HGG - 26

The bathroom door opened, and Chi Zhao stepped out bare-chested, his hair still dripping wet.

He slipped on a shirt as he walked through the corridor, not bothering to look up as he reached for the water kettle on the table.

Gurgle gurgle—the glass quickly filled with cool water. He picked it up, sipping while surveying the room.

As he set the glass down, the crisp sound reverberated in everyone’s hearts like a warning bell.

At that moment, the previously aggressive visitors all felt a chill run down their spines.

Chi Zhao moved forward, leaning against the back of the armchair where Song Yi sat. She looked calm, almost like a judge presiding over the scene with an air of authority.

To be honest, though, Song Yi was feeling uneasy herself.

So far, her relationship with Chi Zhao had been strictly professional. He had pretended to be her boyfriend twice to help her out, but now she felt she was pushing her luck too far.

Moreover, he had just arrived and probably didn’t know much about the situation.

But she clearly underestimated him.

Chi Zhao casually glanced around and smiled. “Boyfriend?”

Song Yi noticed a flicker of joy cross the faces of the women opposite her.

“Is this how you introduce me to others?” Chi Zhao leaned close to Song Yi’s ear, his voice low. “We’re getting married soon—no need to be so shy, right?”

The shock was palpable. Even Song Yi, who was directly involved, stared at him in disbelief.

Isn’t this going too far?!

Though I’m grateful for your cooperation!

However, Song Yi was his secretary after all and quickly regained her composure. “That’s exactly right.”

“And these people—are they close acquaintances of yours?” Chi Zhao continued to smile, but this time, the smile was cold and cutting. “Should we call the police? Isn’t this trespassing and provoking trouble? Let’s have them investigate.”

Song Yi looked at them, her expression devoid of warmth. “I don’t know them well.”

“Call the police?!” The class monitor finally found his voice, jumping up angrily. “Let me tell you—we have connections at the station!”

The man spoke with confidence, but Chi Zhao reacted as if he’d heard a joke. “Do you want to test whether those connections work on me?”

Jiang Dacheng wanted to shout something back but suddenly choked on his words.

“Go ahead, try.” Chi Zhao rested his cheek on his hand, his tone light but his words sharp as thin blades. “You can act even more out of line, and then I’ll show you the price of being disrespectful in front of me.”

It felt as though gravity had gone haywire, pressure descending from the ceiling, suffocating everyone beneath it.

“Not fun anymore,” Chi Zhao said lazily. “Get out.”

Those people didn’t even dare glare at him before turning and fleeing. As Song Yi closed the door behind them, she saw Chi Yu, her neighbor, happen to come out to throw away trash. Their eyes met briefly, and Song Yi didn’t bother explaining.

“A visitor? Why are they leaving in such a hurry?” Chi Yu asked teasingly. “One might think you were chasing them with a kitchen knife.”

Song Yi offered a polite smile without responding.

She shut the door. Chi Zhao was already adjusting his tie. “I’m heading to headquarters for a meeting this afternoon. Stay in the office.”

“Understood.” Song Yi replied. After a pause, she added, “By the way, thank you.”

Chi Zhao suddenly looked up at her, his smile devoid of any emotion. “What?”

“For yesterday and today—I’m very grateful.” Song Yi said.

Chi Zhao didn’t respond, continuing to adjust his cuffs. Song Yi remembered something and bent down to rummage through the cabinet, pulling out a towel. She handed it to him, but he was already absorbed in replying to messages, casually rubbing the towel against his head a couple of times.

Unable to bear watching, Song Yi finally stepped behind him. “Excuse me.”

She began drying his hair.

There was no emotion in her movements, no hesitation—she performed the task like a machine executing its function. This level of service was nothing to her, but Chi Zhao gradually stopped typing.

He remained motionless, letting her take control, as if he were the most obedient boy in the universe.

Song Yi slowed her pace, suddenly wondering: Had anyone ever carefully dried his hair for him when he was younger?

She still harbored some doubts about certain things Chi Zhao had said that day.

Later, when Chi Zhao was watching a TV drama in the office, one of the characters delivered this line with great intensity: “Let me show you the consequences of being disrespectful in front of me!”

