At lunchtime, Zhou Mi encountered Jiang Shi once again.

To be precise, it should be called a “chance encounter” deliberately arranged by Jiang Shi. Because as soon as they met, Ye Yan glanced over without mercy: “No wonder he asked where I was eating. So it was for this.”

This was a Japanese casual restaurant that Zhou Mi frequently visited, right downstairs from the company.

She particularly liked their pork cutlet and beef rice bowl, which was always generously portioned. The golden, crispy tenderloin was cut into pieces, covering the entire bowl, with authentic, juicy minced onions and beef rolls underneath—a carnivore’s feast that, when mixed, was so delicious she could easily finish two portions at once.

Jiang Shi sat across from Zhou Mi. Although he joked with Ye Yan more, Zhou Mi could feel that his gaze had hardly left her.

Zhou Mi could only maintain her persona as someone who wasn’t good at socializing.

She was always focused when dining out and tried to use this attitude to indirectly avoid unnecessary social interaction.

Midway through the meal, Ye Yan went out to take a client call and hurriedly returned to the company.

The triangular balance suddenly became a world of two, making Zhou Mi even more constrained and awkward.

She slightly tightened her grip on the chopsticks, picked up a slice of beef, put it in her mouth, and chewed extremely slowly and softly.

Jiang Shi struck up a conversation with her, still being direct: “Zhou Mi, am I troubling you?”

Zhou Mi was taken aback and didn’t tell the truth: “It’s fine.”

Jiang Shi smiled: “Really?”

Zhou Mi’s eyelashes drooped, continuing to speak against her heart: “Mm.”

Jiang Shi exhaled with relief: “Because I have a good impression of you. I’ve wanted to get to know you for a long time.”

Zhou Mi paused: “Thank you.”

Jiang Shi no longer lingered on this topic that could easily break the conversation, and instead started asking about her university and graduate exam preparation, trying to reduce unfamiliarity and close the distance.

Even though they were in different grades and schools, college students generally experienced similar things. In the course of questions and answers, the atmosphere of their conversation gradually warmed up.

It was at this time that they encountered Director Yuan, who had also come to the restaurant to eat.

Seeing the two juniors, Yuan Zhen was also somewhat surprised. She stopped in the aisle to exchange brief greetings, then slipped away to the cashier with a wink and a nod to place her order.

Yuan Zhen ate alone, sitting diagonally across from Zhou Mi and Jiang Shi. She could see this golden boy and jade girl completely just by lifting her head.

With an auntie-like smile, she secretly took a photo of the scene with her phone and sent it to the management small group: Feels like another couple is forming in our company.

Ye Yan jumped out to claim credit: Don’t call me an operator anymore, please call me a matchmaker, Cupid Yan, thank you.

Yuan Zhen: The two of them make a good match.

She continued: You know, that kind of high-quality young boy and girl, sitting together, gives a very youthful campus drama feeling.

Ye Yan echoed: Yes, I have the same feeling! Good thing I got a client call, otherwise I would have felt uncomfortable all over, reaching three kilowatts.

The two of them chatted more and more excitedly, one after another.

The creative department director couldn’t bear it anymore and surfaced: You two are such gossips!

Yuan Zhen grimaced: Mind your own business!

—

After finishing lunch, Zhou Mi returned to the company with Jiang Shi.

Jiang Shi even escorted her all the way to her workstation, so enthusiastically that it made her feel awkward. Seeing this, several colleagues in the same row as Zhou Mi all started with an “Oooh—” teasing in unison.

Zhou Mi’s cheeks felt slightly hot as she sat in her chair, completely at a loss for how to behave.

Only after Jiang Shi left did she relax, taking her usual midday nap.

Perhaps because her stomach was too full, plus the annoyance of the Jiang Shi situation, Zhou Mi found it difficult to fall asleep. She lay on the desk for quite a while to no avail and could only give up, straightening herself to work on today’s daily report.

After typing into the spreadsheet for a while, Zhou Mi picked up her cup and noticed it was almost empty. She got up and went to the pantry.

The company in the afternoon was as spacious and quiet as a red and white box, with no one visible behind the bar.

Zhou Mi stopped at the water dispenser, not daring to push the switch all the way, carefully using her fingers to hold it halfway, controlling a thin stream to slowly fill her cup.

On her way back to her workstation, she reflexively glanced at Zhang Lian’s office again.

The door was locked again; he wasn’t in the company again. Such a busy person.

Thinking this, Zhou Mi quickly walked back to her computer, sat down, and focused on her work.

The consequence of giving up the good opportunity to catch up on sleep during the lunch break was that by three in the afternoon, Zhou Mi began to feel drowsy, nodding off repeatedly.

The numbers on the screen gradually became distorted and blurry, turning into messy code symbols.

