Negotiations with Vice President Zhang on Barre’s side were going fairly smoothly, but Barre remained firm. When discussing specific terms, they refused to budge, as if He Xiaoyuan were still the previous Chang Bei who would hand over tens of millions in earnest money.
He Xiaoyuan and Chang Bei privately agreed: no rush—let Barre stew a little longer.
At the company, He Xiaoyuan had scheduled a meeting with the relevant department of the platform to discuss integrating Meow Meow Meow—its backend placement, layout, and launch timing.
He also discovered that as the project advanced, he needed to coordinate with multiple departments and specific staff members, preparing the necessary documents for the platform to understand the mini-game about to be uploaded.
But without a signed letter of intent, Barre still hadn’t provided a content brief or demo video for Meow Meow Meow. Without these, He Xiaoyuan couldn’t meet with the platform to discuss integration.
The letter of intent was the key.
The problem: Supre can’t realistically offer tens of millions in earnest money, and Barre still wanted the favorable terms previously given by Chang Bei.
Chang Bei had privately remarked: “Dream on.”
So for now, He Xiaoyuan and Chang Bei’s approach could be summed up in one word: wait.
Let Barre see if they could afford the patience.
Sure enough, just a week in, before He Xiaoyuan even took the Subject Two exam, Vice President Zhang called, politely suggesting they have dinner since they had known each other for some time but never eaten together.
The proposal: pick a nice restaurant, with Barre’s operations director accompanying, and invite He Xiaoyuan as the manager. Their CEO Xu would also be present that night.
He Xiaoyuan, as a newcomer, uncertain about workplace etiquette, hesitated.
Luckily, Chang Bei was right there. He typed a message on the screen, indicating to Chang Bei. He saw it, glanced over, and with a nod signaled that the dinner should be attended. He Xiaoyuan agreed.
After hanging up, he asked if Chang Bei was going. Chang Bei, signing documents at his desk in his usual fast, messy, careless style, replied without looking up: “I’m not going. You go yourself.”
He Xiaoyuan leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs. “A trap?”
Chang Bei smiled: “Not really. They’re just eager to release the game, but you’ve been too calm. They’re impatient and want to invite you to dinner, smooth things over, and get the contract signed sooner.”
He Xiaoyuan leaned back in his chair. “If the terms aren’t agreed on, no amount of dinner will help, right?”
Chang Bei looked up from the documents, glancing at him casually. “There’s an unspoken ‘rule’ for these social dinners…”
“Huh?”
He Xiaoyuan straightened, attentive.
Chang Bei continued at a leisurely pace: “The logic is this: if the actual terms can’t be agreed upon, no amount of drinking—even to the point of getting wasted—will make a difference. It simply won’t work. But in terms of face, if you invite me to a meal or drinks, then I can give you face, see if there’s room to make things flexible.”
“Understand? Face has to be preserved.”
“The specifics… that’s another matter.”
He Xiaoyuan raised an eyebrow, clearly taking note.
Chang Bei then asked, “Can you drink?”
“No.”
He smiled. “Do you have to be so honest?”
He Xiaoyuan asked an even more practical question: “If I can’t drink, what do I do then?”
“Figure out a way to decline,” Chang Bei said casually.
He continued scribbling on the documents—soon enough, he was drawing wavy lines instead of signing properly.
He Xiaoyuan, genuinely curious, asked: “How do I decline?”
Chang Bei, still doodling, muttered half-jokingly: “Say you’re allergic to alcohol, or you’re taking antibiotics for a cold, or your wife keeps you in check at home.”
He Xiaoyuan couldn’t help but chuckle, thinking what a ridiculous excuse.
Chang Bei reassured him: “Don’t worry. Drinking culture at the table has mellowed a lot. If you really don’t drink, no one will force you. Just manage it so no one feels awkward. If it really gets difficult, just drink a little, for appearances.”
He Xiaoyuan was mentally prepared, knowing that formal dinners and social drinking were inevitable at some point. He could politely attend and, if he truly couldn’t drink, abstain—Vice President Zhang and the others would respect that, given the ongoing cooperation.
But on the night of the dinner, He Xiaoyuan realized he had been overly naive.
Private room, round table, alcohol, Barre’s people—all as expected.
Unexpected: a small stage about fifteen centimeters above the floor, roughly ten square meters.
Just as He Xiaoyuan and the Barre group were seated and had exchanged pleasantries, the cold dishes were served and then hot dishes began. Music played in the room. The door opened, and several young women in traditional Chinese attire with veils entered. Immediately, they began to dance in time with the music, singing: “The show begins in full makeup, onstage my sorrows and joys all sung by me alone…” Their movements were graceful, elegant, and distinctly Chinese in style.
He Xiaoyuan: “…???”
He kept a neutral expression, barely glanced at the stage, but inside his eyes widened. A dinner with performances?
Not that he lacked exposure—he simply had never encountered anything like this.
Next to him, Vice President Zhang cheerfully poured He Xiaoyuan some Wuliangye.
On his left, Xu Guangming also pulled his gaze from the stage, smiling, and even turned to He Xiaoyuan: “This restaurant, the food is excellent, the environment is nice, the atmosphere great, and the dancing is extraordinary.”
