As soon as those words were spoken, the room fell silent again.
Because the new president had rarely shown his face, many people in the company only knew that his surname was Pei and had no idea what his full name was. For quite a few of them, the name “Pei Yusheng” was something they had only heard for the first time when that group of employees organized the collective petition letter.
Now, finding out all of a sudden that Pei Yusheng had bought that piece of land—when they thought of the purpose behind that petition—
It was unbearably awkward.
A heavier silence settled over the office.
After a long while, someone finally asked in a low voice, “So… this land was bought by President Pei?”
“Has to be,” someone replied. “There’s only one Jianghai Investment Co. that comes up online, and all the information matches.”
Another person took a closer look at the public notice and couldn’t help clicking their tongue. “This is nearly four thousand mu of land… over nine million square meters. The winning bid was 1.06 billion yuan. That’s insane.”
Being able to pull out over a billion yuan in liquid funds in one go spoke volumes about Jianghai’s financial strength. Even though Yuntu’s annual net profits were substantial, suddenly mobilizing that much capital would still have been extremely difficult. Even with support from headquarters, approvals and procedures would have taken a long time.
Precisely because everyone knew how hard it was to raise that kind of money—and because they believed none of the previously guarded competitors could manage it either—they had pinned their hopes on no one winning the bid, waiting for the government to split the land and auction it again.
No one had expected that a company would actually put up that much cash outright.
And that the owner of this company was the very new president whom Yuntu’s employees had been criticizing nonstop.
People exchanged looks, unsure whether they should feel excited or guilty.
So… had they misunderstood President Pei all along?
Still, something felt off. Someone couldn’t help asking, “If President Pei won the land, why didn’t he use Yuntu to bid? Why go through another company instead?”
“Maybe because our company couldn’t come up with that much money?”
“Then what’s the plan for this land? It’s so huge—forget a research center, you could build a whole new Xinghai headquarters on it…”
“Shh!”
The moment “Xinghai headquarters” was mentioned, someone immediately cut the topic off.
Xinghai’s headquarters was located in Shengang City. For decades, Xinghai had essentially grown and taken off alongside the broader economic environment. Back when the Xu family from Hong Kong invested in the mainland, they had chosen Shengang precisely because it bordered Hong Kong and enjoyed relatively open policies.
Shengang had unparalleled advantages, but one major drawback: limited land area. This drove land prices up and, in turn, caused a surge in production costs—living facilities, labor, everything. In recent years, rumors that Xinghai headquarters might move out of Shengang had circulated frequently, until Chairman Xu Yuncheng personally addressed them, stating that Xinghai headquarters would not leave Shengang.
For a tech conglomerate of Xinghai’s scale, even establishing a subsidiary could significantly impact local government performance metrics, let alone relocating headquarters. Officials were extremely sensitive to this issue, and after Chairman Xu’s response, an unwritten rule emerged within Xinghai: the headquarters’ location was no longer to be discussed.
The topic circled back to President Pei. But no matter how much they talked, it was impossible to truly guess what this new president was thinking.
Curiosity got the better of some people, and they began digging from other angles.
“I found President Pei’s other companies!” one colleague exclaimed in delight, then immediately gasped. “Oh my god—why are there so many?”
Everyone’s attention snapped over. “Which ones? Which ones?”
The colleague read off the information. “‘Pei Yusheng’ is associated with companies where he serves as senior management: 18. As legal representative: 7. As shareholder: 9… Holy crap, is President Pei really this powerful?”
“The number isn’t the key point, is it?” someone said. “What else is there? Check the registered capital—doesn’t that relate to company size?”
“That’s exactly why it’s shocking. Look at this one: Jianghai (Jingsu Province) Investment Management Co., legal representative: Pei Yusheng, positions held: Executive Director and General Manager, registered capital: 90 million yuan… Ninety million! I didn’t miscount the zeros, did I?”
“Nope. It really is ninety million…”
“And look at the founding date—nineteen… that’s twenty-five years ago?”
What did ninety million yuan mean twenty-five years ago?
Twenty-five years ago, Xinghai’s annual profits had only just broken one million.
Everyone collectively choked on that number.
And Jianghai was only one of Pei Yusheng’s companies.
Someone murmured, “I used to think it was extravagant that President Pei drove a different luxury car every time he came in. Now that I think about it… that’s not extravagance at all. Even if he drove a new one every day, it still wouldn’t show even a tenth of how rich he is.”
