Chi Zhan was briefly stunned. Then he heard Cen Chi continue, “It’s perfectly normal to call each other that in daily life, but now that we’re friends, it feels a bit too formal.”
Well… that was true.
They’d gone back and forth with “Doctor Cen” and “Secretary Chi” for a while now. In formal settings, it was fine, but using those titles in private conversation felt strangely stiff and distant.
“You can call me Ah-Chi,” Cen Chi said after a moment’s thought, chuckling softly. “That’s what my friends call me.”
Ah-Chi…?
It sounded oddly… intimate.
But somehow not out of place.
Chi Zhan, who normally had no trouble calling friends by their first names, thought he’d say it easily. Yet the name caught in his throat like a stone lodged between his vocal cords, completely blocking his voice.
He wasn’t used to calling people that. No one in his life had ever asked him to, either. But somehow, not saying it felt like backing down.
“…Ah-Chi,” he finally managed.
It still felt awkward coming out, but Cen Chi nodded at once.
“What should I call you, then? Do you have a nickname?”
“No,” Chi Zhan replied, a bit bewildered.
He’d never had friends close enough to warrant nicknames—aside from Tao Ran, but even then, they didn’t use special terms for each other.
“Then why don’t I do the same?” Cen Chi mused aloud, then said softly, “Ah-Zhan. Mmm… sounds nice.”
His voice was warm and smooth, tinged with a gentle magnetism. Each word was articulated with perfect clarity, slow and deliberate. The sound of it made Chi Zhan’s ears burn.
It was clearly a normal way to say it—so why did it sound… off?
“Ah-Zhan, goodnight.”
“…Alright,” Chi Zhan coughed lightly. “Goodnight.”
It was just a nickname. It really wasn’t a big deal.
So why did it make him feel… a little happy?
Like he was being cared about.
Chi Zhan thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep. But the moment he lay down, wrapped in soft bedding that smelled faintly of laundry detergent—remarkably similar to the clean, herbal scent that clung to Doctor Cen—he turned over, hugged the comforter tightly, and fell asleep almost instantly.
Meanwhile, Cen Chi was in the kitchen washing their cups. Meow Meow played in her little nest for a while before trotting out and scratching at the door. She barely got two swipes in before Cen Chi scooped her up.
“Shh, don’t wake him,” he said in a hushed tone. “Do you like him?”
He gently tapped Meow Meow’s nose, letting out a quiet chuckle.
“If you do, make sure to stick close to him. That way, he’ll come visit you often.”
“—Shit!”
Chi Zhan’s eyes flew open. Sunlight poured through the window. His first reaction—he was late!
He instinctively reached for his phone to check the time, only to realize he wasn’t in his own room. As memories of the previous night came flooding back, he collapsed back onto the bed, exhausted.
God, waking up naturally felt amazing.
After lunch, Cen Chi drove him to work. Chi Zhan scanned his badge at the door—Zhou Yanxing wasn’t in the office.
The afternoon passed peacefully. With the boss absent and it being Friday, the whole office was visibly more relaxed. Someone even had the nerve to invite Chi Zhan to play cards.
No way he was joining. Zhou Yanxing was notorious for appearing out of nowhere—if he got caught gaming at work, Chi Zhan might as well hand in his resignation.
He checked messages on his computer. After that friend request had been accepted, Chi Zhan had sent a polite greeting—but Seven hadn’t replied.
Seven’s account was clearly official. His feed was filled with promotional content for WT and had no personal info at all. Chi Zhan scrolled through it quickly, then exited, disappointed.
Just then, a new message popped up.
WT-Seven: Hello, who is this?
Speak of the devil.
Chi Zhan: I’m the Chief Secretary of Zhou Rui Group. I wanted to talk to you about a potential collaboration with Panda Live. President Su should’ve contacted you already. As the top streamer in the game category, we’d love to have you onboard. Would you be interested?
He laid out the proposal as professionally as he could, then waited, nervous.
The typing indicator appeared. After a few seconds, a reply popped up.
WT-Seven: In City A?
Chi Zhan: You’re free to choose the location. We have filming studios both here and at Panda Live. Though it’s a bit far from the WT base, we’ll cover airfare and accommodations. It won’t take long, and if you have any special requirements, just let me know.
WT-Seven: Okay.
Chi Zhan was just about to type more, but Seven had already agreed. He suppressed his excitement. Was this really happening?
Winter had thawed. Spring had arrived.
Cue the confetti and firecrackers!
WT-Seven: We’ll be in City A for a tournament soon, so I can swing by. Also, can pets be transported?
Chi Zhan: We can send someone to help.
WT-Seven: It’s not just one. It’s a lot.
Chi Zhan blinked. Other than the tuxedo cat, Seven had more?
Chi Zhan: A lot… as in how many?
WT-Seven: Double digits.
A swarm of tangled dark clouds formed over Chi Zhan’s head.
He was now facing a career-defining dilemma: how the hell was he supposed to handle a star client with over ten pets?
He couldn’t exactly assign a whole team just to babysit cats.
Seven seemed to realize he was pushing it and added another line –
WT-Seven: Never mind.
“……”
He felt utterly defeated. His dreams were grand, but reality was a cruel mistress. And now, he’d failed his idol’s very first request.
Near the end of the workday, Zhou Yanxing finally walked in. Chi Zhan greeted him, but Zhou didn’t even glance over—he just gave a curt “Mm” and headed into his office.
Chi Zhan followed.
“President Zhou, the candidate for the Panda Live collab has been finalized. Should I reach out to President Su?”
“Let me see,” Zhou said, taking the proposal from him.
Chi Zhan sized him up. After being dead drunk last night, the man looked completely recharged today—sharp-eyed and full of energy. Not a trace of a hangover.
Unbelievable stamina.
