HGG - 40

“In summary,” Zhan Heqing said, wrapping his arms around himself as he finished recounting the events. He sat pitifully amidst a pile of Miffy plush toys and asked, “Do you all realize the key point here?”

In the president’s office of Chongyou Games, Chi Zhao was playing darts, Song Yi was organizing discarded papers, and Xia Fan was busy setting up cat litter.

“Can at least one of you pretend to listen to me?” Zhan Heqing asked, barely suppressing his anger.

Hearing the warning signs of an impending outburst, Chi Zhao finally turned his head to glance at him.

“The key…” Chi Zhao said slowly, “…is that someone called you pigeon-toed with bad fashion sense?”

“…” Zhan Heqing fell silent.

Song Yi interjected coldly, “I assume the real issue is that Vice President Zhan secretly watched Miss Wu’s livestream and got caught.”

“It’s neither!” Zhan Heqing exclaimed, leaping up from the sea of stuffed rabbits and pigs.

Xia Fan silently observed from the sidelines. It was clear that Chi Zhao was messing with Zhan Heqing, but what surprised him was that Song Yi was joining in too.

Just as Zhan Heqing was about to explode like a volcano, Xia Fan intervened: “You were confessed to. But may I ask—did you really just flee the scene?”

“Uh…” Zhan Heqing was once again struck speechless by frustration.

Yes.

He had fled.

Even though she had confessed her feelings so openly, he had panicked and made up an excuse about needing to use the restroom before running away.

It was utterly embarrassing.

In recent days, Wu Qiuxiu had resumed streaming, but he didn’t dare enter her livestream room again.

“All of this is irrelevant,” Chi Zhao said, throwing his last dart. “But hey, can you go back to your own office now?”

And just like that, the vice president was mercilessly kicked out.

Zhan Heqing trudged back to his office, the image of Wu Qiuxiu’s shining face lingering in his mind for days.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with women expressing interest in him, but being confessed to after a table-kicking declaration was definitely a first.

When it came to relationships, Zhan Heqing had never been particularly adept. His mother had divorced Zhan Luo while pregnant with Jenny and rarely said much during her occasional visits.

Jenny, deprived of maternal affection, had developed a bad temper. As her older brother, Zhan Heqing had unconsciously adopted the habit of treating all women like younger sisters to protect.

But what about Wu Qiuxiu?

What made her different from the others?

Unable to answer these questions, Zhan Heqing felt lost.

Still, running away after a confession was undeniably his fault.

Wu Qiuxiu must think poorly of him now.

With that thought weighing on his mind, he continued walking back. Just then, his assistant hurried out of the office.

“Mr. Zhan, there’s an unannounced visitor who wants to see you,” the assistant said, holding the phone. “She says her name is ‘Woo Jiu Jiu’ and brought you a melon.”

After finally getting rid of Zhan Heqing, Song Yi packed up the discarded drafts and prepared to hand them over to Wang Ma.

Her thoughts drifted to a few days ago.

Chi Shuren, Chi Zhao’s father, also had an interest in games—something Song Yi hadn’t expected.

No online profile could fully encapsulate a person. When Chi Shuren appeared in person, Song Yi found him less intimidating than the media portrayed.

The same went for Zhan Luo. She glanced down at the yellow high heels he had given her. Her previous pair had been sent to the cobbler for repairs.

On another note—”Mr. Chi,” Song Yi suddenly asked, “have you ever broken a bone?”

“Huh?” Chi Zhao paused, pulling the last dart from the board. “Yeah. In ninth grade, I fell while skating too fast on the ice.”

“Are you okay now?” Song Yi asked.

“I’ve been fine for a long time,” Chi Zhao replied, flexing his arm.

“Why did you go to Canada for school?”

Chi Zhao hesitated before answering. “It was my aunt’s suggestion. She worked at Ubisoft’s studio and could get unreleased games early, so I went.”

Song Yi had never heard of him having an aunt. His encyclopedia entry briefly mentioned that Chi Shuren had a sister.

Ubisoft, headquartered in France, was known for masterpieces like the Assassin’s Creed series. The company had branches in Canada, Switzerland, and China.

“But I attended a boarding school and only visited her during holidays. That’s when I learned French.” Chi Zhao resumed throwing darts. “Why are you asking this?”

Song Yi paused for a moment before replying clearly, “Because I suddenly realized there’s so much about you I don’t know.”

Chi Zhao’s hand froze mid-motion as he processed her words.

He asked, “Is there anything specific you want to know?”

“Yes,” Song Yi answered without hesitation.

“Then ask.”

“When did you learn to skate? Which part of your body was injured when you broke your bone? What kind of person is your aunt? Why did you later go to Japan? Are you friends with Mr. Mishima from the sushi restaurant?” Song Yi looked up at Chi Zhao. Her expression remained calm, devoid of emotional fluctuations, but her tone was serious, like a journalist at a press conference.

Chi Zhao stared at her, unwavering as he threw the dart.

Bullseye.

Aside from reading people’s minds, it seemed there was nothing he couldn’t do.

Song Yi reiterated, “I want to know more about you.”

“You,” Chi Zhao began, “shouldn’t say such impactful things so casually.”

“What?” Song Yi didn’t understand what he meant.

“I can’t answer everything at once.” Chi Zhao walked over. Despite the cool weather, he wore only a black short-sleeved T-shirt indoors.

