HGG - 2

“Do you know why you were hired by us?”

On her very first day, Song Yi was summoned into the office. Facing the vice president, who she believed only attended mid- to high-level meetings, she answered honestly: “No.”

Vice President Zhan asked again, “Do you know what kind of person Chi Zhao is?”

The cold mask on her face remained perfectly intact as Song Yi looked up at the approaching vice president.

“He’s hard to pin down,” Zhan Heqing summarized effortlessly in four words. “Even the Chongming directors who watched him grow up and I don’t fully understand him. We’ve assigned several secretaries and assistants to him before—men, women, old, young, fat, thin—but either they ended up assembling Lego blocks for him outside, or they were directly fired.”

As mentioned earlier, Song Yi wasn’t stupid. With an unruffled demeanor, she asked, “Are you assigning me to be his secretary?”

Zhan didn’t confirm, but he didn’t deny it either. Calmly, he said, “I heard that during your interview, Chi Zhao showed a lot of interest in you, didn’t he?”

In truth, how could Song Yi not know why she had been hired?

She had somehow gained Chi Zhao’s personal approval. She thought it was luck, but it seemed this stroke of fortune also brought with it some unexpected surprises—like the intense gaze of the vice president at this very moment.

“All your peers are being assigned to different departments for internships. The pay is average, and their contracts can be terminated at any time,” the vice president told her kindly. “But you’re different.”

She was assigned to be Chi Zhao’s secretary. Not only would her salary be calculated as that of a full-time employee, but she would also receive additional subsidies.

All she had to do, aside from her regular secretarial duties, was report on Chi Zhao’s activities.

“You won’t refuse, will you?” The vice president smiled at her. “As far as I know, you’re in debt, aren’t you?”

At the last part of the sentence, Song Yi’s brow furrowed slightly—a rare display of emotion. She said, “I understand. I’ll do my best.”

Chi Zhao had an assistant. Under the careful orchestration of those around him, the people around him changed frequently, but this particular assistant had never left.

He was in his thirties or forties, named Xia Fan. Xia Fan was taciturn, his drooping eyes giving him a gentle appearance. He was calm and composed.

Xia Fan briefed Song Yi on her tasks and reminded her of some key points. As he organized documents, he said, “Boss Chi doesn’t drink coffee, only cola. He takes a two-hour nap at noon. You need to keep track of when he sleeps and then wake him up. Also, it’d be good if you familiarized yourself with Nintendo—he might ask you to play for him sometimes.”

Outwardly, Song Yi agreed, but inwardly, she muttered, “Damn.”

She noted everything Xia Fan had instructed and then turned to enter the boss’s office. What greeted her was an overwhelming array of gaming models. Shelves were packed with all kinds of Marvel characters and Transformers, while toy tracks for four-wheel-drive cars sprawled everywhere.

Most bizarre of all, Barbie dolls dressed in Disney princess styles were lined up in a row, blocking the view of awards for “Top Ten Gaming Companies of the Year” inside the cabinet.

Chi Zhao’s image in Song Yi’s mind was becoming increasingly demonic.

She placed today’s newspaper clippings on his desk, which had dual monitors, and glanced around, sizing up this demon king’s lair.

Next to the desk was a beanbag chair piled high with stuffed animals and blankets. Just then, a doll fell from the top, and Chi Zhao abruptly sat up from beneath it.

Still groggy from sleep, he rubbed his eyes, turned his head, and locked eyes with Song Yi, who had frozen like concrete.

Chi Zhao seemed to spend half a century observing Song Yi. He appeared to have completely forgotten who she was, showing no signs of irritation from being woken up. Instead, he muttered absentmindedly, “So hungry,” and got up.

Song Yi didn’t know how to react. Chi Zhao walked around the desk to look for gum, and when he looked up again, a smile was already plastered across his face.

Chi Zhao’s smile always seemed sincere, possessing a deceptive charm. He said, “Are you the new secretary?”

According to Vice President Zhan, although various assistants and secretaries had been assigned to him before, none of them had left any trace of suspicion. Chi Zhao rejected them simply because he was naturally distrustful, and those people hadn’t managed to win his favor.

“I don’t have high expectations for you. But you must try your best to make him happy,” the vice president’s words echoed in her ears.

Even though it was only her first day at work, and this was their first meeting in the roles of boss and secretary, Song Yi already felt that the vice president had gotten it wrong.

Forget about making Chi Zhao happy—Song Yi had always been the type of person who struggled to connect with others.

The human heart was one of the most inscrutable things in the world, let alone someone as unpredictable as Chi Zhao.

Song Yi didn’t have many friends, let alone romantic relationships. During university, she had a boyfriend, but their dates were limited to studying together in the library. Occasionally, she would steal glances at his profile while he studied, secretly imagining their future.

She wasn’t naturally gifted when it came to matters of the heart.

That didn’t mean she hadn’t tried. When her boyfriend was preparing for the TEM-8 exam, she made chicken soup for him. On a snowy day when she couldn’t hail a taxi, she wrapped the thermos tightly against her chest and walked through the cold to deliver it to his dormitory. But when she arrived, she saw him downstairs with another girl, enacting a scene straight out of a romantic drama.

He had found someone better suited for him—someone lively, cheerful, gentle, and cute. In short, the complete opposite of Song Yi.

Love, like many other things in life, was something that effort didn’t always guarantee success in.

But for Song Yi, effort was all she could do.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke clearly and formally to Chi Zhao: “I am your new secretary. What would you like for breakfast? I’ll go prepare it immediately.”

