Chapter 1

Qiao Jin stood in a bathrobe, silent for a few seconds, before finally pushing open the study door.

He had unrestricted access to every room in the Lu Pingzhang residence—even when Lu Pingzhang was inside.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Lu Pingzhang was seated in his chair, mid-video conference, idly twirling a black fountain pen between his fingers. He rarely spoke—just issued the occasional syllable, directing the meeting forward with nothing but his quiet, commanding gaze.

Qiao Jin entered from outside the camera’s view, making his way to one side of the large, imposing desk. He had just showered—his damp hair still clung to the nape of his neck, his entire body carrying the scent of moisture.

Maybe the overhead light wasn’t warm enough, because under it, his already cool expression looked even colder than during the day—his features distant and sharp.

Lu Pingzhang noticed the faint trail of water running along Qiao Jin’s jawline.

The calendar on the desk read: November.

“You showered in cold water?” Lu Pingzhang reached out to touch the side of his neck. “Are you cold?”

On the other end of the call, the assistant paused, then quickly pretended not to hear, wrapping up the report in a few curt sentences.

One by one, the people on-screen quietly exited the meeting. Soon only Zheng, the Organizational Manager from a branch office, remained.

“Brother Lu Pingzhang,” Zheng Rongguang hesitated, “about Qiao Jin… what do you think?”

“I’ll talk to him later,” Lu Pingzhang replied.

The phrase “later” was dangerously vague—especially at this hour. Zheng Rongguang let out a dry laugh and didn’t leave the meeting.

Lu Pingzhang gestured at Qiao Jin to come sit, then addressed Zheng: “Or, you could tell him yourself.”

Qiao Jin didn’t move. He stood silently at Lu Pingzhang’s side, lips pressed together.

Zheng Rongguang didn’t dare overthink it. He laughed again, nervously: “I wouldn’t dare. He’d shut me down with just two looks. Brother Lu Pingzhang, I’ll log off then?”

Lu Pingzhang’s eyes lowered ever so slightly. Zheng Rongguang took the hint and quickly left the call.

The study fell into complete silence. Qiao Jin circled behind him and started to massage Lu Pingzhang’s temples.

Lu Pingzhang leaned back against the chair, still holding the pen. A small stack of documents needing his signature sat beneath his hand.

“You heard what Old Zheng Rongguang said about you?”

Qiao Jin didn’t answer immediately—he stayed focused on the massage.

Lu Pingzhang closed his eyes slightly.
“There were four interviewees for Legal today. Three with graduate degrees, two with experience on major projects.”
He leaned back in his chair, head tilted up in a relaxed pose.
“So what made you pass over all of them… and pick the last one? A rookie with nothing to show?”

Qiao Jin parted his lips but didn’t answer. Instead, he asked,
“Are we talking business or personal?”

Lu Pingzhang caught his hand and pulled him closer.

The room’s bright lights cast bold shadows across his sharp features, deepening the contrast in every line of his face. His eyes bore into Qiao Jin’s.

Qiao Jin stood in front of him with his sleeves down, belt of his robe hanging loose at the waist. The neckline had already slipped below his collarbone, revealing a few faint, fresh marks.

Not much different than wearing nothing at all.

Lu Pingzhang let his gaze trail down the pale skin peeking beneath the robe.
“Personal,” he said flatly.

Qiao Jin nodded slightly. “I’m the HR manager. The legal department may have taken my opinion into account.”

“Since when does Legal take cues from HR?”

“Well, they certainly don’t take them from Zheng Rongguang in Organizational,” Qiao Jin snapped back. A frown tugged at his brows, making him look younger and more expressive. “He—”

He cut himself off and looked away. “The rookie might not be great with team dynamics, but he’s meticulous. That counts as a strength.”

His skin still held moisture, damp strands of hair curling slightly over his forehead—like a flower braving the chill of winter wind.

Lu Pingzhang set the pen down and patted his thigh.

Qiao Jin didn’t move.

That was the second time he silently refused.

“Come here,” Lu Pingzhang said, his voice low.