Chi Zhao watched intently.

Song Yi observed him for a long time before finally asking, “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Watching the latest romantic TV dramas,” Chi Zhao replied. “The Planning Department recommended them to me.”

“Why watch them?” And why was he taking notes?

Chi Zhao answered without hesitation. “Our audience is mainly young people, so naturally, we need to understand what they like. Besides, someone recently criticized the romance elements in ACDF .”

In the end, Song Yi was handed the DVDs of the drama.

Come to think of it, who even watches DVDs these days?

Lately, Song Yi had been given a lot of vacation time. She knew this was Chi Zhao and Xia Fan’s way of looking after her.

Things at home had indeed reached a peak, albeit not a good one.

Li Mei had been arrested for gambling and was awaiting results. Meanwhile, Song Zuowei had managed to scrape together enough money to pay off his debts—though the majority came from Song Yi herself.

Father and daughter hadn’t met face-to-face. Song Yi transferred the money and sent a reminder text.

When she returned home, Song Yi pushed open her apartment door only to accidentally hit Chi Yu standing behind it.

Chi Yu was wearing his signature plaid outfit, backpack slung over his shoulder, holding a camera as he walked out. Completely engrossed in the viewfinder, he hadn’t noticed the door and was knocked to the ground.

Song Yi hurried to help him up and picked up the camera. On the screen, she saw a photo.

It was of Chi Zhao leaving her place.

He looked drowsy, yawning with an unguarded expression.

A scandal involving the president of Chongming Games would surely draw significant attention.

Chi Yu scrambled to his feet, trying to snatch the camera back, but by then Song Yi had already seen everything.

She didn’t let go. “May I ask, what is this?”

Chi Yu lowered his head, leaning against the wall in silence for a long time.

“Who are you planning to meet now?” Song Yi asked again.

Under persistent questioning, Chi Yu finally spoke. “A magazine…”

Song Yi held the camera tightly and walked inside, pulling out her phone to call Xia Fan. At that moment, Chi Yu rushed after her.

“I’m sorry! Sorry! Secretary Song!” Chi Yu grabbed her arm. “I really didn’t mean anything bad! If I truly wanted to harm him, wouldn’t I have posted it online already?! This magazine will negotiate with Chongyou first. I just wanted to get some leverage to talk to my older brother…”

Song Yi turned around, shaking off his grip. “Chongming?”

“Yes,” Chi Yu sighed. “Last time, the second son of the Shan family approached me. He told me that there are still things about my brother’s affairs that Chi Zhao hasn’t told me…”

“So you decided to frame him?” Song Yi said. “Mr. Chi, such behavior is inappropriate.”

Chi Yu fell silent.

He was indecisive by nature, too afraid to confront Chi Zhao directly, yet ashamed of his own cowardice. Suspicious of his family ties, especially regarding Pool Chong, he sought bargaining chips to negotiate with Chi Zhao.

In the end, Chi Yu deleted the photos, and Song Yi didn’t contact Xia Fan.

The two sat in a convenience store eating instant noodles, seriously discussing the matter.

Chi Yu’s curry-flavored noodles made him tear up and sniffle as he lamented, “I just wanted to have an equal conversation with Chi Zhao. But I don’t have a single useful card to play!”

Over the past few days, he had tried several times to dig up dirt on Chi Zhao.

However, he didn’t hold many shares in Chongyou, and the tasks assigned to him were trivial. The more he talked, the sorrier he felt for himself, eventually breaking into tears. Then he heard slurping sounds beside him.

Song Yi was fully focused on devouring her seafood-flavored noodles.

“Secretary Song,” Chi Yu asked, “Are you listening?”

Song Yi replied, “I’m eating noodles.”

Chi Yu cried even harder.

Song Yi handed him a tissue and said, “Honestly, your plan won’t work. With photos like these, Chongyou will simply claim he was visiting employee housing to check on conditions.”

“Really?!” Chi Yu lived up to his reputation as “Chongming Group’s Liu A Dou,” only realizing this now.

“Besides,” Song Yi added, “If you really want to know, why not just ask?”

