"I don't like owing people favors," Wen Sining said to Lu Luochen downstairs at Moxin's headquarters. "Dinner's on me tonight. I'll send you the address."
"Whatever you choose is fine," he replied.
She climbed out of the car and, for a moment, almost walked straight into the building. It felt a little cold—too abrupt—so she stopped and added, "You didn't sleep last night. Drive carefully."
"Wen Sining, is that—concern?" he teased.
"I'm not worried about you catching a cold," she shot back, eyes flicking away. "I can't explain it to my grandfather if anything happens to you. Besides, I don't want to be the sort of person who's responsible for someone's death at such a young age. Okay, I'm done nagging. I'm going to work."
As Wen turned away, Lu didn't notice how soft the smile at the corner of his mouth had become.
"Ms. Wen." The front-desk receptionist sprang to her feet the moment she saw Wen Sining.
Wen frowned at the flustered display. A company's receptionist is the company's face. She had been indulgent when Moxin was just starting out—tolerating small lapses—but with the firm growing, minor problems risked snowballing into reputational damage. She wouldn't let the company she'd built be ruined by carelessness.
"A receptionist is the first impression people get of the company," she said crisply. "I expect Moxin to present itself as steady and reliable. If this happens again, you'll need to submit your resignation to HR."
The receptionist paled and stammered, "Yes, Ms. Wen, I understand. I—I won't let it happen again."
Wen nodded and took the elevator to her floor. Halfway out, she remembered Qiao Xi, and a prickle of concern nudged her—Qiao Xi had been at the hospital the last two days; would her absence slow the project? On impulse, Wen stepped off at Qiao Xi's floor.
The corridor housed two departments—one on either side. Wen had just stepped off the elevator and started toward the right when voices drifted out from the stairwell.
"Oh, I'm exhausted. Working overtime every day—I've got dark circles under my eyes."
"That's nothing. I pulled an all-nighter last night drafting the campaign. And then guess what? Qiao Xi didn't show up today. All that work for nothing."
"Seriously, how can we compete with those who are favorites? They show up whenever they want, leave whenever they want. Meanwhile, we slave away for a month and get nothing. All she does is stand in front of the boss and flirt a little and boom—it's hers."
"Right? Just say a few nice things and the project's handed to her."
"Tsk tsk. People really do make you sick. If only I had a friend in high places like that. I'd save myself decades of hard work."
"Heh, don't kid yourself. With your mouth, you'll alienate someone before you even start. Don't be surprised if Qiao Xi slips you a little 'help' under the table."
"..."
The gossip grew louder. Wen Sining listened, her face hardening into ice.
With a sharp movement, she kicked open the stairwell door. The chatter cut off. Her voice was cold and controlled. "Am I paying your wages so you can stand here and chew people up?"
The group froze. Faces went pale.
One of them stammered, "Ms. Wen, you've misunderstood. We weren't—it's just boredom. We were chatting about gossip."
"Gossip?" Wen's eyes flashed. "You enjoy my gossip, do you?"
"Please, Ms. Wen—" another began.
She didn't let them finish. "This kind of behavior can't be a one-off. You spend so much time worrying about what's going on between Qiao Xi and me—but how often do you worry about the project? How long has this project been stalled? Have any of you offered useful suggestions? Any solutions?"
A girl muttered under her breath, "Well, it's obvious—she's better than us. Her friend in the top must be opening doors for her."
Wen's gaze cut to her like a blade. "Yes, Qiao Xi is my friend. So what? Do you think everything she's achieved came from some backdoor arrangement between us? That's a joke."
"You were nowhere when Qiao Xi was solving project problems. You weren't there when she stayed late on the set. You didn't run between photographers, directors, and talent negotiating dozens of times. You weren't the ones up all night researching an artist's tastes and taboos. You sit in your air-conditioned offices, gossip, watch trashy dramas—and then you say her success is all because of connections. Have you ever been to the shoot? Qiao Xi was there from start to finish. Why, after all the time I've been in this department, did she become my friend and not you? Think about that."
Her voice rose with indignation and power. People in the corridor craned their necks to see. The accused bowed their heads; guilt flushed their faces. The girl who had muttered was still bristling, about to retort, when Wen glanced at her phone.
"You're Su Wen, right? If I'm not mistaken, you're still an intern. You have two weeks left before your probation ends."
Su Wen blinked and nodded. "Yes, Ms. Wen."
"Good. Let's look at your attendance then." Wen's thumb flicked the screen. "In three months, you've been late fifty-six times and left early thirty-seven. Three months in, and you've yet to follow through on a single project assignment. Do you think Moxin hires people to be honorary family members?" The phone displayed Su Wen's clock-in records, every instance logged. Wen had personally reviewed the best and the worst records in every department; Su had just walked herself into a trap.
"I..." Su Wen's voice dissolved.
"Don't bother speaking," Wen said, putting the phone away. "If you bring nothing to the company, there's no reason to keep you. I'm officially letting you go. You're fired."
Silence fell. Su Wen stood trembling, the world tilting beneath her.