TES - 12

The café was bustling with people coming and going. They waited off to the side. Whenever someone passed by, Shang Zhitao would step closer to Luan Nian to give way, retreating only after they had gone—repeating this process over and over. Luan Nian stood still, watching her flustered movements as her face flushed like a shy, inexperienced teenager.

“Why are you blushing?” Luan Nian suddenly asked her.

“Huh?” Shang Zhitao looked up at him, her gaze falling into his cold yet piercing eyes. His expression carried a hint of amusement as he repeated, “Why are you blushing?”

“Maybe it’s too hot,” she replied, genuinely feeling warm despite the airport’s perfectly functioning air conditioning. There was no reason for her to feel so overheated—it was inexplicable.

“Shang Zhitao.” Luan Nian unexpectedly called her by her Chinese name. Seeing her clear eyes fixed on him, he continued slowly, “How do you plan to survive in the advertising industry like this?”

Confusion flickered in her eyes; she clearly didn’t understand why he was saying such things out of the blue. Her glasses couldn’t hide the purity and clarity that shone through her gaze—like a small piece of melting ice floating atop an early spring lake, reflecting soft light.

For a fleeting moment, Luan Nian had the urge to remove the glasses that made her look clumsy. He went on deliberately: “Being timid, shy, fearful, and overly humble—how will you survive in the advertising world? Do you even know what kind of people thrive there?”

Hearing him criticize her yet again, Shang Zhitao felt a sudden surge of anger. Her anger deepened the redness in her cheeks. “I don’t know. Please enlighten me.”

But Luan Nian simply shrugged. “I can’t teach you. My advice remains: find another job.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked toward the counter to retrieve their coffees. Silently, Shang Zhitao took one cup from him and followed alongside. Once outside the café, away from the noise, everything seemed quieter. Suddenly, a subtle but stubborn part of her personality surfaced, urging her to rebel. She quickened her pace, stepping in front of Luan Nian to block his path. A newfound firmness appeared in her eyes, giving her presence a slight edge—even if it wasn’t pronounced. Luan Nian stopped, looking at her. “What is it, Flora?”

“I’ve remembered your advice.”

“And then?”

“I’m not quitting!” When angry, Shang Zhitao acted like a child. Those four short words escaped her lips before her eyes welled up with tears. She felt utterly wronged, as though Luan Nian were cornering her into despair. Having said that, she spun around and walked away—but not without remembering to hold onto her coffee carefully, spilling not a single drop until handing it to Lu Mi.

Seeing her upset, Lu Mi swung her legs down from where they’d been resting on her suitcase and asked nonchalantly, “Hey, what’s gotten into this girl?”

“Nothing,” Shang Zhitao replied, handing over the latte to Lu Mi before sitting beside her.

Luan Nian approached, offering her the coffee once more, prepared for her refusal. To his surprise, she accepted it with reddened eyes and even murmured, “Thank you.” No matter how angry she was, her upbringing remained intact. Shang Zhitao likely came from a modestly comfortable family—parents who loved each other dearly and cherished her. Though not extravagantly wealthy, they ensured she received a proper education, evident in her everyday behavior.

Frowning slightly, Luan Nian suddenly realized he was overstepping. Whether or not someone stayed at the company had nothing to do with him—they weren’t even part of his department.

Lu Mi sensed the strange tension between them but, unsure of what had transpired, sat quietly between them. Each sipped their coffee silently, as if strangers. It wasn’t until two others from the creative center arrived that they exchanged a few brief words.

Leaving the airport, Shang Zhitao gazed out the taxi window at the lush greenery, suddenly realizing she shouldn’t let some unimportant boss ruin her mood—or make her this angry. The world was full of beauty; none of it compared poorly to Luke’s sharp tongue. How dare his mouth even call itself a mouth? Hmph.

This was her first time in Guangzhou, after all!

“Grace just said Luke is treating everyone to dim sum breakfast. Let’s go together,” Lu Mi announced.

“Oh… okay,” Shang Zhitao responded hesitantly. She didn’t want to eat with Luan Nian—the food would surely taste bad in his presence. Though she’d tried convincing herself not to be angry, resentment lingered in her heart.

“You’ve been acting strange since buying the coffee earlier. What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Just got bitten by a mosquito—it’s itching and annoying.”

“Where did it bite you? I brought back some Thai green balm. Let me apply some for you.” Taking her seriously, Lu Mi rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small bottle of green ointment she’d brought back from Thailand.

Shang Zhitao reluctantly pointed to the spot where she’d been bitten the night before. “Here.”

“Wow! That mosquito has quite the dark bite!” Lu Mi laughed, her comment ambiguous—whether about the mosquito or Luan Nian, one couldn’t tell.

Shang Zhitao chuckled at her humor. Upon arriving at the hotel, she changed into a vivid V-neck floral dress, revealing her fair neck and a hint of porcelain skin. Occasionally switching styles transformed her from plain to vibrant and radiant.

Walking beside her, Lu Mi couldn’t help but whistle appreciatively. “Who would’ve thought? This girl’s got curves!”

Flattered, Shang Zhitao instinctively glanced down at her neckline—it was conservative, showing nothing improper. She wondered what Lu Mi was teasing her about.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Luan Nian was busy adding items to the menu. Hearing Lu Mi greet him, he briefly raised his eyes, nodded toward them, scanned Shang Zhitao quickly, and returned to writing.

The restaurant buzzed with chatter; elderly patrons conversed softly in Cantonese, their tones gentle and melodious. Shang Zhitao felt transported to 1990s Hong Kong, reminiscent of her favorite old-school films. Memories of learning Cantonese songs phonetically years ago brightened her eyes further.

Grace asked Luan Nian, “Didn’t I hear you’re originally from Guangdong?”

“My ancestral home is Jiangsu.”

This sparked a conversation about hometowns. Shang Zhitao sat quietly, listening intently and occasionally answering questions. Her silence was like the water glass beside her—present when needed, unobtrusive otherwise.

Somehow, the topic shifted to dating and marriage. With her hand resting on Shang Zhitao’s shoulder, Lu Mi teased, “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

Caught off guard, Shang Zhitao flushed deeply. “No.”

“Blushing so much—you haven’t dated anyone, have you?” Female colleagues loved gossip, even when it didn’t concern them. Everyone except Luan Nian now stared expectantly at Shang Zhitao.

Feeling grilled, she had no choice but to confess truthfully, unlike seasoned workplace veterans fluent in evasion. “I dated once in college.”

“Tell us more?” Lu Mi prodded playfully.

“No.” She pressed her lips together, averting her gaze. Suddenly, memories of Xin Zhaozhou’s awkward first kiss pressed against her cheek in a noisy duck blood noodle shop flooded back. She vividly recalled the awkwardness between them.

“More tea?” Luan Nian, who hadn’t spoken until now, suddenly interjected, rising to pour tea for the ladies. Grace, startled, hurriedly stood up. “Let me do it!”

“It’s fine. Taking care of the ladies is my duty,” he said graciously—a stark contrast to the man who repeatedly mocked Shang Zhitao and urged her to quit. In doing so, he subtly defused her predicament.

Internally, Luan Nian disliked socializing, viewing today’s gathering as mere networking. He especially loathed frivolous conversations about trivial matters—as if knowing someone’s romantic history could improve project outcomes.

By pouring tea, his subordinates understood the signal. They curtailed aimless chatter and focused on discussing the upcoming case.

Just like that, Shang Zhitao’s resentment toward Luan Nian dissipated, replaced by a touch of gratitude. How strange this man was—constantly shifting her between respect and dislike while seemingly enjoying every moment of it.