Han Qian made no attempt to acquaint himself with the other members of the general affairs department. He already had the help he needed, and besides, he had no illusions about how he was perceived—self-serving, unprincipled, a rule-breaker. Any effort to socialize would be taken as insincere ingratiation. Yet, someone still approached him.
"Han Qian? Late on your second day of work? That takes a special kind of talent."
Han Qian lifted his gaze to meet the voice. The man was in his forties, slightly balding, short in stature, with a protruding beer belly that made his belt resemble a strap barely containing his waist. Han Qian responded with a polite smile.
"Hello."
The man dismissed the greeting with a paternalistic pat on Han Qian's shoulder, lowering his voice.
"It's good for young people to be ambitious, but you should also understand the importance of protocol—consider the feelings of others. Climbing up by stepping over your peers is a poor habit to cultivate."
Han Qian understood immediately—this was a classic attempt to put the newcomer in his place. He smiled faintly, said nothing, and turned back to his work. The slighted man, evidently irritated by the lack of response, reached for the documents on Han Qian's desk. But just as his fingers grazed the papers, Han Qian placed his hand firmly over them, turning to him with a frown.
"Shouldn't one ask before touching someone else's things?"
The man frowned in return. "I'm the deputy director of the general affairs department. I have the right to review the work of my subordinates—to prevent loafing."
"Then perhaps you should start with those playing games and watching movies," Han Qian retorted coldly. "If you interrupt me and cause delays in my deliverables, I'll have to report to Director Yang and President Yan that your interference prevented me from completing my assigned tasks."
Han Qian saw through the man's posturing immediately. The deputy, Liu Jiulong, had clearly been sent by colleagues upset about Han Qian's disruption of their comfortable status quo. His diligence threatened their inertia. So they pushed Liu to make trouble.
Liu thought dealing with a green newcomer would be simple. What he hadn't anticipated was Han Qian's complete disregard for his posturing and unwritten rules. At that moment, Director Yang Lan opened her office door, frowning at the confrontation.
"Deputy Liu, please don't disturb Han Qian. He's handling an assignment from President Yan. Now everyone, please focus on your work. Other departments have long voiced dissatisfaction with us. In the last executive meeting, Vice President Gao already proposed restructuring our department. If you truly have no work, then practice data entry, improve your handwriting—Deputy Liu, do you still have business with Han Qian?"
"No, no, of course not. Lanlan, are you free after work…"
"No. I have to pick up Beibei. She's come down with a bit of a cold."
With that, she closed the office door, not giving Liu Jiulong the chance to continue. He didn't seem bothered, and the rest of the office quickly resumed pretending nothing had happened. Han Qian lowered his pen, and with a trace of mockery said:
"Deputy Liu, isn't pursuing a married woman a bit unethical?"
"What do you know, kid?" Liu snorted. "Lanlan's raising her child alone. It's tough. Your big brother here is just… concerned."
"Oh? So Director Yang is single?"
"What? Don't tell me you're interested too?"
From inside the office, a dry cough sounded. Both men fell silent instantly. Liu Jiulong, apparently forgetting his original mission, pulled up a chair, rested his chin on his hand, and gazed longingly at Yang Lan's office door.
A hopeless romantic?
Even though Yang Lan had made it clear Han Qian was working directly under President Yan's instructions, the female employees continued online shopping and binge-watching dramas. The men, meanwhile, treated her words like background noise. No one took her gentle temperament seriously.
Liu Jiulong kept staring dreamily at Yang Lan's door, eyes full of pink hearts.
After lunch, Han Qian headed downstairs for his own meal. He had just picked up a lunch set when Su Liang returned, spotted him immediately, and rushed over, grabbing a drink from the table and downing it in one gulp.
Han Qian set his chopsticks down, raising an eyebrow. "What happened? You crawl back from the desert? Didn't eat?"
"I planned to take the renovation company folks out for lunch," Su Liang replied between gasps. "But some of the bosses insisted on a few drinks. Your schedule's tight, and I didn't want to cause delays, so I paid the bill and rushed back."
Pointing at Han Qian's plate, Su Liang seemed famished. Han Qian laughed and pushed it toward him, then got up to fetch another meal and two bottles of water. Sitting back down, he reassured Su Liang that a few minutes wouldn't make a difference—they could discuss things over a cigarette afterwards.
Before Han Qian could blink, Su Liang had already devoured the chicken steak.
Outside the company's front gate, the two young men stood in a haze of cigarette smoke. Han Qian, short-haired, and Su Liang, with longer locks, savored their nicotine break.
"Brother Qian," Su Liang said, "I spoke to a few renovation companies this morning. Most people who hire them these days aren't exactly poor. Especially those who bought homes in the new district—they source their materials from nearby cities, and some even go as far as Xianghe in Beijing for more traditional styles. It's not just about comfort anymore. Home decor has become a symbol of status. If friends visit and ask about the furnishings, having brand-name materials is a matter of pride, or at the very least, prevents embarrassment. And now, people are even giving decor packages as gifts."
Han Qian nodded, handing him another cigarette. Su Liang declined and instead tossed him a half-full pack of Yunyan.
"Don't let the pressure crush you," he added. "They say a man's watch and car are his second face—but I think it's the cigarettes. Got another task this afternoon?"
"Yeah," Han Qian nodded again. "Check out the decor market—get a feel for the products and pricing. Then swing by the furniture market on the old ring road. Call me before the end of the day. Yang Jie said you'll be staying to work overtime with me."
"That won't be happening," Su Liang replied with a grin. "I've got a movie date with a university girl. No suffering in solidarity tonight—I'm not coming back."
"Fine. I'll tell Yang Jie you're out on assignment till late."
Thrown into a thorny challenge from the moment he joined the company, Han Qian kept his true capabilities to himself. Even Yan Qingqing didn't know the full extent of what he could do. But being someone favored by President Yan, he earned at least a modicum of respect from Yang Lan. He spent the entire afternoon working on his proposal.
As the workday ended, a message popped up from Wen Nuan. Han Qian glanced at it, ready to put down his phone, but paused and called back.
"I might be home a bit late tonight. Maybe an hour or two. Don't order takeout—I'll cook when I get back."
"Han Qian… I'm not feeling well. Come home early, please."
"…Alright. I will."
He hung up and didn't think much of it, returning to his tasks. Time passed unnoticed until a dull ache in his lower back prompted him to stretch. That's when he realized his phone was missing. After a frantic search, he finally found it wedged beneath his desk. Three missed calls—two from Wen Nuan, one from his mother.
Han Qian froze. If something serious had happened, his father would've called. He dialed Wen Nuan's number—twice—no answer. A rising panic gripped him. He remembered the incident two years ago, when a deranged man had broken into Wen Nuan's home, disguised as a food deliveryman. Han Qian still bore a scar on his arm from that night.
Racing through the building, he called his mother, hoping Wen Nuan had contacted her. But it turned out she was just asking when he would come home for the New Year.
Damn it.
Something had happened to Wen Nuan.
Outside, the sky mirrored Han Qian's turmoil.