“Lin Qing! Lin Qing! I’ve run out of face cream — can I borrow yours?”

It was first thing in the morning, and Lin Qing was nowhere to be found.

Liang Meng had finished washing up, a cleansing headband still perched on her head, and called out several times without a sign of anyone.

Left with no choice, Liang Meng rummaged through the apartment looking for something to put on her face — she had to get to work.

By chance, Liang Meng pulled open one of the bedside table drawers and was immediately drawn to over a dozen certificates scattered loosely inside.

Liang Meng picked up a Fudan University diploma and opened it. Inside was a young, fresh-faced photo of Lin Qing.

Only then did Liang Meng remember — before she had moved in, this was Lin Qing’s room.

Lin Qing must have kept all her most important documents by the bedside.

Liang Meng was curious, and couldn’t help but look through them.

In addition to Fudan University’s graduation certificate, degree certificate, an Outstanding Graduate certificate, and a National Scholarship award, there were many other personal documents of Lin Qing’s.

Liang Meng picked up one piece of paper, and only then discovered that Lin Qing had been the national top prize winner in the sciences competition back in high school!

And on top of that, she seemed to have used her spare time to obtain numerous professional certifications — a certified public accountant, an actuary, a fund industry qualification certificate, and more.

Liang Meng returned all the certificates thoughtfully, placing them back exactly as she had found them.

Seeing it was getting late and Lin Qing still hadn’t returned, Liang Meng had no choice but to head to the office on her own.

Lin Qing, wanting to spend more time with Lu Zhou, stretched it out right up to the last second before clocking in late, then dashed frantically to the building downstairs.

She clocked in and hadn’t even made it to the elevator yet when she was intercepted at the elevator doors by the HR manager — someone she barely knew!

“Lin Qing, right? Come by our department for a moment — someone wants to see you.”

Lin Qing thought to herself: apart from completing her onboarding paperwork and going through the motions of a salary negotiation, she’d had virtually no dealings with anyone in HR.

Being summoned this early in the morning — could they be handing out employee benefits?

But that didn’t add up either. The new year was already over, Children’s Day was still a ways off — was the company really handing out Qingming Festival benefits early?

The HR manager led her to the door of the largest conference room in the HR department.

Lin Qing cast the manager a suspicious sidelong glance, and the manager immediately averted her gaze and made her excuses to leave.

Puzzled, Lin Qing looked at the conference room for a moment, hesitated, and then pushed down the door handle with a boldness she forced on herself.

In the large conference room, there was only a single figure — upright and unyielding, a silhouette of black — standing alone by the window.

A thin ray of orange-red morning light fell on the glass curtain wall across the way; in the glare of the reflection, that figure seemed all the darker.

“Who’s saving the company on electricity in here?”

Lin Qing suspiciously reached over and switched on the conference room lights.

Fluorescent light flooded the space. The person standing at the window slowly turned to face the room.

Lin Qing got a clear look — and lurched backward in shock: Jiang — Jiang Han…

Jiang Han’s face was as still as undisturbed water, betraying no expression whatsoever. He extended a hand in an unhurried gesture, inviting Lin Qing to sit.

“About — about that, President Jiang. Yesterday — I didn’t mean to…”

In this bright and righteous world, under the clear light of day.

The only reason Lin Qing could think of for why Jiang Han would show up at Longquan to find her was to settle scores — a grudge for a grudge, a grievance for a grievance.

Though the two of them had no actual grievances between them, hadn’t yesterday’s chain of events just led to… that moment?

Lin Qing remembered that Jiang Han had warned her yesterday that he was a shareholder of Longquan. Right now, cold sweat was dripping down her back.

He wouldn’t exercise his shareholder rights and fire her on the spot, would he?

Which was why he arranged to talk in the HR department.

“You don’t need to be nervous.”

Jiang Han was dressed in a blue dress shirt and black trousers, and sat casually with one leg crossed over the other in the meeting sofa, completely at ease.

