FOBTS CH22
Chapter 22: Shelter from the Storm
Jian Yuheng spent ten minutes playing with the faucet, ten minutes with the bubbles from the body wash, and another ten minutes swirling the bathwater.
After confirming there was no more commotion, he got out of the water.
The sensation of putting on clothes again was extraordinarily satisfying. Perhaps humanity’s ancestors felt a similar thrill the first time they donned leaves.
The ringtone on his phone had been singing for several minutes. Jian Yuheng walked over and answered the call.
“Where are you?” His mother’s voice came through. “Did your phone fall between the bed and the wall? Why are you so reluctant to answer?”
“No,” Jian Yuheng replied. “I was just afraid it’d be a wasted call.”
His mom: “?”
Such an obscure way of putting it.
“Come home for dinner tomorrow,” his mother said. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited. You can cook your favorite dishes yourself.”
“?… Sure, I’ll come back tomorrow,” Jian Yuheng agreed.
After chatting with his mother for a bit, he hung up.
*
At A City Airport.
A kind-hearted college student helped push Meng Yumian’s wheelchair, walking alongside Song Ruochen as they exited the airport.
“Thank you,” Song Ruochen said.
College students were always eager to help; grabbing one at random could double the assistance.
“Are you sure you can manage?” the student asked. “This wheelchair is pretty heavy, and the wheels aren’t very smooth.”
“It’s fine. I can handle it.” Song Ruochen pushed Meng Yumian’s luggage while pointing to the car by the curb. “We’re here. We’ll take the car from here.”
“Alrighty.” The alpha college student cheerfully waved. “Bye-bye~”
Secretary Song smiled and nodded politely.
“Young Master Meng,” Song Ruochen turned to Meng Yumian, “we’ve… safely made it out of the airport. I’ll take you to your accommodations now.”
“…Okay,” Meng Yumian replied.
From what Song Ruochen understood of the novel, Meng Yumian wasn’t a bad person. He was just used to relying on others—at home, on his parents; outside, on his friends. He lacked much in the way of self-sufficiency.
That was fine. Secretary Song would shield him from the storms.
“Young Master Meng, let me carry you into the car,” Song Ruochen offered.
True to his role as a secretary to the CEO, his work was meticulous. Meng Yumian smiled and nodded in approval.
It was fortunate to have Secretary Song; A City suddenly felt much warmer.
Song Ruochen leaned down, letting Meng Yumian drape his arms over his shoulders, and began hauling him toward the car.
Meng Yumian: “…?”
He felt like a plow, furrowing the ground of the airport.
“Please take a seat,” Song Ruochen said. “I’ll load your luggage.”
Calling the driver for assistance, Song Ruochen placed Meng Yumian’s luggage and wheelchair into the trunk.
“We’re off now,” Song Ruochen said.
As soon as the car pulled away, his phone buzzed—
[J]: Secretary Song, please submit a report on the business trip tomorrow.
[Song Ruochen]: 0.o
[Song Ruochen]: I have nothing to report.
[J]: .
[J]: The board members are very interested in the details of this trip.
[Song Ruochen]: Seeing is believing, hearing is misleading. If they’re so curious, why didn’t they come along?
[J]: …
[J]: Song Ruochen, do you want your salary this month to be missing a zero?
Ding.
[Song Ruochen]: Understood, Second Young Master. I’ll finish the report tonight.
[J]: Good. When writing the report, focus and finish it in one go.
[Song Ruochen]: Ugh.
[Song Ruochen] (message retracted).
[Song Ruochen]: Oh.
[Song Ruochen]: Typo. Sorry.
No problem. If they wanted it, he’d write it. It wasn’t like it was difficult.
Damn, he’d been distracted. From the moment they got in the car, he’d forgotten to take care of the little childhood friend.
This business vehicle was one he used frequently, so it was well-stocked.
“Young Master Meng, are you thirsty?” Song Ruochen asked, opening the car’s mini-fridge.
Meng Yumian looked at the ice-cold cola, Sprite, and orange juice inside, stunned. “Secretary Song, I can’t drink cold drinks…”
A pack of plums (plus) was shoved into his hands.
“If you’re thirsty, just look at this,” Song Ruochen said.
Meng Yumian: “…”
*
Having Secretary Song write a report turned out to be an excellent idea. Jian Yuheng passed the entire evening in one go.
The next morning, Assistant Gong called in sick, citing “a disappointing ending to a favorite novel,” leaving Jian Yuheng to drive himself back to the Jian family home.
After lunch, his mother, Rong Xin, naturally brought up his compatibility test—
Jian Yuheng: “Fire Yan Fen and the others. For the rest, deduct their bonuses and issue warnings…”
“Deducting bonuses is fine. But how’s your compatibility test going?” his mom asked.
“Tested, but no suitable matches yet.” Jian Yuheng handed over his phone. “Look, there are a few with high compatibility, but none of them are willing to talk to me.”
The chat list on the phone screen was filled with responses like “Psycho,” “Idiot,” and “Ugh.”
“Alright.” His mother sighed in disappointment. “I didn’t expect my son to be so unpopular… huh?”
The message list shifted, and a new message popped up.
[Corporate Slave]: Hi~ Hello, boss.
Jian Yuheng: “?”
