After a whole evening plus a full morning the next day, Cheng Yao finally felt she’d found her breakthrough.
Chinese law set extremely strict standards for foreign capital entering the domestic internet market. In fields related to the internet—online publishing services, online audiovisual program services—foreign investment was completely prohibited.
Tuantuan Online was divided into a literature site and a video site, which respectively touched on online publishing services and online audiovisual program services—squarely within the prohibited categories.
The reason Xu Jun had chosen a VIE structure wasn’t only because he couldn’t meet the requirements for a direct overseas listing—more importantly, the core business of Tuantuan Online was one the state prohibited foreign capital from entering. So Xu Jun couldn’t take the company public overseas directly. He could only choose the VIE method, which didn’t require direct foreign shareholding but instead relied on contractual control such as a comprehensive technical support agreement.
The state’s method for strictly controlling these two prohibited categories was to issue licenses—only domestic companies holding the license could operate in the relevant business.
Tuantuan Online’s literature site had been founded relatively early, well before Xu Jun even met Bai Xingmeng, and had already been operating maturely and had long since obtained an internet publishing service license. But Tuantuan Online’s video business had only been expanded after Xu Jun and Bai Xingmeng married. Yet according to Cheng Yao’s investigation, Tuantuan Online did not hold an online audiovisual license.
She couldn’t wait to report her findings to Qian Heng, but when she entered his office, she found someone else there besides Qian Heng.
She looked at Qian Heng, then at Wu Jun.
“Go ahead and say it. It’s fine.” Wu Jun smiled understandingly, her peach-blossom eyes lifting slightly. “I’m Wu Jun, your Qian-par’s good friend, business partner, and soulmate. I’m no outsider.”
Cheng Yao instinctively looked at Qian Heng, waiting for his instruction.
Qian Heng said nothing, looking at Wu Jun instead.
Wu Jun made a helpless face. “Fine, fine, I’ll go.”
Cheng Yao could finally report her research findings: “…so, because of the access restrictions in the internet industry, there must be a wholly-owned domestic subsidiary of Tuantuan Online that holds this online audiovisual license. The licensed company signs a comprehensive technical support agreement for contractual control with the foreign company, achieving the VIE structure for an overseas listing.” Cheng Yao held a stack of materials, thoroughly excited. “The video business is currently one of Tuantuan Online’s core businesses, and it’s also the business most favored by overseas investors. It’s almost certain this licensed company is critical to the listing. Since the video business was launched during the marriage, the company used to obtain the license must also have been established during the marriage—it’s one of the fifteen companies…”
Unfortunately, before Cheng Yao could continue, Qian Heng cut her off, bluntly: “I have no interest whatsoever in your analytical process. Just tell me the result.” He glanced at her. “Even if you spend three days and three nights researching and analyzing, if you can’t produce a result, the process is meaningless to the client.”
Cheng Yao froze for a moment, then quickly said, “I checked the list of licensed internet video institutions published by the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television, and I’ve confirmed it—the key company is Tuantuan Technology Network Co., Ltd., a wholly-owned subsidiary of Tuantuan Online. This company’s losses are absolutely suspicious—at the very least, its equity value was undervalued at the time of the divorce.”
Having finished speaking, Cheng Yao instinctively fixed her eyes on Qian Heng.
The young woman’s skin was snow-white, her eyes shifting with a faint smile and a hint of nervousness at the corners of her mouth—the very picture of someone waiting for Qian Heng’s praise.
“Mm.” Qian Heng took the materials from her. “Bao Rui already dug up this company last night.”
An unmistakable look of shock crossed Cheng Yao’s face, followed quickly by disappointment. The brightness that had been on her face a moment ago gradually faded.
It was cruel, but that was the workplace for you.
Qian Heng deeply despised nepotism hires, because their existence was itself a violation of the world’s fair order—every time a connected hire was taken on, one genuinely competitive job seeker was shut out.
The reason he’d pulled Cheng Yao onto his team wasn’t to nurture her carefully—it was to give her “special treatment,” hoping that under the high-intensity workload, she would give up on her own.
So after she joined his team, Qian Heng had deliberately left her somewhat to her own devices, largely ignoring her. Yet, to his surprise, although Cheng Yao spent her evenings thinking about watching dramas to unwind, when Qian Heng had the firm’s IT department pull her browser history—originally intending to find evidence of her slacking off at work, so he could use “not taking the probation period seriously” as grounds to get rid of her—he found, to his surprise, that what she browsed during work hours really was all work-related.
Her daily browsing followed a strict pattern: at 9 a.m., she’d start researching family case rulings on China Judgments Online; at 11, she’d move on to the latest cases on the Legal Express channel; at 1 p.m., she’d check the intermediate people’s court and several district courts for the latest cases open to observers and recent court rulings; at 4 p.m., she’d go to several lawyer exchange platforms to discuss case analyses online…
But during the lunch break from 11:30 to 1:00, what Cheng Yao browsed was a lot more varied. Three days ago, for instance, she’d searched “how to repair a relationship with your boss” and “what to do if you’ve offended your boss,” and joined a Douban group called “My Boss Is Toxic.” Two days ago, she’d searched “how to become a lawyer who makes big money” and “how to lower my presence in front of my boss,” and searched the phrase “industry menace Qian Heng” fifteen times. Yesterday, she’d searched “just how toxic is Qian Heng” and “how to coexist peacefully with my boss,” followed a viral Tianya post titled “Let me vent about my top-tier boss,” and left a comment saying “Hugs, OP, I completely understand you.” And today—well, today Cheng Yao had gotten up to even more mischief. She’d gone on Zhihu and browsed “how to stop myself from beating up my boss” and “who’s the first person you’d get revenge on once you make it big”…
Because family cases so often touched on every corner of a client’s privacy, Junheng had strict rules on confidentiality of materials from the moment of hiring. The employment contract stated plainly: “All operational information on the work computer is not protected as private and Junheng has the right to use and process it.” Cheng Yao had of course seen this clause, but hadn’t taken it seriously—she probably never imagined anyone would actually be bored enough to check an employee’s browsing history line by line.
