Monday morning, Zhou Mi dressed in fresh attire, swallowed the last bite of her sticky rice ball, and flowed into the elevator with the white-collar workers of the morning rush.
She deliberately wore a French-style little red dress, praying for an auspicious new beginning.
At nine in the morning, the company was as sparsely populated as ever, making her self-proclaimed grand return to work lose some of its ceremonial feeling.
But Zhou Mi’s mood didn’t sink because of this. Instead, she felt more at ease, almost treating the corridor as a dance floor, sliding with moonwalk steps to reunite with her old friend—her workstation.
After turning on her computer, Zhou Mi went to the break room for coffee. When she returned to her seat, someone was already standing near her workstation—their director, Yuan Zhen, who seemed to be searching for something at Ye Yan’s desk.
Zhou Mi stopped at a distance and called out, “Sister Zhenzhen.” — She always liked her junior colleagues to call her this, saying it sounded like a Hong Kong pop star.
Yuan Zhen turned halfway, somewhat surprised: “Mimi, you’re back. How’s your health?”
Zhou Mi made an affirmative sound, keeping her shoulders straight, and asked stiffly: “What are you looking for?”
Yuan Zhen waved her hand: “You’ve come at the right time. Are you busy?”
Zhou Mi moved two steps closer, shaking her head: “No.”
Yuan Zhen brushed her curly hair, one hand on her hip: “Help me get a package from downstairs. It’s a skincare set sent from Anno. I told Ye Yan yesterday to pick it up and leave it at her desk, but she probably forgot in her busyness.”
Zhou Mi nodded vigorously: “Alright, I’ll go to the mail room right now.”
She turned to leave.
Yuan Zhen called after her: “You… hey, Minnie, wait.”
Zhou Mi turned back, blinking: “What is it?”
Yuan Zhen couldn’t help but smile: “Are you going down with that cup?”
Only then did Zhou Mi realize, her face instantly burned hot. She murmured “sorry,” took a few quick steps back to her desk to put down the mug, and then ran toward the company exit.
—
Zhou Mi hadn’t expected that Anno had sent several gift boxes, all spring limited edition cherry blossom sets. They were surprisingly large, with paper boxes stacked like a human-sized pagoda.
The auntie at the mail room looked at her employee badge and asked: “Just you alone?”
Zhou Mi stood at the small window, signing the receipt: “Yes, just me.”
The auntie looked at the floor, then glanced at Zhou Mi’s small frame: “You probably can’t manage it all at once.”
Zhou Mi raised herself to peek inside, making a judgment: “I should be able to do it in two trips.”
“I doubt it.”
“I can manage.”
The auntie said, “Alright, come in and get them.”
Zhou Mi went through the side door, first lifted one box to test the weight, and said: “It’s okay, not too heavy.”
“They get heavy when you stack them,” the auntie bent down to help her stack the rest, feeling that adding one more would almost exceed the girl’s height, and said: “Want to add more?”
Zhou Mi tightened her arms around the boxes: “One more, please.”
The auntie said, “Alright.”
Now they have completely blocked her entire face. The auntie couldn’t help but worry: “Can you still see the path? Don’t bump into anything.”
“It’s fine, I can see like this,” Zhou Mi peeked out half her face from behind the boxes, her eyes black and round, like an alert squirrel behind a tree stump. She looked down to count the remaining boxes: “I’ll go up first, I’ll come back for the other three later.”
“Take it slow,” the auntie called out a reminder as she watched her move slowly through the small door.
—
Back in the light, Zhou Mi raised the slightly slipping boxes, holding them firmly as she climbed the steps, each step slow and careful.
The flow of people around her was like a shuttle, elegant and polished. Some would glance at her with interest, but the vast majority remained indifferent.
The connected high-rises were like multiple angular metal masks, soaring to the clouds, along with the life forms residing within them, all rendered with a layer of exquisite selfishness, a cold color palette of unapproachable heights.
Not particularly tall stairs, yet Zhou Mi’s arms were stiff with fatigue, feeling like she had been walking for nearly a year. She couldn’t help but regret, thinking she should have listened to the mail room auntie’s advice to make more trips.
Finally, she struggled into the lobby.
Zhou Mi squatted to put down the paper boxes, smoothed her split bangs, took a brief breath, and decided to leave two boxes on the first floor; otherwise, she would bump into people when entering the elevator.
Just as she was about to stand up and greet the front desk, she heard someone call her name: “Zhou Mi?”
Zhou Mi turned her head and saw a pair of legs stopping beside her. Her gaze climbed upward… to a completely unfamiliar face.
The person was a middle-aged man, approximately in his early forties, with reddish-brown skin, a fairly robust build, but not particularly tall.
When Zhou Mi stood up with a confused expression, her eyes were almost level with his.
She dusted off her hands and nodded slightly: “Hello, can I help you?”
The man bent down and began stacking the boxes: “I’ll help you take these up.”