After a brief pause, Qiao Jin finally settled onto his lap.

Lu Pingzhang wrapped an arm around him and took his hands, gently warming the cold fingers.
“Stop showering in cold water during winter,” he said, rubbing his knuckles. “I heard the rookie’s good-looking.”

Qiao Jin didn’t respond. He picked up the pen and started flipping through the documents.
“Mm,” he answered vaguely. “I guess that’s another strength.”

Lu Pingzhang watched him, unreadable.
“Have Legal redo the interviews.”

Qiao Jin froze and looked over at him.

Lu Pingzhang took his hand and signed his name at the bottom of the page.

Qiao Jin glanced at the signature, then back at him. “The offer’s already out. It’s final.”

“Then cut them during probation.” Lu Pingzhang didn’t even blink. “Pay whatever we need to.”

Most of the time, Lu Pingzhang just listened to reports during boardroom meetings and made the critical calls. Contracts under eight figures didn’t need his signature—his manager or secretary could handle it. Hiring decisions? Definitely beneath his radar.

Qiao Jin had no idea what triggered his sudden interest.

“You don’t want to?” Lu Pingzhang asked.

Qiao Jin lowered his gaze and paused. “No.”

“You’re upset.” Lu Pingzhang ignored the half-fallen neckline of his robe and reached up to towel off his hair.
“What do you want?” he asked. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Qiao Jin’s smooth forehead came into view, and for a moment, he looked exactly like his daytime self—composed, untouchable.
But his eyes told a different story entirely.

“Then fire Zheng,” Qiao Jin said flatly. “I’m sick of looking at him.”

Lu Pingzhang ran a hand through his hair, adjusted the robe back over Qiao Jin’s shoulders, letting it settle just at his collarbone again.

“You’ve been working out,” he said, a vague smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep it up.”

Qiao Jin shrugged off the robe entirely and straddled his lap, looping his arms around Lu Pingzhang’s neck.
“Wait, forget it. Don’t fire him.”

Lu Pingzhang steadied him as he leaned in, his voice brushing Qiao Jin’s ear:
“Spend my birthday with me at the end of the month.”

Lu Pingzhang pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

The belt slipped to the floor. Qiao Jin’s breathing grew heavier, barely held back.
“You remember what day it is, right?”

Lu Pingzhang leaned back just enough to take a good look at him.

Qiao Jin nudged him for an answer.

Lu Pingzhang’s hand slid up his thigh and behind his head, commanding every inch of him.
“Of course I do,” he murmured.

—

The alarm rang precisely at 8:30 AM.
Qiao Jin hit it off and lay there for another few moments before forcing himself up.

Two rounds last night had left him completely drained.

The room was empty—Lu Pingzhang had already left.
He had habits Qiao Jin could never quite manage, like waking early no matter how late he went to bed.

Maybe all successful people had one thing in common: they knew what the city looked like at 5 AM.

Qiao Jin missed the morning rush and arrived thirty minutes late.
Zheng Rongguang was by the punch clock, flipping through a newspaper.

Qiao Jin walked past without clocking in, gaze forward and posture indifferent.

“Qiao Jin,” Zheng Rongguang called out, flipping the page. “Late again, huh?”

Qiao Jin didn’t look at him. He adjusted his cuffs and said calmly,
“Traffic.”

“Flexible hours—guess the whole policy was made just for you,” Zheng Rongguang muttered. “You’re the only one who takes it seriously.”

Qiao Jin paused mid-step.
“Sounds like it’s time for a new policy: if you’re not at your desk by a certain time, you’re late.”

“You—”
Zheng Rongguang slapped the newspaper on the desk and barely managed to swallow his irritation.
“What exactly is your relationship with President Lu Pingzhang?”

Qiao Jin turned toward him, a flicker of mischief breaking through his usual calm.

Zheng’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that look for?”

“Director Qiao Jin—”
Zhang from HR rushed over, glanced at their standoff, clearly unfazed, and handed Qiao Jin a folder.
“Last month’s conversion list. Just needs your sign-off if everything checks out.”