Another person asked, puzzled, “Wait—corporate information has always been publicly searchable, right? So why didn’t anyone know about this before?”
“Yeah, and Jianghai was founded twenty-five years ago. How old was President Pei back then? He should’ve just been born—how could he already be a director?”
The person who had first looked it up explained, “Because many of President Pei’s shares and positions were only transferred recently. Jianghai is one of them—the changes were completed in October. The other dozen companies were the same.”
Someone chimed in, “Maybe these companies were originally run by his elders, and they’ve only just been handed over to him recently?”
“But the timing of these changes is really tight,” another said. “Changing legal reps and executives is a huge hassle. Doing it for so many companies at once—he must’ve been running procedures nonstop…”
At that, someone suddenly realized something. “…Busy?”
“President Pei hasn’t been coming to the company lately… could it be because he was busy with all of this?”
The room froze for a moment.
“Then… why didn’t he—”
Why didn’t he say anything? The unspoken question hung in the air, and everyone understood the answer themselves.
These were Pei Yusheng’s personal assets. They had nothing to do with Yuntu, and there was no obligation to disclose them.
“And look,” someone added, “just preparing the bid for that small piece of land at Shanhai Manor took us forever. President Pei just snapped up nearly a million square meters of land in one go—imagine the workload for that bidding proposal…”
They didn’t need to finish the sentence. Everyone could fill in the rest.
“So even though President Pei wasn’t here, he definitely wasn’t idle. He was probably busy with the bidding the whole time. We just didn’t know. And yet people wrote a petition to report him…”
People looked at each other, emotions tangled and heavy.
Someone said quietly, “Thank god no one from our department signed it.”
The design department was small and not one of the core technical units in a tech company, so they hadn’t been deeply involved.
Even so, that didn’t make anyone feel much better.
They might not have signed the petition, but they, too, had harbored deep-seated prejudice against the young new president.
In truth, the people feeling conflicted weren’t limited to just the design department.
Before long, the announcement spread throughout all of Yuntu.
Even though only about one-tenth of the employees had actually signed the public petition, opinions about Pei Yusheng within the company had been largely uniform. No one had stepped up to say anything positive about him before. Even the tea lounge he had personally approved had gradually become deserted, thanks to quiet boycotts and people avoiding it just to fit in.
Now that news broke that Pei Yusheng had won the bid, everyone was stunned.
The man long rumored to be incompetent and derelict in his duties had turned out to be Yuntu’s true savior at a critical moment. A dramatic 180-degree reversal that people usually only saw in fiction had unfolded right in real life.
For a time, Yuntu shed its earlier gloom, only to be enveloped by an even more complicated emotional atmosphere.
That mood reached its peak the next day, when the bidding team updated the proposal.
The news that Jianghai Investment, with the new president as its legal representative, had won the bid was already common knowledge, but many questions remained. Why go to such lengths to bid through another company? What was the land going to be used for? If Jianghai was bidding, why had Yuntu put so much effort into preparing a proposal?
On the day of the announcement, the new president still didn’t appear at Yuntu. With no answers forthcoming, people could only exchange information privately and speculate.
Until an update appeared on Yuntu’s internal site regarding the bidding proposal.
The update was made by Yuntu’s bidding team. While the detailed contents of the proposal weren’t fully public—employees could only view what their access level allowed—the project name and notes were visible to all full-time staff.
The change itself wasn’t major. The team simply added a line of notes beneath the project number and title:
“Xinghai Qingpuhu Research Base Conceptual Plan – File No. 2.”
That single line sent shockwaves through Yuntu.
Xinghai Qingpuhu Research Base!
Qingpuhu was exactly the land Pei Yusheng had purchased. People had speculated more than once about what such a massive plot would be used for, but no one had imagined it would become a research base for Xinghai.
A Xinghai research base was on an entirely different scale from a Yuntu research center—the former could easily house a dozen of the latter. And with nearly a million square meters of land, the Qingpuhu site rivaled Xinghai’s footprint in Shengang. It was large enough to build an entirely new headquarters campus.
Coupled with the “File No. 2” note, it was clear that Yuntu’s research center had been incorporated into the Qingpuhu plan. The dream lake Yuntu employees had been longing for had truly become their own company’s lake.
A corporate campus spanning nearly four thousand mu would never host only Yuntu. Soon, staff from headquarters who had previously assisted with Yuntu’s bid sent more news.
