For an entire week after that, Zhou Mi didn’t speak a single word to Zhang Lian.
Everything that had happened these days was like phenolphthalein dropped into a caustic soda solution—it would display a rich red color, but with slight agitation, this chemical reaction would instantly dissipate.
Their relationship had truly become what Zhou Mi had once earnestly demanded as the most “idealized” and “comfortable” state—strangers living together, opposite-sex roommates with a poor relationship.
During the first three days of confirming this fact, Zhou Mi would wipe away tears of grievance and sadness before sleep, complaining to friends about Zhang Lian’s stone-cold heart, and cursing loudly: “I guessed it early on, this dog just wanted to sleep with me. As soon as I didn’t cooperate, he immediately turned on me. He’s truly callous, you know?”
Then she would repeat similar venting over and over.
But sometimes she would also admit from the bottom of her heart that Zhang Lian was indeed an artwork derived from life yet transcending it. He was like a piece of high-luster, pure black silk that could be tailored into suitable dresses for all kinds of girls. Mundane dandruff and dust shouldn’t fall on him—that would make him lose his inherent beauty.
For her, he was perhaps an existence only to be admired from afar.
Zhou Mi gradually regained her calm amid dissatisfaction and depression. When she could focus on work without distraction, she also began to firmly believe she could naturally endure these three months.
Perhaps the adage “unlucky in love, lucky in career” proved true. While her paper was approved, Zhou Mi also received notification from HR that her internship period was ending. The client department happened to have one HC (headcount) this quarter, and her leader, Ye Yan, had strongly recommended her, hoping she could stay and become a true part of Aoxing.
After leaving the HR office, Zhou Mi controlled herself for at least thirty seconds to avoid walking with unrestrained enthusiasm or screaming like an out-of-control female monkey.
She took a deep breath as she returned to her workstation and drank water in large gulps.
Ye Yan hadn’t returned to work yet. Zhou Mi pinched her sour nose for a few seconds, blew it, and gratefully sent a private message to her mentor: “Yan, thank you, really thank you so much.”
Ye Yan immediately understood: “You found out already?”
Zhou Mi said, “Yes, just came back from HR, excited to death.”
Ye Yan said, “Is there anyone who would curse themselves upon learning about becoming permanent staff?”
Zhou Mi said, “Oh, not dying anymore, I’m so excited, I want to live another hundred years to serve Aoxing as a beast of burden.”
Ye Yan said, “That’s what you should tell Fabian; he would love an employee like you.”
Zhou Mi’s smile instantly dropped—a perfect example of mood collapse.
She immediately changed the subject: “When are you coming back?”
Ye Yan said, “In a few days, still waiting for a report.”
Zhou Mi was so excited she spoke without thinking: “Great, miss you, waiting for you, love you.”
Ye Yan likely smiled too: “My goodness, I’m covered in goosebumps.”
Zhou Mi, her face slightly red, typed with a silly smile: “Sorry, sorry, I’m just too happy. When you come back, I’ll treat you to a meal.”
Ye Yan responded: “Sounds good, work hard, our little AE.”
This title was affectionate and inspiring. Zhou Mi happily made an “Mm!” sound, lowered her eyes to take a photo of her work badge, posted it to Moments with the caption: “Starting today, no longer a little intern, but a little AE [shy][celebration].”
She also changed her WeChat name to “Mimi Goes to Work,” and then threw herself back into work as if injected with chicken blood.
Near noon, she finally had time to check her phone.
She found that many people had liked her status—parents, Yan Yan, classmates, colleagues—all sincerely congratulating her.
Jijie even liked it and commented, “Awesome.”
Zhou Mi very carefully scrolled from top to bottom, then browsed backward again, confirming there was no trace of that name and avatar, and she felt a small vacuum in her brain.
But it was just a very small moment, gone in an instant.
The first time Zhou Mi added Zhang Lian as a WeChat friend, she thought his avatar looked eerie—opening the full image revealed several hooded people in black coats running through twilight and woods.
But this scene also looked somewhat familiar, as if she had seen it somewhere before.
Later, one night before sleep, she stared and studied it for a long time before realizing it was a still from the movie “Dead Poets Society,” where several young men sneaked out in the middle of the night to share poetry.
She had watched this highly-rated film during her undergraduate years and had been moved to tears at the ending.
A new Moments notification pulled Zhou Mi’s wandering thoughts back.
She blinked, clicked in to see, and found Ye Yan surprisingly replying to Jijie below: “Huh? You two know each other?”