“How’s the performance, Manager He? Enjoying it?”
He Xiaoyuan was genuinely intimidated—not by anything improper, but because he was inexperienced, too young, and not confident enough to handle such situations.
He avoided looking at the stage and didn’t answer Xu Guangming, focusing instead on the freshly poured drink in front of him. He downed it like water to steady himself—and immediately felt the burn, choking sharply, revealing his inexperience.
Xu and Zhang exchanged quiet smiles—still young, indeed.
Quickly, Zhang poured again, and Xu raised his own glass toward He Xiaoyuan teasingly: “Manager He, do you enjoy drinking? How come you started first? Seems we have similar tastes. Come, cheers.”
The refusal He Xiaoyuan had prepared in advance couldn’t be used—he had no choice but to drink that glass.
Swallowing and stifling the burning in his throat, even fighting back tears, he realized these events were truly beyond his usual comfort zone.
Fortunately, he quickly pivoted to discussing the project, Meow Meow Meow, sharing which sections of the platform it would appear on—topics that engaged Barre’s people—avoiding the risk of being pressured into continuous drinking.
Once he settled into a rhythm, when someone did offer a toast, he calmly declined, explained he couldn’t drink, and delivered his prepared diplomatic lines: “The alcohol isn’t important; it’s the gesture that counts. Cooperation is key; getting the game online matters more.”
In short, he maintained his stance, refusing to touch the glass. Barre’s people weren’t aggressive drinkers, so it ended there, and the atmosphere remained pleasant.
The only unusual element: the private room’s performances never stopped. One dance ended, another began, one piece after another.
He Xiaoyuan, having never seen anything like it, avoided staring. Later, a dance with more revealing costumes—bare arms, bare waist—made him even more careful not to look.
During brief lulls—someone fetching dishes or using the restroom, Xu and Zhang momentarily absent—He Xiaoyuan pulled out his phone and saw a message from Lu Chen asking how the dinner was going. He immediately thumbed a reply on the keypad: “Call me immediately!!!”
Lu Chen likely didn’t see it right away.
Soon, everyone returned, and Xu, sitting down, said warmly: “Little He, you haven’t drunk much tonight. You should have some—it won’t hurt. Just a little to start.”
He Xiaoyuan maintained his composure and calm expression, politely deflecting: “Vice President Xu, let’s focus on the project. Maybe we can find another time to finalize the contract…”
He insisted on not touching the alcohol, kept showing enthusiasm for the Barre project, and always steered the conversation back to collaboration. Finally, Lu Chen’s call came through.
His phone sat beside him, and when it rang, the screen displayed “President Lu.” Xu Guangming happened to glance at it.
He Xiaoyuan picked up, greeting Xu as he explained with a gesture toward the phone, “Sorry, I need to take this.”
“Big boss,” he added with a small nod toward the screen.
Xu naturally didn’t object.
He Xiaoyuan answered immediately, going straight into a rapid series of “Yes, yes… ah, ah” tones, adopting the posture of a junior employee addressing a senior executive. After a while, he signaled the quieted table, rose, and pointed toward the exit, successfully “escaping” the private room.
Outside, he walked briskly toward a quieter area, speaking quickly, almost panicked: “I want to leave now. How should I get out? Can I leave? What excuse should I give?”
He truly wanted to get away.
He thought that, just like easing into projects, he could gradually get used to social dinners. But he realized he was wrong.
He didn’t like alcohol, nor did he like being pressured to drink.
In just one hour, the mental exhaustion from this kind of formal socializing had exceeded all his work over the past several months.
Lu Chen’s voice came through, calm and low, carrying a slight seriousness: “What’s going on?”
He Xiaoyuan quickened his pace, speaking low and fast, a hint of helplessness in his tone: “They’ve got girls dancing in the private room, nonstop. The drinks are awful, my throat is burning. I managed not to drink in the first half, but judging from their boss’s attitude, I’ll have to drink a little in the second half.”
Lu Chen asked: “Can’t you decline?”
He Xiaoyuan, usually unafraid to show weakness in front of familiar people and treating Lu Chen as a reliable backer at work, almost panicked: “I tried to decline—they still insist I drink.”
Lu Chen’s voice remained calm: “Have you stepped outside? Find a quiet spot, maybe by a window or an outdoor area, and get some fresh air first.”
“I’m out,” He Xiaoyuan replied.
He kept an eye on his path, eventually reaching a stairwell. He instinctively went down half a flight, then spotted an open window and walked over.
Lu Chen asked: “Are you drunk?”
He Xiaoyuan felt the fresh air hitting his face, chest no longer tight. “Not really. I barely drank.”
Lu Chen: “Are you alone? Is it safe?”
He confirmed. Lu Chen reassured him: “Don’t worry. You don’t have to go back inside.”
He Xiaoyuan hesitated: “Then…”
Lu Chen’s steady tone conveyed reassurance: “Nothing. I’ll handle it. Hang up for now. Take a few minutes to breathe, or scroll on your phone to relax.”