Chi Yu hesitated again. “He won’t tell me. Song Yi, you don’t understand—our family isn’t like ordinary families. Parent-child and sibling relationships are all messed up. They don’t care about family feelings. I need evidence…”

“I’m sorry. If I’ve offended you, I apologize.” Song Yi spoke, her tone calm as she gazed intently at the floor-to-ceiling window.

Across the street stood a bus stop, its billboard displaying promotional material for ACDF , a game published by Chongming Games and the culmination of Chi Zhao’s hard work over the years.

“At least try first,” she said softly. “Can you do that?”

A few days later, a charity auction for artworks was held at an opera house in the city.

The event lasted three days, and Chi Zhao attended on the final day.

To avoid crowds, he dressed casually and paused to admire paintings hanging on the walls as he walked through the corridor.

Song Yi, wearing a tailored women’s suit, followed closely behind him, reading materials while asking, “Are these the auction items?”

Chi Zhao shook his head, chuckling lightly. “If they were really willing to auction off an Édouard Manet, I would have come on the first day.”

Attending the charity auction was primarily for the company’s image.

All the artworks up for auction had been donated by others. Song Yi picked out a paddle for Chi Zhao, numbered 69.

As they found their seats, someone familiar sat down next to Song Yi.

It was Shan Jingyi, dressed in a flashy yet tastefully extravagant beige suit. Smiling as if nothing had ever happened between them, he greeted them cheerfully, “What a coincidence! You’re here too.”

Song Yi responded politely, and Chi Zhao nodded briefly.

He wasn’t particularly interested, casually participating in bidding and ending up buying a skull-shaped sculpture, joking that he could give it to his pet tree frog when he got home.

Shan Jingyi seemed equally unenthusiastic. It appeared that, rather than the items on stage, he had something—or someone—else on his mind.

“Miss Song, I recently visited London and brought back some gifts for you. I wonder when you might...” Shan Jingyi began smoothly.

“Thank you, Mr. Shan. You’re very thoughtful, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting them. Please keep them,” Song Yi replied effortlessly.

One by one, various artworks were transformed into different amounts of money. Charity was merely their final destination—nothing more, nothing less.

The bidders at this auction were undoubtedly influential figures from high society. While they contributed for the sake of reputation, there were still many nuances to observe.

Their discerning eye for appraising goods, the intimidating aura with which they drove others away during bidding, and the boldness of their bids.

As the auction neared its conclusion, the auctioneer’s assistant brought out a painting.

“This piece was anonymously donated by a gentleman, with no artist signature. Per the seller’s request, the starting bid is 26.4 yuan—the value of the canvas alone. The increment remains unchanged,” the auctioneer announced. “Please place your bids.”

The painting was displayed for everyone to see. This time, the audience clearly saw the image depicted—a portrait of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Caucasian woman with a serene expression and a saintly smile. The artist was highly skilled; even without knowing whether it was created by a renowned master, purchasing it would surely be pleasing to the eye and not lose value.

Someone in the front row raised their paddle: “100 yuan.”

Another bidder followed cautiously: “500 yuan.”

“1,000,” called out a woman’s voice.

After several rounds, the price settled around 50,000 yuan.

“53,000 yuan, once!” The auctioneer raised the hammer.

Chi Zhao, who had been dozing off throughout the process, suddenly perked up and asked Song Yi idly, “What do you think of this painting?”

Song Yi hesitated for a moment before finally answering honestly, “I really like it.”

At the same time, the auctioneer’s voice rang out again: “53,000 yuan, twice!”

“You like it?” Chi Zhao leaned forward slightly, looking at her with a hint of doubt. He smiled curiously, his gaze lingering on her cheek.

“Mm,” Song Yi affirmed.

Without hesitation, Chi Zhao raised his paddle: “1 million.”

Instantly, all eyes turned toward him.

But in the next moment, Shan Jingyi lifted his paddle and countered: “2 million.” His number was 8.

“5 million,” Chi Zhao didn’t back down.

“6 million,” another voice chimed in.

“7.5 million.” Shan Jingyi seemed determined to win the painting, his lips curling slightly upward despite his unwavering focus.

Chi Zhao whistled, popping a chocolate candy into his mouth: “10 million.”

An unsigned painting worth 10 million? Was this perhaps a sketch by some Western European painter?

