Wang Peng stood there frozen, face twitching, but before he could lash back, another hyena came sniffing blood.
Liang Wei.
He strutted forward with his usual smirk, tossing a thick stack of papers onto Chen Hao's desk with a slap that echoed. "Hao, you know my kid's waiting at home. Be a bro, finish this for me, eh? I'll owe you one."
The old Chen Hao would've smiled bitterly and complied. Today?
Chen Hao didn't even look up. He pushed the papers back across the desk with two fingers, as if flicking trash. His tone was steady, yet every word sliced like a blade.
"Liang Wei, you're a father. Shouldn't you set an example for your child? Running from responsibility isn't fatherhood—it's cowardice. If you actually care for your kid, finish your work yourself, then take him to the amusement park guilt-free."
The smirk on Liang Wei's lips trembled, his face paling. "You—"
Before he could spit venom, a voice from the back cracked like thunder.
"Haha! What kid? Liang Wei isn't even married!"
Laughter erupted across the office, sharp and mocking.
Chen Hao's eyes finally lifted, staring directly at Liang Wei. His tone turned colder, sharper, his words like needles pricking into flesh.
"I'm serious. Don't let laziness rot you. Otherwise, you'll end up dumber than you already are."
Bang. Silence.
For a moment, the office was so quiet you could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. Then—whispers.
"Is that… advice? From Chen Hao?"
"No, dude, that's mockery! He just called Liang Wei dumb to his face!"
"Shit, Chen Hao's not the same. He's… different."
"Possessed? Or did he just snap?"
Some laughed nervously, others shifted uncomfortably. But one thing was clear—Chen Hao wasn't the pushover they'd built their careers on anymore.
And when the next wave of colleagues tried their luck, expecting the same old obedient Chen Hao, they were met with the same cold steel.
Every single time, Chen Hao refused—calm, polite, yet mercilessly sharp. Each "advice" hit harder than insults, cutting through their excuses, their fake smiles, their parasitic habits.
By the time the fifth one slunk away, ears red and face burning, the atmosphere in the office had completely shifted.
No longer whispers of "Brother Hao, help me out."
Now it was—
"Don't… don't go to him."
"I've never seen him like this."
"Yesterday he was manager's punching bag. Today he talks like a mentor?"
"His eyes… I don't like the way he looks at us. Too calm. Like he sees through us."
Some laughed, some sneered, but all were unsettled. Chen Hao, the man they mocked daily, suddenly wasn't playing his role anymore.
And for the first time in years, Chen Hao sat at his desk not as the office doormat—
But as the cold, untouchable figure who dared to stare directly into the eyes of the world.
The tension snapped like a drawn bowstring when Manager Sun stormed out of his office, face flushed, report clutched in his sweaty fist. His bald scalp shone under the fluorescent lights, and his belly wobbled furiously with each heavy step.
"Chen Hao!" His roar shook the office. "What the hell is this garbage? This chart is missing the quarterly adjustments! Are you trying to make me look like a fool in front of the director?!"
The office froze. Keyboards stopped clicking. Pens stopped moving. Everyone already pictured the scene: Chen Hao bowing his head, stammering apologies, swallowing humiliation like always.
But today—
Chen Hao stood. Slowly. Calmly. Like a man who had no chains left to carry.
He walked up, met Sun's fiery glare without flinching, and snatched the report straight out of his fat fingers. The papers rustled violently in his grip.
The manager's jaw fell open. For the first time, Chen Hao wasn't the mouse.
"Manager Sun," Chen Hao's voice was steady, every syllable laced with cold clarity, "this isn't my assignment. I wasn't given the data. I wasn't given the directive. My role is logistics tracking and document filing. Quarterly adjustments fall under Finance, not me."
His words landed like iron hammers.
The office gasped. Heads popped up from cubicles, eyes wide in disbelief.
Chen Hao tilted his head slightly down, towering over Sun, his gaze sharp as a blade.
