Chapter 1

April. White clouds scudded across the sky. Another day slipped by.
Yang Bufan glanced at her wrist. Twelve fifty-six. The big boss was still holding forth in the meeting, lost in his own grandeur, while she was starving, dying on the inside.
The worst part of work was meetings. As a rule, any meeting she was allowed to attend was probably unnecessary.
She’d just checked out when the boss pivoted, pulled up a PPT, and said, “Back to the main point. This proposal—Dayou put it together for the concert sponsorship campaign, rush job. Take a look, and we’ll discuss any issues.”
Yang Bufan looked it over and wanted to laugh. Dayou was her direct supervisor. She’d written the proposal and sent it to him. The file now bore his name.
She was about to blow up when the boss suddenly slammed the table and pointed at Dayou. “How could you hand me such mediocre garbage?!”
“I’ve said it over and over. We need to break down barriers and stock up on content firepower. The creative has to feel natural, not forced—and it has to *link* users and spark purchase intent. That’s the *key* to deep integration. Embrace innovation. Embrace change. OK?”
Yang Bufan quietly sat back down.
Yang Bufan was twenty-six, working at Xinyun, a non‑bank fintech, as a small-time supervisor in Brand. This campaign was Xinyun’s sponsorship of a hot singer’s concert. Leadership wanted to crack the young consumer market but had no strong integration concept.
There were two promotion shots left this year: year‑end performance review and a mid‑year competition. To grab one, she’d burned the midnight oil on her proposal. She just hadn’t sent the final version to her boss, who saw her as a threat. She’d kept that card for a moment like this.
“Anyone else have ideas?” The boss swept the room—everyone head down, afraid of being called on.
Now.
Yang Bufan was about to raise her hand when the bright‑lipped girl across the table waved her tube of lipstick. “I do, sir.”
The boss instantly switched to an ingratiating grin. “Ah, Siyu, as always!”
Yun Siyu hooked up her laptop and pitched her concept with ease. “I think using music to connect with users is strong. This time I’d like to center on ‘companionship’—have an honest dialogue with users, immersive online‑offline companionship, keep reaching young people…”
It was crisp and punchy, young and fun. The brand tie‑in was a bit weak, and so was the creative execution. But at least it wasn’t the boss’s usual empty talk. The room broke into applause.
The boss heaped on praise.
Yang Bufan thought, So much for nepotism hires being useless.
“Anyone else? If not—”
Yang Bufan raised her hand, ignoring her boss’s pointed look. She carried her laptop up, took a breath, and started her pitch.
“As the brand, we need to tap into real user pain points. Concert tickets are hard to get—we can build around that. Purchase‑to‑win tickets, ticket‑snagging services, the works. Online, we use influencers for amplification. Offline, we run video in 45 malls nationwide. Venue branding, F&B stations, mid‑show music—we can go big and drive traffic…”
All eyes were on her. She was the reliable, no‑frills type. Her idea wasn’t the flashiest, but it locked in with the brand, was feasible, and cost‑effective.
While she talked, a few people had already dropped their eyes under the table. Thumbs were flying.
The WeChat group was blowing up.
「Who do you think Big Boss will pick?」
「Big Boss’s specialty is fetching the frisbee! He licks whoever’s the wife. Who’s the wife?」
「Probably Siyu. Fanzi’s fine, but next to a princess who descended from heaven she’s nothing」
「Right, that interview photo—Jiang Zong and Siyu looked like a drama. Handsome guy, pretty girl, same class. Only the elite get love in this world lol」
「But can I say—last time I left late I saw Fanzi get into Jiang Zong’s car. Vibe was nice. She’s on our salary and wears designer every day? Can’t all be hers. Are they actually…?」
「At that level, even if they are they won’t admit it. Hookups at most. He’ll marry someone like Siyu. Why else would Siyu slum it here? With her family’s money she could’ve bought the company. The rich just creating chances to date lol」
「True. If they were really together, Fanzi wouldn’t be grinding with us. She still has to kiss Big Boss’s ass」
「Off topic! Fanzi’s pitch is great, getting better. Hope she runs the campaign—Siyu never replies on weekends」
「Agreed」
……
When she finished, the boss led the applause. He blathered a bit, pretended to ask for input—nobody dared—then wrapped up. “Siyu’s concept has attitude. Yang Bufan’s scores higher overall. I’m happy with both.”
Yang Bufan straightened. Waiting for the “but.”
“But.”
He looked pained. “Yang Bufan’s execution is strong. Your coordination and follow‑through, though—still a step behind.”
A deliberate pause. “How about this: we use Yang Bufan’s plan, Siyu leads and drives it. Best of both, no?”
The group chat exploded.
【He gave Fanzi’s work to Siyu. Fanzi’s project count’s shot. No promotion this year. I’d die】
【Big Boss should take his meds. Fanzi deserves that promotion】
【If Jiang Zong and Fanzi are real, how can he just watch Big Boss screw her over?】
【Intervene? Jiang Zong’s never acknowledged her at work. The richer they are, the more pragmatic】
……
Yang Bufan had already cursed the boss’s entire family tree in her head.
If she had her best friend’s nerve, she’d have taught that pig a lesson on the spot. She didn’t.
For her, righteous payback was a fantasy. In reality she could only wait for the cooldown and pretend nothing happened.
Yun Siyu stood with her arms crossed, utterly unbothered.
—
Restroom.
After handing over all the materials to Siyu, Yang Bufan decided to skip overtime and leave early. She was at the sink when a light fragrance hit her.
“You and Jiang Zong have been together a while, right?”