Speculation began among the onlookers. Neither Chi Zhao nor Shan Jingyi were obscure figures, and many attendees had already recognized them.

“20 million,” Shan Jingyi persisted.

“25 million…” Chi Zhao started, then reconsidered. “That number doesn’t sit well with me. Let’s make it 30 million.”

The auctioneer adjusted his glasses and asked respectfully, “May I confirm? Did number 69 just offer 25 million or 30 million?”

Chi Zhao chewed on his candy and raised his paddle nonchalantly. “Let’s say 35 million. Since it’s for charity, either way works.”

He was bidding against himself.

Song Yi was taken aback. Their budget was still ample, but she couldn’t understand why he kept raising the price.

Chi Zhao remained relaxed, even picking up the candy jar to pour her some sweets.

Just then, Shan Jingyi, seemingly resolved, raised his paddle and declared loudly: “40 million.”

This price far exceeded his initial plan. Before coming here, Shan Jingyi hadn’t expected to spend so much. He also lacked any real appreciation for art; he simply thought the painting looked nice. Its true significance eluded him entirely.

But Song Yi liked it.

Having already suffered a setback when confessing at the First Tower, he couldn’t let Chi Zhao run wild this time.

Shan Jingyi decided that after purchasing the painting, he would present it to Song Yi right then and there. At that moment, Chi Zhao’s expression would surely be priceless.

“Number 8 has offered 40 million,” the auctioneer announced emphatically. “40 million once, 40 million twice… Sold for 40 million!”

As the hammer fell, Shan Jingyi finally tasted the sweet sensation of victory.

Meanwhile, Chi Zhao was examining why the candies in the jar weren’t rolling out.

Song Yi reached out and said, “Let me handle it.” She gently tilted the jar, allowing the remaining candies to roll toward the opening, then carefully let one drop into her palm.

Looking at the candy in her hand, Song Yi couldn’t help but smile faintly: “Got it!”

“Fascinating,” Chi Zhao remarked ambiguously. As they turned their heads, they met Shan Jingyi’s tragic gaze.

Shan Jingyi wore an expression that screamed, “What are you two doing?”

Unlike Chi Zhao, who owned his own company, Shan Jingyi only had the means to splurge due to his status as the young master of the Shan family.

Spending a full 40 million yuan just to spite his rival—what a waste.

However, turning back, Chi Zhao and Song Yi were completely absorbed in a jar of chocolates costing less than twenty yuan.

“Oh, the auction’s over. Congratulations,” Chi Zhao, moved by Shan Jingyi’s exaggerated sadness, stood up instinctively. “I didn’t manage to buy it, what a pity.”

Song Yi quickly handed him his coat and bowed to Shan Jingyi as they left: “Mr. Shan’s generous contribution to charity is admirable.”

Shan Jingyi finally snapped out of it. Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he prepared to offer the painting, only to be preempted by Chi Zhao.

“Sorry, Miss Secretary. Didn’t you really like that painting?” Chi Zhao shoved his hands in his pockets, smiling as he turned slightly.

Song Yi shook her head, following him out: “It’s fine. If there’s another chance, please create more works.”

“Eh? Did you know I painted that?”

“Mm. After all, it’s the NPC guide elf from ACDF , isn’t it? And I’ve seen your work before.”

The two conversed freely as they walked toward the exit.

Watching them leave, Shan Jingyi stood rooted to the spot, feeling as though layers of concrete had encased his body, rendering him immobile.

After the auction ended, Chi Zhao spent a long time in the office.

His daily life was simple—he occasionally rested at home, sometimes visited his studio, and other times went running. But recently, he had devoted himself entirely to pondering a question.

Cutting half a soufflé cake, he set down his fork abruptly and said out of nowhere, “You know, when dealing with tsundere types, you absolutely cannot joke with them.”

Song Yi was clipping newspapers, and Xia Fan was tidying the cat bed. Simultaneously, they both turned to Chi Zhao and echoed the same question: “What?”

“It’s something I discovered while playing galgames recently,” Chi Zhao explained.

“Stop playing,” Xia Fan sighed exasperatedly, holding his forehead. “You’re not cut out for it, really.”

