Chapter 15: Sweet Dawdling

Surrounded by a group of people during the day, Chu Fuxuan, as the center of attention, was on edge, worried that handling things carelessly would expose the problems between him and Qi Yingzhu.

As a result, he lacked much of an appetite. He poked at the rice grains with his chopsticks and didn’t eat much. By the time night fell, because he had been tense the whole time, he didn’t even feel hungry.

Later, as soon as his head hit the pillow, his mind suddenly relaxed. He felt dizzy and uncomfortable, but this feeling was very faint and was quickly covered by drowsiness.

When Chu Fuxuan dreamed tonight, from the very beginning he practically realized it was an illusion. He had dreamed of this scene countless times before.

“It’s your turn, Spruce.” Someone pushed his back, calling his English name.

Holding a stack of paper documents, Chu Fuxuan looked at the podium not far away. He mechanically took a few steps forward and placed all the scripts on the desk.

Many judges cast assessing glances, both openly and covertly. The stomach is a person’s emotional organ; he noticed that area seemed to twist in a bout of pain, but his actions were unaffected. He watched himself walk to the front of the podium without his script.

The PowerPoint presentation opened, and the screen projected the results he had worked on for a quarter. The structure and data were very precise, and even the layout was so beautiful that no faults could be found.

But why were the people below the stage still chatting? As a newcomer, he froze helplessly.

It’s nothing, it will be fine, Chu Fuxuan silently repeated to himself at this moment. It’s just a little bit of turbulence.

However, standing on the stage, Chu Fuxuan’s eyes trembled slightly. Not having completely shed his immaturity, he gripped the computer’s Bluetooth clicker so tightly that his fingertips turned somewhat white.

Some people scrutinized him, their expressions of contempt and doubt unconcealed. Others discussed him, whispering so quietly it was impossible to hear what they were saying.

There were few people present with the same skin color as him. As soon as Chu Fuxuan appeared, he was an anomaly. Looking at a room full of all sorts of strange faces, a sudden chill spread from his heels to his spine.

“Was it him that time?” He caught a few people whispering. “He brought a late-night bento. I smelled it at the time and even asked who was eating.”

“You weren’t just asking, you were speaking so loudly, telling everyone everywhere where that huge smell was coming from. Now he orders salad takeout.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just thought the rice noodles were pungent, and it’s a workplace, after all…”

“As if you cook instant noodles any less. He didn’t even add vinegar; that stuff only tastes good with vinegar.”

While the people below discussed among themselves, the host signaled Chu Fuxuan to prepare for his presentation. This was his first public debriefing. He should have been sweating from nervousness, but his palms were ice cold, and the cold wind seemed to pierce right through his chest.

Following what he had simulated beforehand, Chu Fuxuan began to speak based on the content projected on the screen. Those voices didn’t die down, nor did anyone step up to stop them. He didn’t know how many people were actually looking up at the data.

The air conditioning in the conference hall was always kept very low year-round. Chu Fuxuan had draped a coat over himself, but he felt it wasn’t enough right now—far from enough.

Had he done something wrong? It was as if a bone in his body had dislocated, leading to tremors, pain, and a sunken hollow. No matter what was stuffed into the gap, there was no echo.

He suddenly shut his mouth and silently flipped through the slides, ignoring the increasingly noisy voices of the others, skipping straight to the last few pages.

Reaching this point in the memory, Chu Fuxuan could anticipate the direction of events. But unlike before, he inexplicably felt a heavy weight on his body, and his heart sank with it.

Pressed down by this weight, a surge of dry heat instead rose within him. As his heart pounded wildly, his body, governed by memory, flexibly flicked the microphone with a finger.

Screech—!

The surrounding speakers let out a sharp, piercing whine, and the entire area instantly fell dead silent.

Chu Fuxuan, who had been looking at the projection, finally turned his head toward the crowd. This Asian face was exceptionally exquisite, his gaze light and bright. Seeing everyone freeze in panic, he suddenly curled his eyelashes in a smile.

“I thought the microphone was broken, so it does have sound. Can you all hear me then?” His tone was pleasant to the ear.

Everyone failed to recover from the shock, staring at Chu Fuxuan in astonishment, momentarily speechless.

