HGG - 27

Zhan Heqing let out a long sigh.

The smoking room during work hours was deserted, and through the glass windows, one could see the bustling streets below. Song Yi stood at attention, waiting for Zhan Heqing to speak.

However, ever since Song Yi entered, Zhan Heqing had remained silent, sighing repeatedly without saying a word.

After returning from vacation last time, work had been overwhelming, and Song Yi hadn’t yet found the opportunity to tell Zhan Heqing about Zhou Shuhua. But now, it seemed unnecessary.

Finally, Zhan Heqing stopped sighing: “Secretary Song, what do you think of me as a person?”

Song Yi expected him to ask about Chi Zhao’s recent situation, but instead, he posed this unexpected question.

After pondering for a moment, Song Yi replied solemnly: “You’re pretty good.”

“On a scale of ten, how many points would you give me?”

“...” Song Yi said, “Eight.”

“What are the two points deducted for? Don’t worry about my feelings, just say it. Being honest is truly helping me.” Zhan Heqing looked up at her with pitiful eyes.

Though he wasn’t as handsome as Chi Zhao, he was still considered above average among ordinary people. Tall, with a good family background, competent at work, and quite amiable.

Song Yi said: “One point off for being a bit slow on the uptake. The other point... excuse me for being blunt, but sometimes you can be a bit overly fussy, like when ACDF was on the eve of its server launch, and you were still agonizing over such trivial matters...”

“Disgusting! Ah, why are you so annoying!” Zhan Heqing clutched the back of the chair, feigning tears. “Song Yi, you’re a robot! Just like Chi Zhao, you’ll never understand our human feelings.”

Inwardly, Song Yi thought it was his idea to tell the truth. However, she knew she couldn’t continue to argue, so she lightly replied: “Sorry. Are you facing any trouble?”

The relationship between Zhan Heqing and Zhou Shuhua was complicated.

At least in Song Yi’s view, whose interpersonal skills were somewhat lacking, it was exceedingly complex.

Last week, Zhan Heqing invited Zhou Shuhua to dinner as usual. First, it was to give her a gift, and second, to apologize for the unexpected incident during their spring outing.

French cuisine, a heartfelt violin performance by the band’s first violinist, and beautiful night views—everything went smoothly.

Then, Zhan Heqing drove her home. They hadn’t officially defined their relationship yet, but in Zhan Heqing’s mind, they were already gradually entering a blissful stage.

In the car, he even played a Disney princess movie soundtrack.

When they arrived at Zhou Shuhua’s apartment building, he courteously opened the car door for her. At that moment, Zhou Shuhua’s eyes sparkled gently, and she smiled warmly, shyly extending her index finger toward her building, saying: “Today, my roommate isn’t home. Would you like to come upstairs for a cup of tea?”

Zhan Heqing was an adult male who had lived for more than twenty years.

Of course, he understood the deeper meaning behind this seemingly simple sentence.

Thus, like most men who might lose control, he agreed.

But while climbing the stairs, he began to waver.

You haven’t even established a relationship yet! Comrade Xiao Zhan, what are you doing?!

This behavior is incorrect!

As soon as they entered the apartment, Zhan Heqing wanted to leave immediately, but the other party moved with extraordinary speed.

She quickly went to make tea.

When Zhou Shuhua brought out the tea, smiling sweetly, Zhan Heqing couldn’t help but waver again—drinking tea before leaving wouldn’t hurt, right?

Just drinking tea! Really, just tea!

Zhan Heqing picked up the cup and gulped it down, but the tea was scalding hot, and despite covering his mouth, some spilled onto his pants.

How embarrassing.

Zhou Shuhua hurriedly brought tissues to wipe it off, but the tea had soaked through in a delicate spot. In the end, she awkwardly stopped with a forced smile.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” she suggested. “Take off your clothes, and I’ll use a hairdryer to dry them for you.”

Zhan Heqing’s mind was foggy, and at that moment, he obediently followed her suggestion. By the time he realized it, he was already under the showerhead. His phone, bag, and clothes were all outside, and he was naked, feeling that the storyline had slipped out of his control.

It seemed that tonight’s adult scenario was bound to proceed.

