HGG - 28

According to Chongming Games’ regulations, full-time employees must submit a written resignation application one month in advance.

Song Yi’s resignation letter was delivered to Chi Zhao’s desk the next day.

She didn’t return to work, her apartment was cleaned out, and the HR department received compensation for her absences.

The spaceship continued its journey through the starry sky, Earth kept spinning as usual, and amidst the grand celebration of Chongming Games and millions of gamers, not many people noticed the disappearance of one individual.

Because ACDF had entered open beta testing.

Open beta refers to the game being officially released to the public, free of charge and without account limitations, in order to gather feedback from more players.

In the days that followed, Chi Zhao devoted himself entirely to his work.

Staying up for two days straight became routine. Xia Fan came over to call him for breakfast. Chi Zhao nodded, got up, and tripped over a stuffed toy on the floor as he walked across the office.

At the moment he fell, he drifted off into sleep and passed out immediately.

Xia Fan rushed over in a panic and called the private doctor. As his blood pressure was being checked, Chi Zhao opened his eyes hazily.

“Hallelujah.” He mumbled before falling back asleep.

Xia Fan, who had already been shouldering both his own and Song Yi’s workload, was exhausted. Now, with even more tasks piling up, he reminded Chi Zhao daily to take his vitamins.

He complained: “We’re understaffed. You should consider hiring a new secretary.”

Chi Zhao chewed on vitamin tablets noisily, saying: “This tastes like orange candy.”

When he finally found some peace, Chi Zhao put on an eye mask and lay down on the couch, just about to fall asleep. Suddenly, Zhan Heqing barged into the office, looked around, and shouted loudly: “Chi Zhao! Come out! Big brother will take you out to have fun!”

Chi Zhao pretended to be asleep but was forcibly pulled up by Zhan Heqing, made to change clothes, and then dragged out.

Though it was called “fun,” it was really just entertaining advertisers. In this era, marketing was just as important as the product itself.

The client liked Beijing cuisine, so the main course chosen was Peking duck.

While in the car, Chi Zhao had been playing with his phone. By the time they arrived at the dinner, he still appeared listless, yawning nonstop.

Several bosses came over to chat with him. After all, the surname “Chi” carried significant weight in their circle, and since he rarely attended such events, his presence was even more rare.

Zhan Heqing explained on his behalf: “Chi Zhao has been extremely busy lately. Apart from work, he’s usually quite drained. Please bear with him.”

After the meal, Zhan Heqing drove Chi Zhao around for a spin.

At this point, Chi Zhao finally woke up a little. With a puzzled expression, he asked: “Why are you suddenly being so nice?”

Zhan Heqing’s smile stiffened momentarily, but then he affectionately patted Chi Zhao’s shoulder and said: “We were elementary school classmates! Besides, is this what you call being nice? I’ve always treated you this well! Today I’m in a good mood, so feel free to ask for anything!”

Chi Zhao thought for a moment and said: “Anything?”

“Absolutely anything!” Zhan Heqing grinned.

“Then do three spins right here and bark like a dog.”

“Chi Zhao,” Zhan Heqing forced a smile while suppressing his anger, “You’d better think carefully.”

“You said anything goes,” Chi Zhao turned away. “Suddenly acting like my grandson—did you do something to feel guilty about?”

Zhan Heqing fell silent for a moment, then let out a dry laugh: “Of course not. How about I arrange an interview for you?”

He waited a long time without hearing a response, only to realize that Chi Zhao had already fallen asleep.

A few days later, a row of people appeared in Chi Zhao’s office.

Zhan Heqing walked into the office that resembled a demon lord’s lair, clapped his hands, and a lineup of young women, dressed impeccably, entered holding their résumés.

Chi Zhao, who had been typing, involuntarily stopped. He glanced at Xia Fan in the adjacent room, who quickly waved his hands to indicate he wasn’t involved.

Zhan Heqing unbuttoned two buttons of his coat, sat on Chi Zhao’s sofa, and waved his hand grandly. “Come on, let’s start the interviews.”

“What?” Chi Zhao’s gaze returned to the dual monitors, his voice flat.

“You need someone in your office,” Zhan Heqing objectively commented. “Assistant Xia must be exhausted, right?”

Xia Fan had already stepped out, standing by the door and answering according to Chi Zhao’s expression: “Not at all.”

“They’ve all been carefully selected by me and are very capable. Anyway,” Zhan Heqing announced, “at least give them a chance. Can we do that?”

Chi Zhao suddenly shifted his posture. Standing on his chair, he tilted his head and flashed a smile at Zhan Heqing.

“Fine.” As he spoke, Chi Zhao stood up on the chair.

With his hands in his pockets, he turned his head and began issuing commands one by one, starting from the leftmost person:

“Go get me something to drink.”

“Buy two strawberry donuts from the café downstairs.”

“Can I test your Super Mario Bros skills? I’ll lend you my console. Step back, go to the second-to-last cabinet—it has a Nintendo. Pick one.”

“Help me find Tree Frog. My cat disappeared somewhere earlier. Thanks.”

After finishing his rapid-fire instructions, he sat back down to continue working, leaving the prospective secretaries scrambling to fulfill his requests.

The beverage delivered was coffee. Before Chi Zhao could say anything, Xia Fan had already brought a replacement glass of milk.

Chi Zhao took the cup and said: “Later, choose the most suitable candidate to stay. Don’t waste too much of their time.”

