The next evening, she dared not sleep inside the room, nor did she want to wake others, so she simply went outside to look at the stars.
The stars on the mountain were truly beautiful, a whole expanse of brilliant night sky. Shang Zhitao recalled that when she was dating Xin Zhaozhou, they had once trekked to the countryside to see stars. Back then, neither had money, taking public buses, transferring again and again, staying in the most dilapidated hostel, seemingly even worse than where they were staying now.
Yet Shang Zhitao had been perfectly content then.
She remembered Xin Zhaozhou tucking her feet into his embrace, saying with some distress: “Other couples never suffered like this when dating.”
“Other couples never saw such beautiful stars when dating either,” Shang Zhitao had replied foolishly. She didn’t know that many couples, nor did she have to suffer or miss seeing such beautiful stars.
She sat for a while, feeling cold, then ran back inside, boiled some water, soaked her feet, feeling completely refreshed. She mentally encouraged herself: there were mousetraps by the bed, and rat poison in every corner—surely no problems today. She wrapped herself in a blanket preparing to sleep. Just as she closed her eyes, her phone rang. It was Alex, and she hurriedly answered.
“Hi, Alex.”
“Flora, we’re still in the management meeting. The other executives just asked about the filming progress, I’m putting you on speaker, please update everyone.”
This report came unexpectedly—late at night, and the executives were still holding a management meeting. Shang Zhitao was completely unprepared. She sat up abruptly and said, “Okay.”
“I’m putting you on speaker now. Attending are Luke, Tracy, Jason, and Zack. Are you okay with that?”
“Sure.” Shang Zhitao quickly organized her thoughts, and when Alex said she could begin, she started her report: “Hello executives, we’ve currently filmed 3 simple scenes, with additional costs of 2,100 yuan. We haven’t encountered any problems so far.”
“Good, good. Stay safe, bye-bye.” Alex understood Shang Zhitao—her reports were simple, but her work was definitely thorough. So he didn’t want to give her a hard time.
Luan Nian frowned.
What kind of report was that?
After the meeting ended, he picked up his phone and messaged Shang Zhitao: “What was that report you just gave?”
“The progress…”
“Are you sure?”
“I…”
Luan Nian felt somewhat angry. He thought Shang Zhitao really couldn’t get things straight. On such an important occasion, she gave such a perfunctory report? He called her directly: “Now report again properly.” His tone was ice-cold.
This sentence frightened Shang Zhitao out of her wits. She cleared her throat: “I just covered the key points.”
“Making excuses?”
“No, no.” Shang Zhitao hurriedly waved her hands, forgetting that Luan Nian couldn’t see her gestures.
“Report again.” Luan Nian repeated.
“We’ve been filming…”
“Wrong. Whose ‘we’? How many scenes have you filmed these two days? What are they specifically? How far along the progress bar are you? How much has been spent? What was it spent on? How much do you estimate to will spend? What’s the expected effect?” Luan Nian fired questions like a machine gun, one after another. Even in his inaugural speech, he had only said a few sentences, but today he spoke so much, all at once.
Luan Nian really couldn’t tolerate having stupid people on his team. Shang Zhitao was Lingmei’s employee, and he was Lingmei’s leader, so Shang Zhitao was part of his team.
Shang Zhitao reorganized her language according to Luan Nian’s questions and timidly asked: “Shall I report again?”
“Speak.”
Shang Zhitao responded based on Luan Nian’s questions: “For this filming project, there are seventeen people involved, including the crew, creative team, and marketing. We’ve currently filmed 3 scenes: Misty Dawn, Mountain Path, and Moonlit Thoughts. This commercial has sixteen scenes in total, with the remainder planned to be completed within 10 days. As of today, miscellaneous marketing expenses total 2,100 yuan. I haven’t estimated future expenses yet, but they won’t exceed the budget.”
“Hmm.” Luan Nian acknowledged: “What’s your role in all this?”
“I… manage the money and… do odd jobs…” Shang Zhitao’s voice grew increasingly smaller. Sure enough, when Luan Nian heard the words “odd jobs,” he interrupted her: “Is your value doing odd jobs? Where can’t I find someone to do odd jobs? If you continue doing odd jobs, you might as well come back now, don’t waste the company’s travel expenses, and you might as well leave altogether.”
He hung up the phone and tossed it aside.
That day had been so busy he hadn’t even eaten, and by evening Shang Zhitao had thoroughly angered him. What was wrong with her? Odd jobs? Did she think her value was doing odd jobs?
Shang Zhitao, having been scolded by Luan Nian, was thoroughly awake.
She wasn’t dejected though, after all, Luan Nian often scolded her, nothing unusual about that. But Luan Nian’s criticism was correct—she indeed lacked reporting experience. She thought she had covered the key points, but perhaps in others’ eyes it seemed perfunctory.
She simply opened her computer, opened a document, and began summarizing reporting methods. What were the reporting methods? Probably just those key questions Luan Nian had asked. Then she thought about Luan Nian’s tone—the man had such a terrible temper, clearly teaching her, yet unable to speak nicely.
Shang Zhitao snorted. Luan Nian was such a strange person.
She spent half an hour writing a document on reporting methods and sent it to Luan Nian’s email, then messaged him: “I just benefited greatly from Luke’s guidance and have compiled a document on reporting methods, which I’ve sent to your email. Could you please review it for me?”
As soon as the message was sent, she received Luan Nian’s reply. He said: “What time is it?”