Lin Qing was inwardly screaming. This was the company. She was a junior assistant alone in a room with a major shareholder — anyone without nerves of steel would be terrified.

“Let’s have a talk.”

Jiang Han’s tone today was mild, and his manner toward Lin Qing was that of someone open to discussion and negotiation.

His voice had steadied, and the man himself had become composed and refined — a complete contrast to the impulsive, furious person he had been yesterday.

Yesterday’s Jiang Han had been a howling, reckless wolf. Today he was a lion bearing the full dignity of a king.

“President Jiang, if you have something to discuss with President Liang, we can go directly to her office. I’m just President Liang’s little assistant — I honestly can’t imagine what I, a… senior executive like yourself, would need to talk to me about.”

Lin Qing delicately reminded Jiang Han of her own place in the hierarchy.

“If you have any odd jobs at Longquan you’d like someone to handle, how about this: you find whatever department manager you like and assign me to report to them. Where is the need for you to deal with me directly?”

Lin Qing was talking as she went, but inwardly she was completely unnerved.

She was trying to deflect, but she also knew Jiang Han wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

“Let’s discuss a transaction. Going forward, you work for me.”

Seeing that Lin Qing was still trying to dodge and deflect, Jiang Han cut straight to the point.

“President Jiang, please don’t put me in an impossible position! I’m just a miscellaneous little assistant…” Lin Qing deflected with all her might.

She already had more than enough miscellaneous tasks for Liang Meng. The last thing she wanted was to take on more work and get tangled up with this so-called “Lord Jiang” in any way.

Besides, after all that chaos last night, what were the odds that “Lord Jiang” had any positive impression of a small assistant like her?

Whether Jiang Han was trying to drive a wedge between her and Liang Meng, or had some other agenda, Lin Qing had zero interest.

“At least hear out the terms.”

Jiang Han spread his hands calmly and began laying out his offer.

“As a personal assistant, Liang Meng pays you an annual salary of 1.4 million. That covers both professional and personal tasks, and you’ve done well on both fronts.” Jiang Han first acknowledged Lin Qing’s performance at Liang Meng’s side, then gave a small nod. “I think that price is fair.”

As he spoke, Jiang Han stood and walked back to the window, both hands in his pockets, gazing out.

Good that he had moved away. Lin Qing could tell he wanted her to work for him without offering more money, so she took the opportunity to lower her head and mouth a silent string of complaints.

No raise? Then what the hell are we even talking about.

Jiang Han seemed to have read her mind. He paused, turned his head, and shifted his tone: “I’ve looked into your background. Ordinary family circumstances, top-performing graduate from Fudan.”

Lin Qing’s inner monologue: What does that have to do with you?

Jiang Han had come prepared: “You’ve been at Longquan for a while now. I just asked the HR manager — she says you don’t get along particularly well with your colleagues in the CEO’s office.”

Lin Qing couldn’t deny that.

But she didn’t see it as a problem either.

The people in the CEO’s office were the type who didn’t do much actual work. Everything went through proper channels; whenever there was an issue, instead of figuring out how to solve it, they just rushed to escalate it up the chain.

So while Liang Meng never felt close to them, after Lin Qing arrived, she — a mere assistant — had ended up handling practically the entire CEO office’s workload on her own.

The others, now with time on their hands, apparently found ample opportunity to talk badly about Lin Qing behind her back.

Not just behind her back — Lin Qing had overheard snarky remarks directed at her face more than a few times.

She didn’t care. She had a thick skin.

The office was a place to make money, not to make friends. As long as it didn’t affect the big picture, why would Lin Qing waste energy picking fights just to work herself up?

“President Jiang, I understand that you understand me very well.” Lin Qing said bluntly. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“As long as you’re willing to keep an eye on Liang Meng for me this year, I’ll give you my word: I’ll transfer you to Sansheng, same annual salary, new working environment, and you’ll be involved in core operations.”

Jiang Han showed his hand.

Last night, he had thought it over at length.