Zhou Mi was stunned for a moment and tried to stop him: “Wait, who are you?”
The man said, “I’m CEO Zhang’s driver.”
Zhou Mi: “…”
Was this an urban romance drama coming to life? She felt a chill, her gaze rapidly scanning around to find the instigator, but among the coming and going crowds, she found nothing. Just as she was about to decline this strange act of kindness, the driver’s uncle had already effortlessly lifted most of the paper boxes beside his feet.
Zhou Mi suddenly felt embarrassed and had to change her words: “Thank you—”
“No need for thanks,” the middle-aged man smiled straightforwardly, then said: “You’ll have to take this one on the ground yourself. CEO Zhang told me to leave one for you to carry.”
A crack appeared in the romantic scene. Zhou Mi choked: “Alright, thank you very much anyway.” Then she quickly picked it up.
The driver only escorted her to the door, arranged the gift boxes neatly, and Zhou Mi went downstairs again to retrieve the remaining ones.
Passing by Zhang Lian’s office, she had to exert extreme control not to let her peripheral vision wander into his doorway.
Walking out of the first-floor elevator, she couldn’t hold back any longer and sent Zhang Lian a WeChat message.
Three question marks: ???
He seemed to have been waiting for her message and replied:?
Zhou Mi: ????
Zhang Lian immediately ended this inhuman conversation: Thanks.
Zhou Mi wouldn’t follow his lead and only asked suspiciously: How did you see me?
Zhang Lian replied: Little Red Riding Hood.
Zhou Mi stood still, her face suddenly flushing as hot as if she had been in the sun too long.
She remembered a date from early autumn last year when she wore the same red dress as today. That time, Zhang Lian had directly sat her on his lap, the sleeves of his black shirt half-rolled up, as he slowly pulled down her zipper from behind, like peeling a lychee shell. His lips were barely touching her neck, calling her in an extremely low voice: Little Red Riding Hood.
The man’s warm breath and fingers were tasting her, moving from light to deep, impossible to avoid, impossible to resist. Zhou Mi felt herself melting, like ice cream dropped on a summer asphalt road, collapsing and flowing in all directions without any point of support. She could only wrap her arms tightly around his neck, almost crying for mercy, telling him she couldn’t take it anymore, calling him a nasty big bad wolf…
Zhou Mi’s chest stirred, and she decided to put her phone back in her pocket to clear her mind. But after reconsidering, she paused, lit up the screen again, and gave a three-word counterattack:
Granny Wolf
—
After delivering a gift box to Yuan Zhen, Zhou Mi returned to her workstation, glanced at WeChat, and smiled smugly. Zhang Lian didn’t want to acknowledge her mood-killing response.
She pulled her chair forward again and again, as if trying to lock herself in place, setting up all-around barriers, before starting to type her weekly report.
Close to ten-thirty, Ye Yan also arrived, and upon seeing Zhou Mi, she curved her eyes, calling enthusiastically: “Mimi, you’re back.”
During the days they hadn’t seen each other, she had changed to a lighter hair color, like diluted milk tea. She wore a light blue cardigan and wide-leg pants, occasionally revealing a narrow waist and navel when she moved. The entire person was slender and bright, extremely similar to a Korean girl group member.
Zhou Mi turned her head to look at her, smiling slightly: “Yes.”
Just as she was about to tell her about the gift boxes piled like a general store in the desk drawer, Ye Yan had already noticed them. Upon seeing the logo on the paper boxes, she suddenly came to her senses, asking Zhou Mi in surprise: “Who brought these up?”
Zhou Mi said, “I did. Sister Zhenzhen came looking for them this morning.”
“Ah,” Ye Yan grabbed her hair, looking tragic: “Mi, thank you so much. I’ve been incredibly busy lately.”
She squatted down to unwrap the packaging, took out a bottle of toner, and exclaimed: “It looks so good!”
Several female colleagues nearby heard this and stretched up to look: “What does it look like?”
Ye Yan immediately held it up for a 360° display, her fingertips sliding over the silver flower-shaped bottle cap and the cherry blossom patterns all over: “Amazing, the actual product looks even better than the pictures. It’s like they used perfume design thinking for the skincare water’s appearance.”
Another AE said: “That sentence could be used directly as a slogan.”
Ye Yan laughed: “You should first ask if the creative team would agree.”
Everyone laughed together.
Ye Yan stood there chatting on WeChat for a while, then suddenly collapsed back into her chair with a world-weary expression, sniffled, and pulled out a red ginseng energy bar from her pen holder, unwrapping it to suck on.
After staring at the screen for a bit, she turned to look at Zhou Mi, who was fully focused on her work. She pulled her chair closer and privately messaged her: Are you busy these two days, Mi?
Zhou Mi was a bit surprised, also glancing at her, replying: Not very busy.
Ye Yan replied: Want to come with me to the shoot location tomorrow?