Shang Zhitao checked the time and replied: “It’s 1 AM.” She clearly hadn’t understood Luan Nian’s intention with “What time is it?” Luan Nian meant: What time is it? If you don’t sleep, should others not sleep either? Are you crazy?
Seeing Shang Zhitao’s reply, Luan Nian narrowed his eyes. She really couldn’t read between the lines. It was impossible to get angry with someone like her—you could be angry to death, and she would probably crouch beside your corpse with a bewildered face asking: “Why did you die?”… That’s probably just the kind of person she was, someone without a brain.
Luan Nian sat on the edge of the bed, his hair still wet, and opened his email to see Shang Zhitao’s summarized reporting points. Detailed, therefore verbose, but showing tremendous improvement.
He called Shang Zhitao again: “Have you shut down your computer?”
“You’re still awake?” Shang Zhitao asked him.
Luan Nian suddenly felt an urge to strangle Shang Zhitao. He paused for two seconds to calm himself, then said: “I’ll speak, you make changes.”
“Okay, thank you, Luke.”
“When making work reports in the future, first think about what others care about, then about your project itself.” Luan Nian explained meticulously, and Shang Zhitao took careful notes. This late-night tutoring came very suddenly, giving Shang Zhitao the strange feeling of being kept after class by a teacher for individual guidance. She wasn’t sure if the teacher feared she would drag down the class or simply cared about her.
“Did you note that down?”
“Yes, I did. Thank you.”
“Since you’ve noted it down, proactively request a project reporting meeting with Alex. When you return, give a detailed report on your progress following up on this project.”
…”Okay.”
“Unwilling?”
“No, no, I just feel it’s a bit abrupt.”
“If you feel that managing upward is abrupt, then be prepared to never move upward.” Luan Nian spoke about workplace reality—those who don’t manage upward won’t go far in their careers.
“Alright, I’ll schedule time with Alex tomorrow.”
The two suddenly fell silent, and Shang Zhitao felt a bit awkward. She racked her brain thinking of what to say, but Luan Nian hung up without even saying goodbye.
Luan Nian had spoken too much today—too tired to say even one more word, he hung up, blow-dried his hair, and lay back in bed.
His phone rang again. He picked it up and saw it was an unfamiliar number. He answered and heard confused sobbing on the other end: “Luan Nian, do you believe I’ll kill myself for you to see?”
Luan Nian hung up, but the call came in again: “Do you think I don’t dare?”
“Don’t use death to threaten me. You know it won’t work.” Luan Nian heard the sobbing on the other end of the phone. Unusually, he didn’t hang up, waiting until her crying subsided somewhat before saying: “When we broke up, we agreed to part on good terms. There’s no need for you to make such a scene.” Luan Nian hung up.
The next morning, when he opened his eyes, he saw dozens of missed calls on his phone.
Zhang Xin had gone crazy.
Then he saw several messages in his inbox:
“Is this Luan Nian? I’m Zhang Xin’s friend. She slit her wrists.”
“Can you come to the hospital? She’s in emergency treatment.”
“Are you even human? Is this how you treat your ex-girlfriend?”
Luan Nian called back, and the other side answered, beginning to curse at Luan Nian: “If you don’t want to live anymore, just say so, and we’ll kill you!” Luan Nian frowned as he listened to the venting from the other end, then asked: “Which hospital?”
The person paused momentarily, then quickly provided the hospital address.
Luan Nian finished washing up, took his car keys, and left. The road was congested for a while, and by the time he reached the emergency center, it was already nine o’clock. He found the ward and saw Zhang Xin leaning against the headboard while a young woman fed her fruit.
Zhang Xin saw Luan Nian and pushed away the fruit at her lips, tears falling again.
Luan Nian thought, how remarkable—in emergency treatment late last night, yet able to eat fruit in the morning, emotions perfectly controlled. Truly impressive, Zhang Xin.
He walked to Zhang Xin’s bedside and said to her friend: “Were you cursing me on the phone this morning?”
The young woman was taken aback, then said: “So what if I cursed you? I’m going to find someone to kill you!”
Luan Nian took out his phone and stopped recording in front of her: “Fine, I’ve recorded the evidence and will send it to my lawyer.”
The young woman was stubborn, too. She suddenly stood up and swung her hand toward Luan Nian’s face. Luan Nian moved quickly, stepping back and grabbing her incoming wrist: “Don’t make a scene. In the end, it’ll be too ugly to resolve.”
Luan Nian hated people making scenes the most, whether men or women—anyone making a scene in front of him would displease him. Speak if you have a point; otherwise, keep quiet. He released the woman’s hand and coldly looked at Zhang Xin: “Is this amusing?”
“You don’t feel the slightest bit of heartache, do you?” Zhang Xin looked at Luan Nian, feeling this person’s heart was truly impossible to warm. In their relationship, he would buy her bags, go on weekend dates, and make a call or two normally, but that was it. He always kept his distance from her—even during sex, she couldn’t feel how much he loved her.
“If I remember correctly, we broke up almost half a year ago. How long do you expect my after-sales service to last? Three years? Five years? Ten years?” Luan Nian knew how the people in the emergency center were viewing him—in their hearts, he was a complete scoundrel.
He didn’t care about others’ opinions and didn’t want to waste more words on Zhang Xin.
“Next time you want to commit suicide, don’t call me. Your life is your own—if you don’t want it, there’s no need to notify me.”
“Also, don’t forget, you were the one who initiated the breakup.”
Zhang Xin said nothing, completely despising Luan Nian.