He Xiaoyuan, still a little dazed, first thought: My jacket’s still in the private room.
Lu Chen: “That’s fine. You can get it later.”
Lu Chen asked again: “Are you alone?”
He Xiaoyuan: “Yes.”
Lu Chen: “Good. Now hang up. I’ll call you shortly.”
He Xiaoyuan obeyed, placing the phone down and ending the call. Only then did he realize Lu Chen was probably calling around to help him get out of the dinner.
He began to calm down.
He thought: I can’t just leave without saying anything. Chang Bei said face matters… I can’t just disappear.
After a moment, he sent Lu Chen a message: “I’ll go back to the private room, say goodbye, then leave.”
He returned to the private room, initially planning a little “I’m busy, sorry” act, but saw Xu Guangming hurriedly answering a call and moving toward the door.
He froze in surprise: “Vice President Xu?”
Xu held the phone to his ear, paused for a moment, then signaled He Xiaoyuan with the phone, indicating he had something urgent. He pointed back into the room, meaning the others could continue eating, then quickly left.
He Xiaoyuan realized what had happened: Lu Chen must have arranged for someone to pull Xu aside.
With Xu—the senior from the cooperating company—gone, the dinner could naturally wrap up.
He returned to the table, pretending to be regretful: “What a shame, Vice President Xu had urgent business and had to leave, and I happen to have something to attend to as well.”
He adopted a helpless, slightly complaining tone: “You understand how it is with leadership. They scrutinize every little detail.”
He picked up his suit jacket draped on the chair back, preparing to leave.
Barre’s Vice President Zhang and others rose as well.
Zhang: “You’re leaving already?”
He Xiaoyuan smiled: “Vice President Xu is busy too, after all.”
Another at the table: “With Xu gone, let’s continue.”
He Xiaoyuan maintained a smile: “Next time, next time for sure.”
He spoke some polished words: “You know, I personally approached Vice President Xu about this project. I’ve always really believed in your company’s little game. If we don’t sign this, I won’t even sleep well tonight.”
He stood, adjusting his jacket on his arm, clearly ready to leave.
Zhang saw he was serious and immediately signaled his staff. Two red gift bags were brought from under the table. He Xiaoyuan couldn’t see the contents, but could guess: probably cards or money inside.
He Xiaoyuan immediately waved his hands: “No, no, no.”
Vice President Zhang handed over the gift boxes: “Manager He, you’re being too polite. It’s just two boxes of imported fruit.”
Something seemed to click in He Xiaoyuan’s mind, like hitting the right acupuncture point, and he immediately responded: “I’ve eaten plenty of fruit at Barre already. I can’t take it without eating it. You can’t see me grabbing fruit at your office a few times and then be so polite about it.”
Vice President Zhang stepped out of his seat, carrying the gift boxes, trying to insistently hand them over.
At that moment, Lu Chen’s call came through again. He Xiaoyuan picked it up, gesturing to everyone with the phone, and said hurriedly, “Ah, ah, ah, President Lu,” while waving to indicate he was leaving. He walked out of the private room.
Vice President Zhang followed, but He Xiaoyuan set the phone down, using both hands to refuse the gift boxes with a serious, composed expression: “Mr. Zhang, this is really damaging the rapport between our companies. It’s not appropriate, really not appropriate.”
“I understand the gesture, I understand, thank you, thank you.”
Only then did Vice President Zhang relent.
He Xiaoyuan waved his hand and turned to leave.
Once the phone was back to his ear, he finally exhaled deeply, relief washing over him.
Lu Chen asked: “You’re out?”
He Xiaoyuan walked down the corridor toward the elevator: “Yes, I’m out.”
Lu Chen confirmed: “All okay?”
He Xiaoyuan: “I’m fine. Not drunk.”
Lu Chen: “Why are you going back? Didn’t I say you didn’t have to return to the private room?”
He Xiaoyuan paused mid-step, suddenly realizing something. He turned back: “Lu Ge, I’ll hang up first. I’ll call you in a bit,” then hurried toward the direction of the private room.
He entered and, surprising everyone inside, made his way back to the table. He picked up his previous cup, raised it, and downed it in one go. He signaled once more with the empty cup, then placed it back on the table.
Vice President Zhang rose in surprise: “Manager He…”
He Xiaoyuan sincerely said: “I really can’t drink, but if, as everyone says, this cup carries the sentiment, then I’ll finish it.”
He nodded politely to the group and turned to leave.
Twenty minutes later, Lu Chen picked He Xiaoyuan up at a bus stop near the hotel.
When Lu Chen arrived, he saw He Xiaoyuan sitting on the curb, legs bent together in front, suit draped over his arms, head resting on them, curling into himself. In the passing car lights and neon, the young man looked like a wounded little wolf, lost from the forest into the city, all alone.
Lu Chen got out of the car, saw him, and felt a pang in his chest.
He walked over. The little wolf cub, blinking slowly, shifted slightly, resting his chin on the folded suit, and raised his dark, calm eyes to look at him. There was a hint of helplessness, yet he obediently said, “You’re here,” with a gentle, compliant smile.
In that instant, Lu Chen’s heart ached.