After finishing the shower, Zhan Heqing mustered his courage and walked out of the bathroom.

His mind was in turmoil after half an hour of internal conflict, but in the end, reason triumphed over impulse.

However, as soon as he stepped out, Zhou Shuhua handed him the dried clothes.

“They’re done. It’s late, so please get dressed and go home,” Zhou Shuhua said.

Her attitude suddenly did a complete 180-degree turn, pushing him out the door with a faint smile.

In short, in the end, Zhan Heqing took a shower and left. Moreover, he was still wearing those damp pants.

After recounting the entire episode, Zhan Heqing clenched his fists indignantly and exclaimed: “No matter how you look at it, it’s all because of Chi Zhao’s Disney princess soundtrack!”

“Is that so?” Song Yi crossed her arms, secretly thinking that the reasons weren’t far from the two points she had just deducted from him.

Saying he was “slow” was already giving him face.

“It must be that way! Miss Zhou must have misunderstood my music appreciation level,” Zhan Heqing cursed. “Damn, no wonder Chi Zhao never plays that disc himself!”

Because he doesn’t listen to soundtracks—he just collects them.

These words, of course, Song Yi didn’t say aloud. She tried to console him: “Perhaps Miss Zhou didn’t think that much into it?”

Zhan Heqing rose again and questioned the indifferent Song Yi: “Song Yi, do you know what it means when a woman allows a man unrelated to her to take a shower in her home?”

“She has enough hot water?”

“NONONO!” Zhan Heqing waved his hand, answering grandly, “It means she trusts this man. She believes this man won’t harm her, or, in other words, she allows this man to ‘harm’ her.”

“…” Too complicated.

“In summary, it means there’s potential for further development between them, got it?” Zhan Heqing said. “If they’re not dating, it might develop into a romantic relationship.”

After careful consideration, Song Yi found Zhan Heqing’s reasoning somewhat reasonable.

“How about it? Although not absolute, it makes sense in most cases, right?” Zhan Heqing asked. “Alright, tell me, has any strange man ever used your bathroom?”

“No...” Before the next word escaped her lips, Song Yi suddenly paused.

There was someone.

What came to mind was Chi Zhao’s wet hair, his rolling Adam’s apple as he drank water, his exposed shoulders and collarbone while dressing, and his trembling eyelashes as she dried his hair.

Seeing the change in her expression, Zhan Heqing laughed: “Looks like there is. Have you considered developing your relationship with him?”

Song Yi hesitated.

At noon, Chi Yu came to Chongyou.

The three people in the office happened to be going to the cafeteria when the elevator doors opened, and they faced each other head-on. Chi Zhao instinctively reached to press the close button, but Song Yi stopped him with a “Won’t you eat?”

Then he stepped out, pretending to be calm and nodding at Chi Yu, but as soon as they passed each other, he immediately fled into the restroom.

“This is endless...” Finally, Xia Fan intervened, talking to Chi Zhao outside the restroom for several minutes before he came out.

Chi Yu was completely timid, scared and flustered. But he saw Chi Zhao wave his hand.

“Have you eaten lunch?” he asked.

So they shared a table.

Chi Yu had never been to Chongyou’s cafeteria, and selecting and collecting meals required Song Yi’s step-by-step guidance. After finally getting their meal trays and sitting down, Chi Zhao and Xia Fan sat on one side, while Song Yi and Chi Yu sat on the other.

Chi Zhao sat on the inside. At first, when Chi Yu wanted to sit across from him, he struggled to ask: “Song Yi, can you sit across from me? Otherwise, I can’t eat.”

Song Yi was startled, but complied and switched seats.

The four ate in silence. Seeing Chi Zhao’s children’s meal, Chi Yu couldn’t help but comment: “You still like these kinds of things, huh.”

Chi Zhao ignored him, only nodding slightly, then asked: “Out of money recently?”

For several years, whenever Chi Yu came to find Chi Zhao, it was always to ask for money.

Chi Yu wanted to retort but felt powerless, so he lowered his head and muttered: “No.”

After a while, Chi Yu spoke again. “What about you?” he said. “How have you been lately?”

“Hmm,” Chi Zhao sipped his milkshake and replied, “Same as usual.”

