The atmosphere in the mansion was starting to hum with quiet impatience. Cleaning carried on as usual—spotless floors, polished banisters, everything in its place. Everything, that is, except the dining room, which waited in gentle anticipation.
The dining room was an open, elegant space connected directly to the grand living room. It had no doors—just a wide, arched entrance that welcomed in morning light. The staircase from the upper floor descended in clear view of the dining area, stopping right in front of the long table, which was adorned with fresh vases of flowers.
No plates, cutlery, or wine glasses had been set. After all, there were only two people in the house who shared this breakfast ritual: Mr. Shen and Ziyu. Even their places were set only when they were ready to eat.
Breakfast was already served
Mr. Shen had a bowl of warm oat porridge, a cup of milk, and slices of bread on a side plate. Ziyu's meal mirrored his, though hers came with a sandwich and her oats were served already mixed with milk.
"Mr. Shen, your meeting is scheduled for 9:15," said He Qinglu, his ever-efficient personal assistant, glancing at his watch. It was 8:45. "The young lady just returned last night—she may not wake up early".
"Tell them to wait," Mr. Shen said calmly, standing from the table and turning toward the stairs. His eyes lingered there with quiet expectation. "Besides, Yu'er doesn't sleep in."
He waved to one of the maids. "Check if she's up".
The maid nodded and headed upstairs. A moment later, she reappeared and gave Mr. Shen a subtle nod.
Without delay, he rushed back to his seat, picked up his spoon, and began to eat.
Ziyu strolled into the dining room, stretching as she walked. She wore black silk pajamas and had a small white fleece draped loosely over her shoulders. On her feet were simple black flip-flops. Her bed hair stood up rebelliously, amusing in contrast to the elegance of the mansion.
She slouched comfortably into the chair to the right of Mr. Shen.
"Good morning, Dad," she mumbled, her eyes still half-closed as she accepted the glass of water he passed her.
When she finally opened her eyes, she did a double take. Her father sat wearing the black checkered shirt— she had given him— paired with white trousers and the VL sandals she had gifted him at midnight.
She nearly choked on her water.
A maid rushed forward, gently handing her a napkin. Mr. Shen, clearly pleased, smiled from ear to ear.
"How do I look?" he asked.
Ziyu couldn't help but smile back, wiping her lips.
"I knew it would look good on you. Happy Father's Day."
He reached over and gently stroked her hair, attempting to tame one rebellious strand that refused to fall in line.
He Qinglu cleared his throat politely. "Mr. Shen, it's 9:15. The meeting has started."
Mr. Shen finished the last spoonful of oat porridge and was about to reach for his bread.
"You have a meeting? You need to hurry!" Ziyu said, already on her feet. She tugged him up by the arm, the bread still in his hand.
"I'll bring you lunch later, since you didn't get to finish breakfast," she added, asking a maid for a bottle of water as she led him to the car.
At the front door, she handed him the bottle.
"Make sure to drink water. Your throat must be dry," she said, passing him the bottle as the car engine started.
He waved from the window. She stood in the driveway, waving until the car turned the corner and disappeared from view.
As she turned to head back inside with a maid beside her, she asked,
"What should I prepare for him?"
*******
Mr. Shen finally arrived at the Shenlong Group.
Employees instinctively moved aside as he walked through the lobby with calm authority, heading straight for the ID scanner by the elevator. He looked nothing like the man seen at home—he was colder, more severe. His presence alone demanded attention, and he was a man who loathed repeating himself. Everyone knew that.
As the elevator arrived, an employee stepped forward, holding a stack of documents.
"Mr. Shen, this is the plan for today's meeting. We'll be meeting with the Luchen Group to discuss providing materials for their IR drone model," she said, handing the first file to He Qinglu.
She entered the elevator with them, continuing briskly, "You also asked me to arrange a meeting with Mr. Su, CEO of Yunlan Broadcasting. They're currently the largest network in the region." She handed over the second file.
"And as per your instruction to keep you updated on Qinrong Holdings," she added, "they've just acquired the Li family apartments in Shanghai—six buildings, each fifteen stories high, with fourteen floors of high-end contemporary apartments and a penthouse on the top".
She passed the final document to He Qinglu. Though her voice was steady, she could feel the pressure in the air. Mr. Shen didn't respond—not a word, not a glance.
His expression remained unreadable. She could feel sweat gathering on her forehead, her nails digging into her palms.
The elevator arrived at the 38th floor—the executive level. Only two offices existed here: Mr. Shen's and the secretary's.
They walked silently to his office.
'This is it. My last day here,' she thought, her heart pounding. She had done everything exactly as instructed—perhaps too exactly.
Mr. Shen sat at his desk as He Qinglu placed the files neatly before him. He flipped through them one by one, each turn of the page sending a jolt of anxiety through her chest.
Then, without looking up, he spoke.
"What is your name?"
She swallowed. "Chi Meiling."
For a beat, there was silence.
"I thought I'd have to fire someone again today," he said flatly. "But you're quite meticulous."
As the word "meticulous" settled in the air, Chi Meiling blinked. Her mind caught between disbelief and adrenaline. Had she… passed? What Mr. Shen said about firing people was not a lie. In the past, if anyone brought their projects and they looked undone or had false efforts, Mr. Shen would fire them.
"Move to the secretary's office," he continued. "He Qinglu, get her set up."
It sounded more like an order than praise, but coming from Mr. Shen, it might as well have been a golden award.
As he spoke, Chi Meiling realized how disheveled she must look—clothes slightly wrinkled, face worn from days of late nights. She hadn't even had time to put on proper makeup.
"Your meeting is starting," He Qinglu said, picking up the file for the Luchen Group.
"Miss Chi, return to your post and pack. I will come get you myself in about two hours."
With that, the two men left the office, and the elevator doors closed.
Back on the 12th floor—Marketing and Sales—Chi Meiling returned to her desk and collapsed into her chair. Around her, whispers started almost immediately.
"I'm so lucky I didn't pick that project…"
"It's safer to just collect your monthly salary than chase a bonus and risk getting fired."
"Poor girl. She must've been scolded bad."
She ignored them and began packing her things into a box.
A few coworkers slowly approached her, pity in their eyes.
"Don't worry, Meiling. Severance should keep you afloat for a few months."
"You'll get a better job soon. You're too smart to stay down."
As she continued packing, someone from reception, arrived, scanning the room.
"I'm looking for Chi Meiling."
Everyone froze. Some looked away, others gave her sympathetic glances.
"Mr. Shen fired her," one employee whispered to the receptionist, Miss Wang.
"Are you sure?" Miss Wang asked, brows furrowed.
Everyone nodded solemnly.
Then, Chi Meiling finally spoke, closing her box.
"See you upstairs."
With that, she walked out, leaving a stunned silence behind.
They stared after her, trying to process what she had just said.
Miss Wang raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Shen didn't fire her."
"What do you mean?" someone asked.
"He promoted her—to Office Secretary," Miss Wang said.
The room went completely still.
And just like that, not everyone looked thrilled anymore.
Because now that Chi Meiling was gone, someone else would have to be the department's next project dumper.
And the next fall guy.