Chi Zhan suddenly recalled that strange group of people—players. And players had privileges, which meant…
In just a few seconds, he’d pieced the whole situation together. He couldn’t help but feel both speechless and a little amused.
If a player had been trying to use the secretary’s identity to get close to Zhou Yanxing, only for things to blow up like this… that was just tragic.
“Secretary Chi, you look awfully pleased,” Zhou Yanxing said casually. “Were you secretly cursing me in your head earlier?”
For some reason, Chi Zhan felt a sudden surge of boldness. His eyes crinkled with a smile.
“What do you think?”
He actually dared to talk back.
Zhou Yanxing leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“Come on, what did you call me? I want to hear it.”
“……”
“You’re injured today, so I’ll grant you special privileges,” Zhou Yanxing said, catching the flicker of hesitation on Chi Zhan’s face and throwing out another tempting offer. “Whatever you say today, I won’t take it to heart. Just for today—offer expires at midnight.”
Chi Zhan wavered, tempted. After thinking it over, he decided to ask something deeply important to him.
“Then, President Zhou… why don’t you date? Are you just not interested?”
“What else would it be?”
Those words came crashing down like a boulder rolling from a cliff, utterly crushing the rest of Chi Zhan’s thoughts. Zhou Yanxing’s response was so matter-of-fact that it left him stunned and speechless.
“Secretary Chi,” Zhou Yanxing’s lips curled faintly, “you seem very interested in my love life. Don’t tell me… you’re into me?”
“Of course not!” Chi Zhan blurted out immediately.
He knew Zhou Yanxing well enough to be sure—if he answered “yes,” he’d be thrown out on the spot.
After all, Zhou Yanxing was notoriously ruthless toward anyone who confessed to him. Bai Gongzi had practically set up camp at the company, and Zhou Yanxing hadn’t budged an inch.
Chi Zhan’s feelings toward him were strictly those of an employee respecting his boss.
“You sure seem full of ideas,” Zhou Yanxing said coolly. “So warm to everyone else. Who do you think signs your paycheck?”
Chi Zhan blinked, confused. Who did Zhou Yanxing mean by “everyone else”?
He treated everyone the same, didn’t he?
As they talked, Chi Zhan struggled to prop himself up and tug his shirt down. Sitting there half-disheveled like this felt a little too awkward for a proper conversation.
Though Zhou Yanxing didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.
The next second, Zhou Yanxing walked over in quick strides.
“Stop moving,” he said with a frown. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
Chi Zhan froze, not daring to budge.
Then he felt the soft rustle of fabric. Zhou Yanxing lifted the bunched-up shirt, a faint chill brushing over Chi Zhan’s skin, before carefully tugging it back down to cover him. The moment his body was hidden again, Chi Zhan let out a quiet breath. A sudden, overwhelming sense of security washed over him.
Chi Zhan kept a strict workout routine—no matter how busy he got, he always found time to train. He was disciplined like that. Though lean, his body was strong, his waist and abdomen taut and defined.
His waist was slim, with a noticeable hollow at the base—usually concealed beneath his stiff, plain work shirts, but still undeniably alluring.
He didn’t notice Zhou Yanxing falling silent for a beat.
“Then… Do you have an ideal type, President Zhou?”
He’d come to realize it was smarter to adjust his own approach than to try changing Zhou Yanxing. If the players wanted to win him over, it would help to know what he liked. Catering to his preferences was a much more effective strategy.
“…You trying to set me up?” Zhou Yanxing’s voice was a shade deeper than before. “Didn’t know matchmaking was one of your hobbies.”
Chi Zhan waited, but no answer came. Instead, a thin blanket was draped gently over him.
He chuckled softly. With his job crisis averted, he was in a pretty good mood—Zhou Yanxing’s sarcasm didn’t faze him in the slightest.
“What, I’m not allowed to be curious? You said I could ask anything.”
Opportunities like this didn’t come often, and Chi Zhan intended to make the most of it. With temporary immunity on his side, he was fearless.
A moment later, Zhou Yanxing’s voice landed quietly by his ear.
“Fair-skinned. Thin. Tall. Capable at work. Nice voice. Knows how to make coffee.”
“……”
Was he listing job requirements?
“That’s it?”
“Of course not. There’s more.”
Chi Zhan was convinced—Zhou Yanxing didn’t love anyone. He only loved work. If work could grow a soul and become sentient, Zhou Yanxing would probably marry it on the spot.
“Any more questions?”
Chi Zhan hesitated. “No… but can I make a small request?”
Zhou Yanxing should’ve said, Don’t push your luck. But what came out instead was, “What is it?”
Chi Zhan seemed aware that his next request might be pushing boundaries. But he really couldn’t go on living like this—on edge all the time.
Every day he found himself wondering: Is Zhou Yanxing mad? Did I piss him off again? Is he holding a grudge?
Today’s incident was just the spark, but it had thrown him into the biggest emotional tailspin he’d experienced since he’d been created.
He’d even dreamed of Zhou Yanxing staring coldly at him and saying, “You’re fired.”
He turned his head to look at Zhou Yanxing.
Zhou Yanxing hadn’t expected the sudden glance. Their eyes met, and he looked mildly surprised.
The dim lighting blurred the sharpness of Zhou Yanxing’s features, softening the edges of his usual severity. He didn’t seem quite so intimidating anymore. In truth, Zhou Yanxing had never said anything truly cruel or harsh to him.
It was the gossip from coworkers that had shaped Chi Zhan’s impression. But in reality, Zhou Yanxing was actually a very good boss.
“President Zhou,” Chi Zhan said seriously, “if you ever want to fire me… could you give me a heads-up? I’ll resign on my own.”
Zhou Yanxing said nothing. The seconds ticked by.
Chi Zhan’s heart tightened with each passing beat, nervous despite himself.
Suddenly, the phone on the table began to vibrate. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow over the small corner of the room.