“Thanks to Secretary Song and Assistant Xia, you’re not very good at taking care of yourself,” Chi Yu sighed imperceptibly. “Having someone to help you will put both older brother and me at ease.”

Hearing this, Chi Zhao chuckled. He said cheerfully: “Older brother won’t worry about me.”

Chi Yu glanced at him and said nothing more.

Since the topic had touched upon family matters, Xia Fan and Song Yi simultaneously gripped their trays, exchanging glances, preparing to find an opportunity to leave.

However, at this moment, Chi Yu asked: “Are you dating? What type do you like?”

Song Yi’s tray returned to the table.

Seeing her inexplicably staying, Xia Fan had no choice but to sit down as well.

Chi Zhao didn’t rush to answer, stirring the pudding with a spoon. He said: “Dating isn’t interesting, and besides, the company has many things to handle. Why ask this suddenly?”

“I’m sorry,” Chi Yu said, “I just wanted to talk to you. Recently, I wanted to see my ex-wife and child, but I was rejected. As for Mom and Dad, you know, they’ve long since stopped caring about me. Actually, you don’t want to see me either, it’s all my fault. At this age, realizing I’m all alone…”

Song Yi heard for the first time that Chi Yu was divorced; Xia Fan, however, remained unfazed, apparently already knowing.

Everyone was silent except for the sound of Chi Zhao’s spoon digging into the pudding.

Chi Yu continued speaking: “It’s been a long time since we last met. Seeing you today made me think, I hope you won’t end up like me—perhaps, at least have a relationship or something...”

Suddenly, Chi Zhao lifted his spoon, which held a smooth piece of caramel pudding. Pointing the spoon at Chi Yu, he said: “Brother, when you’re lonely, go find a playmate. Family was always like that, but you’re divorced now, right?”

He added: “If one playmate doesn’t work out, just switch to another. That’s all.”

As he spoke these words, Chi Zhao’s expression remained blank. Then, under Chi Yu’s astonished gaze, he slowly curved his lips into a smile.

Smiling, Chi Zhao fed that spoonful of pudding into Chi Yu’s mouth, which had opened in surprise.

At that moment, Song Yi, observing from the side, experienced a fleeting illusion.

She felt as though she had glimpsed inside Chi Zhao’s heart.

Beneath that impeccably beautiful exterior, there was nothing but the precise machinery required to keep his body and mind functioning.

She had noticed it before. Chi Zhao’s heart was hollow and transparent.

He was purer than anyone, cleaner than anyone. He wasn’t cold-hearted, but it was hard for him to be honest with others.

If relationships were judged by game difficulty levels—”EASY,” “NORMAL,” and “HARD”—developing feelings with Chi Zhao couldn’t be described by any of those three.

The difficulty level of deepening a relationship with Chi Zhao was “HELL.”

—Hell Mode.

That evening, after work, when Song Yi returned to her apartment, Chi Yu was clearly waiting for her at the door.

There were only a few days left until ACDF launched, and the design department was required to produce one congratulatory illustration per day. She had been assigned to chase deadlines, running around the design department for half the day, leaving her utterly exhausted.

He pushed open the building’s entrance door for her, and as Song Yi walked in, she asked: “You didn’t ask about Mr. Chi Chong’s situation?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to ask!” Chi Yu covered his face in despair. “Chi Zhao is too terrifying!”

“He’s your younger brother, you know,” Song Yi couldn’t help but reply.

They walked into the hallway together, and Chi Yu sighed: “When he isn’t smiling, I can’t even breathe deeply. When he does smile, I feel like I’m suffocating. Brother is gentle and has a good temper, while I’m just a useless mess no matter how you look at it. Why is it only Xiao Zhao who’s—”

He suddenly thought of something but didn’t say it aloud.

Song Yi, walking ahead, noticed his pause. She guessed what he wanted to say—probably the fact that Chi Zhao and they shared the same father but different mothers.

Back home, Song Yi finally found herself alone.

She cooked dinner, cleaned the room a bit, and when she reached her bed, she happened to see the photo album Chi Zhao had been flipping through that day.

Though called a photo album, it contained very few pictures.