The third time she felt her head about to slam into the keyboard, Zhou Mi propped up her face with both hands, wailed inwardly, minimized Excel, and opened the web version of Weibo, planning to browse some funny content to stay awake.

However, her eyelids still repeatedly stuck together like opposite poles of magnets.

Zhou Mi covered her mouth to yawn, switched back to her Weibo homepage, and casually posted a status expressing her drowsiness.

He Miaoyan, who had just published a paper as a second author, had been quite free these past few days, surfing the internet all day. She replied quickly, as if she lived on Weibo, with meaningful words: Nothing’s happened yet, how can you be so tired?

Zhou Mi coldly chuckled twice in her heart: Work is very tiring, okay?

He Miaoyan: Oh~

Zhou Mi was speechless at her.

Her best friend’s interruption helped dispel much of her drowsiness. Zhou Mi took a sip of water and reopened the spreadsheet to organize data.

—

Jiang Shi had been following Zhou Mi on Weibo since last month through big data recommendations on the homepage. Her style on Weibo was very distinctive; even her username was similar to her WeChat name in concept: [Mimi-zi Off Work].

The girl didn’t have many original posts on Weibo, mostly reposts of pets, food, and such, or promotional videos and content from official client accounts.

Although he had liked her posts several times without getting a follow back, suddenly seeing her daily status in his special attention feed was somewhat unexpected and delightful.

She had posted a split-personality yet cute status: “So sleepy this afternoon, really want a DQ Oreo Blizzard [sleep][angry]”

Jiang Shi liked her post, his eyes curving into a smile, as he privately messaged his boss: Sister Jin.

The other side:?

Jiang Shi said: I’m going downstairs. Is there anything you want to eat? I’ll buy it for you too.

Gin: No.

Jiang Shi put his phone in his pocket and left his seat, heading downstairs without delay.

There weren’t too many customers in DQ, but after getting his receipt, Jiang Shi still waited somewhat anxiously. After taking the packaged ice cream from the counter, he almost ran back to the company.

When Zhou Mi had just come to Aoxing a few days ago, he had already noticed her.

He felt that this girl had a wonderful sense of contradiction: she looked a bit naturally silly but had hardly made any mistakes at work, wasn’t good with words but wasn’t rash either, and was very pretty but extremely low-key. Introverted and shy, completely different from those all-around dynamic sisters in the company. Most importantly, she perfectly matched his aesthetic preferences—her features had a bit of a mixed-blood look, but not the cold beauty type, rather a sweet girl who seemed easy to approach.

In between, she had taken more than ten days off, and he thought she had left early for some reason, feeling empty for a long time. Finally, after indirectly finding out that she was just sick and on leave, he breathed a sigh of relief and, in an instant, felt a wave-like, ecstatic joy of regaining something lost.

So when she returned to work, he also made up his mind that he could no longer just watch from the shadows, but must confidently and assertively make a move.

Jiang Shi returned to the company out of breath, with a layer of fine sweat on his forehead.

Worried about damaging his image, he first went back to his seat, planning to wipe his face dry before bringing the ice cream to Zhou Mi.

He placed the paper bag back on the table.

Perhaps smelling the rich, sweet dairy scent, a female colleague glanced over and smiled: “You bought DQ too early.”

Jiang Shi was stunned: “What?”

The female colleague replied: “Teddy just came over to ask us to order. He said it’s getting hot, and the boss is treating the whole company to ice cream. We discussed it and planned to order this too.”

Jiang Shi blinked, suddenly speechless. A bizarre but almost instinctive male intuition held him in place.

After a few seconds of shock, he asked: “Which boss?”

“Of course, the big boss,” the female colleague mocked him: “Surprise, you wasted your money.”

“What a coincidence…” Jiang Shi forced a smile at her and sat back down, perplexed.

No matter how he tried to think it through, he couldn’t make sense of it. He took out his phone and looked at Zhou Mi’s Weibo again, trying to find some clues to confirm or refute his suspicions.

The next moment, Jiang Shi frowned. The girl’s latest status on her homepage had disappeared without a trace, as if it had never existed.

—

After the director asked in the department group chat if everyone wanted DQ, saying the boss was treating, Zhou Mi hurriedly deleted her Weibo post.

Her heart was racing. Like a thief checking stolen goods, she lowered her head and carefully browsed through her follower list.

No user could be matched with Zhang Lian.

After getting the Oreo Blizzard, she scooped it into her mouth while letting her mind and body temperature cool down.

She guessed this was all just a coincidence, the law of attraction, that she was “overthinking” and “fantasizing.”

However, before she had eaten half of it, Jiang Shi’s message came crashing through WeChat: Zhou Mi, may I ask you a question?

