Chapter 82: Zhaoshi

No matter what exactly happened among them, let’s set that aside for now and discuss it later.

In any case, Jiang City’s summit trip could ultimately be considered a complete success.

Although the bad weather was beyond the organizers’ control, it inevitably affected the guests’ experience.

To avoid damaging Jiang City’s or the project’s reputation, the organizers pulled out all the stops over the next few days to entertain them and compensate as much as possible.

Never mind the food and lodging—they even prepared exquisite little gifts for them, as well as… a fat red envelope.

Chu Susu frowned slightly when she received hers. In their industry, they worked for clients, and if the clients were satisfied, they’d at most add projects or payments. It was rare to hand out cash one-on-one like this.

“Most of the attendees are media or newspaper reporters. The organizers gave these out so they’d write articles to promote it. It’s an unwritten rule.”

Seeing her confusion, Rebecca explained from the side and handed her own red envelope over.

“Take it.” She smiled.

Chu Susu naturally refused: “How could I?”

“That day, I got you stuck in the venue, and later dragged you out for drinks…” Rebecca said, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. “You didn’t complain, and that already made me happy. Just think of this as a little token of my appreciation.”

With her putting it that way, Chu Susu couldn’t refuse anymore and accepted it frankly.

On the flight back, she counted them—two red envelopes totaling two thousand yuan.

It was a nice little bonus; she could get some imported dog food to treat Pipi.

The summit ended a full four days later than expected, and the flight back to the Imperial Capital was delayed by a whole week.

The heavy rain in Jiang City had canceled many flights back then, and those in a hurry had switched to high-speed rail, so this flight wasn’t crowded. The seat next to Chu Susu was empty.

She’d just put away the red envelopes and was about to close her eyes for a rest when she heard footsteps. Then someone sat down beside her.

“…?”

Chu Susu opened her eyes and looked—it was none other than the leisurely Eldest Miss Han.

She didn’t particularly like or dislike Han Yao.

She occasionally found some of her baffling actions strange, but seeing those eyebrows and eyes so similar to Han Xuan’s made her heart inexplicably soften.

Chu Susu rubbed her sleepy eyes, rubbing the skin a bit red: “What wind blew Eldest Miss Han over here?”

Shouldn’t a rich young lady like her be in first class? What was she doing in economy?

Han Yao’s answer was as offbeat as ever: “Bored. Can’t sleep. Wanna play a game with me?”

“…Where’s your assistant?”

Eldest Miss Han had brought an assistant to Jiang City; Chu Susu had seen her at the hotel. She was a girl about her age, with a fresh vibe like freshly brewed lemonade.

“Don’t worry about that. Teach me this game. I downloaded it—can play offline too.”

Han Yao pulled out a slim iPad like a magic trick and spread it on the tray table in front of her. The screen showed a game’s start interface.

—Plants vs. Zombies.

That’s right, the game that swept the nation over a decade ago, with kids playing it everywhere on the streets.

“…”

“You know how to play?” Han Yao asked her.

This made Chu Susu crack up. She pressed her lips together, trying hard not to laugh out loud:

“You don’t?”

Those simple three words made Han Yao go silent for a moment, as if her pride had taken N points of damage.

“I can’t pass this level. Pool mode is so hard.”

Chu Susu gestured for her to give it a try.

She’d thought Han Yao was just ordinarily bad, but her bad was in such a unique way—not only did she plant the plants randomly, but when zombies came, she panicked, mashing buttons wildly until her brain got eaten.

For a noob like this, Chu Susu chose to give up bluntly: “Please go back. I can’t teach you.”

At that, Han Yao whipped out a red envelope without another word and slapped it in front of her. The packaging looked familiar—it was the one from the organizers.

“Mine’s the thick kind, two thousand inside.”

Chu Susu didn’t speak, staring at the plump red envelope, her gaze pausing for a beat.

“Slap.” Another one.

“My assistant has one too, a thousand.”