Zhou Mi’s head buzzed—she hadn’t yet reported to her superior about her private acquaintance with Jijie.
It wasn’t intentional concealment; she just truly didn’t know how to bring it up.
Many details in between weren’t suitable for exposure.
And now, Jijie had already replied to Ye Yan: “Can’t we know each other?”
The two began chatting in the comments:
Ye Yan replied: “A bit unexpected, my goodness, don’t tell me you’re that 60%!”
Jijie didn’t understand: “What 60%?”
Zhou Mi immediately scratched her ears and head, sprinting to Jijie’s chat window, urgently saying: “Here! Here!!”
Jijie replied: “What’s wrong?”
Zhou Mi typed rapidly: “Can I ask you for a favor?”
Jijie said, “Go ahead.”
Zhou Mi was distressed: “Actually, I’m not a Huajun homeowner, just living there. Could you not mention how we met for now?”
Jijie said, “I know.”
Zhou Mi was stunned: “Huh?”
Jijie replied: “You don’t seem like someone from there.”
Zhou Mi choked: “Because I look poor…?”
Jijie replied: “No.”
He didn’t explain the specific reason.
Zhou Mi’s back and temples began to subtly perspire. She was terrified that her secret relationship with Zhang Lian would be discovered and exposed. She could only continue widening the gap of lies: “My mother works as a helper for a family in Building Six, and I’m currently living with her at the employer’s home.”
Jijie replied: “I see.”
Zhou Mi continued: “I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m embarrassed to let colleagues know, but I’m afraid my leader will overthink it if she discovers I have contact with you privately.”
Jijie replied: “Sorry, I carelessly left a comment that got you discovered.”
Zhou Mi immediately said: “Not at all! I’m the one who should be embarrassed. I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll think about how to explain to my leader.”
Jijie: “Let me teach you.”
Zhou Mi: “Hm?”
Jijie asked: “You only saw my photo on her phone, right?”
Zhou Mi: “Right.”
He quickly provided a flawless reason: “Added through a King of Glory local gaming group a few days ago, played a few games together, but couldn’t see Moments, didn’t know it was me.”
Zhou Mi suddenly understood: “That works~”
Jijie: “It does, right?”
Zhou Mi imitated his speech: “Awesome.”
Jijie: “[Smiley face]”
Ye Yan indeed came to message her privately. Zhou Mi used the excuse that Jijie taught her to get by smoothly.
Ye Yan was still marveling and instructing her: “What a coincidence! Next time, when playing with him, remember to play support, stick with him from beginning to end, shield him, heal him, block big hits for him, give him enough security, then say a few nice words. This is the connection between K record and Aoxing. Tell him to choose us when pitching. Our AEs are super sweet.”
Zhou Mi obediently replied: “Got it.”
Exiting her chat with Ye Yan, Zhou Mi sighed in relief, pulled out a tissue to wipe her already damp palms, then returned to Jijie’s chat interface, grateful: “Thank you so much.”
Jijie said, “What for? You must play King of Glory, since you know about Nake Lulu.”
Zhou Mi said, “I sometimes play with friends, but not frequently.”
Jijie: “That’s fine then. Next time we’ll play together. I’m good at every position.”
He also asked: “But what is 60% anyway?”
This time, Zhou Mi told him the truth.
After hearing the whole story, Jijie sent an emoji of a dog with a big smile: “You’re so interesting.”
Zhou Mi smiled modestly: “Not as much as you.”
—
How was K Records difficult to deal with? Zhou Mi was confused.
The client was so handsome, so nice, so friendly, loved pets, loved mobile games—such a typical warm, sunny guy.
In the evening, Zhou Mi’s mind was organizing these tags about Jijie while repeatedly browsing through the brief Xu Mo had given them and the PPT of K Records’ proposals from previous years shared in the group.
Zhou Mi watched intently, amazed at the precision and sensitivity of each page’s customer group analysis and marketing strategy, as well as the inspirational expressive power created by the collision of images and text.
As her bright eyes reached the end, Zhou Mi’s gaze halted.
It was the service team introduction in the PPT’s last section. Zhang Lian’s name was at the top position, followed by his title in parentheses.
Scrolling down further with the mouse revealed personal photos and introductions. He was still first, occupying an entire page.
Perhaps considering it would be presented to clients, Zhang Lian’s photo lacked unapproachable aloofness, instead showing a somewhat approachable, gentle smile.
