Zhou Yanxing said coolly, “I don’t know any Young Master Bai. Tell him I won’t see him.”
“But—”
Zhou Yanxing narrowed his eyes and fell silent. The weight of his gaze was enough. It held no room for negotiation—only a quiet, unmistakable threat. Chi Zhan bit back his reply and nodded. “Understood. I’ll bring you a fresh cup of coffee.”
He picked up the empty mug. Just as he turned to go, Zhou Yanxing added, “Put some milk in this time. It was too bitter.”
“…Right.”
Didn’t you ask for no sugar? Chi Zhan thought dryly.
In the break room, he moved mechanically, his mind elsewhere.
Young Master Bai had to be the most relentless player he’d ever encountered. But Zhou Yanxing hadn’t accepted a single visitor lately—not one. Something was clearly off.
What now?
The office bustled with life—coworkers laughing, chatting as they passed—but Chi Zhan stood apart, brows slightly drawn, a solitary figure steeped in quiet concern.
A young colleague came over to fill his water bottle and paused, giving him a once-over. “Secretary Chi, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale—low blood sugar?”
Though he’d only been with the company a month, Chi Zhan had already outlasted many. As Zhou Yanxing’s secretary, second only to the CEO himself, people naturally wanted to stay on his good side. But he wasn’t just tolerated—Chi Zhan was genuinely liked. He was easygoing, polite, and didn’t throw his weight around.
“I’m fine,” Chi Zhan waved it off, staring blankly at the coffee machine. “Just a little—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Bai Gongzi had arrived.
Dressed head to toe in the latest high-end designer suit—price tag in the six-figure range—he walked over with casual arrogance, hands in his pockets and confidence in every step. The moment he saw Chi Zhan, his face lit up.
Behind him, the poor receptionist was practically sprinting to keep up. “Young Master Bai, you can’t—at least not right now—”
But Bai didn’t seem to hear her. In a few long strides, he was already in front of Chi Zhan. “This coffee’s for Zhou Yanxing, right? I’ll take it! No need for you to bother.”
“Wait—!” Chi Zhan barely managed to get a word out before Bai snatched the cup and dashed off toward Zhou Yanxing’s office like a man on a mission.
“……”
‘Well. That’s the end of that.’
His interface blinked with a stat update: Zhou Yanxing’s favorability toward Bai was still at zero. In other words—complete stranger status. And given Zhou Yanxing’s temperament, that kind of player usually ended up …
The aroma of black coffee lingered in the air—rich, bitter, and foreboding.
The moment Chi Zhan stepped into the office, he knew something had gone terribly wrong.
Zhou Yanxing sat at his desk, coffee-soaked and stone-faced. The entire cup had landed squarely on him. Thankfully, he was wearing black, but the massive wet stain was impossible to ignore.
Bai stood off to the side, frozen in horror, looking like he was about to cry.
“I—I slipped…”
Chi Zhan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Good thing he’d absentmindedly adjusted the water temperature earlier. Otherwise, Zhou Yanxing would be halfway to the ER by now.
Zhou Yanxing’s face was darker than his coffee-stained shirt. Yet even like this—soaked and pissed—his face was almost inhumanly perfect. Sharp angles, clean lines, the kind of beauty that didn’t dull even when furious.
Bai looked like he’d forgotten how to blink.
But Chi Zhan knew better. This was the silence before the explosion. If he didn’t move fast, Bai was going to break down sobbing.
He quickly signaled the receptionist to get Bai out of there, then returned to find Zhou Yanxing already in the lounge, shirt discarded.
The office had a private rest area—a minimalist black-and-white suite with a double bed, perfect for power naps or… more creative interpretations of workplace interaction. The wardrobe was fully stocked with Zhou Yanxing’s curated designer suits. Chi Zhan suspected it was built with office play scenarios in mind. Not that any player had made it that far yet.
“Secretary Chi. Something you want to say?”
Zhou Yanxing’s voice was ice-cold.
Chi Zhan snapped out of it, straightening in the doorway. “Apologies. That was my oversight. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen agai—”
He turned slightly—and froze.
Zhou Yanxing had removed his pants, too. Now clad in nothing but black boxer-briefs, he stood with the ease of someone entirely unaware of—or unconcerned by—his effect on others. Lean, toned, all coiled strength. He casually tossed his wet clothes into the washing machine.
“……”
Zhou Yanxing didn’t seem to notice his staring. “You said ‘next time’?”
Then turned and walked into the bathroom.
Chi Zhan’s heart sank.
Wait—did that mean…
Was he getting fired?
He’d only just started this job.
The truth was, Chi Zhan wasn’t like the others. He was an NPC. From the moment he came into being, his identity had been set: Zhou Yanxing’s secretary.
And Zhou Yanxing? One of the game’s premium romance targets.
Young Master Bai—the disaster in a designer suit—was a player.
This entire world was part of a dating sim, filled with NPCs like himself. Zhou Yanxing was one of the rare, elite “capture targets.” Players entered daily, each trying to win over someone like him.
NPCs had one job: play their role, follow the script. Chi Zhan’s assignment was to assist the player in their romance route. He wasn’t just a side character—he was the linchpin of a dozen potential storylines.
In every CEO romance story, there’s always that poor, overqualified secretary. Handling the boss’s affairs, warning him about the collapsing company while he’s distracted by love, subtly noting, “It’s been a long time since the CEO smiled like that,” or showing up at the love interest’s door with a change of clothes.
Secretaries were indispensable.
Naturally, the position was hotly contested among NPCs.
Somehow, Chi Zhan had landed it. Maybe luck, maybe fate.
He’d thought life would be simple. Watch the boss fall for the player, insert a few well-timed lines, bow out when no longer needed. He never imagined the problem would come from Zhou Yanxing himself.
Because Zhou Yanxing didn’t seem interested in any of the players.
At least not since Chi Zhan had arrived. In the past month, he’d only accepted two player interactions—and both were under duress. One had been a blind date arranged by his family. The other, a business partnership.
