MG CH3

Throughout the Yinghan Group building, countless departments were still lit up, working overtime into the night.

Yet Fu Weishan singled out a pretty, part-time intern like Ji Chen to treat to dinner.

Ji Chen wasn’t sure if this was appropriate, but he agreed in a daze, unable to refuse.

As usual, Yan Zishu drove Fu Weishan’s Aston Martin. Ji Chen didn’t recognize the logo, only vaguely sensing it was a high-end car. A faint fragrance filled the interior. When Fu Weishan told him to sit in the back, he did, unaware that etiquette-wise, this relegated Yan Zishu to the role of a chauffeur.

Yan Zishu didn’t mind such details.

Streetlights flashed by as he played jazz music through the car’s audio system—singers Fu Weishan favored. The real Yan Zishu had no feelings for Fu Weishan, but he played the part of a devoted assistant perfectly.

A good assistant without acting skills probably wouldn’t make a good driver either.

His phone never stopped buzzing with emails and messages. He kept it on silent, and after dropping Fu Weishan and Ji Chen at the French restaurant, he checked it again—a flood of tasks awaited.

Among them was a message from Fu Jinchi.

Earlier that day, Fu Jinchi had asked to add Yan Zishu as a WeChat contact for work purposes, and Yan Zishu had no reason to refuse. But Fu Jinchi’s account was oddly impersonal: a black profile picture, an empty Moments feed, almost like a burner account.

Yan Zishu stopped at a convenience store, bought a quick meal, and ate neatly at a high table by the entrance. Passing schoolgirls tugged at their friends, sneaking glances at him, whispering about the “handsome guy” with innocent, giddy excitement.

Before leaving, he grabbed a coffee and returned to the car, pulling out his tablet to prioritize and respond to messages. Unlike Fu Weishan’s fussiness, Yan Zishu’s only requirement for coffee was that it kept him alert. Day or night, he’d pour it down. When busy, he could function on four hours of sleep.

People used to call him a robot, with coffee as his fuel.

If not for that, he might not have died so young.

Yet here he was, still clinging to old habits, stubbornly inexplicable.

Fu Jinchi’s message was about confirming arrangements for the spring auction preview. After Yan Zishu’s reply, Fu Jinchi sent another: “Didn’t realize it’s after hours. Sorry for bothering you with work messages.”

Yan Zishu’s response was strictly professional: “No problem. You can contact me anytime.”

Most people might say, “It’s fine, I’m still working,” with a hint of self-praise or complaint. Not him. His words were airtight, never revealing more than necessary to anyone unnecessary.

Unnecessary people—like Fu Jinchi, who probed further: “Am I disturbing your rest?”

“No problem.”

“Working for Weishan seems tough?”

“It’s my duty.”

Fu Jinchi stopped there, his probing light and fleeting.

Tough? In many ways, it was.

A full French dinner could stretch on for three hours.

So Yan Zishu dutifully waited in the car for three hours.

French cuisine was perfect for wooing lovers. Yan Zishu could picture Fu Weishan’s routine flirtations: drawn-out conversations about dining etiquette, course order, wine culture, opera appreciation…

These were worlds Ji Chen, raised in humble circumstances, rarely touched. But Fu Weishan, well-versed in this “elegance” and “refinement,” could slowly, deliberately display his maturity and power.

Peeling open the green seed that was Ji Chen was effortless for him.

Yan Zishu, leaning against the car window, saw the two emerge side by side from the restaurant. The doorman held the door, and they were still chatting. Ji Chen tilted his head slightly, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he looked at Fu Weishan.

Descending the steps, Fu Weishan stood tall, quietly basking in the adoration.

What man wouldn’t revel in this?

Yan Zishu asked dutifully, “Where does Xiao Ji live?”

“No trouble, I can take the subway…”

“It’s late. We’ll drive you,” Fu Weishan said, opening the car door himself. “Be good.”

Be good. Yan Zishu smirked inwardly.

Ji Chen shyly gave an address in a village-in-the-city area in the old town center. Yan Zishu stepped on the gas.

After arriving, Ji Chen waved vigorously, watching Fu Weishan’s car vanish into the night.

Yan Zishu glanced at him shrinking to a dot in the rearview mirror, casually adding Ji Chen’s address to his map favorites.

He’d likely need it again.

In the blink of an eye, Ji Chen had been in the secretarial department for two more weeks, completing a month-long internship.

Interns weren’t required to come every day—just four days a week, including weekends, based on their schedules. But Ji Chen’s work was a mess: no major blunders, but constant small mistakes, needing hand-holding for everything. This wore out not only Helen, the department head, but also her colleagues. His good attitude and willingness to admit fault were his only redeeming qualities, though he remained clueless.

Ben, the male secretary, was particularly hostile, nitpicking Ji Chen relentlessly, as if wishing he’d just leave.