Zhang Lian’s resume was rich—he had worked on both client and agency sides. In his earlier years abroad, he had served at Aoxing Group headquarters, working for several globally renowned brands. Afterward, he had been the CMO for a German automotive brand’s Greater China region. Three years ago, he returned to his old employer and was appointed as the Managing Director of Aoxing in China.
Zhou Mi recited mentally, exclaiming to herself, “Wow, truly an all-around master anxiety-inducing machine,” then shook her head quickly with a shiver and scrolled down to admire the personal introductions of other senior colleagues one by one.
When would Minnie Zhou be pasted in there?
Zhou Mi’s face showed envy as she closed the PPT.
After a while, Xu Mo asked in the group: “For the marketing and creative directions preliminarily discussed in today’s meeting, does anyone have other ideas or additions?”
No one spoke up immediately.
After a moment, a copywriter emerged, also just making small talk without offering any substantial suggestions.
Zhou Mi didn’t want this acting leader to face silence, so she carefully said: “I feel it seems somewhat conventional and ordinary? Although traditional Chinese style is an old element that’s not easy to develop new ideas from.”
A designer named Lu Qiqi suddenly asked: “Ordinary in what way?”
Zhou Mi organized her words: “Like it’s not interesting enough? They’ve changed their director, and from what I know, he has quite an outgoing personality.”
Lu Qiqi said: “A client’s personality and product tone are not the same thing, OK? Are you planning to ignore the brand’s commercial expectations and instead try to please a client to achieve creative sales?? Get your priorities straight.”
Zhou Mi was speechless.
Lu Qiqi snorted twice, tagging Xu Mo: “@Aoxing-Molly, is there a problem with your brief? Why is the feedback from your department different?”
She was straightforward, inevitably a bit sharp. Zhou Mi’s face reddened slightly: “I didn’t mean that, just casually sharing my personal view.”
No one in the group spoke again.
Zhou Mi’s mental state slightly collapsed, and she returned home with a dejected face.
Auntie Chen had just finished hanging clothes on the balcony: “Mimi, you came home so late today.”
Zhou Mi bit the last sweet fishball she’d bought on the way, replying indistinctly: “Had some things to do…”
Auntie Chen said, “Oh my, why didn’t you come back for a late-night snack?”
Zhou Mi swallowed, curving her lips: “No need, it’s already very late. If I made you prepare something, you’d probably be busy until midnight. You should go to sleep early.”
Auntie Chen stopped beside her, lowering her voice to advise: “Really, either you or Mr. Zhang should give in. Seeing you not talking to each other makes me uncomfortable.”
Zhou Mi didn’t know how to respond.
Auntie Chen sighed: “What issue could cause such a long awkwardness? I’ve noticed Mr. Zhang hasn’t been coming out to wash up these past few days.”
Zhou Mi was stunned: “Huh? Didn’t he wash up outside before?”
“Oh? That’s right,” Auntie Chen widened her eyes. “You didn’t know? Mr. Zhang’s bedroom has a master bathroom. After you moved in, he started coming out to wash up every morning and evening. I heard him say you separated the rooms because you didn’t sleep well. He came out to brush his teeth and shower to find opportunities to spend more time with you. Now you two are living like you’re separated—what’s going on?”
Zhou Mi’s throat was slightly choked. It was like a capsule stuck there, gradually dissolving into bitterness.
She stood in place, momentarily motionless.
Auntie Chen took away her empty oden paper cup.
Zhou Mi softly inhaled, returned to her bedroom to put down her bag, and then walked to the bathroom to wash her hands.
Upon entering, she was startled—the flowers in the vase beside her washbasin had been changed. No longer the white freesias that had never withered, but two strangely shaped red flowers. Their flower heads pressed close together, vibrantly colored, with petals converging toward the center like soft needles, resembling bundled fireworks.
Zhou Mi didn’t recognize this species at all, so she glanced outside the door, set her phone to silent, and secretly took a photo.
Back in her room, Zhou Mi sat cross-legged on the floor and opened a web image search.
It turned out these flowers were called pin cushion flowers—bizarre shape, bizarre scientific name, something she’d never heard of, indeed very niche.
She rubbed her forehead with her fist, hesitated for a moment, then searched for its flower language.
The results appeared quickly.
Reading the first line, Zhou Mi felt her heart being severely twisted, so painful that her nose instantly surged with intense sourness.
“The flower language of the pin cushion flower is: shared prosperity, endless blessings for you.”