TES - 8

Shang Zhitao pushed the door open, attempting to project an air of determination. However, upon entering, she saw Luan Nian in a cheerful mood, engrossed in a phone conversation. Noticing her with the folder, he gestured toward the table, signaling for her to place it down.

Her confidence immediately deflated, but she mentally braced herself—if he started something, she would retaliate. Her thoughts were written all over her face, appearing as transparent as those of someone less intelligent to Luan Nian.

Yet, he gave her a faint, indifferent smile, raising a finger to his lips in a “shh” gesture.

Confused, Shang Zhitao walked over and placed the folder on the table, hearing him speak softly into the phone: “Then do me the honor of joining me for dinner this weekend. I managed to secure two tickets to the concert you mentioned last time.”

With one hand holding the phone and the other flipping through the folder, Luan Nian paid no attention to Shang Zhitao standing there awkwardly.

On the other end of the line, a woman’s crisp, pleasant laughter rang out: “Am I receiving special treatment?”

“It’s my pleasure,” Luan Nian replied smoothly, continuing both the call and his perusal of the documents.

Shang Zhitao felt increasingly uncomfortable. The last time she had overheard him, it was about a breakup; now, it was a date. What bad timing, she thought. She had just walked in when he said, “Change personnel.” It seemed she kept stumbling into his private affairs. Hearing too many of his secrets might make him intolerant of her presence. Tentatively, she waved her hand in front of him, pointing toward the door—Should I leave?

Luan Nian shot her a fleeting glance, neither approving nor rejecting her request. Left with no choice, Shang Zhitao stood there listening to his conversation. His deliberate slowness in turning the pages made every second feel like an eternity. She glanced out the window; half the lights in the opposite office building were off. Checking her watch, she realized the last bus had already departed—she would have to use the company’s taxi reimbursement policy tonight.

“Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening. I’ve booked a restaurant; we’ll dine first,” Luan Nian finally ended the call and began reviewing the project documents seriously. His silence stretched on, making Shang Zhitao feel increasingly uneasy.

But the most agonizing part wasn’t his silence—it was his refusal to sign immediately, scrutinizing the file as if seeing it for the first time. Finally, reaching the last page with the signature line, Shang Zhitao felt a flicker of hope, only to hear him ask, “What’s the total expenditure for this project?”

“Seven hundred forty thousand.”

“To two decimal places.”

Shang Zhitao froze. She didn’t know the exact figure beyond the decimal point—she was merely helping Lu Mi get Luan Nian to sign. Before entering, she had skimmed the document and noted the amount but hadn’t memorized the precise digits.

“741,300.” Luan Nian sat back in his chair. “Next time, before approaching me—or anyone—for work-related matters, ensure you’ve thoroughly reviewed all details. Otherwise, consider finding someone else.”

Next time? So he’s not replacing me this time?

Shang Zhitao found his personality baffling. Wasn’t it him who typed “change personnel” earlier? Had someone hacked his computer?

Her bewilderment was plain on her face, easily readable by Luan Nian. Hopelessly stupid, he thought. Are Zhang Ling and Tracy insane? Did they hire her to slow the team down?

He signed his name briskly and handed the folder back to her.

Taking it, she earnestly said, “Thank you for your guidance.”

“For what?”

“For overseeing the closing stages of these projects.”

...

Luan Nian wasn’t surprised by her words—this was the same person who had written in her interview feedback that Luke advised her to quit. What couldn’t she possibly do?

“I’ve saved your number in the internal directory, but I haven’t added mine yet. Let me call you so you can save it. In case of emergencies, I’ll need to reach you.” Gathering her courage, Shang Zhitao delivered her prepared speech, pulling out her phone to dial him. She had resolved not to fear him. Things had already gone so poorly; the worst-case scenario was being fired. Why worry? If it came to that, she could always start over!

She dialed his number and waited for his mockery, but strangely, he picked up his phone and asked, “How do you spell your name?”

“The ‘Shang’ in nobility, the ‘Zhi’ in classical Chinese, and the ‘Tao’ in peach blossoms.”

“English name?”

“Flora.”

Luan Nian saved her contact information, placing his phone on the desk. “FloraShang. Anything else?”

“No. Have a good weekend.”

Shang Zhitao grabbed the folder and quickly left his office, exhaling deeply once back at her workstation. Her first week of work was finally over—it had felt difficult, yet somehow manageable. Unable to articulate her feelings, she sat quietly, organizing her thoughts before standing up and leaving the office.

She desperately needed sleep. The week had been chaotic, and fatigue hit her fully only now. Standing outside the company, she struggled to hail a cab—none were available. Across the street, a drunk man whistled at her, reminding her of the joke from her first day about prostitutes, clients, and advertisers. It sent a chill down her spine.

Luan Nian drove by, spotting the drunkard and Shang Zhitao shivering by the roadside like an abandoned creature. Sighing, he braked and reversed his car to her, rolling down the window. “Where are you headed?”

Seeing Luan Nian felt like spotting a savior. Preferring his sarcasm over harassment from strangers, she opened the door and got in. “I can’t find a taxi. Could you drop me off at a busy area?”

“Will you find a taxi in a busy area?” he countered.

Unfamiliar with Beijing’s late-night transportation struggles, Shang Zhitao blushed. “I live quite far... I don’t want to trouble you.”

“You’re troubling me by getting in my car?” Luan Nian detested such pointless formalities. What was there to be polite about?

Shang Zhitao wanted to hit him.

In her short twenty-two years, she had never encountered someone so peculiar. Yet here she was, sitting in his car, feeling slightly breathless.

She forced a grin, chuckling awkwardly.

Strange girl.

“Where are you going?” Luan Nian skipped further conversation, cutting straight to the point.

“North Fifth Ring Road. Thank you!” Having spent a week with Lu Mi, Shang Zhitao had already mastered the essence of Beijing dialect.

Without another word, Luan Nian started the car. The interior smelled of invigorating men’s cologne, which sharpened Shang Zhitao’s senses. Unsure what to say, fearing another misstep, she clamped her mouth shut and stared out the window. The city had shed its hustle and bustle, even the night vendors silent. After a while, Luan Nian spoke: “Do you know the way?”

“Huh?”

He glanced at her, then pulled over. “Can you navigate?”

Shang Zhitao, newly moved and notoriously directionally challenged, was stumped. Peering outside, the surroundings felt both unfamiliar and vaguely familiar. She shook her head helplessly: “Sorry, I just moved here...”

Unsurprised, Luan Nian tapped the car’s navigation system. “Which neighborhood?”

After naming her residential complex—a place notorious as Beijing’s “sleeping city”—he internally criticized her lack of foresight. Couldn’t her salary afford somewhere closer to the office?

Stupid girl.

Restarting the engine, he dropped her off at the entrance without another word, speeding away.

Shang Zhitao barely had time to thank him.

Back home, after washing up, she finally lay in bed, sleep eluding her. Clutching her phone, she decided a bit of courtesy was necessary, sending him a message: “Thank you, Luke.”

Luan Nian didn’t reply—he never did.

He disliked unnecessary pleasantries or ineffective socializing. He had done his part; he didn’t expect gratitude.

That was just the kind of person he was.