She hadn’t had many opportunities to take photos. There were a few from childhood, but after middle and high school, apart from school group activities and ID photos, there weren’t any new ones.

However, tucked inside were some old certificates of merit—Model Student, Outstanding League Member. Looking at them brought memories of Song Zuowei and Li Mei flooding back.

Song Yi stopped looking and closed the album, shoving it back into the cabinet.

The next day at work, she went downstairs to the design department and immediately noticed something strange in the atmosphere.

Zhou Shuhua, with red eyes, pushed past Song Yi and walked out. The other female employees were also silent, turning their heads back to work without saying a word after Song Yi entered.

However, a few male employees approached and tugged at Song Yi: “Secretary Song, they’ve argued again. Please try to console Shuhua.”

Song Yi set down her documents and turned toward the restroom, where she saw Zhou Shuhua retouching her makeup inside.

Walking in, Song Yi asked: “What happened?”

Seeing it was her, Zhou Shuhua weakly shook her head: “No, it’s all my fault.”

Through the mirror, Song Yi could see Zhou Shuhua’s red-rimmed eyes, evoking pity. With an impassive expression, Song Yi stepped closer: “Can today’s draft still be submitted?”

Upon hearing her calmly discuss work, Zhou Shuhua lowered her head even more.

Song Yi realized she had said the wrong thing. Not knowing how to comfort others, she awkwardly changed the subject: “The official account posts one celebratory illustration daily, buys trending hashtags, and has invited several influential online artists. Everyone’s promoting ACDF .

“You and your colleagues have worked hard and gone through a lot.”

For a long time, Zhou Shuhua remained silent. Just as Song Yi prepared to leave, her shoulders suddenly trembled.

Zhou Shuhua started crying.

Her tears fell like raindrops on petals after a morning shower. Song Yi, witnessing her tears, stood frozen for a moment before remembering to hand her a tissue.

“It’s all my fault,” Zhou Shuhua sobbed, raising her pale, frail hand to cover her forehead. “I’m so stupid—I don’t know how to get along with people.”

Song Yi shoved the tissue into her hand: “It’s not true. I don’t know either, but I’m doing fine now…”

Zhou Shuhua began shaking her head like a rattle, her black hair swaying like willow branches. Closing her eyes, a transparent tear slid down her cheek: “Song Yi, can I call you Little Yi?”

With a solemn expression, Song Yi replied: “Please don’t call me ‘Little Aunt.’”

Because of this “Yi” character, she had never had a nickname growing up. Once in college, Liu Jun called her “Auntie,” and she reluctantly responded—it was the only time.

“Song Yi,” Zhou Shuhua said, “In truth, I only consider you a friend. You’re different from everyone else.”

The conversation progressed rapidly, catching Song Yi off guard.

Without giving her a chance to refuse, Zhou Shuhua continued: “So, there’s a secret I want to tell only you.”

For no reason, Song Yi felt a foreboding sense of dread. Instinctively, she wanted to cover her ears, but sound travels faster than her reflexes.

Zhou Shuhua said: “I’ve fallen in love with President Chi.”

Dead silence.

Song Yi fell silent. Like a computer stuck in processing, she stared motionlessly at Zhou Shuhua.

Zhou Shuhua lowered her head and said: “I’m sorry. I really fell for him. Secretary Song, you like him too, right?”

The program resumed running. Song Yi furrowed her brow and calmly asked: “Compared to that, Miss Zhou, are you serious?”

Not seeing the expected reaction, Zhou Shuhua grew uneasy. She asked: “What?”

“Do you love Mr. Chi in the sense of wanting to date, marry, and have children with him, spending your life together?” Song Yi asked. “Have you made that decision?”

Zhou Shuhua’s tears had dried, and her makeup still looked beautiful. In a pleasant voice, she answered: “Of course. I definitely want to be with him, to be loved by him. Though it’s a bit early, I also want to marry into his family and become Mrs. Chi.”

Song Yi hesitated momentarily.

“Then, I wish you luck, Miss Zhou,” she said after a long pause. “After tidying up, please return as soon as possible. Everyone’s worried about you, and there are still illustrations to finish today.”

