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Chapter 53: Dad, Your Daughter-in-Law is Working Overtime, I’m Chatting for Him
Yong Ming pushed open the glass door to Room A726 with a stinking dark face: “Shou Jiaxun, do you have some serious mental illness?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Shou Jiaxun was sitting in a corner sofa chair smoking. Seeing Yong Ming push the door, he tilted his head and strained to look behind him: “Just you?”
Yong Ming rolled his eyes hard at him: “We agreed to a 1v1… Mmph!”
Before he could finish his sentence, a spicy crayfish was suddenly stuffed into his mouthâpeeled, of course.
Yong Ming turned his head and met the gaze of the iron-ć¨ć¨ (foolish but cute) assistant, who was more than half a head taller than him.
Liang Bo raised his eyebrows and smiled obsequiously at him, as if teasing: “Is it good? Eat a bit first before working.”
Yong Ming wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face, but in this kind of situation, whoever got angry would seem low-class. So he opted to glare back with a fake smile: “It’s good, peel two more for me.”
“Sure, no problem. You’re the guest, must treat you well.” Liang Bo held up his hands, which were wearing plastic gloves, and nudged toward the conference table with his elbow: “You have a seat first.”
Yong Ming recognized Shou Jiaxunâs computer, set his own “little notebook” next to it, then took two deep breaths of the complex, savory, yet polluted air. He walked over to the sofa chairs, sat down next to Shou Jiaxun, and questioned in a low voice: “We agreed to a 1v1. What’s the meaning of bringing all these people? Having them beat drums and strike gongs to cheer for you?”
Shou Jiaxun laughed heartily, waving a hand casually: “They write theirs, I write mine. We’re each working our own overtime, just sharing a room.”
Director Yong pulled down the corners of his mouth and sighed: “You really are something. Working every day back home is tiring enough; finally coming out to relax a bit, and you make them work overtime. If I were your boss, I’d have fired you first thing.”
“Nonsense.” Shou Jiaxun smiled lightly, exhaling a plume of blue smoke and stubbing out his cigarette. “If you were my boss, you would definitely love me to death.”
Yong Ming, with a face full of deep-seated bitterness, side-eyed Shou Jiaxunâs sparkling eyes: “…Hey, can you quit smoking?”
“Why?”
“An Omega smoking is bad for the baby.” Accurately stomping squarely on President Shouâs landmineâhe did it on purpose.
But Shou Jiaxun was in a good mood today and didn’t get angry. He patted his stomach gleefully and nodded: “I’ll quit when I get pregnant.”
Not only was he not angry, but he even turned around to show concern for the “old baby” beside him: “Are you sure you aren’t eating?”
After getting a definitive answer: “No appetite!”, he happily suggested: “Then let’s start?” The two stood up together.
Assistant Liang seemed to have mastered teleportation. He suddenly appeared behind Shou Jiaxun, grabbed the collar of his suit jacket, and helped him take it off.
Yong Ming originally wanted to mock the two of them, but upon looking down and seeing Shou Jiaxunâs left hand wrapped in bandages, he instantly widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows in jest: “Whoa! Battle damage? Can you still use that trotter?”
President Shou curled his lip disdainfully: “I can give you a one-hand handicap.”
Hearing Yong Ming speak, his colleagues also gathered around to express concern, asking how the boss hurt his hand.
Liang Bo, seeming to enjoy the drama, answered for Shou Jiaxun: “He went to a class reunion yesterday, and there was a slight accident afterward.”
Everyone felt even more confused after hearing this: “Isn’t a ‘class reunion’ just eating some food, drinking some alcohol, and singing some karaoke?”
â”I’ve heard of class reunions causing heartbreak, but how does one cause hand-break?”
â”Are there fierce new activities at class reunions these days?”
Shou Jiaxun crossed his arms, looking down at his own “pig trotter.” He thought telling the truth about getting beaten up was a bit embarrassing. Better to tell a little lie: “Um, I used too much force arm wrestling… It’s fine, my fingers still work.”
Everyone showed expressions of not knowing whether to laugh or cry, secretly thinking their boss was truly fiercely competitive to break his own wrist playing a game.
â”How much force did that take?”
Yong Ming was even more annoying than the rest, looking at him with curious eyes and a pout, assessing the patient: “Why don’t you unwrap it and show us? Were you arm wrestling an Alpha? They’re uninjured, and you’re heavily wounded?”
Shou Jiaxun gave him a supremely confident smile: “Of course not. I ripped his arm off.”
“Stubborn as a dead duck, you’re sick.”
“None of your business.”
It was hard for the two of them to interact peacefully for more than ten sentences when they met.
Except when talking about work.
The two men sat side by side at the head of the conference table, legs spread wide like a tyrant handling a heavy saber, even their postures identical.
Yong Ming pulled a sticky note from the table, slapped it down in front of him, reached back to grab a marker from the glass wall, and scribbled furiously.
Shou Jiaxun watched from the side, the corners of his mouth turned down in disgust.
But when Yong Ming pointed at the draft and asked for his opinion, he couldn’t pick out any flaws.