Three thousand yuan falling from the sky—no one would say no. She could already foresee how many kilos fatter Pipi would get this month.

Chu Susu had refused just as decisively before, and now she agreed just as quickly: “Deal.”

Over the next half hour, she successfully taught Han Yao how to beat the pool level and even carried her through the rooftop one.

A heiress who could be a group executive might be a total game noob, but she wasn’t stupid. She quickly got the hang of it.

But soon enough, she turned around and questioned her “teacher”: “Why are you so good at it? Do you slack off at work playing games a lot?”

Chu Susu gave a knowing smile: “Who plays this anymore? This is leftover from when I was a kid.”

“So what do people play now?”

For some reason, Chu Susu felt like the question was pointed. Han Yao’s slender eyes glanced slyly at her, casually fishing: “Depends on the person.”

“Like us, same age. Girls.”

Sure enough, her hunch was right—her gaydar was blaring.

Eldest Miss Han humbly asking for game tips? Clearly to pick up some girl.

All the signs weren’t lost on Chu Susu—she’d done the same herself.

But they weren’t that close, so even if she saw through it, she wouldn’t call it out. She just casually named a few popular games lately, and Han Yao diligently noted them down in her note app with the stylus.

“Thanks. Knew I could count on you.”

“Of course.” Chu Susu raised her brows.

She’d been a naughty kid in school. Chu Qingyang, afraid she’d sneak off to internet cafes, specially installed a high-spec computer at home to keep an eye on her anytime, so yeah, she’d played plenty of games.

Han Yao pointed at one called “League of Legends” and asked: “This one—you’re super good at it, right?”

Chu Susu smiled modestly, but her words weren’t humble at all: “Eh, decent. In high school, I had a 70% win rate and hit Master rank…”

Before she finished, she suddenly tensed up, voice dropping:

“Wait, how do you know I play games usually, and that this is my best one?”

She was sure she hadn’t mentioned it to Han Yao in any way—this was their first time talking games.

Han Yao tilted her head slightly, thinking: “Maybe Han Xuan said something?”

“I haven’t told Han Xuan either.”

Gaming was a hobby from before, but work had kept her busy these years, so she played less. Plus, it sounded kinda otaku-ish; she wasn’t keen on sharing.

Chu Susu eyed Han Yao sharply, feeling something off.

“Um…”

Han Yao thought for a bit and said: “You were in some LOL club in high school, right? Held a tournament. I kinda remember.”

Her recalling expression seemed genuine, not fake.

But Chu Susu still wasn’t fully convinced: “Were we that close back then? You even specially remembered my stuff. Don’t tell me…”

The words came out a bit ambiguous, like Han Yao had been crushing on her for years.

At that, Eldest Miss Han immediately pouted in disgust, eager to clear things up:

“As if I’d specially remember. Just a vague impression—don’t make it sound so cringey.”

As if scared Chu Susu would misunderstand, she didn’t linger, grabbing her tablet and sauntering off.

Two seconds later, though, she turned back with a blank face.

Chu Susu raised a brow in confusion: “Anything else?”

“Give me your WeChat.”

Before picking up Pipi from home, Chu Susu used this five-thousand-yuan “bonus” to order some new dog food online.

Five thousand sounded like a lot, but imported dog food could run five or six hundred a bag—not enough for much.

Right after Han Yao got her WeChat on the plane, she cut straight to the chase. Her first message asked Chu Susu—

Did she have time to teach her games? The paying kind.

Four figures an hour—if too low, they could negotiate.

Chu Susu made good money for her age and could support herself, but obviously nowhere near this level yet.

At this rate, full-time eight hours a day would be a monthly salary in the hundreds of thousands.

When money power was laid out like this, Chu Susu paused, then countered: “Why not hire a pro gamer coach?”

She genuinely didn’t get it—did these people just have money blowing in the wind?

Han Yao: “I feel like it.”

Chu Susu figured free pies from the sky weren’t reliable, so she set down her phone and left Han Yao on read for now.

