MG CH6

Alcohol clouds the mind.

Yan Zishu thought as much.

“Are you upset?” Fu Jinchi asked, parking the car outside Yan Zishu’s apartment building.

“Not at all. Thank you for driving me back, Mr. Fu.” Yan Zishu unbuckled his seatbelt, his head still spinning.

If he had reason to be angry, it was at his own weakness—or the shame of exposing it.

There was no cause to take it out on Fu Jinchi.

Fu Jinchi was just a passing stranger.

Yan Zishu grabbed his suit jacket, reaching for the door.

But Fu Jinchi calmly held him back. “Wait. I mentioned before about you switching teams. That offer still stands. Care to consider it seriously? I can double your pay.”

In the deep night, a modified sports car roared past on the road nearby, its engine rumbling before fading into the distance.

Was this scene in the original novel? Or was it something that happened behind the scenes, unrecorded in the main text?

Yan Zishu racked his brain but couldn’t recall. He only smiled. “Thank you for the generosity, but I’m not skilled enough to take on such a role.”

Fu Jinchi chuckled. “What, you think only Fu Weishan is the true emperor?”

Yan Zishu shook his head. “No, no. It’s just that loyalty follows the leader. Even if I worked for you, you wouldn’t trust me.”

Fu Jinchi countered, “Not necessarily. Talent is scarce everywhere. Join me, and I’d give you real responsibility.”

Yan Zishu still declined. “I’m really not that talented.”

Fu Jinchi sighed. “As expected, you’re a tough nut to crack when it’s just you and me.”

Yan Zishu paused, realizing Fu Jinchi meant that these past few days, in front of the Zeng family, he’d been charming, warm, and approachable, like he could talk about anything. Wasn’t that obvious? Who doesn’t wear a mask for clients?

Yan Zishu nodded. “Now you know, my charm is all an act. I’m actually quite dull.”

Fu Jinchi laughed heartily. “I’m kidding! If I can’t poach you, the fault’s mine. Go on up. Good night.”

The next day, Zeng Zhanpeng woke up regretful.

He’d wanted to see if the icy beauty would melt when drunk, but he himself had blacked out.

It was just a prank, though. As a bar-hopping enthusiast, he sometimes got carried away when tipsy, not out of real malice. He apologized to Yan Zishu, who naturally brushed it off.

In front of Zhanpeng, Yan Zishu remained the humorous, magnanimous “Mr. Yan,” though his head throbbed fiercely.

Despite the hangover, he woke at 6 a.m., his ironclad biological clock unyielding. He downed several black coffees.

Coffee wasn’t a cure-all, though. It only shifted his foggy headache to a sleepless one.

This was his usual state, so it was no big deal.

Only Fu Jinchi noticed. “You look pale. Need to rest?”

Zeng Zhanpeng, oblivious, chimed in, “Nah! William’s still dazzling today.”

In private, Zhanpeng spoke to Fu Jinchi in Spanish, outlining his pursuit plan.

But overnight, Fu Jinchi changed his tune. “Don’t touch him.”

“Hey, that’s not what you said yesterday!”

“Did I? Too bad, I think he’s great too.”

“That’s not fair!”

Zhanpeng wanted to argue, but Fu Jinchi smiled, patting his shoulder. His casual glance carried a predatory chill, like a resting cheetah, usually languid but suddenly flashing the cold eyes of a hunter.

Zhanpeng felt a shiver and backed off.

He could joke around with Fu Jinchi, but always within limits. In Hong Kong, he’d seen Fu Jinchi’s true nature: you could play in his territory, but never mistake him for a tame cat.

Zhanpeng raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, boss, he’s yours.”

Yan Zishu, seeing their chat wrap up, said, “Helen booked a table at Sky Garden for lunch. Is that alright?”

Zhanpeng switched to Mandarin. “I’m good with anything! Sorry to trouble you guys.”

Yan Zishu smiled. “No trouble. It’s our job.”

Ji Chen had been in the exhibition planning department for some time.

The department head, a busy firecracker, had no time to micromanage an intern. Hearing Ji Chen’s low evaluation score, he said, “A guy? Let him handle setup then. Moving stuff can’t go wrong, right?”

So Ji Chen spent his days laboring alongside workers.

Two days before the pre-exhibition, he was pushing a cart of heavy empty picture frames to the warehouse as instructed. Short in stature, he was nearly hidden behind the massive frames.

“Though Li Kuangsheng faced controversy years ago, I’ve always been fond of his new ink wash works. His Illusion series from five years back is already heating up in the collector’s market and will likely keep rising…” someone said around the corner, mixed with bustling footsteps.

Ji Chen kept pushing forward, nearly colliding with a group.

Fu Weishan was escorting Zeng Chuyi to preview auction items, followed by Zhanpeng, Peirong, Fu Jinchi, and Yan Zishu. Yan Zishu stepped forward, scolding, “What are you doing? Why aren’t you using the staff passage?”

Ji Chen was confused. “Huh? What?” He didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

Glancing at CEO Fu Weishan, he felt a lifetime had passed.

Fu Weishan gave him a cold Holocaust glance, as if he didn’t recognize the lowly worker.

Turning to Zeng Chuyi with a smile, Fu Weishan said, “Sorry, the workers are still setting up the exhibition hall. There are many details to finalize.”

Zeng Chuyi laughed jovially. “We’re the ones intruding early. Let’s not delay their work.”

Fu Jinchi and the Zeng siblings chatted behind, ignoring the mere worker.

Ji Chen felt an indescribable pang of disappointment.

Yan Zishu blocked their view. “Heavy items unrelated to artwork must go through the staff passage, not the exhibition corridor. No one told you?”

Ji Chen, lips pursed, shook his head. He genuinely didn’t know.

Yan Zishu, too busy to explain rules, rubbed his temple. “Fine, go. Use the back route.”

Ji Chen nodded eagerly. “Okay, okay.” Trying to turn the cart, his phone slipped from his pocket.

As he fumbled to steady the frames, Peirong called out, “You dropped something! I’ll get it.”

While helping, the unsteady front frame wobbled off the cart. Ji Chen scrambled to catch it, loosening his grip on the others. Like dominoes, the remaining frames toppled, nearly hitting Peirong.

Yan Zishu, standing closest, swiftly braced the frames, sparing Peirong but tearing her chiffon dress. A protruding nail gashed his hand, blood soon pooling.

The frames crashed loudly. Peirong shouted to her brother, “Oh no, William’s hurt!”

Yan Zishu reassured, “It’s fine, just a small cut.”

But really, working with Ji Chen always gave him a near-heart-attack sensation.

Notes:

① Peirong’s exclamation is in Cantonese: “點算啊, William受咗傷!” translates to “What to do? William’s hurt!”