HGG - 34

“Song Yi?” At the sight of her, Zhou Shuhua’s flawless mask of fragility cracked for the first time. She was shocked to see Song Yi, who she thought had been kicked out of the arena, reappear. “Why are you here?”

Song Yi simply gazed at her in silence.

Zhou Shuhua couldn’t help but shake her head. No matter, if she’s here, so be it. She gritted her teeth and lowered her voice: “Aren’t you worried that I’ll reveal that thing…?”

Before she could finish, she was interrupted. “Haven’t caused enough trouble yet? Miss Zhou,” Song Yi said coldly, unflinching, “please show some self-respect, thank you.”

The pedal beneath Zhou Shuhua shattered with a bang. She suddenly lost her balance, her body tilting as she was about to fall.

Behind her, the elevator chimed. Song Yi glanced around once more and politely informed everyone: “Excuse me, thank you all for your cooperation.”

As she entered the elevator, Chi Zhao was leaning against the wall fiddling with his phone. Seeing her come in, he teasingly asked: “Isn’t that a line from the TV drama we watched the other day?”

Even though she was called out, Song Yi remained calm and began reporting today’s schedule indifferently: “There will be a board meeting in a few days. Before that, I suggest you familiarize yourself with the work progress during your absence.”

“No rush,” he said, “let’s talk to Comrade Xiao Zhan first.”

At this moment, Zhan Heqing was still downstairs.

Most of the employees had returned to their respective workstations, while those who were fired were still somewhat dazed. Zhan Heqing held the fairy wand in his hand.

He stood there for quite a while before snapping back to reality and heading upstairs.

When he pushed open the office door, Zhan Heqing saw Chi Zhao standing by the window, gazing off into the distance.

He walked in and placed the items in his hand down, asking: “Firing people right after coming back—surely it wasn’t just on a whim?”

Chi Zhao didn’t turn his head, his gaze fixed on the distant department store poster advertising ACDF . He said: “Birdman is rushing to follow us in making online games; they must be short on staff now.”

“So you’re giving them employees?” Zhan Heqing frowned, then suddenly thought of something. “Were there spies among those people?”

“How could that be? I only fire useless people. Besides,” Chi Zhao chuckled, turning to look at Zhan Heqing, “unlike some people, I don’t plant spies.”

Zhan Heqing knew he was mocking him.

Calm and composed, Chi Zhao walked toward the door. He said: “Being here is useless for me, but over at Birdman, they might find some use.”

Zhan Heqing stared at the back of his head, hesitating briefly before suddenly understanding.

“You bastard wouldn’t…” Zhan Heqing couldn’t help but laugh, “Aren’t you being too sneaky? Do you dislike Shan Jingyi that much?”

Chi Zhao didn’t deny it. As he walked out, he poked his head back in momentarily.

“By the way, Comrade Xiao Zhan, I think it’s great that you’ve developed some hobbies, but,” Chi Zhao said, “don’t do these things during work hours.”

At first, Zhan Heqing was a bit confused until he returned to his computer.

Wu Qi Qi’s live stream room was prominently pinned at the top of the browser.

Zhan Heqing let out a startled cry, scrambling to close it. But just before it disappeared, he saw Wu Qi Qi smiling at the camera and saying: “Next Sunday, I’ll be going to ACGJOY for an outdoor shoot! Everyone, remember to tune in to my live stream! If fate allows, feel free to say hi to me in person! Thank you!”

Staring at the gray screen with the message “Streamer is not home,” Zhan Heqing gradually fell silent.

ACGJOY was a well-known domestic otaku convention, held twice a year. Its excellent location and long history made it a grand event in the hearts of otaku.

At the convention, attendees could buy doujin merchandise, watch cosplay performances, attend signing events with famous creators, meet fellow otaku, and even try out some game products.

Speaking of which, it was almost time for the next event.

Chongming Games also had a dedicated booth every year. Previously, they mainly showcased licensed Korean and Japanese online games, but this year, ACDF had progressed rapidly, making the necessity of promotion obvious.

However, even with the promotion, it had no direct relation to the upper management like Zhan Heqing. All he had to do was sign one document after another.

Thinking this, Zhan Heqing was about to log out when he saw the streamer “Wu Qi Qi” update a text post.

“Forgot to mention, I’ll be wearing a swimsuit!”

Zhan Heqing choked on his coffee, violently coughing as he clutched his desk for support.

________________________________________

A few days later, Song Yi visited Chongming Culture headquarters for the first time.

Previously, Xia Fan had always handled such matters, but this time, Xia Fan was busy with other tasks.

Song Yi’s first impression of the Chongming Culture building was “the ceilings are so high.”

Additionally, several equally impressive buildings stood nearby, facing Chongming from afar. Through the glass elevator, Song Yi noticed they were all major enterprises rivaling Chongming.

Several directors whom she had either met in person or seen in documents arrived one after another, but Chi Zhao’s father was absent. It was said he was currently in Brazil and had no time to return.

Song Yi went to the restroom beforehand to ensure she could stay by Chi Zhao’s side throughout the meeting without any mishaps.

As Murphy’s Law dictates, the more you worry about something, the more likely it is to happen.

While getting up to receive materials for Chi Zhao, the heel of Song Yi’s high heels snapped.

With a loud click , fortunately, everyone was focused on the slideshow playing, so no one noticed.

There was no time to go to a shoe store. Song Yi had no choice but to endure. She shifted her weight to her toes, which was tiring, but she had no other option.

Finally, the meeting ended. Chi Zhao was called aside by one of the directors, and Song Yi stood waiting nearby. Her feet were on the verge of cramping when someone suddenly tapped her from behind.

