Before today, Jian Yuheng would have never believed the saying, “Life is a wilderness.”
Now he believed it—anything was possible. He was completely trapped in a loop, like a twisted video on repeat.
Jian Yuheng, already experienced and resigned, just sat still: “:)……:)”
Meanwhile, Song Ruocheng let out two more “Oww!”s as the glass shattered on the floor.
Finally, Jian Yuheng waited a few seconds and was “released.”
The door handle was within reach. The moment he opened it, he glanced back: Song Secretary was squatting on the floor, inspecting the broken glass.
“Don’t touch those shards,” Jian Yuheng called out.
“You don’t understand,” Song Ruocheng said flatly. “I’m good at finding sugar among glass shards.”
Jian Yuheng: “……”
The white long-furred rabbit ears drooped over his shoulders. Song Ruocheng reached toward the sparkling shards—snap!—one hand grabbed Jian Yuheng’s wrist, yanking him down to pull the omega up from the floor.
The omega’s palms were pink from the heat.
“Song Secretary,” Jian Yuheng said coldly, “go wash up, or I’ll deduct your entire monthly performance bonus.”
Song Ruocheng lazily lifted his eyelids; his usually bright, star-like eyes were hazy from the alcohol.
He pushed Jian Yuheng aside, washed up, and flopped onto the bed with a thump.
[Urgent Mission·Take Care of a Drunk Omega (1/1)]
Who said CEOs’ secretaries were good at drinking? No one would dare make Song Secretary drink again.
Jian Yuheng walked past the scattered shards, silently shook his head for a moment, grabbed a broom and dustpan from the corner, and cleaned them up.
His phone vibrated. A message from Assistant Gong popped up:
[Assistant Gong]: Hahaha, look at this, [pushed novel·I’m a Janitor in a Cheesy Transmigration Novel].
Jian Yuheng: “……?”
[Assistant Gong] retracted the message.
[Assistant Gong]: Second Young Master, has Song Secretary settled in? It’s getting late; you have an appointment tomorrow morning.
Jian Yuheng didn’t reply. He closed the door, shutting the vineyard behind him, and went downstairs to his car.
“Second Young Master?” Gong asked. “You got out of Song Secretary’s lair safely?”
“Not exactly,” Jian Yuheng replied.
Gong: “?”
“Drive,” Jian Yuheng urged.
Gong, a beta insensitive to pheromones, now felt as if he had rolled through a sea of grapes—the scent clinging to him.
Who had caused this? He wasn’t entirely sure.
Judging from the earlier incident, both he and Song Secretary had been caught in the loop.
Four repetitions: Song Ruocheng had been scalded by hot water four times—never once did he act differently.
Perhaps the wrong person was caught; Song Secretary was more wronged than Dou E.
Still—
Refusing to drink but forcing a toast anyway, the secretary was stubborn.
Instantly, Jian Yuheng recalled Song Ruocheng’s hand, reddened from the scald. The soft, delicate handbones seemed almost breakable in his grasp.
Just a brief burn, and it turned that red.
Was Song Secretary planning to resist him like this forever?
Just as he pondered, his phone on the car seat rang.
“Hello, Ge?” he answered. “What’s up?”
“This year’s annual meeting—you’ll give a speech,” Jian Feng said. “A good chance for all employees to meet you.”
“No problem,” Jian Yuheng said.
A speech—small scene, manageable.
“Oh, right,” Jian Feng continued. “This weekend, Second Son of the Chen family wants to go skydiving. I remember you liked it before—going?”
“No,” Jian Yuheng refused decisively. “I’m a homebody.”
Jian Feng: “……?”
[Zzzzz]
[z……?]
[Song Ruocheng, wake up.]
[Damn, d-d-d-d…]
“Wh-what are you doing… Shennong tasting herbs?” Song Ruocheng, lying in bed, opened his eyes.
[Checking rewind wallet balance. Current balance: 0 seconds.]
“Really gone?” Song Ruocheng’s unfocused eyes sharpened instantly. “Ah???”
He cracked up.
Where’s my money?
[I’m checking. System shows recipient: you; executor: me; time: last night, 21:03. You rewound four times.]
“I must be experiencing some major moment in my life,” Song Ruocheng said firmly.
After pacing through the apartment, looking at the broken glass in the trash and his reddened hand, both sank into silence.
[Too extravagant.]
System commented.
“Mm…” Song Ruocheng nodded. “Jiujiu cannot stay calm.”
“Then I’ll behave from now on,” Song Jiujiu said. “No more rewind coins left.”
[You don’t have to behave. Rewind coins are purchasable. Want some?]
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Song Ruocheng perked up. “Give me a pound.”
[Time is priceless. 1,000 Song Secretary salary = 1 second of rewind coins. Exchange?]
“No,” Song Ruocheng said. “Nothing I, Song Ruocheng, can’t handle with dignity.”
He yawned and sleepily went to the kitchen to make some fruit cereal.
[If you’re drunk, I’ll be drunk too. Remember what happened last night?]
Song Ruocheng tried to recall—only remembered in the private dining room, Jian Yuheng had grabbed his cheeks, scolding him fiercely.
Everything else was a blur.
Presumably, under some kind of guardian state, he had cleverly overcome the villain and safely returned home.
