understood the subtext behind them—if you can’t hand it in, you’re dead meat.
Xia Wei lowered her head to take notes furiously, casting a sideways glance at the expressions of others in the meeting room. Some were expressionless, some secretly breathed a sigh of relief, and some lowered their heads pretending to look at their computers.
She noticed Xie Xiaoqing’s expression was a bit subtle, as if she were thinking about something.
“Is there anything else?” Song Qiao swept her gaze around.
No one spoke.
“Then meeting dismissed.”
Almost simultaneously, everyone began packing up their things with movements as synchronized as if fast-forwarded. Xia Wei was still lowering her head to write the last few words when people around her stood up and walked out.
“Xia Wei.”
She looked up; Song Qiao was looking right at her.
“When you send me the meeting minutes, list the KOL and visual design modules separately, and mark the timeline nodes.”
“Okay.”
Song Qiao picked up her laptop. The sound of her high heels striking the floor was unhurried. The remaining people in the meeting room waited until that sound faded away before resuming normal breathing.
“Every time a meeting ends it feels like running an 800-meter race,” someone muttered softly.
Xia Wei packed up her notebook and was about to walk out when Xie Xiaoqing sidled over from the side, lowering her voice: “Did you notice just now?”
“What?”
“Director Song didn’t look at her phone a single time during the entire meeting today.” Xie Xiaoqing’s expression looked like she was sharing a major discovery.
Xia Wei was stunned. She really hadn’t noticed that detail.
“She usually looks at her phone during meetings, replying to messages and stuff. Today she didn’t look at it once,” Xie Xiaoqing said. “This means she takes today’s meeting extremely seriously, or…”
“Or what?”
“Or she’s in a bad mood today and doesn’t want to be disturbed by her phone.” Xie Xiaoqing shrugged. “Anyway, whichever it is, you’d better be careful today.”
Xia Wei felt Xie Xiaoqing had been poisoned by domineering-CEO romance novels—Song Qiao was just holding a serious meeting. She smiled at Xie Xiaoqing without speaking.
Returning to her workstation, Xia Wei opened her computer and began organizing the meeting minutes.
When writing the KOL section, she paused, recalling how Lin Yuan had obediently shut his mouth just from being looked at by Song Qiao.
She suddenly grew a bit curious about what Lin Yuan was hesitating about regarding that backup plan.
Just as she was thinking this, the internal communication software blinked.
Lin Yuan: Xiaowei, I’ve sent the communication logs for the KOL side to your email. Please organize them and put them as an attachment to the meeting minutes.
Xia Wei replied with an “Okay,” opened her email, and downloaded the attachment.
It was a detailed communication log table, with communication times, replies, and current status noted behind each KOL’s name.
She glanced at the three stuck KOLs, then looked at the data for the three backup candidates.
The prices for the backups were indeed lower, but their influence data was also a tier lower.
Lin Yuan was probably agonizing over this—switching to backups meant bad data; not switching meant a budget overrun.
Xia Wei attached the table to the meeting minutes, pulled out the KOL and visual modules separately, marked the timeline nodes, and after confirming everything was correct, clicked send.
Leaning back in her chair and staring at the words “Sent” on the screen, her nerves relaxed.
Unconsciously, the sentence she overheard in the elevator this morning echoed in her mind—”She’s someone whose very own assistant was bought off by someone else”.
Who had bought off the previous assistant?
She was trying to piece clues together in her head, but she knew too little, and everything was what others had told her, leaving her with no way to start. Her phone vibrated.
Fang Tian: How does work feel today? Still thinking about quitting?
Xia Wei glanced toward the director’s office; the door was closed, making it impossible to see inside.
Xia Wei: Still hanging in there.
Fang Tian: For the action figure!
The corners of Xia Wei’s mouth curved. Without replying, she flipped her phone face down on the desk, looked up at Song Qiao’s office, and continued her work.
At lunchtime, Xie Xiaoqing invited her to eat together, and Xia Wei readily agreed. When leaving, she saw the two people from the elevator this morning still busy in front of their computers.
During lunch, Xia Wei pretended to casually bring up: “Does the client have very high demands for the poster?”
“Starting to think Director Song is being a bit nitpicky?” Xie Xiaoqing swallowed her food and asked softly.
Xia Wei didn’t speak, looking at Xie Xiaoqing and waiting for what she would say next.
“This is already the third revision. Who knows what those two are thinking; instead of passing the second version through Director Song, they sent it directly to the client. You can imagine the result.” Xie Xiaoqing sighed after finishing.
Xia Wei frowned slightly—didn’t Song Qiao blow up?
“Uh… are you super curious why they dared to do that?” Noticing Xia Wei’s expression, Xie Xiaoqing suddenly leaned in mysteriously and lowered her voice.
Xia Wei squinted and nodded. She was indeed very curious. Logically speaking, Song Qiao’s aura was so strong, and everyone in the PR and Production department was so afraid of her, how could anyone dare bypass her and go straight to the client? Wasn’t that slapping Song Qiao in the face?
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Xie Xiaoqing sat back down, putting on a coy posture.
“Were they bought off by someone?” Xia Wei deliberately used the word “bought off.”
Sure enough, a trace of gravity flashed across Xie Xiaoqing’s face. Xia Wei pretended not to see it and took another mouthful of rice.
“Did you hear something?” Xie Xiaoqing leaned in closer, glancing around the restaurant to make sure no one from the company was nearby before lowering her voice to ask.
Xia Wei shook her head: “No.”