“100% compatibility?” Rong Xin, his mother, was surprised. “Then why not chat with them? Maybe they’re an interesting person.”
Jian Yuheng responded with a perfunctory grunt. If it was about being interesting, the overly lively Song Ruochen seemed more entertaining.
He coldly replied with a message.
[Boss]: What do you want?
He had no interest in random omegas.
[Corporate Slave]: Bro, do you run a company? Do you have a template for a work report?
[Corporate Slave]: Help me out.
Jian Yuheng: “…”
Is begging for resources a standard skill for workers?
Still, as long as it wasn’t about romance, he didn’t mind lending a hand.
Jian Yuheng pulled up a work report he’d written before, removed the company and business details, and sent it over.
[Corporate Slave]: Yay, it’s so detailed! You really are a boss.
[Corporate Slave]: Thanks, bro.
[Boss]: Mm.
[Corporate Slave]: Should I repay you?
[Boss]: No need. Don’t talk about it.
[Corporate Slave]: Understood.
*
A City, Downtown, Art Museum.
Song Ruochen sat in a chair, furiously typing up his report.
[I can’t with you, Little Grape.]
[You actually used a dating app to ask about work.]
“So what?” Song Ruochen said. “At my school, senior students often used dating apps to recruit experimental subjects.”
[Impressive.]
“Done.” Song Ruochen emailed the work report to the board. “The efficiency of working half an hour before the deadline is undeniable.”
“I’ll go to work later this afternoon,” he decided.
As he was thinking this, Meng Yumian came over, holding a sketchpad.
“Secretary Song,” Meng Yumian said, “I’ve hit a creative block.”
Song Ruochen: “?”
A creative block? The key plotline was here.
Whenever Meng Yumian lacked inspiration for his paintings, he liked to confide in Jian Feng, because Jian Feng was a man of few words. He only listened, never gave opinions, and didn’t crush anyone’s confidence.
Once or twice was fine, but after frequent venting, even a big date palm would need replanting.
“You can talk to me,” Song Ruochen offered. “As Secretary to President Jian, his representative, I can also help Young Master Meng solve problems.”
“My new work is missing an emotion,” Meng Yumian said.
“What emotion?” Song Ruochen asked.
“Rage, madness, reckless abandon, and gut-wrenching despair,” Meng Yumian explained. “I want to express these feelings through color, but it seems like I lack the experience to convey them.”
“Then talking to President Jian won’t help,” Song Ruochen said.
President Jian had been as calm as a still lake lately.
“Then what should I do…” Meng Yumian asked.
“Wait.” Song Ruochen pulled out his phone.
[Song Ruochen]: 0.o
[Yan Ci]: 0.x
[Song Ruochen]: Give me your brother’s number.
[Yan Ci]: [Phone number]
Song Ruochen dialed the number.
“Hello? This is Secretary Song,” he said. “Have you moved into the property we bought for you? What color are the wildflowers growing on the grave?”
After three seconds of silence, Song Ruochen pressed the phone to Meng Yumian’s ear.
“You son of a *%￥#!… I swear to *&%#… (profanity) (profanity)”
Meng Yumian: “…”
Five minutes later, after putting down the phone, Meng Yumian, now caught between confusion, shock, and indignation, firmly picked up his brush and began to paint.
*
At 4:30 PM, Song Ruochen went to work.
Jian Feng was on a work call, so Song Ruochen leisurely brewed himself a cup of tea and headed upstairs to deliver some documents to Jian Yuheng.
“Second Young Master,” he said, tapping a form with his finger, “please sign here.”
Jian Yuheng’s gaze lingered on the pale, slender fingers for half a second. He suddenly remembered how the board members had praised Secretary Song’s logically structured business trip report.
Not bad. A capable person should take on more tasks like this in the future.
“Secretary Song,” Jian Yuheng said, “take these document boxes downstairs with Assistant Gong.”
“Okay,” Song Ruochen replied.
With a deadpan expression, he picked up a stack of document boxes half his height and followed Gong Huo out.
Jian Yuheng picked up his pen and signed his name on the document.
Just outside, Song Ruochen’s vision was blocked, and the documents tilted, hitting Gong Huo square on the head.
Assistant Gong (with a bump on his head): “???”
Ding.
Song Ruochen steadied the stack again as Jian Yuheng continued signing.
The documents were heavy, and Song Ruochen wobbled as he carried them out. Not long after, Gong Huo’s scream echoed down the hallway.
Ding.
Jian Yuheng: “…”
He picked up his pen and signed “Jian Yuheng” again and again.
Was this a signing event? 🙂
[There are many problems in this world that even save points can’t fix.]
[Golden fingers aren’t omnipotent.]
[If you can’t lift it, you can’t lift it, just like the sun will always rise in the east.]
“Profound,” Song Ruochen commented.
[Ask the villain for help!]
“He’ll humiliate me mercilessly,” Song Ruochen replied.
Ding.
Song Ruochen returned to the office.
“Second Young Master, sign here,” he said, pointing at the document. He glanced at the pile of document boxes. “Second Young Master, Assistant Gong, an office should look like an office. Please take these boxes downstairs for safekeeping.”
Assistant Gong: “? Priorities are…”
“Alright, alright!” Jian Yuheng said fiercely, glaring. “Let’s move them now!”