Still, he decided never to drink outside again.
“Chief Secretary,” Song Ruocheng asked, “any schedule coming up for me?”
[……?]
[Tomorrow, Xiaoshi Group has an international meeting. You’re required to attend.]
“Accompanying, huh?” Song Ruocheng said. “I like getting paid while standing.”
But first, he needed to find Yan Ci and have him transfer some rewind coins.
[Remember to bring the little gift you bought for Yan Ci.]
“Oh, right,” Song Ruocheng replied.
Being a well-liked protagonist, he often gave out small treats. Since Yan Ci’s birthday was coming up, Song Ruocheng had bought a pretty paper-cut night lamp a few days ago as a gift.
“Chief,” Song Ruocheng asked, “where’s my lamp?”
He went to the living room and found the paper lamp sitting by the sofa.
Wait—a sheet?
“Did someone press it down?” he asked. “Why did it turn flat?”
[…]
In the afternoon, following the original story, Song Ruocheng went to the hospital to find Yan Ci.
Yan Ci’s grandmother, who treated him well in the story, was sick and lying in bed. The protagonist sat by the bedside, holding her hand with tearful eyes.
“Madam,” Song Ruocheng said, pushing the door open with a fruit basket. “The ward service has been upgraded, and the medical fees are recorded on Mr. Jian’s account. Contact me if anything comes up.”
“Alright,” Yan Ci said. “Song Secretary, I thought he wouldn’t care about me.”
“How did you tell him?” Song Ruocheng asked.
Yan Ci handed over a chat log:
[Yan Ci]: 0.0
[Jian Feng]: Exhausted, another day at work.
“He didn’t even notice the little tear emoji I added,” Yan Ci said. “I thought he didn’t love me anymore.”
Song Ruocheng: “……”
Yeah, sensitive insecurity meets someone who’s oblivious.
Bang! The hospital door was kicked open, and Yan Ci’s alpha brother strode in.
“Oh, grandma’s sick, huh?” the alpha said, reaching for the fruit basket. “Enough for the medical fees? Let Xiao Ci contribute more—if it’s not enough, I…”
Song Ruocheng lifted his eyes, searching for a reason to call hospital security.
Yan Ci bent over, clutching his chest. “You actually hit me…”
The alpha glanced at his hand, confused.
“Security, over here.” Song Ruocheng pressed the button. “Alpha abusing an omega.”
The hospital security rushed in, escorting out Yan Ci’s bewildered brother.
“Am I amazing, Chief Secretary?” Yan Ci asked.
“Yes,” Song Ruocheng replied.
Thanks to this, Yan Ci’s rewind wallet was replenished. Thirty seconds—modest, but enough to get him through the international meeting.
The next morning, in the first-floor conference hall of Xiaoshi Group, elites from home and abroad gathered for the international meeting.
Amidst these elites, Song Ruocheng, wearing a crisp white shirt and tie, weaved through the attendees.
“Second Young Master, your water.” He stopped by Jian Yuheng, bowed slightly, and placed a bottle in front of him. “Please, enjoy.”
The cool, beautiful omega secretary quickly drew attention.
“Mr. Jian?” Song Ruocheng tapped the earpiece by his right ear. “Please speak.”
“Song Secretary, just sit next to Jian Yuheng. No need to come forward,” Jian Feng instructed. “I brought a translator from Xiaoshi Group—he just returned and has no assistant. Help translate, but he shouldn’t need…”
“Understood, Mr. Jian,” Song Ruocheng said.
He pulled out a chair and sat beside Jian Yuheng.
Since being trapped at Song Secretary’s apartment, Jian Yuheng hadn’t encountered anything strange for two days.
He tilted his gaze, studying Song Secretary’s profile. The omega was reviewing meeting notes, eyes cold.
So… was it you? Jian Yuheng thought.
The past two days had been too peaceful—so peaceful it made him uncomfortable.
Maybe a little chaos was needed to confirm things.
“This international meeting is in English, according to the original story, right?” Song Ruocheng checked with the system. “If so, a college student should manage.”
[Yes.]
“I just passed Level 4 English, so I’ll do my best for Second Young Master,” Song Ruocheng thought.
Minutes later, a foreign boss approached, stopping in front of Jian Yuheng.
“Good morning*……%￥%￥%.”
Song Ruocheng: “?”
What was that? So fast?
Morning greetings, then… profit, proposals, cycles… something.
“Song Secretary,” Jian Yuheng said with a faint smile, “translate.”
Song Ruocheng: “……”
Damn, still testing listening comprehension at work.
Ding-dang. Jian Yuheng’s gaze flickered.
“Chief, can we replay at 0.5x speed? Does that exist?” Song Ruocheng asked.
[Daring thought.]
[Yes, within the capabilities of your wallet.]
[But you’ll be in slow motion too—can you handle that?]
“I don’t mind,” Song Ruocheng thought. “Just for listening.”
Time rewound ten seconds. The foreigner’s speech slowed: “g-o-o-d…”
“Mm—mm—” Song Ruocheng listened leisurely.
“Song—Secre—tary—” Jian Yuheng, hearing it in 0.5x speed, mentally gritted less, thought: “It’s—you?”