Ji Chen endured it all with pitiful resilience.

It was mutual torture.

That day, HR sent Helen an internship evaluation form to assess Ji Chen’s performance. She hesitated.

The form had five grades, A to E. Honestly, she wanted to give Ji Chen an E and be done with it. But interns were usually treated leniently—most got A or B unless there was a serious issue warranting a low score, which would require explaining to HR. A hassle.

Was Ji Chen’s consistent incompetence reason enough to let him go?

Unsure whether to show mercy, Helen decided to wait for Yan Zishu’s return.

Yan Zishu had been away for over a week, accompanying Fu Weishan on a business trip. Though Fu Weishan was pursuing Ji Chen, he hadn’t lost all sense of duty. After their French dinner, urgent work consumed him, temporarily sidelining Ji Chen.

Upon Yan Zishu’s return, Ben rushed over, eagerly badmouthing Ji Chen. In the original novel, Ben was a lackey loyal to Yan Zishu’s faction.

Yan Zishu nodded and dismissed him.

Next came Helen, more tactful, hinting that a low evaluation might lead to Ji Chen’s dismissal, subtly passing the decision to Yan Zishu.

Yan Zishu nodded. “Thank you for your hard work. Leave the form there; I’ll fill it out.”

After Helen left, he thought for a moment, gave Ji Chen a neutral C-, and sighed.

In the novel, this plot depicted Ji Chen being unfairly ostracized in the secretarial department, suffering miserably. Then, because Ji Chen resembled Fu Weishan’s white moonlight and caught his attention, Yan Zishu, driven by jealousy, had him reassigned far away.

Yan Zishu wondered if the author had ever worked in an office or misunderstood what “unfair ostracism” meant. Helen and her team were practically saints.

Someone had to play the villain, and Yan Zishu took the role.

“The work in the CEO’s office may seem trivial—boring yet critical,” he said, personally delivering the evaluation to the HR director with polished courtesy. “I believe everyone has a role where they can shine. For the secretarial department, though, someone more meticulous would be a better fit. Don’t you agree?”

His eyes, behind his glasses, were calm and reserved as always.

The HR director, sharp as a tack, caught the hint. “Absolutely, Mr. Yan. Every detail must be flawless. One mistake can cause big trouble. I was just thinking of reviewing the candidates again.”

Normally, Yan Zishu downplayed his title, with only close colleagues in the secretarial department calling him “Assistant Yan” as he preferred. Outside that circle, people eagerly addressed him as “Mr. Yan.”

After he left, someone whispered, “Did that intern offend Mr. Yan? He seems to really dislike him…”

The HR director shut it down. “Don’t talk nonsense. It’s only natural for someone like Mr. Yan to have high standards.”

Soon, Ji Chen was notified of his transfer to the exhibition planning department—far from Fu Weishan, no longer in a position to gain favor. He seemed a bit upset but was unaware he’d narrowly escaped being fired.

A new intern, a highly rated girl from the batch, replaced him. She was diligent, and Helen was pleased. Work became much smoother for everyone.

When Fu Weishan finally noticed Ji Chen’s absence, he learned he’d been moved to a lower department.

Yan Zishu brushed it off as routine intern rotation.

Fu Weishan was mildly annoyed at Yan Zishu’s lack of tact but let it slide, unaware of the details of intern personnel changes—such trivial matters rarely reached him.

He never suspected Yan Zishu would deceive him.

Fu Weishan wasn’t in a rush to pursue Ji Chen. The boy was still around, not going anywhere. He could flirt whenever he pleased.

His overconfidence blinded him to other possibilities.

Another reason for his delay was the upcoming spring auction, a priority over romance. Fu Jinchi’s lukewarm involvement in the pre-exhibition was particularly irritating.

Though Fu Weishan dismissed Fu Jinchi as a clown, his contempt didn’t justify eliminating him. He could only tolerate the “Young Master” lingering on the sidelines.

In public, they sometimes had to play the part of friendly brothers to maintain the Fu family’s delicate balance—a nauseating task Fu Weishan endured.

Fu Jinchi, aware he was a thorn in Fu Weishan’s side, mostly communicated through Yan Zishu lately.

But he couldn’t avoid Yinghan forever or never see Fu Weishan again. That day, he came in person to “discuss” arrangements for important guests from Hong Kong. Yan Zishu served tea, closed the door, and left them to spar.

When he returned to refill the water, Fu Jinchi was lounging on the leather sofa, propping his head casually. “If that’s the case, just lend me Assistant Yan. If I’m fine with your man by my side, what’s there for you to worry about?”

Fu Weishan’s face darkened, but he seemed to agree.

Yan Zishu paused, waiting for what came next.

Fu Jinchi smiled at him. “Alright, Zishu, you’re mine now.”