TES - 6

Almost everything went smoothly on her first day of work—except for Luan Nian advising her to change jobs. But who was Shang Zhitao? She was someone who had cultivated a positive mindset from a young age, and any lingering frustration quickly dissipated. Silently, she labeled Luan Nian as “unapproachable,” “eccentric,” and “a bit annoying.” Inwardly, she muttered, Hmph, I’m not quitting.

By the time Shang Zhitao returned home that night, it was nearly midnight, and the residential complex was shrouded in darkness. Behind her, the sound of rolling luggage wheels scraped against the ground, following her closely like something out of a horror movie.

She bolted into the dark stairwell, sprinting up the stairs and rushing into her room to lock the door behind her. Just as she slipped off her dress and changed into pajamas, she heard a click at the door and froze. Then came the faint sound of rolling luggage inside the apartment, followed by silence.

It was one of her unseen roommates.

After waiting a while to confirm he wouldn’t use the bathroom, Shang Zhitao threw on an oversized T-shirt and headed to the shower. Her speed astonished even herself. By the time she climbed into bed, the door to the other room opened, and she heard someone enter the bathroom.

The next morning, she grabbed her small basin and stepped outside, only to see the door across from hers also open. A tall, lanky boy stood there. Without her contact lenses, Shang Zhitao couldn’t make out his features clearly, but she still smiled politely.

“You go ahead to the bathroom; I’ll head to the kitchen,” he said softly, turning away without waiting for her thanks.

As Shang Zhitao finished getting ready and left with her bag, she encountered him again. This time, she finally got a good look—a scholarly-looking young man who appeared far friendlier than Luke.

Luke? Shang Zhitao startled herself. Why was she thinking about that troublemaker so early in the morning?

“Off to work?” he asked with a smile, initiating conversation.

“Yeah. Are you heading out this early too?”

“Yes. I want to squeeze in a run before heading to the office.” Shang Zhitao glanced at the logo on his backpack—it was from their company. Wow, what a great company, she thought. Sensing her gaze, the boy gave a shy smile. “It’s not as great as it seems. Lots of overtime and business trips—it’s tough. What about you? Where do you work?”

“L&M.”

“L&M… Many of our ads are created by L&M.”

Shang Zhitao blushed slightly. “But none of those were my work.” They were all done by that troublemaker, Luke.

Her sincerity and earnestness caught his attention, earning her a subtle glance. The quiet stretched between them as they walked together to the bus stop, standing in the drizzle of the early morning.

“My name is Sun Yuanzhu. And you?”

“Might your name come from the phrase ‘With lofty aspirations soaring beyond the four seas, yearning to spread wings and fly far’?*” Shang Zhitao asked with a grin.

“You actually know that?”

“My dad taught me. I’m Shang Zhitao.”

With that, she hopped onto the bus, waving goodbye to Sun Yuanzhu through the window.

When Shang Zhitao was younger, her father, Old Shang, had put considerable effort into nurturing her literary talents, aiming to mold her into a literary giant. Day after day, he drilled her with poetry and books. Though Shang Zhitao dutifully memorized poems and read voraciously, she gradually became the half-supported little Ah-Dou—untalented, as Old Shang secretly lamented to Da Zhai.

Another bumpy bus ride awaited her. She pulled out a book to read. Young people brimmed with energy, and despite sleeping only five hours, she still felt refreshed in the morning. She flipped open a thin volume of Business English. The previous day, during contract signings, she’d overheard her peers sprinkling English phrases into conversations. Some words took her ages to process, leaving her feeling vastly inferior. Inspired, she dug out her reference materials when she got home.

Some things were truly strange.

In school, she’d lived in her own little bubble, content to be average without a sense of crisis. Yet, after just one day of work, that sense of urgency hit hard. She couldn’t pinpoint why—perhaps Luan Nian’s words, “I advise you to find another job,” had struck a nerve.

Reading on the bus proved highly efficient. She reviewed over thirty vocabulary words and skimmed an English poem, finishing just as the bus arrived at her stop. The long commute wasn’t boring at all—it was surprisingly productive.

Tucking the book back into her bag, she hopped off the bus. Her apricot-colored dress fluttered with her movements, lending her a youthful grace. Striding briskly toward the office, she slipped into the elevator just as the doors were closing.

Glancing up, she saw Luan Nian. He didn’t seem surprised to see her. Slow birds must start flying early. If you’re slow and unwilling to put in effort, you won’t survive the probation period. With a sardonic smile, he quipped, “HR isn’t even in yet.”

“Huh?” His comment blocked her intended greeting, filling her eyes with question marks.

“You don’t need to hand in your resignation this early.” Anticipating her confusion, he added, “Not everyone knows that.” The elevator dinged open, and his long legs carried him past Shang Zhitao toward the office. His lips curled into a smile—whether teasing or mocking, it was unclear—but the pressure it conveyed was palpable.

Damn.

Shang Zhitao inwardly cursed in a Taiwanese movie-style tone. The burst of motivation she’d given herself that morning drained away under Luan Nian’s two sentences, leaving her feeling deflated. Silently, she trailed behind him, then quietly turned toward her workstation. Would other campus recruits be discouraged by executives twice in two days?

Looking around, the workspace was eerily quiet. She’d arrived before eight, while most employees were still asleep. Pulling out her assignment for the day, she began reviewing the industry handbook filled with jargon.

The terminology was dense and difficult to grasp. Shang Zhitao had to cross-reference materials to barely scratch the surface. By the time she reached the halfway point, colleagues began trickling in. Kitty, another recruit, spotted Shang Zhitao and exclaimed in surprise, “You’re here so early!”

“I didn’t understand today’s materials, so I came early to study.” Shang Zhitao gestured to the book in her hands.

“The industry handbook for today?” Kitty asked.

“Yes.”

As soon as she finished speaking, Shang Zhitao noticed Kitty’s odd expression and suddenly realized these terms must be old news to them. Still, she remained candid, unashamed to admit her ignorance, though her cheeks flushed slightly.

Kitty’s sense of superiority grew. The workplace wasn’t pure—many newcomers quickly navigated interpersonal dynamics. They knew the planning department’s recruits had brighter futures, while marketing handled budgets, but only a select few benefited. Most would end up running venues and executing tasks. As Kitty’s mentor put it: The bottom of the food chain.

Unaware of Kitty’s disdain, Shang Zhitao focused intently on the handbook, determined to master its contents as quickly as possible. She didn’t even notice Lu Mi’s arrival.

Lu Mi placed a cup of coffee on her desk and loudly declared, “Here’s some coffee for you.”

Startled, Shang Zhitao jumped up, only to be pushed back into her seat by Lu Mi. “You’re the first one to drink coffee with your mentor on the second day of work!” The Beijing native’s loud voice and humorous phrasing drew laughter and curious glances from others.

Lu Mi waved it off, saying to Shang Zhitao, “Just keep this up. Change the company culture a bit. Even though I’d love to taste my apprentice’s coffee, I’m glad we’re not so materialistic.” She was teasing, of course. Unlike other mentors who drank their apprentices’ coffee while secretly complaining about their stupidity, Lu Mi genuinely adored her clumsy yet endearing protégé, finding joy in her simplicity.

Shang Zhitao chuckled, “Thanks, Lumi.” Internally, she absorbed the lesson: company culture demanded respect for mentors. Like ancient ceremonies involving incense, tea, and bowing, the principle was similar—A teacher for a day is a father for life.