The next morning, Su Xiaolan floated into Li Corporation's towering headquarters like a sleep-deprived ghost, two faint dark circles under her eyes. The memories of last night—the downpour, the exorbitant dinner, the tilted black umbrella, the arm around her shoulders, the low murmur of "Don't catch a cold," and those fathomless eyes watching her through the car window—had bombarded her mind all night, mercilessly trampling her already fragile nerves.
She barely made it to her desk on time, head ducked low, trying to blend into the sea of cubicles and avoid any prying eyes. But the moment she stepped onto the executive floor, the air thickened with palpable tension.
"Good morning, Assistant Su!"
"Xiaolan-jie, you're glowing today!"
"Assistant Su, want some coffee? Fresh Blue Mountain!"
The greetings came rapid-fire, dripping with exaggerated enthusiasm. Her colleagues' smiles were too bright, their eyes gleaming with poorly concealed excitement, curiosity, and… something disturbingly maternal? As if she weren't here to work, but to hold court as their newly anointed queen.
She even caught a group of female coworkers huddled around a phone, stifling squeals and whispering, "Aahhh, so sweet!" No doubt, last night's photos—of her and Li Chenyuan sharing an umbrella in the rain—had already flooded the anonymous forum's "ChenLan CP Fan Club" section.
Xiaolan's scalp prickled, her toes curling hard enough to dig out the foundation for Li Corporation's next skyscraper. She quickened her pace, desperate to retreat into the sanctuary of her "luxury workstation"—complete with a top-tier massage chair and temperature-controlled cup holder—and bury herself like an ostrich in denial.
But when she finally reached her desk, the sight before her turned her to stone, ten times more petrified than when she'd received her private elevator keycard.
Her already-noticeable ergonomic massage chair now boasted a brand-new, undoubtedly expensive tablet stand, angled just so, paired with a wireless charging pad. And beside her custom mug on the cup holder sat an elegant thermos, its surface adorned with a stark, handwritten note in ink so bold it nearly tore through the paper:
"Hydrate. Maintain optimal performance."
Signed with a single, sweeping character: Li.
Xiaolan: "..."
The barely suppressed gasps and intensified stares around her were practically setting her on fire. This was like slapping a neon sign over her head—"Look! The CEO's pampered pet goldfish!"—and then cranking the brightness to blinding levels.
"Assistant Su," Secretary Wang's voice, weathered with resignation, sounded behind her. "President Li had IT install these overnight. The stand and charger are for… ahem… 'efficient document review.' The thermos has red date and goji tea, brewed fresh this morning." A pause, heavy with the weight of suffering. "You'll… get used to it."
Xiaolan stared at the shiny new setup and the thermos bearing Li's handwriting, blood rushing to her face in a mix of humiliation and helpless frustration. What could she even say? Refuse? As if that would work. Against Li Chenyuan, this tiny salted fish couldn't even make a splash.
Defeated, she flopped into the sinfully comfortable massage chair, lifeless as a dried-up sardine. Logging into the company messenger, she was bombarded by flashing notifications—enthusiastic "Welcome, Assistant Su!" spam in group chats, DMs demanding "Spill the tea!" and "The photos are so sweet!", even eerily polite greetings from higher-ups who'd never spared her a glance before.
She felt like a zoo exhibit, trapped in a glass cage for the entire company's shipping pleasure.
Just as she was drowning herself in emails to escape the madness, a familiar, nagging ache flared in her lower back—thanks to yesterday's terrible posture during her drama binge and the rain-induced tension.
Unthinking, she rubbed the sore spot, wincing slightly with a soft hiss.
That tiny motion, that barely-there flicker of discomfort, seemed to trigger some hidden mechanism.
Bzzzt—!
The high-end massage chair beneath her sprang to life without warning.
Warm vibrations pulsed through her body, the intensity perfectly calibrated to her sore muscles. Rolling nodes glided along her spine, kneading with rhythmic precision, so damn good she nearly moaned aloud.
"Ah—!" She jolted, scrambling to slap at the control panel. "Why is it—?! I didn't turn it on!"