She parked at the entrance to Han Xuan’s neighborhood—they’d agreed to meet here. Once she arrived, she’d text Han Xuan, and she’d bring Pipi out.

But as Chu Susu gazed at the neighborhood from afar, thinking it looked nice, she suddenly changed her mind and decided to go in for a look.

She got out of the car and, predictably, was stopped by security: “Please show your access card.”

“I’m here to see a friend.”

“Which building does your friend live in?”

Han Xuan had given her the address before, and Chu Susu rattled it off fluently.

After listening, the security guard frowned and thought for a moment. He always felt like the owner of that unit wasn’t named Han Xuan.

But the woman in front of him had driven there, and her outfit was refined and elegant—she didn’t seem like a thief. So he didn’t suspect anything and let her in.

Chu Susu walked a lap along the edge of the artificial lake in the neighborhood and quickly found the building where Han Xuan lived. She rang the doorbell downstairs and waited patiently for a while, but no one picked up.

Not home? She frowned and rang again.

On the third ring, the main gate suddenly opened, nearly startling Chu Susu.

Han Xuan walked out from inside, holding Pipi in her arms.

The little dog barked excitedly as soon as it saw its owner. Chu Susu took it over and blinked.

“Aren’t you cold?”

It was already winter, and the Imperial Capital’s winters were dry and freezing. It was fine indoors with the heating, but once outside, it felt like a natural ice cellar.

Chu Susu had bundled up in a down jacket and thermal pants and still felt it wasn’t enough, yet Han Xuan was only wearing a thin coat, her cheeks flushed red from the cold air.

“It’s fine,” she said with a light smile. “I’m not that afraid of the cold.”

Seeing that Han Xuan looked normal, Chu Susu didn’t say anything more. The two of them walked toward the artificial lake together, leading Pipi.

The walk was silent. After not seeing each other for a few days, an awkward stiffness had settled in, though it was unclear where it had started.

In the end, it was Han Xuan who broke the silence first. She turned her head and asked softly with concern, “Was the summit going smoothly?”

“Mm.”

Speaking of the summit made Chu Susu involuntarily think back to that hour she had been trapped in the venue.

Han Xuan had appeared out of nowhere and then left just as suddenly, not even giving her a chance to say a few more words.

“Thanks for that day,” Chu Susu said. “If it weren’t for you, I might really have gotten my head smashed by that ceramic doll.”

Han Xuan lowered her head and then shook it, hiding her eyes from view. “It was nothing.”

“I still remember—you said that day that you went there to save me.”

“Mm.”

“If the one in danger had only been Han Yao, you wouldn’t have stepped in?”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“Why?”

Han Xuan said slowly, “She has a lot of bodyguards around her. She wouldn’t be in danger even if I didn’t help. But you…”

At this point, she seemed not to know how to continue.

Han Xuan had always been poor with words. Her cheeks grew even redder—whether from the cold or anxiety, it was hard to tell.

In the end, it turned into a few soft words that landed gently by her ear.

“…In any case, I’d definitely save you.”

Chu Susu was stunned for a moment but didn’t commit either way. “Is that so?”

Han Xuan let out an “mm.”

Chu Susu’s expression didn’t change, maintaining its bland neutrality as she continued, “Han Xuan, there’s something I want to ask you.”

This time, she had called the other by name, with a hint of seriousness.

Han Xuan replied obediently, “Mm, go ahead.”

Various fragments flashed through Chu Susu’s mind like a montage from a movie.

That night, the slightly tipsy Rebecca, the red liquid swirling in the glass, herself who had clearly not drunk much yet was strangely drunk, and then the crisp sound that landed on her butt afterward.

The faint red swelling marks on the corresponding spot in the mirror—no pain when pressed, yet always the feeling that a hand had once been raised high.

And the hidden camera behind the curtains, capturing everything.

“That day, after you saved us, you left.”

“Yes.”

Chu Susu suddenly turned her head, her dark eyes locking on with sharp intensity.

“After you left, did you ever go back to Jiang City?”