“I reviewed the updated romantic plotlines they revised, and player feedback has been positive, but I can’t see any difference.” Chi Zhao wore a puzzled expression. “Why is that?”

Xia Fan deadpanned, “Because you don’t know how to date.”

There were three people in the office, but only Xia Fan was currently in a relationship. Chi Zhao turned to Song Yi: “What do you think?”

“I believe,” Song Yi replied, “what’s portrayed in works and reality are two different things.”

Chi Zhao snapped his fingers. “Exactly. I fully agree, so I’m studying what others have done.” With that, he picked up a copy of The Tyrant CEO Falls in Love with Me and continued flipping through it.

Meanwhile, stacks of shoujo manga, romance novels, emotional TV dramas, and dating game discs were piled on the desk.

The earlier ones were manageable for Chi Zhao to study on his own, but when it came to games, he inevitably sought opinions from those around him.

In the game, a schoolgirl character asked the player, “The weather’s so nice today. Want to go out together?”

The response options were as follows:

A. Sure! I’ve always wanted to visit the aquarium with you. B. No problem. How about coming to my place? My grandmother will bake us cookies. C. The weather’s great. We’ll definitely be productive. Let’s study together! D. You should just stay home.

“D is definitely wrong,” Chi Zhao said, gripping the controller. “Anyone who can figure that out must be normal. Song Yi, which one would you choose if it were you?”

Song Yi was disposing of unnecessary documents, feeding papers into the shredder. She glanced at the options: “Who am I supposed to be? The grandmother?”

“No,” Chi Zhao replied without turning around, focusing intently on the screen. “Imagine yourself as the schoolgirl.”

Song Yi stepped behind him, leaning over to watch for a moment. She said, “C. If they’re lovers, they should progress together, right?”

Chi Zhao selected option C.

Affection points plummeted by forty.

Seeing this, Song Yi quietly returned to the shredder to continue working.

Chi Zhao tossed aside the controller, lying back and covering his eyes with his arm as he laughed: “I shouldn’t have asked Song Yi after all.”

For the first time, Song Yi, usually as impenetrable as a fortress, felt a twinge of委屈 (grievance). Her tone betrayed no emotion as she spoke: “Everyone’s choices are different. It’s not my fault.”

“Mm. I know.” Chi Zhao propped himself up again, walking back to his desk to review files and check today’s feedback. “Song Yi and I are too similar. We’d choose the same options, so asking you was pointless.”

He raised the corner of his lips, smiling as he typed out replies to emails: “But there’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

The sound of the shredder buzzed continuously, echoing through the vast office. Song Yi stared at the blinking indicator light.

“Of course,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong.”

When Xia Fan returned to the office, he noticed that the screen no longer displayed a dating sim.

Chi Zhao and Song Yi were now engrossed in playing Contra .

They played with intense focus, the game’s sound effects blending seamlessly with the rhythmic tapping of buttons. As Xia Fan entered, Song Yi straightened her upper body momentarily: “I died again.”

“It’s fine,” Chi Zhao continued operating the controller. “There’s not much left. We should be able to finish it.”

Song Yi turned around and greeted Xia Fan: “Assistant Xia, you’re back.”

Xia Fan nodded and asked, “Why are you two playing this now?”

“Galgame is too difficult,” Song Yi replied, picking up a bag of chips nearby. She used chopsticks to pick up a chip and eat it.

Xia Fan questioned further: “Why use chopsticks? Lunch break is over. Hurry up and get back to work.”

“Because it would dirty the game controller,” Song Yi explained, using the chopsticks to feed another chip to Chi Zhao.

Once the game ended, Chi Zhao exhaled in relief, swallowing the chip and sitting back down at his computer. He complained lightheartedly: “I admit defeat. I know nothing about dating. Contra is much better.”

Song Yi disposed of the chip bag in the trash, bending down as she said, “Yes, Contra is a fun game.”

The two seamlessly resumed their work state, like a space station docking with a spacecraft—flawless synchronization, not a single misstep.

Witnessing everything, Xia Fan remained silent, but as he turned away, he couldn’t help but mutter inwardly—

Holy crap, knows nothing about dating.