Liang Meng was growing increasingly independent-minded, increasingly difficult to control. If he wanted to know what she was up to, he would have to work through the people around her.

And Lin Qing — this seemingly loud and impulsive little assistant — was the ideal candidate.

Jiang Han knew how to read people. Someone like Lin Qing, who came from humble origins and had just graduated, wanted a high salary — but in truth didn’t yet have a concrete concept of what money meant.

The difference in quality of life and mindset between earning 100,000 a year versus 150,000 wasn’t actually that large.

But crossing the threshold into a million-plus annual salary was a different matter entirely. Once that line was crossed, it opened up an entirely new horizon.

Similarly, between 1.4 million and 1.6 million a year, the horizon stagnated again.

When people from modest backgrounds imagine spending money, their minds go to cars and apartments — whether it’s a 70-square-meter cage or a 90-square-meter cage won’t sway Lin Qing’s decision.

What she cared about was the major milestone already achieved: exceeding a million per year.

So, to win Lin Qing’s loyalty, Jiang Han would need to approach it from a different angle.

He had bet correctly.

“Core operations” was Lin Qing’s Achilles’ heel.

Lin Qing was a top Fudan graduate — one of the elite, and proud of it. However well she disguised it, that inner pride, that disdain for anything beneath her, always leaked out in her eyes and her tone without her noticing.

Jiang Han had come from the same kind of background. The ambition in Lin Qing’s gaze was like a scent on a kindred spirit — how could he not recognize it?

Unfortunately, he had arrived one step too late.

The morning’s conversation with Lu Zhou had been like a bath for Lin Qing’s overreaching, “always-wanting-more” mindset.

It had to be said — Lu Zhou’s upright, honorable nature had, to some degree, rubbed off on Lin Qing.

She didn’t dare pretend she was some paragon of loyalty, but she genuinely was a newcomer to the working world, and Lu Zhou’s words had sobered her: she couldn’t afford to be reckless or rush ahead.

“President Jiang, I…” Lin Qing was about to refuse.

But Jiang Han said he was giving her three minutes to think it over, and as he said it, he casually reached over and switched on the conference room television with the air of someone who already knew how this would end.

“President Jiang, I don’t…” Lin Qing instinctively continued.

But just then, a broadcast from the television news pulled her attention away.

“Star of Tomorrow Falls from Grace — Who Is to Blame?”

The headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen was designed to be sensational.

“Yesterday, a rising new star on the golf course — widely celebrated by the public — suffered a devastating loss in Melbourne yesterday afternoon local time at an international competition, ending a five-match winning streak. The start was disastrous: Lu Zhou’s first ball flew into the rough, and in an unintentional movement, his foot made contact with the missing ball, drawing a serious ruling from the judges…”

Lin Qing could hardly believe what she was seeing.

She forgot entirely that she was still in the middle of a conversation with Jiang Han. Every fiber of her being wanted to leap through the television screen right then and there.

“I’m talking to you — why are you watching the television?”

Jiang Han was waiting for Lin Qing’s answer, and seeing her attention completely elsewhere, he couldn’t help feeling displeased.

“Lord Jiang, didn’t you investigate me? My family didn’t have much growing up — we never even had a TV at home! So once one is on, I have to watch! Have a little sympathy!”

Lin Qing rattled off a random excuse, furrowing her brow as she focused intently on every word the news was saying.

She thought of how Lu Zhou had seemed this very morning — so light, so sunny, so effortlessly at ease — and with that image in mind, the blow landed hard. Her legs went weak beneath her, and she stumbled backward.

Jiang Han reacted instantly, catching her arm like a falling leaf.

“What’s wrong?”

Jiang Han saw something was off and asked with concern.

Lin Qing steadied herself, then opened her dazed eyes and said to Jiang Han with an effort at nonchalance: “President Jiang, it’s nothing. Low blood sugar.”

But inside, all she could see, all she could feel, were the scenes from that morning — laughing over soy milk, calling out “champion this” and “champion that” and trading jokes with Lu Zhou…