Sun blinked, stunned. His lips flapped before a furious roar burst out:
"Y-You—you dare talk back to me?!"
Chen Hao didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. His calm tone cut deeper than any shout.
"No. I'm clarifying. I won't take the blame for work that isn't mine. If you want me to handle quarterly adjustments, then put it in writing—adjust my duties, pay me the salary that goes with it. Otherwise…" He shoved the report back into Sun's hands. "It's not my responsibility."
The office erupted in whispers.
"Did he just… talk back?"
"Wait, is this really Chen Hao?"
"He told the manager to shove it! Hah!"
Sun's face turned purple. "What—what did you say?! You dare defy me?!"
Chen Hao leaned closer, his voice dropping into an icier tone.
"Yes, I dare. Because I'm your subordinate, not your slave. If you want to make an issue of it, do it officially. Stop barking like a mad dog looking for someone to bite."
The office shook. Several employees covered their mouths, stifling gasps.
Sun staggered back half a step, disbelief etched across his greasy face.
Inside his skull, his thoughts spun wildly:
What the hell happened to this kid? Yesterday he was a timid mutt wagging his tail at me. Today he's standing tall, looking at me like I'm the fool? Did he get possessed? Did someone back him? Or… has he been hiding this all along?
His chest heaved, rage threatening to explode.
Chen Hao calmly sat back down, as if dismissing a fly.
"You can leave now. I'm busy."
The audacity. The sheer audacity.
The whispers grew louder.
"He told him to leave?!"
"This isn't the same Chen Hao we know…"
"Holy shit, I'm living for this!"
Sun's entire head boiled red, veins bulging in his temples. He pointed a trembling finger at Chen Hao.
"You… you're finished! You hear me? Finished! I'll bury you in this company!"
Chen Hao didn't even look up from his desk.
"Then do it properly. Through HR. Through the director. But until then…" His pen tapped against the desk, sharp and unbothered. "…don't waste my time."
Manager Sun's curses echoed down the hallway as he stormed back into his office, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Everyone turned, eyes locked on Chen Hao—not with pity, not with ridicule—but with shock and… respect.
Chen Hao had changed. And nothing would ever be the same again.
The office emptied that evening in an uneasy silence. No one dared breathe too loudly, let alone approach Chen Hao—not after what he had just said to Manager Sun.
People stole glances at him as though he had suddenly grown horns. The whispers spread like wildfire through the cubicles.
"Hmph, he's finished. Offending Manager Sun is basically career suicide."
Chen Hao ignored them all. His face remained expressionless, his posture straight. He didn't bother explaining himself, didn't waste breath defending against the unspoken accusations hanging in the air. He finished his tasks one by one with meticulous calm, as though he wasn't sitting under a guillotine.
When the last document closed and the computer powered down, he simply stood, grabbed his worn-out bag, and walked out.
The whispers followed him all the way to the door.
"He's done for."
"Pride won't pay the bills."
"Watch, he'll be begging on the streets soon."
But Chen Hao didn't spare them a single glance.
Outside. In the restless traffic. He mounted his battered scooter, the same one people in the office used to sneer at—"That's all he can afford?"—and rode off into the blur of headlights.
At a red light, his pocket buzzed.
He pulled out his old phone, its cracked screen glowing faintly. One email notification. The subject line burned into his eyes:
"Termination Notice."
His thumb tapped it open. The words were clinical, heartless, as if spat out by a machine.
Due to failure to align with company values and insubordination towards direct management, your contract is hereby terminated, effective immediately. Final settlement will be processed within three business days.
The corner of his mouth curled upward. Not bitterness, not despair—but a faint, almost mocking smile.
"So it's finally come," he murmured, his voice barely audible beneath the rumble of engines."Expected."
There was no panic in his eyes. No fear. No sorrow. Only inevitability. As if a rotten door, long splintering, had at last given way and shut behind him.
The light turned green. He twisted the throttle. The scooter roared forward.