Zhou Mi replied: What?

Jiang Shi asked: Is Fabian also pursuing you?

Zhou Mi was directly choked, gulping down a large chunk of sweet, icy cream, and quickly denying it three times in a row: No, how could that be possible? I’ve never even spoken to him.

Jiang Shi said: Then why did you delete your Weibo post?

Zhou Mi froze.

She also felt somewhat inexplicable.

Inexplicable about Zhang Lian’s actions, inexplicable about Jiang Shi’s questioning, and also inexplicable about her pretense and endurance.

A nameless fire rose in her heart. Zhou Mi put her phone on the desk, her hands rapidly typing, questioning Zhang Lian: What are you doing???

Zhang Lian took a while to reply: What’s wrong?

Zhou Mi said: Ice cream, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?

Zhang Lian said: I saw you were tired from work, helping you wake up.

Zhou Mi keenly detected some implication beyond the words, paused, and continued to criticize his behavior: I follow several people from the company on Weibo. Can you please not do this to me?

Zhang Lian: Then don’t post suggestive content.

Zhou Mi was full of question marks: ?? I wasn’t posting for you to see.

Zhang Lian replied: Who did you want to see it?

Zhou Mi was speechless, expressing all her displeasure at once: Does my Weibo have to be posted for someone specific to see? Isn’t it a personal behavior, just like putting on makeup or getting dressed? I didn’t even know you were looking at my Weibo. Jiang Shi has come to ask me about you, and what if other colleagues see it and make connections?

Zhang Lian remained calm: Let them think what they want.

Like punching cotton, Zhou Mi could only sarcastically concede: Alright, I understand. In the future, I’ll post more of this “suggestive” content, so you can make a big show of spending money all over the country [cute]

Zhang Lian: You can.

Zhang Lian: Enjoy your meal.

“…”

Zhou Mi was speechless, staring at the half-consumed ice cream cup on the table, imagining it as a certain someone, wanting to use laser eyes to slice it into pieces.

Yes.

She shouldn’t have deleted the Weibo post immediately, which was like indirectly admitting she had a guilty conscience.

But not deleting it early would mean more people would see it, and more people would be suspicious.

In the future at the company, she should avoid, when possible, and be cautious with her words and actions.

With frustration bubbling in her chest, Zhou Mi returned to the chat interface with Jiang Shi, sending back a Cinnamoroll question mark face, continuing to play the role of an uninformed person and a big liar:

[My mom saw it, called me, and said my body hasn’t fully recovered yet and forbids me from eating cold food. I got scolded, so I deleted it.]

Perhaps because she and Zhang Lian indeed seemed to have very little interaction and were unlikely to have any entanglement, Jiang Shi seemed to accept this somewhat self-consistent explanation, and added: Actually, I bought ice cream just for you, just an hour ago, went downstairs to buy it.

Zhou Mi was slightly stunned: Ah… you didn’t have to.

Jiang Shi said: In the future, if you want to eat something, just post it on Weibo or Moments. I’ll see it.

Zhou Mi’s heart was already extremely uncomfortable, as if covered in slugs on both sides, impossible to shake off.

Her fingers paused on the keyboard, then struck heavily as if complaining to herself: Thank you.

Jiang Shi said: It’s nothing, I did it willingly.

Zhou Mi finally couldn’t bear it and softly sighed: Can I answer your question again?

Jiang Shi: Which one?

Zhou Mi’s jaw muscles tightened briefly, no longer hesitating: I lied when we had lunch. I do feel troubled, I’m sorry.

—

This afternoon was a relief.

As the setting sun turned the floor-to-ceiling windows into an orange-pink gallery, Zhou Mi went downstairs early to help her team members pick up their meals, seeing from a distance that Zhang Lian’s office door was open.

She no longer hugged the wall but went to the other side of the corridor, not wanting to run into him.

The delivery person was delayed a bit at the four-way intersection closest to the company. While waiting, Zhou Mi took out her phone and posted a status on Moments visible only to Zhang Lian, a slightly delayed counterattack to the day’s disadvantage:

“I want to be the managing director of Aoxing [pitiful][wronged]”

—The result of her intermittent hard thinking throughout the afternoon.

Then she turned off her phone.

After bringing back and distributing four meal boxes, Zhou Mi leaned back in her chair, reopened WeChat, and found a new notification on Moments.

Zhang Lian liked her status.

Zhou Mi sat back, curved her lips, and provocatively replied to his like: Why just a like? [sad]

A moment later, Zhang Lian replied: Come to my office, one-on-one coaching.

Zhou Mi’s smile immediately disappeared as she stared at these words with a somewhat strong visual impact, her head oddly heating up.

Three seconds later, she directly deleted the entire status and placed her phone face down on the desk.