“You called me ‘you’,” Chi Zhao snickered, popping the gum into his mouth. Without looking away, he slouched back onto the sofa. “I want a strawberry donut from the café downstairs. If they don’t have strawberry, get me a cream chocolate one.”

She turned and headed downstairs. Although she was a graduate of a prestigious university, she was now running errands and working tirelessly.

For someone from her background, education wasn’t just an opportunity to gain knowledge—it was also a means to obtain a degree, which in turn was supposed to lead to a higher-paying job.

As long as the pay was satisfactory and the work was within legal and ethical boundaries, no profession was inherently superior or inferior. Labor was honorable.

Returning to the office with a paper bag, she saw Chi Zhao sitting cross-legged on the carpet, fiddling with a non-functioning four-wheel-drive toy car. Looking up at her, he asked, “Do you have any batteries?”

The toy car’s battery had run out. Instead of rushing off, she stepped forward respectfully and said, “Let me take a look.”

After taking the toy car from him, she carefully removed the battery and gently tested it with her teeth.

Replacing the battery, she attempted to locate the switch. A hand with distinct knuckles reached over.

Chi Zhao’s hand was cold as he took the car and effortlessly flipped the switch. The wheels began spinning rapidly once again.

“Amazing!” He laughed, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at Song Yi. “How did you do that?”

“Just a little life hack,” she replied simply.

“Did the battery leak? That could be dangerous,” he said, staring at the toy car. He grabbed some tissues from the table and handed them to her. “Make sure to rinse your mouth.”

With that, Chi Zhao turned back to his task. This CEO was neither gentle nor distant—he casually devoured the donut she had just bought.

The pink hue of the strawberry donut, the metallic scent of the battery, and the buzzing sound of the four-wheel-drive car—this was the first meeting between the boss and his secretary.

In TV dramas, there was often this saying: in school, effort mattered, but in the workplace, only results counted. Song Yi found this reasoning logical.

To achieve results, other factors were undoubtedly important, but since effort was within her control, she had to give it her all.

If one word were to describe the work of a secretary, “trivial” fit better than “demanding.”

She shared an office with Xia Fan, and the differences between their roles became increasingly apparent. Most of her tasks involved buying cola for Chi Zhao, clearing game levels for him, or organizing his toy models. Xia Fan, on the other hand, seemed otherworldly in his capabilities.

Not only did he flawlessly complete his duties, but he also handled the notoriously difficult Chi Zhao with ease—a man whose temperament rivaled that of a terrorist.

Boundless energy was a privilege of the young. Chi Zhao liked to involve himself in every department, especially the planning department.

In theory, mid-level meetings were optional for the boss, but Chi Zhao preferred to handle everything personally.

He had studied oil painting in Paris during university and had some knowledge of programming, so he occasionally checked in with the technical department as well.

Chongming Games primarily derived its revenue from exclusive domestic operating rights to several internationally renowned games. This alone was enough to make Chongming Games the main pillar of Chongming Culture. However, in recent years, Chi Zhao had been pressuring the entire company to create original plans, metaphorically shearing the sheep until they were nearly bald and running naked.

Unfazed, he continued playing his PSV in the office.

When Song Yi brought in the cola, Chi Zhao was berating the director of the marketing department.

Song Yi had seen the beautiful woman from the marketing department before when she went to fetch something. She was 170 cm tall, with a face as stunning as a movie star, and carried herself like a goddess among the other employees. But at this moment, she looked on the verge of tears.

“Go back,” Chi Zhao finally said without looking up.

While Song Yi hesitated whether to enter now, Xia Fan approached from behind her, opened the door for the marketing director, and waited until she left before walking in.

Song Yi followed him inside.

Xia Fan discussed a few agenda items with Chi Zhao and then earnestly advised him, “She’s a girl, after all.”

Chi Zhao leaned back against the desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he lit it with a lighter. “That’s a work issue,” he said, deliberately speaking in a soft, mocking tone amid the smoke. “Besides, she’s still a boy underneath.”

“At this age, it’s no wonder he hasn’t dated much,” Xia Fan remarked, his tone suggesting familiarity with Chi Zhao’s private affairs.

Chi Zhao took another drag, exhaling a ring of smoke that slowly dissipated. His eyes narrowed with amusement, his voice cold and low: “Dating isn’t fun at all.”

Chi Zhao liked to define everything in terms of whether it was “fun” or “not fun.”

Later, he remembered that he had personally hired Song Yi. One time, after drawing a picture, he suddenly leapt up and said, “Song Yi, get me a cola!”

By this point, Song Yi had been working with Chi Zhao for a while. Understanding him was impossible, but she had grown accustomed to him.

Almost instinctively, she suddenly said, “I suggest you drink milk instead.”

“You called me ‘you’ again,” Chi Zhao seemed fixated on her formal address since day one, though he had never asked her to stop using it. Every time she said it, he almost always repeated it mockingly. “Why?”

“Cola is delicious, but drinking too much isn’t good for you,” she said. “You should drink milk.”

He seemed intrigued, smirking faintly. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly, meeting his gaze. Though his eyes were pitch black, they remained crystal clear.

She never avoided his gaze. He watched her with interest for a long moment before saying abruptly, “I remember you now.”

A flicker of surprise rippled across her face. Song Yi didn’t respond, but he continued, “Then milk it is. Add a bit more honey.”

She wanted to remind him to moderate his sugar intake but figured quitting anything required gradual progress. With that, she turned to leave.

As she opened the door, she heard him say from behind, “Song Yi is so amusing.”