Song Yi had spoken with this person before. At a previous Chongming banquet, he had poured coffee for Chi Zhao, but she had directly blocked him.

“Mr. Zhan requests your presence,” he said, being Zhan Luo’s assistant. “Don’t worry, we’ll inform Mr. Chi Zhao.”

Song Yi knew she had no grounds to refuse.

Upon entering the office filled with the scent of English pear, Song Yi couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy. Passing through the partitioned door, she saw Zhan Luo standing alone in front of a bookshelf.

“Miss Song,” Zhan Luo smiled, “please sit. If you don’t mind, try the gift on the table.”

Song Yi sat down and opened the gift box on the table. Inside was a pair of lemon-yellow high-heeled leather shoes.

“This…”

“You need them right now. They’re yours,” Zhan Luo said. “Being overly polite to elders can be considered disrespectful.”

Facing this older gentleman, Song Yi eventually bent down to change her shoes. She put them on—not her size, but close enough.

“Thank you very much. May I ask, were these originally prepared for Miss Zhan?” she asked.

“For a girlfriend,” Zhan Luo smiled faintly. He was about to light a cigarette but, considering her presence, extinguished it instead.

Song Yi was startled, suddenly recalling something she had heard. Zhan Luo divorced his wife long ago and had remained unmarried ever since.

Noticing his subtle movements, Song Yi gestured: “Ah, please, go ahead.”

But Zhan Luo shook his head, setting the cigarette down. “Does little Zhao still smoke much?”

Song Yi answered truthfully: “Very little.”

“Lao Zhao and I were both heavy smokers. I’m a bit lenient with myself but strict with others. His father was different,” Zhan Luo chuckled. “You know about Chi Chong’s situation, right?”

Song Yi froze, even doubting whether she had a wiretap on her. How did he know?

Zhan Luo saw through her thoughts and sat down leisurely. “I was just guessing.”

Song Yi managed a faint smile: “May I ask what instructions you have for me? Though I’m sorry to say it, I believe you can guess—I can no longer provide intelligence to Mr. Zhan.”

“Indeed, there’s one thing I’d like to entrust to you,” Zhan Luo said. “Stay by Chi Zhao’s side.”

Receiving such an unexpected order, Song Yi was taken aback.

Zhan Luo continued calmly: “After Chi Chong passed away, he was heavily involved in the aftermath. Handling public relations with society, comforting his remaining brother—but deep down, he must have been hurting too.”

Suddenly, he extended his hand, placing something on the table, and slid it toward Song Yi.

To explain it as an accident to the outside world, Chi Chong’s phone was recovered as key evidence. No records mentioned the existence of this item.

And now, after repairs, it sat neatly before Song Yi.

After a long silence, Zhan Luo spoke, though his question seemed unrelated. He asked: “Miss Secretary Song, have you ever trusted anyone?”

The first image that flashed in Song Yi’s mind was her father. Her father tightly hugging her under the shade of a tree on a scorching summer day—and Song Zuo, red-eyed and furious, lunging at her after losing money.

Before plunging into the sea, Chi Chong repeatedly called someone’s number, but the call was never connected. So he kept dialing again and again.

Meanwhile, Chi Zhao also kept calling him.

In the end, Chi Chong didn’t answer any of his younger brother’s calls.

“Chi Chong was a flawless child, but also a stupidly naïve one,” Zhan Luo held a cigarette between his fingers, unlit, his amused gaze drifting to some unknown point. “He trusted the wrong person.”

Ignoring the boundaries between superior and subordinate, Song Yi blurted out her question: “Who was the person who didn’t answer his call?”

But Zhan Luo didn’t respond. Smiling faintly, he said: “Little Zhao trusts you. I hope he hasn’t made the same mistake as Chi Chong.”

In his eyes, he hadn’t been able to save his brother’s life—or perhaps it could be said that Chi Chong rejected his offer to stay.

Leaving Zhan Luo’s office, Song Yi changed back into her shoes.

Her feet hurt terribly, but she still walked briskly. By the time she returned to the underground parking garage of Chongyou, she was limping.

Song Yi leaned against the wall, slowly moving forward. Chi Zhao had no choice but to slow his pace, torn between amusement and pity. He asked: “Do you want to wait here for a bit while I borrow a pair of shoes for you?”

Song Yi shook her head and declined.

She recalled her response earlier in Zhan Luo’s office. She had said: “The shoes, indeed, I can’t accept them. But even without you saying so, I’ll stay by Chi Zhao’s side. He won’t make that kind of mistake—I absolutely won’t allow anyone to hurt him like that again.

“I’ll never leave him alone.”

Though that’s what she said, as she hobbled along leaning on the wall, Song Yi looked at Chi Zhao’s back and couldn’t help but wonder: What must it have felt like?

During those repeated failed calls, he must have begged humbly, surely feeling powerless in the face of his brother’s coldness, perhaps even falling into despair. Yet his call logs continued until the moment his phone lost signal after sinking into the sea.

He begged until the very end.

“Chi Zhao.” Song Yi suddenly spoke.

Chi Zhao turned his head, his expression relaxed.

“Can we hold hands?” She extended her hand. “Like that night.”

Chi Zhao paused for a moment. “Can’t walk anymore?” he said. “But my hands are very cold.”

Song Yi shook her head. “It’s fine.”

So he reached out.

Before she could process it, their fingers were already intertwined. Chi Zhao used his other hand to put away his phone and turned his face to smile at her: “If it really hurts, don’t force yourself.”

Song Yi followed him, walking slowly forward. For no reason at all, she, who hadn’t cried over her own difficulties for a long time, suddenly felt like crying.