The senior executives sitting in the front row changed their sitting postures, seeming as if they finally intended to listen properly. They leaned forward with their fingers crossed, wanting to see how he would wrap this up.

Chu Fuxuan said, “It seems everyone can hear clearly. Then let’s skip the self-introduction on the first few pages and simply give everyone a brief summary.”

The page currently projected was a revenue comparison. This quarter had seen rapid iterations of three major versions, and the net profit had grown to an exaggerated extent. The parts he had spearheaded accounted for the bulk of it. These statistics were enough to leave everyone astounded.

Looking at these results achieved through continuous, grueling overtime, he paused and laughed, “This is our first official meeting. Perhaps some colleagues already know me, because my asking price is harsh, and I haven’t taken a small piece of the cake.”

As his voice fell, the page switched to the next one; the others didn’t even have time to muster up resentment toward him.

The young Chu Fuxuan didn’t look back, brewing with high spirits for a moment.

His soul sank into the fragmented pieces of the past, speaking this sentence along with his dreaming body: “But you’ve all gotten your money’s worth.”

Who would have expected that the things he had once held so firmly and cherished so deeply—merely a five-year contract renewal—would result in him voluntarily letting go of everything he had accumulated before?

Chu Fuxuan thought fleetingly. Then, noisy laughter sounded, sometimes far and sometimes near, causing him to struggle to open his eyes.

The feeling of waking up with a start was not very pleasant, especially since he had been forced to rewatch an old event. Chu Fuxuan took two stifled breaths, then vigilantly held his breath.

The blackout curtains in the room were tightly shut, severing the space from the sun outside. He sat up soundlessly, narrowing his eyes to look at the electric recliner.

By the dim light, there was no sign of Qi Yingzhu over there. He had probably gone to eat breakfast first.

Confirming that his personal territory hadn’t been invaded, Chu Fuxuan resumed his lazy posture, leaning against the headboard, rubbing his eyes, and letting out a loose yawn.

Then, he put on his slippers and pulled back the curtains, only to discover that the fleece blanket was covering the bed. Qi Yingzhu had probably tossed it over to his side when getting up.

Nine o’clock. Chu Fuxuan glanced at the time. This was considered waking up early in his usual routine. How did Qi Yingzhu wake up even faster?

While wondering if successful people truly didn’t need to rest, he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. When he hurried downstairs, Qi Yingzhu happened to be debugging the robot vacuum cleaner. His expression was calm and restrained, and his mental state didn’t look like he had been curled up in a chair all night.

The nanny was busy on the balcony. Song Yanyi linked arms with her husband, Chu Yu, and the two of them happily watched Qi Yingzhu set up the program.

From time to time, they let out surprised sighs and gasps. No wonder Chu Fuxuan was woken up.

“It bumped into the corner of the table last month and hasn’t moved since. I thought we’d have to send it to the shop. Good thing you tinkered with it a bit,” Chu Yu said.

Qi Yingzhu replied, “It won’t get stuck so easily after this. If there are any problems, try restarting it first.”

Noticing Chu Fuxuan’s figure, Song Yanyi called out, “There’s soy milk and zongzi warming in the kitchen. Go eat quickly. You’re the only one in the whole family who slept in.”

Chu Fuxuan said, “Dad, I heard that when the robot breaks you’re supposed to have the shop fix it. Didn’t you also say that you and Mom prefer the pure manual labor of a broom?”

Chu Yu simply hadn’t wanted his child to travel thousands of miles to fuss over these things, and originally thought he’d have to find someone to fix it himself. Now, he chuckled happily, “Your partner is amazing, saved your old man a lot of trouble.”

Song Yanyi agreed, “A genuine top student from Tsinghua University—his IQ is naturally a bit higher. A while ago, Fuxuan’s cousin came over for dinner and fiddled with it for ages without fixing it.”

Qi Yingzhu said, “I just interact with these things more often usually. It’s not that I’m smarter than others.”

Chu Fuxuan sipped the soy milk to taste it, sprinkled two spoonfuls of white sugar into it, and then saw the nanny bringing out a set of clothes from the dryer.

“Fuxuan, should I go iron these now?” the nanny asked.

At first, she had called him “Young Master,” but Chu Fuxuan told her to just be casual, so she learned to use the same forms of address as the others.