In addition to Yuntu, Xinghai Group’s Tianshu Optoelectronics Research Center, Yaoguang Semiconductor R&D Headquarters, and Xinghai IoT Headquarters would all be relocating to the Xinghai Qingpuhu Research Base, transforming it into a top-tier corporate R&D park.
Only then did everyone realize that Pei Yusheng hadn’t just bought land for Yuntu—he had bought an entirely new headquarters for the Xinghai Group.
One revelation after another brought both exhilaration and a stinging sense of shame. Within Yuntu, no one mentioned those once rampant rumors about Pei Yusheng anymore. All that remained was awe.
President Pei hadn’t neglected Yuntu at all. He had directly solved a major problem in Xinghai’s next stage of development.
With the Qingpuhu park settled, some questions still lingered. Pei Yusheng still hadn’t shown up, but this time, no one accused him of dereliction. Instead, people guessed he had gone elsewhere to deal with yet another issue.
With the president absent and Vice President Zhang perpetually stern and taciturn, the remaining questions were finally addressed by Li Shi, the head of the bidding team.
Li Shi’s answers weren’t delivered in any formal setting. Someone simply caught him speaking in Yuntu’s work group chat, and he responded to a few questions on the spot.
What employees cared about most was why Jianghai had stepped in.
Zhang Shan G10: [Engineer Li, why was the land bid won by Jianghai?]
Li Shi G14: [Yuntu didn’t have enough funds, and there wasn’t enough time to prepare.]
That answer was obvious, but people still didn’t understand.
[Then why didn’t Xinghai bid? Since Jianghai won, does Xinghai still get usage rights to the land?]
Li Shi G14: [If Xinghai participated, bidding for land in S City would require approval from headquarters’ location. The approval process would also take time.]
This involved permits and approvals. Given how sensitive Xinghai’s headquarters location was, even if Xinghai only intended to build a large new campus and not relocate its headquarters, submitting such a large-scale plan would inevitably run into obstacles—and there simply wasn’t enough time.
Li Shi G14: [Given the limitations faced by Yuntu and Xinghai, Jianghai Investment was used to participate in the bid.]
Li Shi G14: [Afterward, Jianghai will transfer the land-use rights to Xinghai. Subsequent investment and development will still be handled by Xinghai, as long as everything follows the bidding plan.]
A flood of astonished messages followed, all essentially saying the same thing:
[So Jianghai has no connection to Xinghai? President Pei used his own money to help Xinghai secure the land?]
Li Shi G14: [You could put it that way.]
There was a real difference between speculation and confirmation. After the team leader answered, the group chat went quiet for quite a while.
Who knew how many message boxes were filled with excited exclamations and apologies, only to be deleted before being sent, swallowed by the silence.
At this point, did saying anything even matter?
President Pei had never responded to the earlier accusations. Would he truly care about belated amazement and regret?
Before anyone could finish composing their thoughts, Li Shi sent another message.
Li Shi G14: [Also, everyone’s hard work on the bidding proposal wasn’t wasted. For confidentiality reasons, we couldn’t inform you earlier, but Jianghai’s bidding proposal workload was enormous, so parts of it adopted proposals prepared by Yuntu, Tianshu, Yaoguang, and other subsidiaries.]
Li Shi G14: [So all of you are contributors to this successful bid.]
The leader’s words were considerate, but the more considerate he was, the more complicated people’s feelings became.
Yuntu had only been responsible for one research center, and even that had driven them to endless overtime. The total workload for the entire bid—just imagining it made people uneasy.
And while Yuntu’s proposal had been very detailed, other parts might not have gone into such depth. Still, an overall plan was always harder than a single component. This wasn’t a puzzle where pieces could be assembled independently—it required integration and coordination at the highest level.
Yuntu employees had resented the new president for being absent and not overseeing the big picture. How could they have known that he was handling an even higher-level, overarching plan?
At last, all doubts were resolved. All the hard work had found its place. Only one thing remained unresolved—
The lingering discomfort over how they had once criticized and attacked that young president.
Public opinion had completely reversed. The most criticized person had become the final hero. Many found it hard to accept the harm they had once caused, and began reflecting on how blindly they had followed the crowd. Those who had signed the petition regretted it deeply, and the few who had led the effort were especially unsettled, anxiously waiting for headquarters to approve their request to withdraw the petition.
