After the final draft of the Jinglan project was submitted, Xia Ran assumed the matter was settled.
Construction drawing detailing, on-site coordination, material selection—these follow-up tasks were tedious, but they didn’t require her to run over to Fu Corporation every day. Emails, phone calls, sending Zhao Min over—all of those worked fine. She had even already planned out her week: the library project drawings were due, and there was a residential project waiting on a proposal. That was enough to keep her busy for a while.
That afternoon, Fang Yuanzhou knocked on the partition of her cubicle. “Xia Ran, come to my office for a moment.”
Fang Yuanzhou sat behind his desk, a document spread out in front of him, his expression carrying that calm, businesslike neutrality. But Xia Ran noticed his fingers tapping lightly on the desk twice—he was figuring out how to broach the subject.
“Fu Corporation sent over a notice.” Fang Yuanzhou pushed the document toward her.
“The Jinglan project has entered the construction drawing detailing and on-site coordination phase. Fu Corporation’s design department made a request—they want the lead designer to work on-site, with an initial period of one month.”
Xia Ran looked at the document.
It read: “Given the complexity of the project and the need for frequent communication during the design development process, we recommend that your firm’s lead designer, Ms. Xia Ran, work on-site at our design department, Monday through Friday, from 9:00 AM to 6:00 PM. Fu Corporation will provide a dedicated workstation and office equipment.” The wording was professional, official—every word was standard client language.
“Director Fang, I can coordinate remotely on this project. Emails, video conferences, going to the site once a week—there’s no need for me to be stationed there.”
Fang Yuanzhou looked at her and paused for a moment. “I communicated with Fu Corporation. They said remote coordination is too inefficient—the last project had delays precisely because communication wasn’t timely. That reasoning holds up; I have no way to refuse it.”
Xia Ran lowered her head, looking at the document. Fu Corporation’s justification was solid—solid enough that no business person could argue against it. She knew this wasn’t the design department’s idea. Shen Che had drafted it, and Fu Sinian had signed off on it.
“I understand.” Xia Ran pushed the document back. “When do I start?”
“Tomorrow.”
The next morning, Xia Ran arrived at Fu Corporation fifteen minutes earlier than the agreed time.
Shen Che was waiting in the lobby on the first floor, holding an access card and a temporary entry agreement.
“Miss Xia, the design department is on the nineteenth floor. Your workstation is ready.” Xia Ran took the access card, signed the agreement, and followed Shen Che into the elevator.
Nineteenth floor. The elevator doors opened. The design department’s layout was similar to the twentieth floor—an open work area, a few conference rooms, and private offices toward the back. Shen Che led her through the work area to a spot by the window. On the desk sat a monitor, a set of drafting tools, and a pot of pothos. Xia Ran looked at the pothos and paused for a moment.
“President Fu had it placed there,” He Xu said. “He said a designer’s desk should have some greenery.”
Xia Ran didn’t say anything. She set down her bag and sat. After He Xu left, the design department staff trickled in one by one.
Zhang Li, the design department director, came over to greet her. “Xia Ran, if you need anything, just tell me directly. President Fu has made it clear—your work is the Jinglan project’s construction drawing detailing and on-site coordination. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”
Xia Ran nodded. “Thank you, Director Zhang.” After Zhang Li left, she opened the drawings and started drafting.
The morning passed quickly. Zhang Li briefed her on the project status, Xiao Lin, the assistant designer, helped her get familiar with Fu Corporation’s internal systems, and Sister Zhou took her to the materials room on the sixteenth floor to review samples.
Xia Ran quickly got into the zone, opening CAD and starting on the construction drawings.
At noon, Xiao Lin came over to invite her to lunch. “Sister Xia Ran, the cafeteria is on B1. Want to go together?”
During lunch, Zhao Min texted her: “How’s Fu Corporation? Is the desk big? Is the internet fast? Is the food good?”
Xia Ran replied with one word: “Busy.”
Zhao Min responded with a pouting emoji.
At two in the afternoon, Xia Ran was revising an elevation drawing. After pulling the last line with her mouse, she leaned back in her chair and took a sip of the coffee that had already gone cold.
Bitter. Even more bitter when cold. She set the cup down and prepared to start on the next drawing.
“Designer Xia.”
She looked up. Shen Che stood beside her workstation, holding no folder, no notebook—he’d come empty-handed.
“President Fu would like you to go to his office.” Shen Che’s voice was low, and the colleagues nearby didn’t hear.
