ATC 13

Chaprter 13

I received a WeChat message from Chen Zhouren again after the end of the annual leave.

On the Lantern Festival, Jiang Wanju attended the birthday celebration of her junior, Xia Jiao. College student gatherings generally don’t take place at very expensive venues; Haidilao is the perfect place for birthdays, especially with the free “atmosphere team” plus the cake-pushing and birthday songs.

Xia Jiao had a personality that was shy and reserved until she became familiar with someone, but once comfortable, she was straightforward and unrestrained. When the birthday cake song started, she took a sip of sour plum juice and choked, tears streaming down her face, giving everyone a genuine fright.

“Say bye-bye to all troubles, and hihi to all joys…”

The staff sang the birthday song in unison. Xia Jiao’s face turned as red as a tomato, and Jiang Wanju, knowing her personality, walked over, held her hand, and whispered in her ear not to be afraid. After comforting her friend, Jiang Wanju returned to her seat.

A friend reminded her, “Senpai, your phone rang just now.”

Jiang Wanju smiled and said thank you. While everyone was cutting the cake, she glanced at her phone. The screen showed “Zhouren-ge,” the name she had entered while slightly tipsy after drinking with Chen Zhouren.

A friend handed her a piece of cake. They had all agreed beforehand not to waste any—both to avoid wasting food and because everyone had put effort into their makeup and outfits, and it would be difficult to clean if it got dirty.

After happily finishing the cake, once the spicy pot started bubbling and steaming, Jiang Wanju took out her phone.

Chen Zhouren hadn’t called again but sent a new WeChat message:

“Are you in Beijing now?”
“Want to come out for some tea?”

It had been sent two minutes ago, about twenty minutes after the missed call.

Jiang Wanju put her phone back down. After finishing the hotpot and as everyone was about to leave, she politely replied:

“No, I’ve been quite busy lately.”
“Thank you.”

Chen Zhouren responded: “Always at your service.”

For some reason, when she saw these four words, Jiang Wanju could picture him in her mind: smiling, deep dimples on his cheeks, like a cunning old fox waiting for prey.

Just like that day when the call with Bai Qing had clearly ended, he deliberately didn’t hang up, keeping the phone near her ear, pressing deeper and deeper.

That bastard.

The New Year’s promotions went smoothly. Jiang Wanju’s work continued as usual until just before May Day, when her workload increased because an intern had resigned. Tasks that she had previously handled—such as sending brand gifts to beauty bloggers, UP hosts, Douyin influencers, etc.—fell entirely on her. To emphasize the importance of the invitations, handwritten greeting cards were required. Jiang Wanju had learned calligraphy as a child and had beautiful handwriting, so writing the cards was also her responsibility.

For several consecutive days, Jiang Wanju ran to the warehouse, checked the selected gifts, wrote cards, packed, and coordinated with the courier—all by herself. Interns usually ended up handling many trivial tasks beyond their responsibilities.

After finally getting through May Day, the brand had an event in Shanghai requiring two people from her side for coordination. Normally, this would never fall on an intern, but the director pointed at Jiang Wanju—leaving her no choice but to go.

The event mainly involved one of the brand’s beauty lines successfully entering a major luxury shopping district. During the day, Jiang Wanju was like a junior assistant, helping the director with items, verifying documents, checking the gifts against the forms… In the afternoon, they finally had about an hour of free time. Bored, Jiang Wanju scrolled through Weibo. Her homepage suggested a post by a beauty blogger showing the gifts they had just received for the holiday. The blogger looked familiar, and she had initially swiped past, but she pulled it back and opened the nine-photo grid, checking each one.

She remembered that when meeting Chen Zhouren at the hotel, it had been her who had walked off in a huff. Later, Chen Zhouren said it had been a relative’s child.

As she slowly scrolled, in the last photo, she saw the gift their team had sent for a certain brand. On the right side of the image, blurred but discernible, was a pair of male hands holding the card Jiang Wanju had handwritten—a Klein blue card with the brand logo, unmistakable.

That evening, she attended the banquet hosted by the event organizers, held at the hotel where she was staying. Jiang Wanju was seated next to the director. They were considered guests, but there wasn’t much time to actually eat. Most of the time, the director took her around to greet various people—Mr. Li, Manager Zhao…

Jiang Wanju smiled politely and greeted them courteously. She hadn’t experienced this kind of scene much, so she wasn’t completely at ease, but she observed how the director’s other assistants behaved and followed suit, careful not to stand out or make mistakes.

This went on until the director cheerfully called out: “Mr. Chen.”

Jiang Wanju looked up sharply.

The surname Chen wasn’t uncommon, and the recently resigned intern had that surname. But a subtle feeling compelled her to look up, and across a few people, she immediately saw Chen Zhouren. Unlike his casual style in Hong Kong, he wore a formal suit jacket, a light gray shirt, a slightly darker patterned tie tied in a Windsor knot, standing tall with a composed smile.

Jiang Wanju lowered her head again, listening to the director introduce him: “This is Mr. Chen from Shangming Real Estate, and…”

She didn’t catch the rest.

Chen Zhouren smiled and raised his glass, composed, not even glancing at her. Like all the big shots she dealt with, he took a small sip and said, “Thank you for your hard work.”

Polite, yet distant.

…

Jiang Wanju hadn’t eaten much all night, though she drank quite a bit. Due to a hotel oversight, her room wasn’t on the same floor as her colleagues. She swiped her card alone to the 17th floor and leaned against the elevator wall. The elevator was quiet, with only her inside.

She raised her hand and smelled a faint scent of alcohol on her clothes. The elevator wall reflected her image. Her cheeks were flushed, her makeup slightly smudged. She closed her eyes, taking a moment to decide whether to go out to get something to eat or just sleep and deal with it tomorrow.

Just as she was debating, the elevator doors opened. Jiang Wanju, tipsy, tired, and drowsy, walked out in a daze and bumped into a man’s chest.

Before he spoke, she apologized without looking up. The man wrapped her with his suit jacket and said with a smile, “Clumsy.”

It was a familiar voice.

Chen Zhouren held her in his arms, looking down at her: “Let me see… what little treasure have I caught?”