“Louder.”
1457 Words
Burdened with an overwhelming debt, Wen Yu found herself utterly unmotivated at work. Even walking made her legs tremble. A week had passed, yet her knee showed no signs of improvement—if anything, the pain had only worsened. But going to the hospital required money.
Sitting in the break room, she rolled up her pant leg and applied some medicine, only to discover that the wound was still oozing fluid, swollen and inflamed. Her entire knee was badly swollen.
Su Li pushed the door open and frowned at the sight. “Take two days off and get that checked at the hospital. You can’t just keep dragging this out—clearly, the medicine isn’t working.”
Wen Yu had just taken on a debt of 160,000 yuan. Beyond covering her basic living expenses, she also had to pay He Qiuwan’s medical care. How could she dare to take time off?
“It just looks bad. It’s nothing serious.”
She quickly wrapped the wound with gauze and let her pant leg fall back down.
At the front desk, two colleagues were tidying the magazine rack beside the reception area, where an assortment of lifestyle, fashion, and financial publications was displayed and updated monthly.
Yu Wenxue held up a magazine. “I can’t believe this issue features Song Qingshu. I’d love to collect it.”
Meng Qianqian, another colleague, nodded. “But the photographer didn’t really capture his best angles. The editing isn’t great either.”
“I heard Mr. Song is already 28 and still doesn’t have a girlfriend. A bank heiress even tweeted about pursuing him, but when she secretly applied to be his secretary and got caught, he fired her immediately.”
In the age of the internet, Song Qingshu had only attended a few business summits and been featured in a handful of magazines, yet his presence online had already amassed millions of likes. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, with strikingly refined features and an imposing aura, he had been caught on camera effortlessly negotiating with a renowned British diplomat—his fluent English, composed demeanor, and razor-sharp arguments leaving no room for error. The internet had since exploded with admiration, attracting hordes of fangirls.
Wen Yu had seen enough. As she passed by, she casually took the magazine from Meng Qianqian’s hands and glanced at the cover.
She had to admit—he did look… a little handsome.
Not that she would ever say it out loud.
She had witnessed firsthand the ruthless, capitalist nature of this man. Curling her lips into a smirk, she scoffed, “You actually believe that a 28-year-old man with no women around him is truly ‘cold and abstinent’? He’s either gay or impotent. These so-called ‘high-cold, untouchable’ types are just fooling naive little girls like you.”
Yu Wenxue and Meng Qianqian exchanged glances. Their new colleague, Wen Yu, was young—just around twenty-two or twenty-three. They had been about to say something when their expressions suddenly shifted into shock.
Yu Wenxue quickly tugged at Wen Yu’s sleeve.
“All those high-definition, heavily edited internet videos? Those filters can turn a seventy-year-old grandma into a teenage girl. Who knows—he could be a balding, greasy old man with a beer belly and a face full of acne scars in real life.”
A sharp intake of breath sounded beside her.
Wen Yu felt something was off. A subtle, masculine cologne lingered in the air—one with a rich, refined scent, almost like temple incense.
A creeping sense of foreboding gripped her.
A distinct gaze landed on her back, making her entire body stiffen.
She tightened her grip on the magazine, watching as Song Qingshu’s flawlessly handsome face crumpled under her grasp.
Behind her, a voice rang out—Lin, one of Manning’s senior executives.
“Mr. Song, you should’ve let us know in advance that you were coming. I would’ve gone to welcome you personally.”
All the tension inside Wen Yu died instantly.
Yu Wenxue and Meng Qianqian whispered excitedly. “Oh my god… he’s even more handsome in person…”
“I wish I could sneak a picture…”
Lin personally escorted Song Qingshu into the elevator, surrounded by hotel staff. Wen Yu finally turned her head slightly, just in time to catch a glimpse of his retreating figure.
The magazine in her hands was now thoroughly wrinkled.
The office buzzed with gossip, enthralled by his presence.