Chu Fuxuan took a look. They were Qi Yingzhu’s clothes. He said, “Mm, iron them now, he’s heading back soon.”

For Qi Yingzhu to adapt to the circumstances and make do for a night was already doing everything he possibly could. If he troubled the man any further to show filial piety to his parents, how could Chu Fuxuan ever look him in the eye when he got to the company?

Pondering this, he drifted over to Qi Yingzhu’s side and whispered in his ear, “How did you sleep yesterday?”

Qi Yingzhu had been kept up the entire night without closing his eyes, listening to Chu Fuxuan’s breathing turn light then heavy, sometimes even thrashing about under the covers.

In the dead of night, this guy appeared fragile and thin, not even looking peaceful when curled up in a ball. Yet at this moment, his eyes darted around slyly, testing his moods and anger, without a single hint of timidity in his every movement.

Glancing at Chu Fuxuan, Qi Yingzhu withdrew his gaze and shifted half a step outward to distance himself. “You’d better not ask. I’m afraid I might be impulsive.”

Chu Fuxuan said suspiciously, “What for? I haven’t even received my first month’s salary yet, are you going to dock my pay?”

Holding someone’s salary hostage would be too low, but thinking about who he had personally let into the company, Qi Yingzhu sighed with emotion, “I want to revoke my signature of approval.”

Today was Saturday. Chu Fuxuan said sympathetically, “It’s no use. I’ll make my timely debut the day after tomorrow.”

Originally, Qi Yingzhu had planned to return in the morning, but after being coaxed and pleaded with by the two elders, he was forcibly kept until the afternoon. If it weren’t for his evening meeting, they might have delayed him for another day.

A dedicated car came to pick him up. Chu Fuxuan saw him off to the neighborhood gate and conveniently packed a box of freshly baked cookies, instructing him that he could have them as a late-night snack.

Qi Yingzhu wasn’t used to accepting other people’s goodwill, even if Chu Fuxuan was only doing it because he needed a favor from him. He refused, “Take it back, I don’t eat these.”

“Don’t, my mom said she made extra just for you. I can’t explain it if I bring it back.” Chu Fuxuan pleaded, “If you really don’t like it, you can just throw it away secretly behind my back.”

Since it was a task, Qi Yingzhu didn’t argue any further. He took the bag of cookies and told Chu Fuxuan to hurry back inside.

In the cold winter, the two stood in the wind. Being neither a couple nor close friends, and having known each other for less than a month, they didn’t have the kind of affection to bashfully dawdle and waste time with each other.

Chu Fuxuan waved at him. “See you the day after tomorrow.”

Qi Yingzhu got into the back seat of the car. The sweet aroma of cookies emanated from the bag. The driver didn’t ask questions, focusing on following the navigation to the group’s address.

There was slight traffic along the way. Qi Yingzhu arrived at the soundproof discussion room right on time. This conversation was classified, so he put his phone into the passcode locker outside the door.

Subsequently, he tried to stuff the cookies in as well, only to find that the size of the box was just a bit too big to fit inside the frame.

Qi Yingzhu was momentarily at a loss for what to do with it. He glanced at the trash can but didn’t make a move. He simply carried the bag inside. After all, the atmosphere here leaned towards being liberal, and in the past, plenty of people ate while discussing.

He pushed open the door. The attendees were basically all present and, following the noise, they all uniformly looked over.

“Why are you so late? I thought you were going to take the day off today.” Xie Yu spun in his computer chair, discovering that Qi Yingzhu had unprecedentedly almost been late.

Qi Yingzhu brushed it off hastily: “Family matters.”

Abruptly tossing out this sentence, everyone recalled the recent marriage rumors, and their expressions instantly became rich and colorful.

“Wait, why are you in such a good mood?” Qi Yingzhu asked.

Xie Yu explained, “We were just chatting. Chu Fuxuan is onboarding next week. You might not care much, but I’ve been counting down the days. Finally, someone can share a bit of this mess.”

So they were warming up for the newcomer. Qi Yingzhu took his seat with the cookies, silently chewing over the phrase You might not care much.

He couldn’t help but sneer inwardly, then self-righteously opened his mouth to retort: “You guys can’t even begin to imagine what I’ve sacrificed for this company.”

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(Author’s Note: If you said it out loud, who would pity you…)