With that, Song Yi turned and walked away. She didn’t want to discourage Zhou Shuhua unnecessarily, but she also didn’t consider herself Zhou Shuhua’s friend.

Song Yi didn’t deny that being with Chi Zhao had caused her to waver at times. But—

Just as Song Yi found Zhou Shuhua unfathomable, in reality, Zhou Shuhua viewed Song Yi’s behavior as equally unpredictable.

Zhou Shuhua shed pitiful tears, then employed familiar phrases to close the distance between them, crowning her with the title of “friend.” Yet throughout, Song Yi remained completely unmoved.

Zhou Shuhua was certain: Song Yi and Chi Zhao shared an extraordinary relationship. When standing together, a silent aura emanated from the pair, screaming to those around them—they were comrades, conniving superior and subordinate, a perfect match.

However, when Zhou Shuhua confessed, “I love Chi Zhao,” Song Yi showed no reaction.

Or rather, she was too composed. It was as if she was absolutely certain her position wouldn’t be shaken.

This composure was uncomfortable.

At that moment, Zhou Shuhua made a decision.

“Secretary Song,” just as Song Yi was stepping out of the restroom, Zhou Shuhua spoke again, this time with all traces of fragility wiped clean from her face. “You and President Chi are close, aren’t you?”

Song Yi turned around.

“Do you know that when you’re not around, people occasionally talk about you?” Zhou Shuhua, having removed her mask, spoke with practiced ease. “Are you and President Chi lovers?”

Song Yi turned to face her directly, her words clear and deliberate: “No.”

“To be honest, I initially set my sights on Vice President Zhan. He’s great—generous and gentle. But soon, I realized President Chi is even better.” Zhou Shuhua emphasized her words. “But, President Chi only has you—one woman by his side.”

Song Yi quietly waited for her to continue.

Every woman has two faces: one angelic, the other devilish. This adage embodied itself perfectly in Zhou Shuhua.

Smiling sweetly, Zhou Shuhua said: “Last week, Vice President Zhan came to my place. We didn’t do anything. But accidentally, I saw his phone’s chat records with you.”

A thunderbolt struck Song Yi’s mind. Unconsciously, her hand gripped the restroom door handle, closing it.

“His phone has a password, and most of the records were deleted, but unfortunately, I know software beyond just Photoshop.” Zhou Shuhua smiled. “You’re planted here by Vice President Zhan—or rather, by Zhan Heqing’s father, right? To spy on President Chi?”

It was indeed Zhan Heqing who arranged for her to be placed by Chi Zhao’s side.

But to say she hadn’t noticed Zhan Heqing acting under Zhan Luo’s orders would be a lie.

Every word and action of Chi Zhao’s had been dutifully reported to Zhan Heqing.

She didn’t know much, and Zhan Luo hadn’t done anything harmful to Chi Zhao. So far, her sense of guilt hadn’t been overwhelming.

“Don’t you want Vice President Zhan and President Chi to turn against each other?” Zhou Shuhua’s smile spread endlessly. “If this gets out, not only will you be fired, but one of them—Chi Zhao or Zhan Heqing—will have to leave Chongyou.”

Chongming Games was founded by Chi Zhao, and Zhan Heqing was an indispensable member.

“Or, are you confident that even if this happens, Chi Zhao still won’t leave you?” Zhou Shuhua taunted further.

No.

Song Yi concluded without hesitation.

She was merely one of Chi Zhao’s playmates, like the previous secretaries who had been fired—easily replaceable.

Moreover, Chi Zhao found it hard to trust others, yet he trusted her. Reporting his actions to Chongyou headquarters was akin to betrayal. Even if she didn’t mean to harm him, the result was undeniable.

Silence spread, and the icy chill gradually corroded her. Song Yi calmly asked: “What do you want to erase those records?”

This endless hell.

On the top floor of Chongyou’s office, Chi Zhao stretched lazily and stood up. He picked up the phone and dialed the partition: “Song Yi.”

Xia Fan, holding the phone between his shoulder and cheek, filled out forms as he replied: “Secretary Song left early today.”

Chi Zhao thoughtfully nodded. He put on his coat, twirled his car keys, and headed downstairs, only to encounter Zhan Heqing and Zhou Shuhua in the elevator.

