HGG - 1

Her boss was incredibly childish.

Song Yi, the secretary, momentarily lifted her head. Her hands, which had been steadily typing on the keyboard, paused as she directed a cold gaze toward the end of the conference table.

A toy four-wheel drive car zipped along its miniature track, passing behind all the elite professionals in the room. It descended, ascended, and then climbed onto the table, finally coming to a stop in front of Chi Zhao.

After pulling an all-nighter drawing diagrams, dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his jet-black hair was messy. Yet, his handsome features still gleamed under the glow of the screen. Throughout, his gaze followed the movement of the toy car without fail.

One of the employees, who had stumbled mid-presentation, looked visibly embarrassed as the toy car halted right in front of him. He tried to say something, but another voice interrupted first.

The office chair creaked as Chi Zhao stood up, stepping onto it.

For such a mere report meeting, he had casually thrown on an advertisement-printed hoodie, paired with faded blue jeans. Without hesitation, he stepped onto the table.

Standing tall above everyone, hands stuffed into his pockets, Chi Zhao calmly directed his gaze forward.

“You,” he said slowly, addressing the presenter, “your PowerPoint is absolutely hideous.”

No one dared to speak. He turned to the other side, now facing the employees who had spoken earlier. One by one, he began offering evaluations: “Your proposal needs to be discussed again within your team. Good effort.”

“Your market research is practically invalid when rounded off. Redo it.”

“I mentioned last time that even outside the finance department, cost calculations are required. Did you forget?”

Although he had been fixated on the four-wheel drive car just moments ago, not a single word he needed to say as the boss escaped him. When delivering these critiques, his tone carried no intimidation—instead, it was as casual as deciding what to have for lunch that day.

And perhaps that’s precisely what made him so terrifying.

Song Yi watched as Chi Zhao, standing high above everyone, gave feedback to each subordinate who had submitted a proposal. She lowered her head and resumed typing on her laptop, swiftly and accurately recording everything.

After making a full circle, he finally turned to Song Yi, who was seated beside him. Song Yi raised her head, meeting his gaze without flinching.

After a brief pause, Chi Zhao said, “Song Yi, get me a cola.”

“Alright,” she replied, rising from her seat but not rushing to leave. “However, for the sake of your health, I suggest milk over cola.”

She was the only person thus far who had dared to voice an objection to him.

The conference room fell into a deathly silence as Chi Zhao stared at his secretary. After a long moment, he said, “Noted.”

As the sound of her high heels clicking against the floor gradually faded into the distance, Chi Zhao turned to the surrounding employees, his lips curling into a smile. His smile was like honey-laden wind, effortlessly issuing a command that bordered on intimidation: “Next week, at this time, redo all the project reports.”

Song Yi was already accustomed to Chi Zhao’s behavior and walked out nonchalantly to prepare his milk.

When thinking back to the age of twelve, Song Yi always recalled those things: the hot, stifling summer, the strawberry-flavored shaved ice she could only see in her classmates’ hands, the perpetually unreachable top grades, and the numb expression she saw reflected in the mirror.

She often dreamed about that year’s national primary and secondary school art competition.

She always drew on the backs of her draft notebooks. If her father discovered them, her imaginative sketches would be torn to shreds.

Anything unrelated to studying was deemed unnecessary by elders. In certain situations, a child’s wishes were considered utterly worthless in the eyes of their guardians.

Song Yi was not stupid, though she wasn’t particularly clever either. She wondered if winning first place might make her father accept her.

The artwork she squeezed out during her spare time passed the preliminary round, triumphed in the semi-finals, and eventually earned her a spot to compete in the finals in the capital. The competition organizers covered travel and accommodation expenses—a day she would never forget.

When the host announced the winners’ names, her heart sank. The name “Song Yi” was stamped with second-rate mediocrity in a field she thought she had talent in.

She was only second place.

Holding the trophy and certificate for second place, she looked up at the stage, her eyes brimming with shattered tears. It had been a long time since she’d cried.

The boy who was announced as the first-place winner took a while to appear on stage.

