"Holy crap! Ruan Qi, we're so screwed this time! The art exhibition opens in just five minutes! If we're late, Old Zhao will chew us out something fierce!"
Feng Feng paced back and forth, agitated like an ant on a hot pan. In stark contrast, I was unusually calm, as if everything was under control.
I casually took a "Jinling Twelve Beauties" cigarette from the pack, lit it, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, a satisfied look on my face.
I glanced indifferently at Feng Feng, who was already anxious and at a loss, and then at the Casio watch on my wrist. I slowly said, "Hey, buddy, you're a grown man, aren't you? Why are you so panicked over such a small thing? Our exhibition isn't scheduled to open until half past nine, right?"
"Judging by the current situation, we still have at least four kilometers to go. With the measly five minutes we have left, it's a pipe dream to get there on time!"
Seeing my nonchalant expression, Feng Feng felt a little more at ease. He leisurely took out a cigarette from his pocket, expertly pulled one out, and lit it with a lighter.
After taking a few deep drags, his relaxed expression turned serious. He lowered his voice and said to me, "Things have come to this, our bonus for this month is completely gone. But if we go and apologize to Old Zhao now, we might still be able to keep our salary for this month."
Feng Feng holds the position of "manager" in Old Zhao's "Zhao's View" art studio. In reality, his job is to ensure the smooth daily operation of the studio and to be responsible for the external sales and acquisition of various paintings.
This art exhibition was only happening because Feng Feng had talked Old Zhao into it. He'd told Old Zhao that holding a show like this would not only boost the reputation of Zhao's View, but also give them a chance to sell those paintings considered "trash" at a high price.
Old Zhao, that greedy old capitalist, immediately agreed when he heard he could gain both fame and profit. If it weren't for Feng Feng's efforts and his promise to cover any shortfall from the profits if they didn't reach 100,000 yuan, this exhibition probably wouldn't have happened at all.
So, at this moment, Feng Feng was carrying a huge responsibility and facing immense pressure. Seeing this, I didn't say much and just nodded in agreement, saying I'd go with Feng Feng to find Old Zhao – that insatiable, ruthless capitalist – and try to sweet-talk him while checking on the recent business situation.
Then, I hastily got into Feng Feng's car, and the vehicle quickly sped away.
During the rest of the drive, Feng Feng and I didn't exchange any words. However, through the reflection in the car window, I could vaguely see his face, which was ashen and as hard as iron. It was obvious that such heavy pressure was making it hard for him to breathe.
As soon as the car arrived in front of the art exhibition, before it had even come to a complete stop, I got out early. I saw Old Zhao himself standing there, enthusiastically greeting the visitors.
This task of receiving visitors should have been handled by Feng Feng and me, but since neither of us was present and the other employees were truly busy, Old Zhao had to step in and take our place.
Normally, Old Zhao would be sitting comfortably in his spacious, brightly lit, and luxuriously decorated office. He'd be reclining on an expensive, high-quality leather sofa, with his legs propped up at an exaggerated angle.
On his right, a steaming cup of top-grade Da Hong Pao tea released its rich aroma. In his left hand, he casually held a branded cigarette. His eyes were fixed on the fashion magazine he was flipping through, a satisfied smile occasionally gracing his face, as if he were lost in his own perfect world.
However, when he realized we hadn't gone to work, Old Zhao's anger instantly flared. Incensed, he was ready to blow up, and without a word, he marched towards us with menacing force.
Feng Feng hadn't even finished parking the car when Old Zhao impatiently rushed forward, yanked open the driver's side door, and, like he was grabbing a chicken, pulled Feng Feng out of the car.
Faced with this sudden turn of events, I was terrified and didn't dare to say a word, fearing I might accidentally trigger the fuse of this "Old Dynamite Barrel." I could only quickly get out of the car as well.
Seeing that Old Zhao was about to explode, Feng Feng hurriedly interjected before he could speak, "Mr. Zhao, please believe us! We really... really weren't slacking off. It was because we encountered a 'traffic accident' on the way. You can ask Ruan Qi, she can vouch for us!" As he spoke, Feng Feng's tone became noticeably more nervous, and his attitude grew increasingly humble.
The so-called "traffic accident" was really just a farce. It was nothing more than a dispute we had with a crazy girl on the road. However, facing Mr. Zhao, I had to betray my conscience and say, "Yes, Mr. Zhao, we did indeed encounter a traffic accident."
The reason I cooperated with Feng Feng was partly because I had already promised him, but more importantly, Feng Feng kept giving me meaningful glances, as if he was afraid I would reveal the truth. Watching his comical winks and gestures, I, who was already carefree and thick-skinned, couldn't help but burst out laughing.
This laugh was a disaster; it was like adding fuel to the fire. It made Old Zhao, nicknamed "Old Dynamite Barrel," look even more grim. He glared at me with eyes filled with fury, as if he wished he could immediately find a wooden stick and beat me soundly.
After enduring several agonizing minutes of silence, Old Zhao finally opened his mouth, which was filled with rotten teeth, and roared at us in an unprecedentedly stern tone: "Don't you dare give me any bullshit! Being late is being late, there's nothing to argue about! All bonuses are completely deducted!
"As for your salaries, that will depend on the profits of this art exhibition. If we can break the 100,000 mark, you'll get paid; but if it's even a cent less, you won't get a single penny! Now, get your asses to work immediately!"
As soon as he finished speaking, Old Zhao, with his hands behind his back, turned his back to us and leisurely hummed a tune as he strode towards his office.
Once Old Zhao was completely out of sight, I could no longer suppress my anger and burst out骂道: "This damn old bastard, why doesn't he go rob a bank? He's such a damn scumbag!" However, in stark contrast to me, Feng Feng didn't say a word.
I saw him silently take two sets of work uniforms out of the car, hand me one, and then quickly change into his own, without hesitation, and start walking towards the guests who had come to see the exhibition.
Seeing this, I felt even more indignant, but there was nothing I could do. I could only spit on the ground viciously, reluctantly put on the work uniform, and steel myself to throw myself into this godforsaken job.
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