“Zhao,” Zhan Heqing said hurriedly, entrusting him, “Can you drive Miss Zhou home? I promised her, but then Xiao Hong called from abroad, asking me to go home and sign for a package.”

“Ah, it’s no trouble. I can take the bus back myself…” Though she said this, when the elevator doors opened, Zhou Shuhua instinctively moved closer to Chi Zhao’s side.

Chi Zhao didn’t refuse.

When Zhou Shuhua got into his mint-green Jaguar, she glanced around but found no trace of any woman having been there. Her face carried a delicate, lotus-like smile, and her frilly dress was both form-fitting and elegant.

As Chi Zhao asked for her address, he habitually turned on the car stereo.

Charge!

Toward!

The enemy’s heads! Slash! Go!

Zhou Shuhua blinked, staring at the music source and then at Chi Zhao.

Chi Zhao pressed pause: “Sorry, what would you like to listen to?”

Zhou Shuhua breathed a sigh of relief. Her laughter rang out like silver bells, crisp and melodious. “Oh, I don’t listen to much music usually. Just play whatever President Chi likes,” she said.

Chi Zhao fell silent for a moment.

He turned off the car stereo.

The car was once again engulfed in silence.

Fortunately, Zhou Shuhua hadn’t yet given her address. She said: “Hmm—my home is in a remote area. Could you drop me off nearby first? Then I’ll walk through the alleys—it’s a bit troublesome… Sorry.”

Her voice was soft, sweet, and fragrant, like peach-filled glutinous rice balls.

Chi Zhao acknowledged her with a couple of sounds.

After considerable effort, they arrived at Zhou Shuhua’s doorstep as dusk began to settle. Chi Zhao opened the car door for her, then returned to the driver’s seat and said: “Then I’ll be going.”

“Mm,” Zhou Shuhua stood under the moonlight, her skin glowing white. She raised her hand and waved: “See you tomorrow.”

As the car window rolled halfway up, the phone in his pocket vibrated. Leaving the window partially open, Chi Zhao pulled out his phone and saw the flashing name “Song Yi.”

He answered: “Hello.”

From the other end came Song Yi’s ever-calm and soothing voice—neither sweet nor soft, her words always adhering strictly to politeness. She said: “Mr. Chi, I apologize for disturbing you at this hour.”

“It’s fine,” Chi Zhao fastened his seatbelt. “Can you cut down on unnecessary schedules tomorrow? The server launch is coming up—there’s no time to entertain the old men…”

Song Yi seemed troubled, interrupting him—a rare occurrence: “Ah, yes, please rest assured, I’ll relay this to Assistant Xia.”

Zhou Shuhua still waited by the car, smiling like a blooming flower.

Chi Zhao didn’t speak, and Song Yi seized this brief opportunity. Perhaps it was an illusion, but her breathing seemed slightly erratic: “Mr. Chi, I have a question to ask you. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to answer. What would you do if I weren’t here?”

He didn’t know why she suddenly asked this and replied indifferently: “What do you mean, ‘what would I do’?”

“...” After a moment, Song Yi regained her usual calm and said: “I’m sorry…”

Chi Zhao didn’t dwell on it. At this point, he recited a response like a fixed rule: “Replace… probably. That’s how it’s always been.”

He heard silence on the other end of the line.

Then, Song Yi spoke again.

“Mr. Chi,” she said, “I’d like to resign.”

As twilight descended into the low-hanging night, Zhou Shuhua stood silently by the car, waiting. Chi Zhao spoke a few more sentences before finally hanging up and setting the phone aside.

Zhou Shuhua took a step forward, extending her fingers adorned with transparent nail polish to rest on the car window. “President Chi,” she asked, “My roommate isn’t home today. Would you like to come up for a bit?”

Suddenly, the car window began to rise, and she hastily withdrew her hand. Chi Zhao’s face was expressionless. He turned on the car stereo, released the handbrake, and stepped on the gas pedal.

The deepening dusk clung stubbornly to the setting sun.

The Jaguar sped away, like the fleeing silhouette of a reckless youth—or perhaps, a heart that was empty and hollow.