The more Qian Heng looked at this browsing history, the colder his inner smile became. Sure enough, the more docile someone seemed on the surface, the wilder their heart. Cheng Yao, you’d better pray I never catch you slipping up.
Yet the more he paid attention, the more he found Cheng Yao really didn’t give him anything to catch her on. Taking lunchtime as the dividing line, during work hours she never slacked off—every day she sat quietly at her cold, unglamorous desk, helping Bao Rui with utterly unskilled copying, printing, and filing work, then studying those so-called “classic cases” that had no systematic focus at all, as if she genuinely believed that if she worked hard enough this way she could become a famous lawyer, without realizing that in this profession, one only really learns by taking on and handling actual cases.
Several times Qian Heng passed by Cheng Yao’s desk and found her still diligently taking notes on those “classic cases” in front of her screen, her bangs falling slightly over her bright profile, her eyes wide open with an almost naive earnestness.
This time, since Bao Rui couldn’t take part in the Bai Xingmeng case, Cheng Yao had to step in, reluctantly. But Qian Heng, intending to let her feel just how grueling a lawyer’s work could be so she’d give up on her own, assigned her nothing but errands pulling corporate files from various administration for industry and commerce bureaus—equally unskilled work, and enormously draining in terms of physical effort and time. In such cold, rainy weather, with taxis hard to come by, some of the more distant bureaus could only be reached by transferring buses and subways repeatedly—work that most young women wouldn’t be willing to do at all.
Qian Heng had originally expected Cheng Yao to come begging him to lighten her load, giving him a convenient excuse to fire her—too delicate, unwilling to follow work assignments.
But to his surprise, Cheng Yao obeyed without a single complaint—and not only obeyed, but did the work well. Once, apparently because the rain was too heavy and she truly couldn’t get a taxi, she came back to the firm with the corporate files completely soaked through. And even then, she never once complained of hardship or exhaustion.
Passing by the break room, Qian Heng once saw her shivering as she dried her soaked hair with one hand while cradling a cup of hot tea with the other, leaning over it for warmth. The tea was apparently too hot to hold for long, but reluctant to give up that bit of warmth, she kept switching hands, wincing from the heat—caught between fire and ice.
Most people would look unflattering in such a bedraggled state, but Qian Heng found that even like this, Cheng Yao still looked good.
Although the corporate files hadn’t turned up any evidence, her all-out dedication to the case genuinely, if rarely, moved him.
This stubborn, never-give-up spirit of Cheng Yao’s—if given just a bit of guidance, might, over time, be like gambling on an uncut stone: no telling whether it would turn out to be jade or just rock once cracked open.
For a moment, Qian Heng found himself, unexpectedly, feeling a flicker of anticipation.
Perhaps it was for that reason, or perhaps as repayment for her dinner, but in the end, Qian Heng made an exception and gave her a hint. Still, the principle of cracking down on nepotism hires had to be upheld.
A pretty girl like this had probably been coddled her whole life—surely a couple of knocks would be enough to make her back off.
Unfortunately, Cheng Yao never seemed to play by the rules…
“Boss, I know I’m not as good as Bao Rui yet, but I’ll definitely keep working hard!” The person who, moments ago, had looked crestfallen upon learning Bao Rui had already found the lead, had somehow, in an instant, become full of fighting spirit again. Cheng Yao’s eyes shone. “I know you said that out of good intentions—you want me not to get complacent, to keep working hard and stay grounded. I definitely will!”
“…”
Qian Heng wanted very much to say, I really was just trying to put you down…
“I’ll go back and keep studying the relevant cases, then!”
Though a trace of disappointment still lingered in her eyes, Cheng Yao’s tone was brisk.
“Chocolate.”
“Hm?”
Qian Heng pressed his lips together, not entirely sure why he’d suddenly, inexplicably, brought up chocolate.
“The chocolate on the desk—it’s yours.”
Cheng Yao looked a little surprised, but sure enough, her eyes curved back into a smile.
Qian Heng added, somewhat awkwardly, “It’s too sweet. I don’t like it.”
Cheng Yao didn’t mind at all. She thanked him and left cheerfully.
No sooner had Cheng Yao left than Wu Jun walked in.
“Qian Heng, my chocolate—why is it in Cheng Yao’s hands? Taking my things to curry favor with someone else isn’t very nice, you know. That chocolate holds all my love for you, and you’re just going to squander my feelings like that?”
Qian Heng’s expression remained cold. “I don’t like things that sweet. I’ve told you several times.”
“Well, based on your usual style, don’t you just throw it straight in the trash?”
“I’m giving you face.”
“Ha, when I called you at midnight after a breakup wanting comfort, when did you ever give me face? What did you do? You blocked me on the spot!”
Qian Heng pressed his lips together and switched to a different explanation. “Resource optimization.”
“Then why not optimize it toward someone else?” Wu Jun put on a look of exaggerated, punchable anguish. “Qian-par, as a person, you ought to spread the love around.”
Qian Heng set down the documents in his hand. “Wu Jun, are you extremely bored and lonely?”
“Yes.”
“The cleaning auntie in charge of our floor just got divorced. Why don’t you go comfort her—who knows, maybe two lonely but interesting souls will hit it off.”
“…”