“You’re the one who fits that description,” Wen An sneered. “Running over to ask someone if you played well, only to get completely brushed off—now you’re just sitting here stewing in envy and resentment, aren’t you?”
“Fuck off! Who’re you calling envious? Fine… maybe I am a little jealous. Why doesn’t a fan that devoted fall into my lap? Is it ’cause I’m not handsome? Or is my voice not good enough?”
Wen An snorted.Â
“You tell me.”
Qi Song remained silent, head slightly lowered, his expression tinged with gloom.
Chen Che, still bantering with Wen An, suddenly remembered something.Â
“Hey, isn’t that Panda Live partner visiting the base tonight? Captain Qi, you’re not going?”
Qi Song agreeing to collaborate with Panda Live had been shocking in itself.
He’d always kept a low profile and hated marketing. If it weren’t for team promotion needs, there probably wouldn’t be a single photo of him online.
“Not going,” he replied flatly.
“Their base is supposed to be ridiculously fancy. Top-tier PCs. Gaming there feels amazing!” Chen Che tried to bait him.
If Qi Song agreed to go, they could all tag along.
A yellow-orange duck-shaped speech bubble popped up above CHI’s avatar: Sorry, slipped and accidentally pulled you into the game just now.
In-game private chat bubbles came in a variety of styles. Aside from the basic white, black, and transparent options, the rest had to be purchased.
Each bubble only lasted three months, unless—
There was one special rule: for players in a couple relationship, if one person bought a premium bubble, the other would automatically get the same style—permanently.
This account’s bubble had been renewed countless times over the years. But the other account hadn’t logged in for a very long time.
Qi Song lowered his gaze and typed a single character: Mn.
Then he looked at Chen Che and said, one word at a time, “Not. Going.”
Fine, don’t go—but why the hell are you so pissed? Chen Che scratched his head.
Chi Zhan’s phone had five percent battery left. He pinged Seven on WeChat again—still no response.
Seven really wasn’t the type to reply. No matter how many nudges you sent, he remained unbothered. But suddenly, something occurred to Chi Zhan.
Seven probably had no idea that this game account actually belonged to Secretary Chi of the Zhou Rui Group. Which meant… he might really believe that some random fan called “CHI” had invited him.
Chi Zhan was just about to explain that—when his phone died, shutting off in the next ten seconds.
Su Ran had picked a chic French restaurant, one with a unique policy: each table in the outer hall only seated two. His initiative was even more aggressive than Chi Zhan had expected.
“President Zhou, you go on ahead. I’ll wait for the others.”
Su Ran gave him a grateful glance.
Jiang Yi and Xiao Wang’s car arrived five minutes later. Upon seeing the restaurant name, Jiang Yi’s mouth twitched.Â
“Why’d it have to be this kind of place… I’m not into eating snails.”
Xiao Wang’s jaw dropped into an “O.”Â
“This place looks fancy! Must be super expensive, right? Oh my god—is this going on the company card? Jiang Yi, are snails tasty? Do they serve them alive?”
“……”
As the three entered, a waiter guided them into a private room. Chi Zhan immediately sensed something was off.Â
“There’s only three of us.”
The private room could seat five.
The waiter chattered away in fluent French, basically explaining that Zhou Yanxing didn’t want to sit outside, so he’d rebooked a multi-person room.
Same old strategy, same old master of seduction.
Chi Zhan sighed and nodded, replying in equally fluent French.
Jiang Yi’s eyes sparkled.Â
“Secretary Chi, what’re you saying? It sounds so cool—even though I don’t understand a word, it feels awesome.”
Xiao Wang puffed out his chest proudly.Â
“Bet you didn’t know, huh? Secretary Chi’s fluent in ten languages—French is nothing for him!”
“So impressive! You’re amazing!”
“I heard President Zhou speaks twenty languages—even more impressive than Secretary Chi!”
Jiang Yi scoffed.Â
“Are there even that many languages in the world? What, he gonna start chatting with birds if he’s stranded on a desert island?”
“……”
The three of them entered the private room. To Su Ran’s credit, he still managed to keep a straight face—though it was obvious the blow had been heavy. After all, a two-person dinner versus a five-person gathering… the difference was pretty damn clear.
One screamed romantic tension; the other felt like a family reunion.
While everyone was busy ordering, Su Ran opened the player forum, hoping to vent a little.
He’d thought that with his identity, Zhou Yanxing would be a piece of cake. But who knew Zhou Yanxing was just a total, unflappable straight man—completely immune to flirting!
As soon as he logged in, he saw a crying post that had already racked up a massive thread.
[Bai Gongzi: I give up trying to romance Zhou Yanxing! He’s a total “ambiguity killer”! You know what? I threw a yacht party just to heat things up between us, and tried to grab a cute pic together—but he insisted on dragging his secretary along. I looked like their kid! Then the ballroom started, and I planned to ask him for the first dance… but the guy was nowhere to be found!
Sisters, is anyone capable of conquering Zhou Yanxing? I’m done! Let’s bet on it. Winner gets a 666 yuan cash prize!]
Replies flooded in with their own tragic stories, and many eagerly joined the wager, fired up: [Let me try, I’ll definitely succeed!]
Another player bluntly declared that it was either him or Zhou Yanxing—not both. Just the sight of him triggered an eye-roll. If there weren’t other handsome targets in the game, he’d have rage-quit already.
But others loved the challenge. They argued that the domineering CEO persona felt real—and if he fell in love right away, it’d be boring. The more unattainable he seemed, the more they craved him. Many committed themselves to studying the art of “conquering the CEO,” determined to be the first to crack the code.
“……”
Compared to these people, maybe he wasn’t the most pitiful after all.
Seated beside Zhou Yanxing, Su Ran noticed Chi Zhan about to take the adjacent seat—but Zhou Yanxing interjected, “Sit next to me.”
Chi Zhan had no choice but to switch seats. Then he subtly shot Jiang Yi a look: Don’t. Start. Anything.