Her hand on the mouse tightened slightly. “What for?”
“I’m not sure. President Fu only said to ask you to come up.”
“Alright. I’ll head up now.”
Shen Che nodded and turned to leave.
Twentieth floor. The elevator doors opened. The corridor was quiet. She walked over, stood before the door, took a deep breath, and raised her hand to knock.
“Come in.”
She pushed the door open. Fu Sinian sat behind his desk, the computer screen glowing in front of him. He was reading something and looked up at the sound of the door. Today he wore a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, no tie. The afternoon sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on him and bathing him in a warm golden glow.
His gaze traveled from her face to her sweater, from her sweater to the phone clutched in her hand, then back to her face. His eyes lingered briefly on her lips—that muted rose lipstick, a shade she didn’t usually wear.
“Close the door.”
Xia Ran turned and closed the door.
“President Fu, what did you need me for?”
Fu Sinian walked over and sat on the sofa, his tone flat. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you, President Fu.” Xia Ran sat down.
“Are you settling in well here?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Your secondment to Fu Group is tentatively set for one month. If there are any issues, feel free to raise them,” Fu Sinian said.
“Understood, President Fu.” Xia Ran nodded.
Hearing her businesslike attitude, Fu Sinian’s temples throbbed with irritation.
From the moment she walked in, it had been nothing but “President Fu.”
Xia Ran, you’re something else.
Just then, Xia Ran spoke, her voice cool and clear: “President Fu, what did you call me in for?”
“Where you live—how far is it from here?” he asked.
Xia Ran paused. “Forty minutes by subway.”
“Over two hours of commuting every day—that’s too much wasted time.” Fu Sinian’s voice was even, as if discussing a routine matter. “The project period is only one month. Time spent on the road is better used on the project. I have an apartment near the office—it’s empty. Move in there.”
Xia Ran looked at him. His expression betrayed nothing, his tone the standard voice of a client.
“President Fu, my place is a bit farther, but I can get up earlier. I can review drawings on the subway—it won’t affect my work.”
“Having you stay nearby is mainly for the project timeline.”
His tone remained steady, deliberately suppressing the softness that had crept into his eyes moments before, transforming back into the composed President Fu who always had everything under control.
“The Jinglan project has tight milestones. The construction drawing detailing requires constant back-and-forth coordination and revisions every day. Commuting drains energy and risks delays. Arranging nearby accommodation is standard practice for on-site personnel—if it were anyone else, I’d handle it the same way.”
“Understood, President Fu. I’ll move within the next few days.” Xia Ran nodded in acknowledgment.
A few seconds of silence passed. He set aside his stray thoughts and gave a slight nod. “Good. If you need extra hands for the move, or any help at all, just tell He Xu directly. Don’t be polite.”
“Thank you, President Fu.” Xia Ran inclined her head slightly, said nothing more, and rose to leave.
Her wrist was gently caught.
Fu Sinian stood up from the sofa and walked over to her.
He looked at her, his tone casual: “One more thing.”
He paused, his gaze settling on her face, and spoke clearly, word by word: “Add my contact and WeChat back.”
Anticipating she might overthink it, he added a reasonable justification, still maintaining the superior-subordinate boundary: “For the month of on-site work, there will be frequent communication about drawings, revisions, and ad-hoc matters.”
Xia Ran looked up at him, simply nodding along: “I understand.”
“I’ll send the friend request now.” He lowered his head, opened WeChat, and his fingers moved quickly.
Within two seconds, Xia Ran’s phone buzzed softly. A friend request notification popped up at the top of her screen. Sender: Fu Sinian.
Xia Ran tapped “Accept.” The name that had lain dormant in her contact list for years finally lit up again.
She put away her phone and looked back at him. “Accepted.”
She added nothing more: “I’ll head back to work on the drawings now.”
“Alright.”
She turned and walked toward the door. As her hand touched the handle, his low voice came from behind her, softer than before:
“Now that you’ve added me back, don’t delete me again.”
Xia Ran’s steps faltered. With her back to him, her ears felt slightly warm. After a moment of silence, she answered softly with a single word: “Mm.”
Fu Sinian stood in place, his surface calm and unruffled, but ripples had already spread beneath his eyes. The corners of his lips curved upward—pure, unmistakable delight.
Slowly.
He thought. Now that they’d reconnected on WeChat, now that she was willing to move closer—this time, he wouldn’t let go.