Chapter 8 President Jian Is Truly Generous
1147 Words
“So, you two had a fight?”
He Zhen circled back to the previous topic.
They broke up.
Wen Ruan found it hard to talk about—it was humiliating to realize she’d been used like a tool for three years.
If He Zhen found out, she’d laugh her head off. She’d probably even add a sharp, “Serves you right. What goes around, comes around.”
“Yes, we argued,” Wen Ruan said casually. “Just a disagreement over work.”
Then she asked, “Other than you, who else knows?”
The fewer who knew before she quit, the better. Otherwise, if Jiang Qingyan and Yao Man went public, she’d become a laughingstock.
“Wen Ruan, are you insulting me?”
He Zhen’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t pin everything on me. Do I look like someone with too much free time and a penchant for gossiping behind people’s backs?”
She could guess why they kept it private.
An office romance, between superior and subordinate—there was plenty of room for rumors.
The workplace was full of petty, envious people. With her level of competence, enemies were inevitable.
If news of her and Jiang Qingyan got out, the gossip behind her back would be relentless.
Keeping it quiet was the wise choice.
Then something occurred to He Zhen, and she smacked her forehead.
“Shen Yifan knows too. But hey, don’t blame me—I was having dinner with him at the time. He saw it with his own eyes. But don’t worry, he’s solid. Just like me.”
Wen Ruan: “Thanks.”
A whole year had passed without word getting out—clearly, these two could be trusted.
Just the mention of Jiang Qingyan stirred a tight, suffocating knot of emotion in her chest.
She regretted not slapping him harder last night.
She should’ve hit him until he landed in the hospital.
Then Yao Man wouldn’t have gone to Huatang Bay for breakfast—wouldn’t have used her mug.
Right on cue, her phone rang.
Of course. Speak of the devil.
Jiang Qingyan.
At this time of day, she could guess why he was calling.
Yao Man must’ve complained, and he was here to talk about the mug.
He Zhen glanced at her screen, then silently picked up the bowl of now-cold porridge and stood.
“I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to check on Shen Yinyin.”
Wen Ruan: “Okay.”
Only after he disappeared around the corner did she answer the phone.
As expected, he was calling to apologize for the mug.
“It had nothing to do with Yao Man,” Jiang Qingyan said. “There weren’t any clean cups at home. I gave her that one. I’m sorry.”
He took all the blame himself and began discussing compensation.
“The cup’s broken—I can’t return it. I remember you said it was a collectible. A rare piece your boss gave you out of sentiment. I know there’s no identical replacement. Would you accept monetary compensation?”
Wen Ruan felt her emotions collapse under the weight of his words.
“You remember I said it was a collectible,” she asked, voice trembling, “but do you also remember it was a gift I searched high and low for… to give to my mother?”
There was a pause on his end.
“…Sorry. I forgot.”
Forgot?
He remembered everything else, except that?
He had such a sharp memory—it was impossible he’d forgotten.
He knew her nature.
The reason she hadn’t lashed out right away was because of her pride, her restraint.
She had chased after him; now she had to swallow her own misfortune.
But if they pushed her too far, she wouldn’t hesitate to drag them all down with her.
Jiang Qingyan wasn’t stupid.
He wouldn’t provoke her now, not when her emotions were still raw, not over something as trivial as a mug.
He was only covering for Yao Man.
“Money?”
Wen Ruan let out a cold laugh. “I won’t accept that. And don’t play dumb. Yao Man took it without my permission—that’s theft. I’m calling the police. A thousand yuan is enough to file a report. That cup was worth twenty thousand. I have the receipt. I’m not extorting you.”
Jiang Qingyan sighed. “It’s just a mug, Wen Ruan. Don’t make a scene.”
Make a scene?
Her fury surged. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, her voice frozen and sharp.
“Oh, I will make a scene. You’re the ones in the wrong, not me. You have no right to tell me how to react.”
He fell silent for a long time. Just as she was about to hang up, he finally spoke.
“Wen Ruan, you’re not a child. Don’t be impulsive. Think about the consequences.
You can go head-to-head with Yao Man if you like.
But behind her stands the entire Rongli Group.
What do you have?”
“I know you’re fearless. You’d rather shatter like jade than survive as broken tile.
You can throw caution to the wind.
You can chase a fleeting moment of vindication.
But your mother and your friends—they’re all in Haicheng.”
“You know what kind of power the Yao family holds there.
If you want to drag your mother and your friends down with you, ruin their futures—
Then by all means, raise hell.”
His voice was as gentle as always.
But every word struck like a threat.
Wen Ruan wanted to snap back, but painfully realized—he wasn’t wrong.
She didn’t even have the right to make a scene.
“Jiang Qingyan,” her voice cracked, “meeting you was the worst luck of my life.”
He said nothing.
Wen Ruan didn’t want to talk anymore.
“Fine. Compensation, right?
How much are you offering?”
He said he’d give her the apartment in Huatang Bay.
“If you want to sell the place, keep all the money.
Just let me know when it’s time to transfer ownership. I’ll cooperate with signing.”
Wen Ruan looked up at her IV drip and let out a bitter laugh.
“President Jiang, how generous of you.
Fine. You’ve got two days. Be moved out by Monday.”
…
As He Zhen stepped out of the elevator, she immediately saw Jiang Qingyan on a call in the lobby.
He saw her, too.
Wen Ruan had just ended the call, and Jiang Qingyan slipped his phone into his pocket, walking toward He Zhen with long strides and a polite smile.
“President He—”
“Save it.”
She cut him off coldly.
Her gaze was frosty, laced with contempt. Her voice, sharp and scornful:
“Don’t talk to me.
Get lost.”
- Writer