Director Yong then tore the scratch paper in half, slapped half in front of President Shou, and kept half for himself: “You take that side, I’ll take this side. After we set the topics, we’ll sync up, then officially start drafting, alright?”
“Mm.” Shou Jiaxun nodded, but couldn’t resist picking a fight: “Look at your work, a dog chewing on it would be neater.”
Director Yong retorted concisely: “Stop talking sh*t.”
While their mouths were busy, their hands didn’t stop either. They simultaneously opened their laptops, created new slides, set up a simple template, and immediately started “setting topics.”
“Setting topics” meant outlining the main theme for each slide, usually keeping it under three sentences per page, similar to building the framework for an essay.
Novices generally start by outlining a table of contents to emphasize logic.
Those who have written proposals for three years and haven’t left the industry can be considered experienced hands. After five years, they can usually become mentors.
Industry leaders like Yong Ming, who had spent ten years honing their craft on the front lines, could basically write textbooks for universities.
But Shou Jiaxun, with the combined experience of two lifetimes, had been writing for twenty years. In his eyes, Yong Ming was just a “little brother.”
Yet now, he wore the youthful face of a twenty-something. Although he labeled himself as being in his thirties… in the eyes of the truly thirty-something Yong Ming, he was also solidly a “little brother.”
Anyway, six of one, half a dozen of the other; neither submitted to the other.
While they were drafting, Liang Bo took it upon himself to clean the conference table, clearing garbage, moving aside the leftover seafood platter and crayfish, and asking colleagues if they needed drink refills.
Everyone present, except Shou Jiaxun, silently opted for a cup of coffee.
Actually, Shou Jiaxun also got sleepy staying up late, but because he was “afraid of death” (sudden cardiac arrest), he chose to smoke to stay awake. Single-handedly, he turned the entire “study room” into a smoke-filled, smoggy mess.
He didn’t stop until he had emptied an entire pack. Luckily, these paid spaces had excellent ventilation systems, or the property management would have dragged him out and fined him long ago.
Although Shou Jiaxun’s battle-damaged “pig trotter” was still usable, it lacked dexterity. Plus, he was multitaskingâwriting his proposal while checking his colleagues’ “homework,” and occasionally checking Feixin messages to reply with pleasantries to new acquaintances he met at the summit today.
Even so, his speed didn’t seem much slower than Yong Ming’s.
Yong Ming was also a nitpicking “master” when it came to marketing proposals; every frame was crafted as meticulously as embroidery, striving for perfection.
Compared to him, Shou Jiaxunâs style was rougher and bolder. He used fewer animations, but his color palettes and thematic expressions carried more impact.
Liang Bo sat quietly in the sofa behind the two, observing and learning. He soon felt that, even setting aside personal feelings, he still appreciated Shou Jiaxun’s style more.
After all, a PPT isn’t just an essay with pictures pasted in. Specific content, especially details, is far less important than overall tension.
And Shou Jiaxun’s style was clearly more efficient.
However, high efficiency didn’t mean he wouldn’t get irritated. After 10:00 PM, President Shou finally ran out of patience with the constant pop-up notifications from Feixin.
It was probably around this time that the colleagues outside finally finished their team-building dinners. Back in their rooms with nothing to do and unable to sleep, they started rambling and reaching out to chat.
“Bo’er, reply to the messages for me. Only reply to the ones added today,” Shou Jiaxun said, passing his phone backward over his shoulder.
Liang Bo quickly reached out and took it, opening Feixin. The top message was from “Little Red Flower CEO – Ye Zun.”
Assistant Liang swiped open the message to take a look, then quietly pulled out his own phone and also opened Feixin: “Dad, your daughter-in-law is working overtime to finish a draft, I’m chatting for him.”
The other party immediately replied with a terrified emoji: “Thank goodness I didn’t say anything inappropriate.”
“Mm, go to sleep early, goodnight.”
After Liang Bo “handled” one person, he immediately clicked on the next, exchanged a few lines of business flattery, and then opened the third.
Today at the internet summit, they joined an exclusive exchange group created by the organizers. After joining, everyone privately added contacts they felt would be useful, so there was suddenly a large number of new “friends.”
For many of them, it was hard to tell who was who, so he uniformly fired off polite generic responses.
Someone said: “Shou Jiaxun, when you get back to Beijing, can we meet up?”
Assistant Liang was naturally brimming with enthusiasm: “Sure, sure! I’ll be back in Beijing in about two weeks, let’s set something up then.”
Then he ruthlessly skipped to the next person.
About ten minutes later, the person who had just asked to meet up sent another message: “Jiaxun, there were indeed many things I didn’t consider carefully back then, which buried misunderstandings and regrets between us that haven’t been resolved to this day. Looking forward to meeting.”
Assistant Liang suddenly pressed his lips together and widened his eyes, clicking on the other party’s profile picture to check their identity and location: “Xiao Yu – Beijing Politics and Law.”
Immediately, he exclaimed inwardly: Holy sh*t! Bro, where did you pop out from?
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