Sui Ran laughed on the other end, the sound snapping Qiao Jin out of his daze.
“Take your time, but really think it over. If salary’s the issue, we can keep negotiating.”
Qiao Jin didn’t sound very energetic, so Sui Ran added,
“If you want to bring a few teammates over with you, we’d love to have them too.”
But Qiao Jin couldn’t quite gather his thoughts. The voice in his ear carried a warmth that reminded him of the hand that had checked his forehead and cheek the night before—distracting, pulling him back.
“President Sui,” he said, “you sure you’ve thought this through? At Ruiyi, mass departures are definitely something they’ll investigate.”
Maybe because he hadn’t interacted much with Sui Ran before, he didn’t pick up on the flaws Fu Linxiao had warned him about. On the contrary, he found Sui Ran kind of interesting—casual but considerate, someone who paid attention to how others felt.
Qiao Jin naturally had a soft spot for people like that. His tone softened as well:
“If you’re not afraid of President Lu coming after you, then… sure, it’s not impossible.”
“Never mind,” Sui Ran said quickly. Then, after a short pause, burst out laughing.
“Forget it. I can’t take him. Just having you would already make me happy.”
Qiao Jin reined in his drifting thoughts.
“If you’re really short on people, I can recommend a few.”
After all, he’d been in this role for a few years now—built up a decent network and stockpile of resources. To outsiders, that was often seen as more valuable than the man himself.
“We really are short-staffed,” Sui Ran said ambiguously, offering no further comment. “You just come first—we’ll talk about the rest later.”
Qiao Jin glanced out the window. Sui Ran kept talking,
“Are you free tonight? Want to grab dinner?”
Qiao Jin hesitated. Sui Ran picked up on it and quickly added,
“Tomorrow works too. You can’t just exercise and skip meals—that’s way too harsh.”
Qiao Jin couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh. He didn’t refuse again.
“Let’s invite Linxiao too.”
That afternoon, the interviewees arrived at the office. Qiao Jin tidied up a bit and headed out for the interviews.
When he opened the door to the meeting room, Zheng Rongguang was already sitting in the lead interviewer’s seat.
Qiao Jin didn’t care. He picked a chair nearby and sat down.
Zheng Rongguang glanced at him, then cautiously said,
“You don’t need to be at this interview.”
Qiao Jin paused and looked at him.
“Brother Lu’s orders,” Zheng explained.
Qiao Jin went quiet for a moment, then placed the resume he was holding in front of Zheng, got up, and walked out.
“Come on, you can at least sit in and listen!” Zheng called after him.
But Qiao Jin didn’t even look back. The automatic doors slowly closed behind him.
After the interview ended, Zheng Rongguang returned to his office with the documents—Qiao Jin was already inside waiting.
“Wow,” Zheng said as he walked in, glancing around just to make sure it really was his office. “What a rare guest.”
Qiao Jin smiled and tapped the tea cake he had brought.
“So? Did it go well?”
“Nope,” Zheng replied as he walked over to take a closer look, clearly appreciating the unexpected gift.
He placed the tea down in front of himself, running a hand over the box and saying,
“Really wasn’t trying to stall you. The candidate didn’t meet the criteria.”
“What criteria?”
“Master’s from a top-tier university, over ten years of experience at a major company, under 35, no job-hopping history, and they have to be easy on the eyes.”
Qiao Jin gave him a look—speechless.
Zheng raised his hands in surrender,
“Those were Secretary Yin’s words. Probably handed down from Brother Lu. Nothing I can do.”
This wasn’t hiring. Even a beauty pageant wouldn’t have such picky requirements.
Qiao Jin stood up. Fortunately, he didn’t blow up—he just said, with impressive restraint,
“You’ve got half a month at most. Figure it out.”
“You know,” Zheng tried one more time as Qiao walked off, “you could just take a leave of absence. Any time you request time off, Brother Lu approves it himself!”
Qiao took a few steps, then turned back. He picked up the tea cake from the desk, held it up pointedly, and took it with him.
“So stingy,” Zheng muttered, then pulled out his phone and called Lu Pingzhang. This time, Lu actually answered.
“Brother Lu,” Zheng skipped the small talk. He glanced toward the door to make sure no one was there, then said,
“Qiao Jin didn’t sit in on the interviews this afternoon. He asked about the hiring criteria—I told him the truth. He just left my office a minute ago. Probably back at his desk now.”
“Okay,” Lu Pingzhang responded flatly. “Was he mad?”
“Couldn’t really tell,” Zheng replied, then corrected himself, “Maybe a little. Took back the tea he was going to give me.”
Lu Pingzhang asked,
“You actually wanted it?”
“No, I don’t want that,” Zheng Rongguang quickly said. “It’s just—Qiao Jin said he’s only giving me half a month. Whether or not I find someone to replace him, he’s leaving.”
Lu Pingzhang was silent for a few seconds, then said flatly, “Keep interviewing. When the time comes, send him to me.”
“Okay.” Zheng Rongguang ventured, “Then about my raise…”
“Approved,” Lu Pingzhang replied, his voice low but still audibly irritated. “Just make sure you get your work done.”
Qiao Jin was working overtime again. He often stayed late, but this time, it felt more like a willing choice.