Though some still didn’t understand why Pei Yusheng—merely the president of a subsidiary, not even a member of Yuntu’s board—would use his personal company to foot the bill for the entire Xinghai Group, overall, his standing within the company had swung to the opposite extreme.
Amid all this tumult, Qi Ji reached the end of his internship.
Compared to colleagues who were closely following every update, Qi Ji was the calmest of all—so calm it almost seemed flat.
From the day Qi Ji returned to Yuntu, Pei Yusheng had gone on a business trip. He hadn’t even had a chance to let Qi Ji bring up the rumors circulating in the company. Fortunately, the misunderstanding was resolved quickly, and the petition didn’t cause much of a stir.
Qi Ji counted the days.
The president had been away for nearly ten days.
During this time, Qi Ji hadn’t stayed at the Rose Villa either, instead moving back home.
Earlier, a dorm spot had opened up in Qi Mingyu’s class, and the family’s financial pressure had eased considerably, so Qi Ji applied for on-campus housing for his younger brother. Senior year was already hectic, and commuting every day was inconvenient. Living on campus was safer and gave Qi Ji some peace of mind.
When the count reached the fourteenth day, Yuntu held its quarterly employee assembly. Though not yet a full-time employee, Qi Ji had been selected as an outstanding intern representative and was allowed to attend as an exception.
Before the meeting, he received notice that he would be going onstage to receive an award.
Although it was only halfway through his senior year, with half a year still left before graduation and official file transfers, Qi Ji had already received an offer from Yuntu. His performance during the internship had been strong enough for the company to extend an early offer, even proactively suggesting he sign a tripartite agreement now and transfer officially after graduation.
For the remaining half year of his senior year, Qi Ji could either finish his studies first or continue working at Yuntu. If he chose the latter, it would no longer count as an internship—his years of service would start immediately.
These terms were exceptionally generous.
Software majors rarely struggled to find jobs, but Xinghai—ranked first for five consecutive years as “Top 10 Companies Most Desired by New Graduates from Top Universities”—was notoriously hard to get into. And Qi Ji hadn’t just received a verbal offer; he had secured a formal one half a year early, complete with such favorable conditions and the honor of representing outstanding interns at the employee assembly.
Across the entire faculty, cases like this were exceedingly rare.
Qi Ji himself, however, wasn’t particularly excited. He hadn’t even told his academic advisor yet. His mind was focused on something else.
The president was coming back today.
On the phone, Pei Yusheng said he couldn’t be sure of the exact arrival time. The weather there was bad, and it was unclear whether the plane could take off on schedule. He might arrive late and told Qi Ji to go to sleep first.
Through the speaker and the thin barrier of a car window, Qi Ji could still hear the howling wind. Fortunately, the man’s familiar low voice was there too, keeping the cold at bay.
It was just a shame that the president would likely miss this employee assembly.
Within Yuntu, people were constantly talking about when the president would return. After such a dramatic turnaround, everyone wanted to see this young president in person.
When they learned that he was still away on business, colleagues couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
The assembly was held in Yuntu’s auditorium, which could seat six thousand people. All full-time employees would be present. Qi Ji was supposed to sit with the design department, but because he was going onstage for an award, he was seated separately in the front inner section.
Though it was called “going onstage,” nearly a hundred people were being recognized, so it wouldn’t be too stressful—everyone would go up together, receive certificates, take a group photo, and that would be it.
Being watched as part of a crowd didn’t bother him much.
Qi Ji arrived with colleagues from the design department, but each department had its assigned area. Being singled out, he had to take a seat alone in the front rows.
The assembly started at six and was expected to last about three hours, with no intermission. Given the length, many people planned to visit the restroom first after finding their seats. Qi Ji followed the flow of people out.
He left a bit late, though, and all three restrooms in the auditorium had long lines. Unfamiliar with the layout, he walked to the farthest one. The line there was just as long, stretching so far he couldn’t even see the end.
Qi Ji was prepared to wait patiently when he accidentally overheard two colleagues ahead of him talking.
“How long is this going to take? Doesn’t the auditorium have three huge restrooms? Why are there still so many people?”
“Normal. Think about how many people are here today.”
“This is still a bit ridiculous… Hey, isn’t there a small restroom to the left of Exit A? Not many people know about it. We only found out because we followed the director there.”