His face bore a relaxed expression, his handsome features devoid of any excitement. Casually holding the exquisite trophy, he seemed to regard it as nothing more than a discounted pudding from a cake shop.

Reporters aimed their cameras at him, and the host shoved a microphone into his hand, urging him to share some words of gratitude. Amidst the sea of people, Song Yi heard the crowd chanting his name.

His name was Chi Zhao.

In Song Yi’s dreams after entering the workforce, Chi Zhao yawned as he took the microphone, then spoke unhurriedly. In the dislocated dream, the young Chi Zhao said, “Song Yi, get me a cola.”

After graduating from university, Song Yi sent her resume to every company that met her criteria.

The job market was oversaturated, and she faced repeated failures despite her persistence. Every day, she wore her neatly pressed interview suits, combing her unstyled long hair meticulously before heading to interviews.

Any normal person would feel frustration and discouragement in such a soul-crushing environment, but Song Yi maintained her composure, running tirelessly across every corner of the city. True to her lifelong nickname, “Dry Ice,” she exuded calm detachment.

In truth, when she interviewed at Chongming Games, Song Yi felt a flicker of doubt even as she faced a row of stern interviewers.

Anyone passionate about gaming aspired to work at Chongming Games. Though she wasn’t well-versed in games, her attention had been caught by the frequent mention of the word “art” in various job postings.

The chances of success for an ordinary graduate were slim. Song Yi had already anticipated her failure and planned to go through the motions.

At the time, a young man sat in the corner of the interview room, dressed in a striped suit, engrossed in fiddling with his phone throughout the session.

His hair was clean and dry, his downcast eyes and fresh appearance strikingly handsome. He looked around Song Yi’s age, and the image of him sucking on a lollipop wouldn’t have seemed out of place.

His presence clashed entirely with the formal atmosphere of the interview.

When an interviewer asked about her strengths, Song Yi, resigned to failure, looked up and calmly replied, “I’m very boring.”

None of the older interviewers responded, but the youngest one raised his head. This was the first time he’d reacted to anyone during the entire interview process.

A warm and bright light flickered in the young man’s eyes as he spoke with a cheerful and relaxed tone, “Really? Fake or genuine?”

“Real,” Song Yi responded indifferently, her gaze reflecting nothing, like a stagnant pool.

“Alright,” he chuckled, his youthful face lighting up. Only later did Song Yi learn that he was several years older than her.

“You’ll start working here next week,” he said.

It wasn’t until much later, after joining the company, that Song Yi realized the young man in the interview room was none other than the highest authority in the building—the boss of everyone, the apex of the food chain, the CEO of Chongming Games.

A few days later, Song Yi reported to the HR department. As she waited with her briefcase alongside other colleagues at the elevator, the man appeared alone, striding briskly into his private elevator while cradling a Chinese rural cat in his arms.

Everyone bowed their heads simultaneously to greet him, but he ignored them all, offering a lazy smile as acknowledgment.

Zhou Shuhua, another new employee, turned to Song Yi and greeted her: “We’re so lucky to meet the boss on our first day of work.”

“Are you…?” Song Yi nodded, instinctively taking a step back.

“We met in the hallway during the final interview. Maybe you don’t remember me. I’m Zhou Shuhua,” the girl said with a refreshing smile. Her white chiffon dress and ruffled edges added to her gentle and charming demeanor.

So that’s how it was. Song Yi politely responded, “Nice to meet you.”

Shuhua kept smiling and asked, “Don’t you know the boss?”

“Not really,” Song Yi hesitated. Revealing her ignorance to a stranger didn’t seem appropriate.

Shuhua laughed, pretending to be close as she draped an arm around Song Yi’s shoulders. “It’s fine. Though I’m also new, to be honest, I’ve interviewed here many times. Let me introduce him to you. That guy who just walked in with the cat is the CEO of Chongming Games. His name is Chi Zhao.”

Song Yi abruptly raised her head in astonishment.

That restless summer of her youth, the fragments of her drawings fluttering helplessly like butterflies, the collapse of her dreams when she was announced as second place, and the name she would never forget—Chi Zhao. It was him. Chi Zhao.

Now, he was her boss, Chi Zhao.