Chapter 22.2

Around six, Jiang Xian came to look for Song Wei, only to find she’d already left for the day. Letting her into the office, Miaoxuan watched as Jiang curiously wandered around, stopping by the desk to pick up a folder.

“Don’t touch that,” Miaoxuan snapped, pressing it down.

“Relax, I’m just curious.” Jiang Xian leaned in closer. “Miaoxuan, I heard your boss declared open war on mine?”

Miaoxuan frowned. She didn’t particularly like Jiang Xian, but given how most people avoided her, she tolerated Jiang Xian’s company.

Though Miaoxuan didn’t like Song Wei much either, she disliked Fang Hongshen even more. “I don’t know,” she replied.

“I heard she’s so brave! Didn’t she tell you?”

“No.”

With a knowing smile, Jiang Xian teased, “Didn’t you say she’s always making you do things and giving you trouble? This time, nothing?”

Miaoxuan suddenly recalled Song Wei’s odd questions from earlier. “Did you spread the rumor about Song Wei being harsh?”

Jiang Xian froze for a moment before stammering, “What? No way.”

Miaoxuan’s suspicions grew. “Don’t go around saying whatever comes to your mind.”

“I really didn’t! Alright, fine, let’s go eat.”

Miaoxuan shrugged off Jiang Xian’s hand. “No thanks, I need to work late.”

“Is she overworking you again?” Jiang Xian asked.

“She’s not,” Miaoxuan retorted sharply, clearly annoyed.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you to it. Take care.”

After Jiang Xian left, Miaoxuan felt something was off but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Turning back to her computer, she sighed.

Still had to work late—annoying!

…..

Chen Jubai had mentioned he’d be working late, so Song Wei returned home alone.

With no one to cook, and with both Song Gaoyi and Yang Yingqiu busy these past few days, Song Wei choose to order takeout and relax.

She often alternated between bursts of motivation and phases of pure laziness. Lying down now, she regretted her impulsive actions earlier. Otherwise, she could have had a nice evening of self-care, free of any burden.

Right now, she couldn’t afford to relax. She needed to prepare for the new project. Before finishing her current studies, she had to dive into learning new knowledge. Life was tough.

She didn’t enjoy working in the study. After taking a shower, she grabbed her laptop and settled onto the living room sofa with her cat nearby.

At 8:30, Yang Yingqiu came home.

At 9:30, Song Gaoyi returned.

By 10:00, Chen Jubai arrived. He glanced at her several times, as though he had something to say, but in the end, he only asked, “What are you working on?”

“Work,” she replied.

He nodded and went to take a shower.

Later, as they lay in bed, Song Wei hugged her stuffed bear. He leaned against the headboard, scrolling through his phone, with enough space between them for another person to lie down.

“I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight.”

Chen Jubai wasn’t ready to sleep yet. “Song Wei,” he called.

“Hmm?” She opened her eyes to look at him.

“Do you want to take on the Changyan project?”

In the morning, Jiang Zhendong had approached him to explain the situation. Chen Jubai had been busy since then and hadn’t had time to think it through.

He believed in the abilities of both Song Wei and Fang Hongshen. The challenge was deciding who should take it.

Still, as her husband, it felt right to consult her first.

Song Wei immediately understood what he meant. “Just follow the company’s process. There’s no need to favor me.”

She remained lying down while Chen Jubai lowered his gaze to look at her. “What process did you use in the past?”

Realizing he was serious, she sat up to explain, “We’ve never encountered this situation before because our areas are usually very distinct, so competition rarely occurs.”

“Which means our job allocation and role definitions are flawed.”

“…It’s not entirely like that.”

Chen Jubai had spent some time reflecting on this issue. He didn’t shy away from being transparent with her. “I’m not a management expert. My approach has always been to give employees more freedom to explore their potential and enjoy their work. But as the company grows, the small-scale workshop model we used isn’t working anymore. Now, project assignments rely solely on leadership decisions, and that’s a red flag.”

“So, I’ve been considering whether we need a system to ensure fair competition—or like you mentioned, further specialization to address this at the structural level.”

Song Wei, having only ever been a small manager before, couldn’t claim expertise in overseeing hundreds of people. She offered her thoughts based on her understanding. “I think there’s no such thing as absolute fairness in the world—only maximizing benefits. As the boss, your priority should be ensuring the project generates the greatest return.”

Chen Jubai turned his gaze to her.

Song Wei continued, “There’s no perfect company. The one I used to work for had a pile of broken policies and workplace politics, but it still became an industry leader. Since joining this company, my experience has been pretty good. We have our strengths, so don’t overthink it.”

Toxic gossip and backstabbing colleagues existed everywhere. But she also had great coworkers who genuinely loved the company. She could feel their passion for Guangnian, and she shared it. Every day she stepped into the office, she felt motivated—not suffocated by dread or constantly wanting to quit.

Jiang Zhendong had mentioned there were rumors in the company. Her voice lowered. Chen Jubai asked gently, “Has someone been badmouthing you?”

His tone was so tender that Song Wei felt a little embarrassed. “Did Jiang Zhendong tell you? Does he know about us?”

“Maybe, but he won’t say anything.”

“Oh… it’s nothing serious. Don’t worry about it. It hasn’t affected me.”

“What did they say? Do you need my help?” Jiang Zhendong hadn’t gone into much detail, so Chen Jubai was curious.

“Really, it’s no big deal. You don’t need to get involved.”

Song Wei glanced at him, their eyes meeting briefly. Feeling a bit aggrieved, she finally asked in a soft voice, “Chen Jubai, do you think I’m mean?”

Chen Jubai was taken aback before chuckling lightly. “Someone said you’re mean?”

Seeing him laugh only made her angrier. She clenched her fists and glared at him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll figure it out eventually—you’re not mean.”

“Hmph.” Song Wei lay back down, pulling the blanket over herself and turning away. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“You’re really not mean.”

In his eyes, Song Wei was the furthest thing from “mean.” Her delicate features, coupled with her dimples, made her smile irresistibly soft. How could anyone think she was mean?

“I know,” she murmured softly.

His voice remained gentle. “You don’t have to care about others’ opinions. Don’t let baseless rumors affect you.”

“I know.”

She repeated “I know” twice, but as she lay there, a growing unease crept into her heart.

Yes, she knew—but why did he have to say it out loud anyway?

The more she thought about it, the more flustered she felt. Her heartbeat quickened.

Not because of the rumors, but because of her unconscious tendency to confide in him—to sulk, to feel aggrieved.

Her parents, Yang Yingqiu and Song Gaoyi, loved her dearly, but their love had always made her reluctant to share her troubles with them. Being far from the capital also meant she couldn’t always lean on Zhu Qingfei. Most of the time, she had no choice but to shoulder everything alone.

Now…

Song Wei bit her lower lip.

“Song Wei?” His soft voice called her from behind.

Frustrated, she yanked the blanket over her head.

Chen Jubai didn’t know what was wrong. Thinking she was genuinely upset, he leaned over the imaginary “boundary line” she had set before bedtime. “Song Wei?”

Why did he keep calling her? Song Wei was annoyed beyond belief. She grumbled from under the blanket, “Sleep!”

“Don’t cover your head.”

“Mind your own business.”

“Song Wei…”

“Shut up! If you keep talking, go sleep with Snowflake!”

Chen Jubai was briefly stunned, then his lips curved upward slightly.

She was kind of fierce.