Zhou Mi was momentarily speechless in surprise: Is that okay?
Ye Yan squinted at her sparkling big eyes that were bright even from the side view: Why do you always look like you’re dreaming?
Zhou Mi froze, slowing her typing speed: I just…
She found it difficult to describe this gratitude: After being away for so long, you’re still willing to take me along like this. It’s very surprising and also makes me feel guilty.
Ye Yan smiled: You’re such an innocent kid.
She added: I’m willing to take you because I think you’re quick-witted and eager to learn, and you’ve missed some time.
Zhou Mi said: But I’m not professional enough yet. I’m afraid I’ll hold you back.
Ye Yan said: Those professional people you’re thinking of, which one of them didn’t go through your stage? Professional, what’s professional? It’s just seeing how others do things and then knowing how to do it yourself. The word “professional” isn’t that unattainable. Watching and learning more is the real truth.
Zhou Mi had a sudden enlightenment, sitting motionless in her place, like a plant photosynthesizing, quietly absorbing and catalyzing in her heart.
Ye Yan advised further: It’s also good for you to move around more, don’t always sit.
Zhou Mi: Huh?
Ye Yan showed concern: Your butt… is it okay?
“…” Zhou Mi was silent for two seconds, determined to clear herself on this occasion: What butt?
Ye Yan: Didn’t you just have that butthole surgery?
Zhou Mi remained calm: No, it was an appendix surgery.
Ye Yan burst out laughing, almost blowing up the energy bar wrapper. She quickly checked their past messages to confirm: I’m so sorry, how did I misread that you had hemorrhoid surgery? My brain really isn’t working well lately. This is truly embarrassing.
Zhou Mi curved her lips in a smile, all misunderstandings resolved: It’s alright.
—
On her first day back at work, Zhou Mi also stayed at the company until almost ten o’clock for the first time.
Her mother called, and Zhou Mi said she was at the company. Her mother didn’t believe it and insisted on video confirmation, after which she complained with a displeased face: “Come back early. Which company makes you work so hard?” before reluctantly ending the call.
Even at this hour, the company was still bustling with people. Some groups had already begun gathering to discuss and select late-night snacks.
Sleeping by day and working by night, inspiration always comes after sunset—this was the standard ecology of the advertising industry.
Zhou Mi saved her document and was about to shut down her computer when her phone suddenly dinged.
Zhou Mi checked it—a WeChat message from Zhang Lian: Why aren’t you home yet?
She looked around warily, but saw no trace of him anywhere. How could he be so mysteriously omnipresent? She scratched her head and replied: Leaving right now.
Zhang Lian: Go to exit A on the basement level 1 and wait.
Zhang Lian: I’ll be down shortly. I’ll drive you.
Zhou Mi refused: No need.
Zhang Lian replied: You won’t be able to get a taxi at this hour.
Zhou Mi switched to the app to try, and there were more than twenty people in the queue ahead of her, confirming his statement.
Zhou Mi canceled the ride request, frowning slightly: Then I’ll take the subway.
There was no response from the other end. Zhou Mi exhaled, began checking and packing her things, fastening her bag clasp, when Zhang Lian sent another message: Why are you being so stubborn?
Zhou Mi flatly denied: I’m just following my original work and life rhythm. How is that being stubborn?
After sending it, she stood at her desk for a little while. The message sank like a stone, with nothing but silence in the chat box. Zhou Mi’s heart inexplicably sank for a moment, but it was fleeting, gone before she could analyze it specifically.
Zhou Mi slung her bag across her body and walked quickly toward the elevator.
Entering the cabin, she had just lowered her eyes to press the 1F button when someone walked in from her peripheral vision.
Zhou Mi looked up slightly, her heart suddenly jumping.
The man stopped beside her. Perhaps because he was too tall, the space that wasn’t originally cramped became full of pressure due to his presence, like standing in a dense forest that blocked the sky.
Zhou Mi remained composed, silently sliding ten centimeters away.
The person beside her showed no expression either, only leaned forward, his finger casually hitting 1F twice to cancel that floor, then pressed B1.
He withdrew his hand, standing at ease.
The elevator began to descend. Zhou Mi raised her eyes in surprise, glancing at him twice, then pressed the number 1 again, with great force and speed.
He didn’t speak or move again, staring straight ahead the entire time.
Zhou Mi held her breath, her heart seemingly lifted to the top of her head.
The elevator stopped steadily at the first floor, the door opening a crack, as if only then could oxygen enter. Zhou Mi walked out with her head down, her steps slightly hurried. Just as her back foot was leaving the cabin, a casual voice came from behind:
“I tried my best. You’ll have to account to your mother yourself when you get home.”
Zhou Mi paused, turning back in astonishment. But the silver elevator doors had already merged in the middle. Zhang Lian stood in the center, the dim white light making him appear like an elegant yet cold-hearted vampire. The next moment, his lips curved into an extremely faint arc before he disappeared from her view.