Meng Qianqian glanced at Wen Yu with concern. “Wen Yu… are you okay?”
Su Li also cast her a thoughtful look. Something about Wen Yu’s reaction had seemed off.
Wen Yu let out a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
She tossed the crumpled magazine straight into the trash.
Meng Qianqian retrieved it, gently running her fingers over Song Qingshu’s face on the cover. “Wen Yu, you seem to really dislike Mr. Song.”
“Do I need a reason to dislike someone?” Wen Yu scoffed.
From now on, she was officially his anti-fan.
—
Chen Jiani, her makeup flawlessly applied, sauntered out of the break room with an exaggerated sway of her hips. Spotting Su Li, she flashed a confident smile.
“Su, I heard Mr. Song from SY is staying in the presidential suite, 2026. Since Xiweng, the usual butler, is on leave, why not let me take over?”
Su Li hesitated for a moment.
Before she could respond, Chen Jiani had already whipped out her phone and called her uncle, securing the position for herself. She practically strutted into the elevator like a peacock, as if she were walking toward her destiny as Mrs. Song rather than just serving as his butler.
But barely five minutes later, Chen Jiani returned, her face drained of color.
Meanwhile, Su Li received a call from Lin.
Her gaze landed on Wen Yu.
The hotel’s uniform and hairstyle standards made everyone look nearly identical, yet Wen Yu still stood out effortlessly.
Beneath the thin fabric of her uniform, her delicate shoulder blades subtly protruded like butterfly wings, her slender waist as graceful as a willow’s arc. Even in wide-leg trousers, the perfect symmetry of her long legs was apparent.
“Wen Yu, the esteemed guest in 2026 specifically requested you as his butler. From now until he checks out, you’ll be exclusively in charge of his suite.”
Chen Jiani stomped her foot. “Why her?! Why does Wen Yu get to go?!”
Wen Yu hesitated briefly before nodding.
This was her job. She couldn’t afford to quit just to avoid seeing Song Qingshu.
But being his personal butler meant… sleeping in the adjoining room.
—
Manning’s presidential suite spanned 390 square meters, boasting floor-to-ceiling windows and custom luxury furnishings. Its only flaw was the slightly outdated decor, a relic of Manning’s early designs. Still, at 108,000 yuan per night, it was nothing short of opulent.
She knocked, swiped the key card, and stepped inside.
The sound of running water came from the bathroom.
Song Qingshu was showering.
Wen Yu pursed her lips, walked over, and cleared her throat.
“Mr. Song, I am Wen Yu, the butler for Suite 2026. If you need anything, please feel free to let me know.”
Behind the frosted glass, a low voice responded.
“Unpack my suitcase, hang my clothes, and charge my laptop.”
“Understood.”
Internally, she was already throwing punches at him.
Two black suitcases sat on the floor. She bent down to open them but, with her injured knee, couldn’t stay crouched for long. Sighing, she simply sat on the plush carpet and began unpacking.
As she worked, the sound of running water stopped.
A moment later, the bathroom door opened.
A rush of steam mixed with the scent of Bulgari Darjeeling Tea shower gel filled the air.
She clenched her jaw.
She could feel his gaze trailing over her back.
Calmly, she continued her work.
Finally, she stood, lowering her gaze. “Mr. Song, everything has been arranged as per your request.”
A flicker of motion caught her eye—just the edge of a silk bathrobe.
Steadying herself, she moved to the living room and poured him a cup of tea.
“Mr. Song, this is a signature tea blend, exclusively served to our most distinguished guests. Please enjoy.”
Just as she was about to set it down, he suddenly seized her wrist.
Her breath hitched.
Hot tea spilled onto his lap.
Before she could react, his grip tightened, pulling her hand beneath the folds of his robe.
His thin lips curled into a smirk.
“Miss Wen, why don’t you confirm for yourself whether I’m really impotent?”
- Writer