He wanted to have all the files ready ahead of time, so that once the new hire arrived, the handover could happen smoothly.
Yu Feng knocked on his office door and stepped in. Qiao Jin paused his work and, as usual, greeted the younger man with patience. “Something you need?”
“Brother Qiao,” Yu Feng closed the door behind him and walked in a bit closer, summoning his courage. “I heard you’re resigning?”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Qiao Jin replied.
“Why?” Yu Feng looked at him, clearly confused. “Isn’t this a great place?”
For young people, of course it was. Getting a job here right after graduating—decent salary, great environment, good benefits—if they made it through the probation period, it’d look amazing on any résumé.
Qiao Jin just smiled and didn’t answer.
“Take a seat,” he said to Yu Feng.
Once Yu Feng sat down—still a little tense—Qiao Jin poured him a cup of hot water. After a pause, he smiled and asked, “…Can you tell me about Lu Boyang?”
Yu Feng blinked, holding the disposable cup in his hands. Qiao Jin was seated right across from him.
His expression, as always, was calm and composed. His every move exuded control. The skin on his hands was pale and clean.
Yu Feng had always seen Qiao Jin as a role model. Qiao Jin had no idea.
Feeling a bit embarrassed, Yu Feng tried to explain, “Lu Boyang and I had a bit of a special relationship. I mean—I owe him a lot. He helped me. That’s just how I feel, anyway. He never knew.”
Qiao Jin nodded slightly.
Yu Feng thought for a moment and said, “He was really lively. Loved sports and listening to English music.”
He hesitated, and a tinge of guilt crossed his face. “We didn’t know each other long, less than a year, but we got along really well. We used to stay up late watching soccer and movies together. The day before his accident, we had even made plans to grab—”
Yu Feng’s voice faltered. The memory was too far back, the details fuzzy.
“Food,” he said, frowning as he tried to recall, but came up blank and had to move on. “His family’s pretty well-off. He always wore designer clothes, but never acted superior because of it. He laughed a lot—like a little sun.”
Qiao Jin didn’t laugh much. He wasn’t anything like a little sun.
And now, the anxiety was creeping back in.
Yu Feng noticed he kept glancing at the clock across his desk. He stopped talking and asked hesitantly, “What’s wrong, Brother Qiao?”
Qiao Jin was interrupted, and that snapped him out of his unusual state just moments earlier.
He exhaled, annoyed and unsettled, but still pushed forward, asking, “After his accident… did any of you go see him?”
Yu Feng shook his head. “We couldn’t get in touch with his family. We only knew they were from this city, but the teacher wouldn’t tell us anything.”
Qiao Jin could understand. After all, the name Lu Pingzhang was far too recognizable. The less people knew, the better.
Yu Feng added, “After a while, we heard he’d passed away.”
Qiao Jin didn’t react for a long time. Eventually, he forced himself to say, “Thank you.”
His eyes started to sting. Even though Yu Feng was still there, he couldn’t resist reaching into his drawer for eye drops to relieve the discomfort.
Every time he heard anything about Lu Boyang, it felt like a form of torture. And yet he couldn’t help it—he needed to listen, needed to remember.
He felt he had wronged Lu Boyang. Back then, he didn’t know, and the guilt came from ignorance. But now that he did know, the sorrow only grew deeper.
He had failed Lu Boyang—and couldn’t face Lu Pingzhang either.
—
Qiao Jin no longer missed any of the hospital visiting hours. He always arrived early and stayed until the very end.
He occasionally spoke to his mother, but after getting no response time and again, he gradually gave up and became quiet again—just like before.
Counting the past two years, he’d almost never seen her awake.
The nurse gently urged him to take care of himself, told him he didn’t have to come this often. Qiao Jin just explained that work wasn’t busy lately, and he had a lot of free time.
So the nurse stopped pushing. There wasn’t much to talk about anyway—in a hospital, nothing interesting ever really happened.
His phone rang once, but sealed under his sterile gown, he ignored the call. He stayed by her bedside, the ringtone only making his silence seem more profound.
The call eventually stopped. Qiao Jin’s gaze, a little more focused now, returned to his mother’s face.
“It’s my birthday today,” he said with a faint smile, leaning in to gently rest his cheek against the back of her hand. “Thank you, Mom. You’ve worked so hard.”
His mother lay quietly in bed. All her hair had fallen out. She no longer looked like the woman she used to be.
But to Qiao Jin, she was still beautiful. “I’ll bring you a new hat tomorrow. How about brown? That’s your favorite.”
His mother didn’t respond.
But Qiao Jin no longer felt disappointed—he had long accepted this reality.
“Sigh…” He let out a soft breath, eyes blankly staring at the pristine white bedsheets. “No cake this year. No presents either.”
He stared at one spot for a while before finally lowering his head and saying, “I quit my job. I’m free now. I can come see you every day.”
“Please,” he said in a whisper that sounded almost like a child’s plea, nasal and soft, “just hang on a little longer, okay?”
His mother didn’t move. Her fingers were still warm, but the skin was loose and lined with creases. Beneath that, the sharp bones barely held together under a thin layer of skin—her joints looked frighteningly pronounced.
Qiao Jin gently massaged her fingers, helping her move them.
“It’s okay if you can’t hold on,” he murmured. “I’ll love you forever.”
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