Qiao Jin gave the list a cursory glance, didn’t take it, and instead nodded toward Zheng.
“Why not let Old Zheng Rongguang sign it? He’s got his eye on HR like a hawk lately.”

Zheng: “?”

Zhang: “…”

“I’m forty-two this year,” Zheng Rongguang snapped, the nickname jarring in his ears. “Only Lu Pingzhang ever calls me that—and he’s the boss. You calling me ‘Old Zheng’ now?”

Qiao Jin gave him a look—far more nuanced than the blank stare he usually reserved for tedious reports.

Zheng Rongguang couldn’t read it, but his temper was about to boil over.
“Qiao Jin, you—”

“Excuse me,” Qiao Jin said lightly, lifting his phone. He gave a polite smile and gestured, “I’ve got a call.”

Behind him, Zheng Rongguang erupted into a roar while Zhang tried to defuse him with rapid whispers:
“Let it go, let it go. Our Director Qiao Jin—sharp tongue, soft heart…”

The “sharp-tongued, soft-hearted” Qiao Jin walked into his office in good spirits.

The door shut behind him, sealing off all the noise.

There really was a new voice message from Lu Pingzhang on his phone.

Qiao Jin paused before playing it—but the voice wasn’t Lu Pingzhang’s.

It was his secretary:
“Mr. Qiao Jin, President Lu Pingzhang wanted to know if the medicine on the tea table was yours. Are you feeling unwell? Do you need to see a doctor?”

Qiao Jin wasn’t particularly interested, but still typed back a reply:
No need, thank you.

The response came quickly, another short voice note:
“You’re welcome. President Lu Pingzhang asked me to check. Just doing my job.”

Qiao Jin replied:
Tell him thanks for me. 😊

Just then, Zhang knocked and entered the office, setting a stack of documents on his desk for signing.
“Yu Feng’s looking for you,” he added.

Qiao Jin gave him a puzzled look.

“The new guy,” Zhang reminded.

Qiao Jin nodded and motioned for him to take the signed paperwork.

Yu Feng stood timidly near the door, clearly nervous.
Now that someone had pointed it out, Qiao Jin noticed—he was indeed good-looking. Clear skin, round eyes, and a certain unguarded innocence in his expression.

Qiao Jin didn’t bother glancing at the slightly oversized suit.
“You needed something?”

Yu Feng, full of youthful energy but visibly uneasy under Qiao Jin’s gaze, looked down as he answered,
“I didn’t have time to buy a new suit. I’ll go after work today.”

“The company will issue uniforms,” Qiao Jin said. “Until then, you can just wear your own clothes. That tracksuit from yesterday suits you.”

He had a habit of maintaining eye contact when he spoke, and now his dark gaze held steady on Yu Feng.

It made the younger man even more flustered. He couldn’t meet Qiao Jin’s eyes—even brief contact felt overwhelming.

He stood there stiffly, trying to murmur a thank-you.

Just then, Qiao Jin’s phone rang—its ringtone simple and familiar.

He glanced at the screen, hesitated, then answered. He expected it to be Lu Pingzhang’s secretary, so he didn’t say anything right away.

But Lu Pingzhang’s voice came through directly:
“You’re sick?”

Qiao Jin instinctively held his breath and pulled the phone away for a second, staring at the screen where Lu Pingzhang’s name was clearly displayed.

Lu Pingzhang asked again, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Only then did Qiao Jin seem convinced it was really him. He exhaled and replied slowly,
“Just a little cold.”

“You’ve got a cold and still took a cold shower?” Lu Pingzhang said, tone bordering between exasperated and amused.

Qiao Jin didn’t realize his voice had grown noticeably more cautious.

He was dressed sharply, his tailored suit crisp and impeccable.
A watch peeked out subtly from beneath his cuff—luxury, but discreet, reflecting a flash of white only at certain angles.

Just like the man himself: polished from head to toe, from the slant of his eyes to the curve of his fingertips.
Everything about him said: in control. Smooth. Unshakable.