Yang Bufan looked at Siyu. “Huh?”
Siyu’s gaze drifted to her bag. “The bag suits you.”
“Last time he picked a few, ended up with this one. I thought it was basic, but it works on you.” Siyu smiled. “If you hadn’t been together long, he wouldn’t know your style so well.”
Yang Bufan looked at herself in the mirror. Office clothes, messy bun, that post‑shift gloom. She looked more worn than her outfit. If that was “style,” didn’t every corporate drone in the park share it?
While she stared, she caught Siyu studying her in the reflection.
There was no malice. More like how humans look at pets—tolerant, mild, kind, but also condescending, enveloping, from above.
She and Jiang Qishen were cut from the same cloth.
Maybe in Siyu’s eyes, whether at work or in love, she didn’t need to stoop to be Yang Bufan’s rival. Yang Bufan wasn’t even on the same battlefield.
Siyu was vivid, dazzling, superior. Next to Jiang Qishen she was the “perfect match” the media fawned over.
She had to know how far ahead she was. She only had to glance at ordinary people sometimes, like checking her reflection in water.
Yang Bufan didn’t know what to feel about someone like that.
Siyu had taken the project she’d wanted. Hate was too strong. Like felt like self‑punishment. Jealousy was uglier.
Envy, maybe.
Money, looks, education. A margin for error two hundred times hers.
She didn’t dare imagine how carefree she’d be with a life that easy.
Yang Bufan left the campus. April air, warm and soft, met her face. A thought flickered: *When he bought me that bag, Siyu was there.*
Pride told her not to ask why. Whatever the answer, she’d only torment herself with insecurity.
Evening in Shenzhen. Sunset bled into the sky. Clouds piled and churned. A faint breeze carried the day’s leftover heat, brushing past pedestrians.
Yang Bufan walked on. Someone called her name. She turned and spotted a luxury car at the curb, a man leaning out to wave.
Driver Lao Zhang—forties, ex‑military, stern‑looking but warm and sharp. He lit up when he saw her.
She hurried over. Lao Zhang checked the rearview and said quietly, “Boss asked me to pick you up.”
Yang Bufan made small talk and slid into the back. Sure enough, the man in the suit by the far window was resting his eyes.
His brow was faintly furrowed. Slanting light through the glass split his face into light and shadow, sharpening his features. Thin, defined lips. A cold gleam on his watch. The picture of a ruthless capitalist elite.
Clothes and shoes spotless.
She shut the door, buckled up, pulled out a sanitizing wipe, and started on her hands. The man shifted. Fabric whispered. A low voice cut through the cabin.
“Why didn’t you reply?”
Yang Bufan pulled out her phone. One unread. “I was walking.”
Jiang Qishen said nothing. He reclined his seat and closed his eyes again. She stole a look—light pooled in the hollows of his face, shadows under his eyes. The trip hadn’t gone well.
The car swept down Shennan Avenue. Soon they reached Lanyuan, his place.
A luxury pad his father had bought him years ago. Floor‑to‑ceiling windows, blue sea view, wealthy neighbors. Layout and location aside, the draw was supposedly the *qi*—strong enough that China Merchants had risen from this patch. The rich had flocked in.
Home. They washed up separately.
Jiang Qishen was selectively germophobic. First thing: shower and disinfect. Clothes and luggage went through wash, dry, then the sanitizing closet. Spray and wipes were non‑negotiable. He wouldn’t let anyone else touch his stuff. Not clean enough.
By the time they were done it was eight. Finally, a chance to talk.
Jiang Qishen drew her against his chest, her back to him—a grip as much as a hug. At work or in love, he liked that solid sense of control.
He turned her face toward him. She obeyed. Steam had flushed her cheeks lobster‑red. A strand of hair clung to her damp lips. Her eyes were damp too.
Sometimes Jiang Qishen wondered how Yang Bufan’s gaze could stay so naive, almost simple. She’d aged on the outside; inside she still felt like the girl from university.
He watched her a moment—distant, then rapt—then ran his thumb over her lips.
“What’s kept you busy?”
She gave him the work highlights. He wasn’t really listening. His hand had found her hip, his eyes darker, intent. Her mind was already foggy.
She reached back for his shoulders, wanting to say more. He kissed her before she could. It started measured. At some point it tipped into heat.
She went soft against him. He hooked an arm around her waist. They were kissing again, urgently. To punish him for not listening, she bit his lip.
He took it as foreplay. His voice softened. “Miss me?”
She neither confirmed nor denied. He scooped her up. His steps were steady. Desire had weight now, trailing the two of them. The bedroom door shut. It didn’t cut the thread.
—
Tide in, tide out. Clouds parted, rain ceased.
Ten o’clock. Jiang Qishen was in the shower. Yang Bufan got up to lay out tomorrow’s clothes.
She wiped down the bag from earlier, stuffed it with inserts, and put it on the top shelf of the closet. Jiang Qishen came in and glanced at her.
He knew she liked that bag—simple, roomy, light, practical. She’d used it almost daily since he gave it to her.
“Why put it so high?”
Offhand. He was already heading for the bedroom when her reply caught him off guard. He stopped. “It doesn’t suit you?”
She’d meant the suede didn’t suit the season. She couldn’t be bothered to explain. She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Everyone else said it looked good. Why doesn’t it suit you now?”
Everyone else?
She went still.
Her chest and throat felt blocked. “They’re them. I’m me. This doesn’t suit *me*.”
“Does that contradict anything?”
“Yes.”
She’d reacted too strongly. He frowned, baffled. “Just say it. What’s wrong now?”