“Oh right, there is one. I just saw Wangwang message that he came out from there—no one there at all, no line. Want to go check it out?”
The other colleague was tempted too, but after thinking it over, he shook his head. “But A Exit is kind of far from our seats, and it’s on the first-floor inner section. Aren’t we seated on the second level? If we really detour over there, sure, we won’t have to line up for the restroom—but getting back to our seats will be a hassle, and we might not even make it back in time.”
“True. Then let’s just stay in this line.”
After some back-and-forth, the two of them ultimately didn’t leave. But for Qi Ji, standing behind them, what he heard felt like an unexpected stroke of luck.
His seat was toward the front, right near A Exit. He’d already spent quite some time circling around earlier just to find this restroom. If there really was one over there without a line, he might as well head back to A Exit and use it.
After weighing the options, Qi Ji left the long queue and turned back.
There were still about half an hour before the meeting began. When Qi Ji returned to A Exit, he found that there really wasn’t a long line nearby. However, this area was close to the auditorium’s backstage entrance and also served as an access point for senior executives in the front rows. It was just the time when upper management were arriving one after another, so people were still coming and going.
Qi Ji turned sideways to avoid the crowd, searched around the area a few times, and finally found that rather hidden restroom.
Fortunately, there was indeed no one inside.
Although its location was tucked away, whether it was the décor or the scent, this restroom looked far more upscale than the main ones—almost like it was reserved for special use. When Qi Ji first saw the refined restroom sign, his initial reaction was hesitation.
He worried that this might not be a place anyone could just walk into.
But the two people he’d overheard earlier hadn’t mentioned any restrictions, and no one nearby stopped him either. Most of the people passing by were dressed in suits, moving quickly, with no time to pay attention to what was happening here.
So Qi Ji went in on his own.
The restroom was slightly off to the side, but the interior was very spacious, with separate stalls. All three stalls were empty, unused. It was extremely quiet inside—so quiet that even the footsteps outside could be clearly heard.
Mixed in were fragments of hurried conversation.
“…Where did he go…?”
Qi Ji pushed open one of the stall doors and stepped inside. Just as he reached back to close it, the door was suddenly blocked by a powerful force.
Catching a glimpse of a dark figure behind him out of the corner of his eye, Qi Ji startled.
Someone was there?
With his hearing and reflexes, how could someone have approached without him noticing? And he’d only decided on a whim to come to this restroom. The other two stalls were empty—so why would someone choose this exact moment to rush in and grab his stall?
Before his thoughts could finish, they were cut off by a searing heat that wrapped around him from behind.
The warmth was too intense, far too familiar. The instant it touched him, Qi Ji couldn’t suppress a shiver. His nape tightened sharply, a current-like numbness shooting up from his tailbone and spreading through his entire body in an instant.
“Pei—”
He didn’t even get to finish before the word disappeared into an overly tight embrace.
The low, magnetic male voice—one he’d only been able to hear through a phone receiver for more than ten days—finally landed right next to his ear at close range.
“Pei what?” the man asked softly.
Qi Ji instinctively tilted his head slightly.
His ear brushed against the man’s breath—so hot.
He took a small breath, then forced his voice to stay steady as he answered.
“Mr. Pei…”
In a work setting, Qi Ji should have called him President Pei. But no matter how oblivious he might be to other people’s emotions, after spending so much time with Pei Yusheng, there was no way he couldn’t understand his intentions.
Sure enough, upon hearing the answer he wanted, clear amusement colored the man’s voice.
“Very good. Correct answer.”
The overly close embrace and the oddly phrased question made Qi Ji feel awkward. He was just about to turn around when he sensed the man lean in even closer and murmur by his ear.
“Shh.”
The stall door was locked, but the sounds from the corridor outside the restroom still carried in clearly.
“Hey, where did President Pei go?”
“Wasn’t he just here a second ago? How did he disappear so fast…?”
Qi Ji naturally heard the exchange as well.
But at this moment, he had no attention to spare. He bit down on his lower lip, desperately suppressing any sound.
That low whisper Pei Yusheng had just breathed into his ear landed squarely on the exposed curve of Qi Ji’s ear and the side of his neck where he’d turned his head. The man’s always-scorching breath brushed against such a tender, sensitive spot—it produced the worst possible effect.
Pei Yusheng had meant for him to stay quiet, but Qi Ji’s ear went completely numb from that single breath, and he nearly cried out.
“Mmh…”