Chapter 22: The Blessing Lies Ahead

A few minutes later, the Porsche roared off.

Unsurprisingly, neither of them backed down in the end.

In the days that followed, as her emotions gradually cooled, Gu Yao began to reevaluate their relationship.

Whether to break up or stay together—she already had an answer in her heart. What she couldn’t accept was the way it all seemed to be ending.

She had liked him—truly.

But how did that affection, once so strong, slowly wear away over time?

Gu Yao had asked herself countless times: did she still want a future with Cheng Mu?

Even if she did…

There was no hope left.

Because the Second Young Master of the Cheng family had never once given her any reason to believe in him.

The holiday ended in a haze of gloom.

Back at work on Monday, Xia Wei noticed her looking a little worn out. She leaned in, teasing, “No way—went away with a big boss and came back looking like you’ve been starved?”

She wasn’t thinner.

She’d just forgotten to eat breakfast.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop joking.”

Glancing toward the door, Xia Wei lowered her voice. “Hey, last Friday the section chief told us to submit reform proposals for the system. Got any ideas?”

Before Gu Yao could answer, a heavily pregnant Yang Lan walked in and mercilessly exposed her.
“Just admit it. You’re here to copy someone’s homework.”

“How can you call it copying?” Xia Wei corrected with a grin. “It’s called borrowing inspiration.”

Unfortunately for her, Gu Yao didn’t take the bait.

Instead, she slowly inserted her USB and opened the document.

Both women craned their necks to sneak a peek.

Uh…

Just ten words?

Yang Lan set down her water cup, tone dry as dust. “Just make something up. Doesn’t matter how well it’s written—same result either way.”

What did she mean?

Gu Yao and Xia Wei had only been officially on board for less than two months. As junior staff, they didn’t yet grasp the deeper meaning behind those words.

But Gu Yao was about to find out—firsthand.

That night, she stayed late at the office, finishing the document and emailing it to the section chief just before the building’s power shut down.

Time was tight.

By the next morning, the best proposal from the department had already landed on Director Meng’s desk.

The office air conditioning was icy cold.

After skimming the document, Meng Changjun tapped his finger on the desk and calmly raised a question:
“Based on the itemized list, around 70% of the system is being overhauled. With such a large scope of changes, why not rebuild from scratch? Why patch things up here and there? Isn’t that inefficient?”

Xu Dongping hesitated.

After a brief pause, he replied,
“The main concern is budget. The department’s funds are limited, so we’ve tried to save where we can.”

He added, “Though the current system has many flaws, the overall framework is relatively solid. I believe we don’t need to go overboard—just optimize what’s already there.”

“Who wrote this proposal?” Meng Changjun asked.

The signature read: Project Section.

A group effort?

Unlikely.

Seeing no reason to hide, Xu Dongping answered honestly, “The core content was written independently by Xiao Gu. I made a few edits where necessary.”

At that, a soft chuckle sounded from the desk.

At least he was honest.

“The system project will be fully handed over to Xiao Gu.”

Closing the file, Meng Changjun looked up and instructed with a serious tone,
“Don’t worry about the funding—I’ll get Finance to approve it. Also, have Xiao Gu report to Secretary Zhou at the municipal office every Friday to provide face-to-face updates.”

Reporting directly to a senior municipal official?

Xu Dongping was stunned.

After the mishap with the Futian District project, Secretary Zhou had been paying close attention to the reform of internal systems.

One crisis after another—right at the most sensitive time.

As section chief, Xu should’ve taken the lead. But the truth was, he lacked the drive.

Age has a way of making a person overly cautious, torn between fear and hesitation.

Still… perhaps this was a good opportunity for the younger generation to grow. He had a good eye for people, after all.

Maybe, just maybe—Gu Yao’s true blessings were still yet to come.

As her thoughts drifted, the desk phone suddenly rang.

Snapping back to reality, Xu Dongping quickly nodded. “Alright, I’ll go make arrangements right away. I’ll leave you to it.”

With that, he turned and left the office without lingering.

Downstairs, the project section was buzzing with discussion.

A fun little guessing game had begun.

Everyone was speculating whether the section chief would once again embody the virtue of thrift to its fullest in the upcoming system reform.

Yang Lan bet five cups of milk tea.

Firm and certain—of course he would.

Gu Yao, however, felt uneasy.

Thanks to Lan-jie’s warning in advance, she had taken a precautionary step when sending the proposal—she discreetly linked her document to the section chief’s cloud platform.

Any edits made would trigger a real-time notification on her end.

And last night, she received eighteen such alerts.

Which likely meant one thing: the section chief had taken her proposal and completely rewritten it.

So this was what “the result’s the same no matter what” actually meant.

Just then, Xu Dongping arrived at the doorway and was taken aback by the lively chatter—he thought he’d stepped into a market. After pausing to listen, he gave a sharp cough.

The room fell instantly silent.

“You’re never this enthusiastic during work hours. But gossiping behind your leader’s back? That you’re good at.” He scanned the group coldly, then fixed his gaze on the corner workstation.

“Xiao Gu, come with me.”

Hands behind his back, he turned and walked out.

Being called out didn’t rattle Gu Yao in the slightest. Calmly setting down the documents she had just organized, she stood up under everyone’s curious stares and followed him out.

In the hallway—

Xu Dongping’s expression softened, and he spoke with a hint of a smile, “Director Meng was very pleased with your proposal and has decided to adopt it as is. Well done, Xiao Gu.”

Praise right from the start. Gu Yao knew there had to be a but.

Sure enough—

After a slight pause, he continued, “Technically speaking, system reform is a complex and lengthy process. It really isn’t something that should fall entirely on your shoulders. But Director Meng…”

He trailed off, clearly waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

Gu Yao understood.

“No worries, Section Chief. Please just say it directly.” She offered a small, composed smile.

Seeing that she was calm and collected, Xu Dongping dropped the act and relayed Director Meng’s words verbatim.

She hadn’t misheard.

Director Meng had instructed that the system reform must be implemented exactly as outlined in Gu Yao’s proposal—and she would have full responsibility over it.

The news spread through the department like wildfire. Jaws dropped.

Yang Lan even gave her a discreet thumbs-up.

The newly appointed Director Meng certainly lived up to his reputation—at least he wasn’t so easily brainwashed by the section chief’s twisted obsession with penny-pinching.

But elsewhere in the office, coworkers began congratulating Xiao Gu—with thinly veiled sympathy.

Because inheriting this task basically meant inheriting a massive mess.

Even if she did everything right, there’d be no raise. But if the slightest thing went wrong, she’d be the scapegoat. The section chief’s move? Brilliant.

Xu Dongping, for his part, played the innocent.

From start to finish, he hadn’t had much say in the matter. Even if he did, his main concern was self-preservation.

Reporting in person to the municipal office every Friday? That alone would’ve been the death of him.

As for Xiao Gu… she was on her own now.

No time to mourn.

With her assignment in hand, Gu Yao headed straight to the service hall on the first floor to post the system bidding announcement.

From revising the tender document structure and templates, to finalizing the panel of judges, the process took three full days.

Fortunately, she had Lan-jie’s guidance:
“It’s best to add a condition in the vendor qualifications—companies must have been established for at least five years.”

Just one sentence, and all the startups in Qionghai were automatically eliminated.

Five years seemed a bit harsh.

After some thought, Gu Yao chose a middle ground: at least three years.

Small teams didn’t necessarily mean weak capability. On the contrary, compared to some big-name firms, startups often had the edge in innovation.

As for whether they could deliver reliable after-sales service?

She’d make sure they did.