“Then how do you know they were bought off?” Xie Xiaoqing’s face was plastered with curiosity.
Xia Wei looked up and replied softly: “Guessed.”
“Well, your guess is pretty accurate.” Xie Xiaoqing muttered, though she still had no intention of telling Xia Wei the whole story.
During the lunch break, Xia Wei didn’t stay downstairs but followed Xie Xiaoqing back to their workstations. The two visual designers weren’t at their desks, likely off eating.
Song Qiao’s office door was open, and the faint sound of a phone call came from inside.
So… had Song Qiao eaten?
Holding her phone, Xia Wei felt a wave of restlessness—should she go downstairs and buy her something to bring up?
“Knock knock…”
“Come in.”
“Director Song, your lunch.” Xia Wei presented the takeout box with both hands, standing before Song Qiao’s desk.
The sound of typing stopped, and the office fell into an eerie silence.
Xia Wei felt these few seconds were extremely long—so long that she wished she could go back to before she knocked, though she still bit the bullet, placed the lunch box on Song Qiao’s desk, and pushed it forward slightly.
“This doesn’t have much smell after eating.” Xia Wei worried Song Qiao would feel the meal she ordered was too pungent.
Song Qiao lowered her gaze to look at the meal box, then raised her eyes to look at Xia Wei, her lips parting: “Thank you.”
“Eat slowly, I’ll head out first.” Without waiting for Song Qiao to reply, Xia Wei bolted out as if chased by a ghost, making sure to pull the door shut behind her.
Song Qiao stared in a daze at the lunch box, a trace of inquiry flashing in her eyes before she finally pulled the lunch box in front of her.
As soon as Xia Wei stepped out of Song Qiao’s office, she saw Xie Xiaoqing looking at her with a face full of gossip-fueled smiles.
“How was it? Did you get thrown in the trash can?” Xie Xiaoqing asked.
Xia Wei shook her head: “I don’t know, I just put it down and came right out.”
Xie Xiaoqing glanced at the tightly shut office door, said nothing more, and returned to her workstation to rest.
Xia Wei also leaned back in her chair, replying to Fang Tian’s message: I might not stay long.
Fang Tian replied quickly: What’s wrong?
Xia Wei: There’s internal conflict.
Fang Tian: Has nothing to do with you, just hang in there and work.
Xia Wei didn’t reply further, placed her phone face down, stretched, and got up to get water from the pantry.
The moment the water flowed into her cup, a “rules and strange talks” entry instantly popped into her mind—The white ceramic mug.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings like a high-speed radar, failing to find the white ceramic mug.
“If she doesn’t let people touch it, how does she know the steps after washing the cup…” Xia Wei muttered, perhaps getting too focused, as the water in her cup overflowed.
She hurriedly turned off the water, secretly glad that the water she had drawn was room temperature, pulled a paper towel to wipe her hands, and prepared to leave.
Lifting her gaze, she saw Song Qiao holding that white ceramic mug, standing right at the doorway of the pantry.
“Cough… Director Song came to get water too.” Xia Wei smiled awkwardly, unsure if the other person had heard her muttering just now.
“Mm.” Song Qiao nodded slightly and walked inside.
Xia Wei stepped aside. As Song Qiao passed her, that faint scent, resembling fabric softener, drifted into her nostrils once more. Not daring to linger, Xia Wei quickly hurried away.
Song Qiao looked back at Xia Wei’s retreating figure, then looked down at the cup in her hand, washed it clean beneath the faucet, scalded it once with boiling water, and finally filled a cup of warm water to take back.
In the afternoon, Xia Wei looked over the Starlight Project materials at her workstation to catch up with the rhythm.
She began organizing the feedback records for the visual design revisions.
Opening the shared drive, she found the Starlight Project main visual folder, which contained three versions—V1, V2, and a folder named “Final Version.”
Opening the “Final Version,” it contained only a single poster draft with the modification date marked as last week.
In other words, from the time Song Qiao gave the second round of revision feedback until now, a full week had passed, and Chen Min and Zhou Yao had only produced a single draft.
Aside from the sound of typing, the office area only had the humming sound of the air conditioning vents. It was very quiet—quiet enough for Xia Wei to feel this was the precursor to a storm.
Sure enough, when Xia Wei tilted her head to stretch her stiff neck, Song Qiao came out.
“You two, come in with me.” Song Qiao was speaking to the two visual designers, yet Xia Wei could clearly sense everyone in the entire office area holding their breath.
Everyone watched the two visual designers walk into the office; Xia Wei could see their shoulders were tensed.
The door wasn’t closed tightly, leaving a crack. Xia Wei couldn’t tell if Song Qiao had forgotten to close it or left it open on purpose. Only a few people remained in the office area, the sound of typing sparse and scattered, with no one speaking.
She lowered her head, pretending to look at her screen while pricking up her ears.
The office inside was very quiet.
No slamming tables, no loud scolding, and she couldn’t even clearly hear what Song Qiao was saying. That kind of quiet was more unsettling than an argument—an argument at least meant there was still room for maneuver, whereas this kind of quiet felt like waiting for a verdict whose outcome was already sealed.
Xia Wei secretly raised her eyes, looking in through that door crack. She could only see Song Qiao’s silhouette—sitting in a chair with her back to the door, her posture very relaxed, one hand resting on the desk while her fingers tapped lightly against the surface.
The rhythm was very slow—so slow it made people feel she was deliberately dragging something out.
Xia Wei prepared to check Song Qiao’s expression. As her gaze shifted upward—she met Song Qiao’s eyes.