But no matter how frantically she mashed buttons, the chair refused to quit, even adjusting its pressure to counter her squirming. The heat and motion melted into her muscles, a relentless tide of pleasure threatening to override her shame.
"Turn it off! Shut it down!" Face burning lobster-red, Xiaolan flailed, hyper-aware of the stares now locked onto her. Being forcefully pampered by a rogue massage chair in front of everyone? This was social suicide!
Just as tears of humiliation pricked her eyes, steady footsteps cut through the chaos—a presence so commanding the very air stilled.
Xiaolan froze. The chair continued its indecent ministrations. She couldn't bring herself to look.
A shadow loomed over her, crisp with cedar and frost. Li Chenyuan stood beside her desk, his gaze sweeping from her flushed face to the overzealous chair.
"A glitch?" His voice was cool, edged with displeasure. A question, or a statement?
Xiaolan wanted to vanish. "P-President Li… I don't know why it started… I can't stop it—"
Without a word, Li leaned over her shoulder, his sleeve brushing her arm as his fingers flew across a hidden control panel on the chair's side.
Silence.
The vibrations died instantly.
Xiaolan sagged in relief, then tensed anew—Li Chenyuan was too close, his breath skimming her ear, his scent enveloping her. She could see the fine engraving on his cufflinks, the sure movements of his fingers.
"Fixed." He straightened, tone bland, as if he'd merely silenced an alarm.
Xiaolan couldn't meet his eyes, staring at her clenched hands. "Th-thank you, President Li…"
Li's gaze lingered on her still-pink ears and stiff posture, darkening briefly. Then he turned on his heel and strode toward his office, the soundproof door sealing shut behind him.
The floor held its breath for three seconds—before erupting into hushed, frenzied whispers and the furious clatter of keyboards. The forum's next explosive thread was already being born:
"DID YOU SEE THAT?! PRESIDENT LI PERSONALLY TURNED OFF HER MASSAGE CHAIR!!"
"HE LEANED IN SO CLOSE AAAAAA!!"
"HE DEFINITELY STARTED IT REMOTELY! WORRIED ABOUT HER BACK!!"
"THIS IS PEAK ROMANCE!! MASSAGE CHAIR PLAY?! I'M DECEASED!!"
"'A glitch'? SIR, YOUR EXCUSES ARE AS CLUMSY AS THEY ARE ADORABLE!!"
Secretary Wang walked past, mechanically popping a white pill from a small bottle. Today's dose of anti-anxiety meds—taken preemptively.
Xiaolan buried her face in her hands, burning. A self-starting massage chair? Li Chenyuan personally shutting it down? That proximity?! Deadlier than last night's umbrella-sharing! She wasn't just a grilled fish now—she was charred.
Rooftop Scene (Condensed for flow):
At lunch, Xiaolan fled to the rooftop, its biting wind cooling her fevered thoughts. She replayed Li's words—"efficiency investment," "performance optimization"—trying to reconcile them with the thermos, the chair… him.
Then the door creaked open.
Li Chenyuan stood there, sleeves rolled up, collar undone, holding another thermos. Their eyes met. Silence stretched, broken only by the wind.
"Your back." His voice was low. "Better?"
Xiaolan nodded stiffly.
"The chair's sensors misfire. IT will fix it." A pause. "The upgrades aren't special treatment. They're… efficiency."
But then, as the gale whipped between them, he added something softer, almost lost to the wind:
"Years ago, in a library… I saw a girl. Always the last to leave, curled in an old armchair, laughing at comics with chip crumbs on her shirt. Sunlight on her, lazy as a cat…"
Xiaolan's breath caught. That girl—her?
Li pushed the thermos into her hands. "Drink. Don't waste the… investment."
And just like that, he was gone.
Xiaolan clutched the warm thermos, its heat seeping into her frozen fingers, her heart pounding.
Somewhere below, the forum was already alight with grainy zoom-lens shots of their "rooftop rendezvous."
And Secretary Wang? She was on the phone, ordering three more bottles of heartburn meds.
This wasn't just a whale toying with a minnow anymore.
This was a leviathan carrying its fish into the stratosphere.