Although Xia Fan had initially proposed the idea, when it came down to it, he hesitated.

“Are you really going to pick one from them?” Xia Fan asked.

“What else can we do?” Chi Zhao smirked at him. “Wait until you’re overworked?”

Xia Fan rolled his eyes. Chi Zhao took a sip and looked down at the cup. He handed it back: “Why is this milk?”

“You usually drink milk…” Xia Fan replied, puzzled.

“I want Coke.” Chi Zhao said.

In the end, Xia Fan still picked one.

The young woman, cradling Tree Frog, timidly walked in. Upon learning she was chosen, she couldn’t help but cheer. A recent graduate from a prestigious university, she was highly interested in games and had registered for the newly launched ACDF .

“Mr. Chi,” the young woman gushed with gratitude, “I’ve finally met you!”

Chi Zhao didn’t look up or respond, making it impossible to confirm whether he had heard her.

“When you gave a speech at our school, I wanted to take a picture with you and get your contact information. I never imagined I’d be working by your side today!” She said excitedly.

Xia Fan, standing nearby, cleared his throat and interjected, beginning to outline the terms: “You’re only a temporary worker for now. It’s uncertain if you’ll be hired long-term. For now, please remember what I’m about to say…”

At this point, Chi Zhao finally glanced their way.

Is this how every secretary starts?

Was it the same for Song Yi?

The young woman suddenly turned her head. Chi Zhao, caught off guard, didn’t have time to avert his gaze.

She looked at him and grinned mischievously: “Mr. Chi, what happened to that terrifying secretary of yours?”

“Hmm?” Chi Zhao looked confused.

“The last time you visited our university, didn’t you have a female secretary with you?” She smiled innocently. “Where did she go?”

Silence washed over the office like waves, cleansing everyone inside.

Chi Zhao withdrew his hand. He did nothing, simply sitting there, his gaze drifting aimlessly.

Then, he smiled.

Chi Zhao said cheerfully: “It’s your turn now.”

The reception for ACDF was even more enthusiastic than anticipated, with some calling it a milestone in domestically produced games.

Everyone at Chongming Games rejoiced. Though unrelated to weddings, the Planning Department—with Chi Zhao’s support—set up a champagne tower in the first-floor lobby.

Chi Zhao stood by the elevator doors for a while, leaning against the wall. Then he turned back to play games in celebration.

Due to his recent busyness, he had accumulated a stack of recently released games that he hadn’t had time to play, storing them in his drawer.

Chi Zhao started with a few puzzle games, then moved on to action games—all his strong suits.

Afterward, he called the new secretary in and began dictating overall reviews for her to post online using his account.

The young woman, lively and carefree, finished typing the content for him and then sat down next to Tree Frog. Chi Zhao picked up his tablet to read others’ reviews.

Just then, the office door was suddenly pushed open.

All the employees, holding cakes, walked in accompanied by music.

The song was the ending theme from the first version of Astro Boy . Everyone had consulted Zhan Heqing carefully; it was a song Chi Zhao liked very much.

Together, they joyfully cut the cake.

As they were leaving, Chi Zhao asked: “Not a single one of you understands Japanese?”

Of course not, but everyone exchanged puzzled glances, not noticing anything amiss.

Once the office returned to silence, Chi Zhao couldn’t help but burst into laughter. The young secretary curiously asked: “What’s wrong with this Japanese song?”

Chi Zhao replied: “The song is called ‘Boy’s Heart.’”

It was a song expressing sadness over being left alone.

But Chi Zhao didn’t elaborate. Meeting the young secretary’s puzzled gaze, his urge to confide vanished instantly. He said: “How boring. Want to watch Doraemon ?”

The young secretary shook her head, smiling foolishly. “I haven’t watched Doraemon since I was little.”

Chi Zhao fell silent for a moment, then asked: “How about playing Contra 2 together? It has a lot of alien elements—I love it.”

“Ah,” the young secretary said, “I’m not really into those kinds of intense games.”

He suddenly spotted a mini track assembled on the desk and picked up a toy four-wheel drive car. This time, the young woman didn’t decline.

However, when they turned it on, the car didn’t move.

“It’s out of batteries. Do we have any?” He asked.

The young woman paced anxiously for a moment, then hurried toward the door. “I’ll go buy some right away!”

“Forget it.” Chi Zhao stopped her.

In his memory, someone had once carefully bitten the battery, then respectfully placed it back into the car. Her hands were warm when he took it.

The office sank into an unfathomable silence. Chi Zhao slowly tapped the game controller against his palm, rhythmically, until finally, he murmured: “Why?”

The young woman looked at him and echoed: “What?”

“Why?” Chi Zhao muttered as if lost in thought.

In the verse section of “Boy’s Heart,” a deep voice repeatedly sang this line in Japanese—”Why, why?”

His transparent heart stopped running, and he couldn’t help but ponder this question.

Why, indeed?

Chi Zhao turned and walked out.

On the way, he casually greeted Wang Ma, took the elevator downstairs, and headed to the entrance to get into his car.

Only after sitting in the driver’s seat did Chi Zhao take a deep breath.

He pulled out his phone, paused on the contact labeled “Song Yi” for a long time, and finally switched to another number. The other party answered almost instantly, as if years of work experience had conditioned them to reflexively pick up.

“Tell me where Song Yi is,” Chi Zhao said.