He raised his left arm and explained how he had fallen on the ice, breaking his bone and scraping his skin. Song Yi watched as he lowered his head.

When he averted his gaze, his eyelashes were distinct, his nose bridge elegant. His thin lips might suggest a lack of warmth, but when he lifted his eyes, their clarity dispelled any doubts.

His gaze was so pure. Song Yi couldn’t help but think that anyone who received his prolonged attention would be incredibly fortunate.

“Are you listening?” Sensing her distraction, Chi Zhao asked emotionlessly.

“Huh?” Song Yi rarely showed such lapses. She quickly responded, “Sorry. I’m listening.”

“Anyway, the fracture wasn’t too bad, but the abrasion hurt like hell—” Chi Zhao wasn’t lying. The injury had been severe, and faint scars still lingered on his arm.

Instinctively, Song Yi reached out.

She gently traced the faint scar, momentarily imagining him skating.

For Canadians, skating was a common sport. He was skilled, effortlessly gliding on the ice in thin clothes, perhaps hugging himself against the cold, speaking foreign languages fluently among white peers.

As Song Yi prepared to withdraw her hand, Chi Zhao suddenly swayed and collapsed onto the floor.

He had fallen asleep.

Chi Zhao occasionally fell asleep unexpectedly.

“There’s no helping it. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately,” Xia Fan said, draping a blanket over him.

“Hmm.” Song Yi thought for a moment, reviewing the schedule. “Let him sleep for about an hour.”

“An hour? Ten minutes should be enough, right? Isn’t he supposed to visit Cor’s training base today?” Xia Fan asked.

“It’s fine.” Song Yi had already turned to retrieve her bag. “I’ll go ahead and greet them. Wake Mr. Chi up later, and he can catch up.”

Before Xia Fan could respond, Song Yi had already left.

Efficiency was a virtue shared by every outstanding employee at Chongyou.

Song Yi headed downstairs and outside to request a driver’s assistance, only to encounter Jenny Zhan, who had come to pick up Zhan Heqing. She generously offered to drive Song Yi instead.

“It’s not on the way. Thank you for the trouble, Miss Zhan,” Song Yi said.

Jenny, gripping the steering wheel nonchalantly, replied, “No problem. I don’t work anyway, so I’m free every day.”

A blunt yet cruel response.

She asked, “If you’re going to the esports base, will you meet any professional players?”

“Maybe. But mainly, I’ll be talking to the person in charge,” Song Yi explained. “They were supposed to come here, but Mr. Chi said they were too busy preparing for a match, so we decided to go instead.”

“How considerate,” Jenny laughed. “Chi Zhao may seem hard to read, but he’s actually very thoughtful of others.”

As a child, Jenny had been temperamental. She believed her mother had left because of her and resented everyone, convinced she was the most pitiable person in the world who deserved to be the center of attention.

Their father was always busy with work, and her brother’s kindness often came across as clumsy and difficult to comprehend.

Back then, Chi Zhao would occasionally visit the Zhan household. Handsome and approachable, he naturally drew Jenny’s admiration. She impulsively gave him a signed photo of her favorite actress—a legendary Hong Kong star whose martial arts roles inspired countless fans.

Through her father’s connections, Jenny had met the actress and obtained the autographed photo. In her memory, the star was gentle and fragrant.

Jenny gave the photo to Chi Zhao.

She expected him to be thrilled and shower her with gratitude.

But Chi Zhao’s reaction was unexpectedly calm.

“Thank you. I really like it,” he said simply.

That was all.

Jenny was disappointed but consoled herself that at least he had thanked her.

Later, when her brother found out, Zhan Heqing had been incredulous. “How could you do that?”

Jenny shrugged indifferently. “What’s the big deal? Chi Zhao said he liked it.”

A long silence followed.

Years later, upon learning about Chi Zhao’s relationship with the actress in the photo, Jenny often reflected on that day. Chi Zhao had acted normally to spare her feelings.

That was just the kind of person he was.

Jenny snapped out of her memories and suddenly pulled something from her bag. “Here, put this on.”

It was a lipstick.

“The esports scene is all about youth!” Jenny lectured. “You look so outdated! This shade is the latest trend, the hottest topic among young people!”

Song Yi twisted open the lipstick.

Something about the color felt off, but in the end, she applied it anyway.

The infamous “death Barbie pink.”

After Song Yi left, Xia Fan took a sip of oolong tea and walked over to Chi Zhao, who was still lying on the floor.

He looked down at him and suddenly said, “She’s gone.”

Chi Zhao, eyes closed, replied, “Good. Turn off the lights. I can sleep for another fifty-six minutes.”

“Why did you suddenly pretend to fall asleep?” Xia Fan walked over to the light switch and turned off the lights. “You scared us. Doesn’t it hurt when you collapse like that?”

In the dim light, Chi Zhao opened his eyes.

Staring blankly at the ceiling, he abruptly said, “I was too nervous.”

“What?” Xia Fan, who was drawing the curtains, turned around. He saw his boss frowning, trying to suppress something.

“She said she wanted to touch me earlier,” Chi Zhao murmured. “I got really nervous.”

Nervous to the point of feeling feverish, unable to make eye contact, unsure how to react.

Xia Fan touched his ear and asked, “Did she finally lose her patience and hit you?”

“Yeah, probably,” Chi Zhao said with a fleeting smile before closing his eyes again. Quietly, he added, “It’s okay if she hits me.”