Chapter 1 — Playing Poor with the Heiress

My name is Tran Du, I am twenty-five years old, currently living in Shanghai on a salary of five thousand a month. I am not being humble; it really is five thousand. You might not believe it, but under my name are three office towers, two publicly traded companies, and a conglomerate with a market valuation of eighty billion. My father, however, threw me into the lowest ranks of our own company, forcing me to start from the bottom, claiming it was for my own discipline. Five thousand for rent, three thousand for the apartment, leaving me to cover the rest out of pocket. I dare not tell a soul; my colleagues all assume I am just another mundane worker, squeezing onto the subway every day, eating takeout, and wearing cheap clothes ordered from online shopping apps. I actually find it quite satisfying. At the very least, no one asks me for favors, and no one tries to curry my favor. That was until a new colleague arrived. Her name is To Niem. She works in administration and sits diagonally across from me. On her first day, she wore a white shirt with no visible brand, carried a canvas bag, and wore her hair in a messy ponytail. She was remarkably plain, so plain that I took a second look. Then, I caught a glimpse of a logo revealed on the inner lining of her canvas bag. It was a globally limited edition, only twenty pieces in existence. The lunchbox in my hand nearly slipped from my grip. It seemed I was not the only one pretending to be poor in this office.

July in Shanghai is like a portable steamer. In the subway, I was wedged between two burly men; the one on my left had his armpit directed straight at my nose, while the one on the right dug his elbow into my ribs. I took a deep breath. No, that was a mistake—I couldn't breathe. I held it. Three stops later, the surge of the crowd spat me out of the train, my employee ID still hanging around my neck: Than Huy Group, Marketing Department, Tran Du. Than Huy Group. My father’s. To be precise, mine. Yet, in the eyes of my colleagues, I am just a naive fresh graduate renting a cramped room in Pudong, bringing a thermos filled with goji berries to work every day, and ordering takeout that costs less than fifteen yuan. I have been playing this role for eight months; my acting skills are now good enough to land a lead role at a film studio.

"Tran Du!"

The moment I stepped into the office, a hand slapped onto my shoulder. It was Ly Huong, a colleague from my team who sits right next to me. He is a chatterbox, though not a bad person, aside from his annoying habit of leeching meals.

"Brother, treat me to lunch today."

"My salary is five thousand."

"I know, just treat me at the cafeteria, that's fine."

"The cafeteria costs money too."

"Then lend me ten yuan."

"No."

"Five yuan?"

"Get lost."

Ly Huong laughed and steered me toward the elevator. I was used to it. Honestly, I enjoyed this life of counting every cent. Truly. No need to deal with sycophants calling me "Young Master Tran," no need to drink until I develop a gastric hemorrhage at dinner parties, no need to decipher the hidden agendas behind every smiling face. I am just a small employee with a five-thousand-yuan salary, riding the subway, eating takeout, and occasionally being scolded by my superior. Speaking of my superior, Vuong Duc Phat, the head of the marketing department, is over forty with a stomach rounder than his head. This man has three main interests: sucking up to his bosses, stealing credit from subordinates, and bullying the soft-hearted. In his eyes, I am the softest mark of all.

"Tran Du! Where is the presentation I told you to finish yesterday?" As soon as I sat down, before my seat had even warmed, Vuong Duc Phat’s voice drifted over the partition.

"I sent it to your email, Manager Vuong."

"Don't call me Manager Vuong, call me Director."

"Yes, Director Vuong."

"I looked at it. It’s terrible."

He hadn't even opened the email; I saw him playing card games on his computer screen.

"Redo it. Get it to me before you clock out."

"Understood."

I opened the file with no emotion. Not angry. Truly not angry, because with just one phone call, this man would be standing in line at the unemployment office by tomorrow. But I didn't make the call; I was enjoying the process. My father was right—you have to experience being trampled upon to understand how to treat others later. Although, I suspect he simply wanted to watch me struggle. At ten in the morning, while I was staring blankly at the presentation, little Lu from administration brought over a potted plant.

"Move aside, the new hire is coming, let's clear a space for her."

I shifted. Little Lu placed the plant on the desk across from me, muttering, "I heard it's a girl, her resume looks quite impressive."

"In admin?"

"Yeah."

I didn't pay much attention. People came and went in this company all the time. Ten minutes later, the elevator opened. A girl stepped out. White shirt, canvas bag, ponytail. She walked at a steady pace, her expression calm, wearing a standard "new hire smile"—polite but not servile. HR brought her over: "This is To Niem, starting in administration today. Everyone, please take care of her."

"Hello everyone, I am To Niem. I look forward to working with you all."

Her voice was clear and soft. Ly Huong nudged me with his elbow: "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Your eyes are practically falling out of your head."

"Shut up."

I *did* take a second look, but not because she was pretty. It was because when she set her bag down, the flap opened slightly. She closed it quickly, but I had seen it. On the inner lining, there was an embossed gold logo. A custom-ordered Goyard. A globally limited edition, each one worth over two hundred thousand. And she had covered it with a fifty-yuan canvas shell. My pupils constricted. Interesting. I bowed my head to continue editing the presentation, the corner of my mouth twitching upward involuntarily. Miss To Niem, you put more effort into acting poor than I do. During her first week, I observed her for five days. Not in a creepy way—it was a professional habit. My father had trained me since childhood to judge a person’s background, habits, and spending power within three seconds. In the business world, they call it the "art of reading people"; in plain English, it’s just noticing details. To Niem had too many cracks in her armor.

On the first day, at noon, she joined the group order for takeout, choosing a twelve-yuan chicken dish. She opened the box, her chopsticks hovering over the meat twice, before she only ate the white rice.

"Not good?" Little Lu asked.

"A bit spicy, I can't handle spice well."

A normal person would say that. But I noticed the way she looked at that chicken; it wasn't the heat, it was disgust. It was that specific, subtle expression of someone accustomed to gourmet food facing an inferior meal. I knew it well; I felt the same way. The only difference is that I have been acting for eight months, so I can now eat fifteen-yuan takeout without changing my expression. She was a novice.

On the third day, the office air conditioner broke on one side, and the admin section was sweltering. Little Lu was fanning herself with a folder, grumbling, while the makeup on the faces of the other female colleagues was melting off. To Niem sat at her desk, typing away calmly. Not a hair out of place. Her light makeup remained flawless. She didn't even have a bead of sweat. I looked at her for three seconds. Her shirt collar used hidden French buttons, and the fabric was a fine linen-cotton blend—a material with incredible heat dissipation. It looked plain to the naked eye, but it was incredibly cool to wear. A shirt without a logo that achieved this level of comfort was not some street-market find.

On the fifth day, the most crucial moment. After work, Ly Huong and I walked to the company entrance and saw To Niem standing by the road waiting. She was standing at the bus stop, scrolling through her phone. Ly Huong’s big mouth drifted over: "To Niem, want a ride? What subway line are you taking?"

"Oh, I take the bus, the number 11 goes right to my door."

"That's quite far then."

"It's okay, forty minutes."

Ly Huong chatted with her for a moment and left. I didn't. I stood on the opposite side of the street, lighting a cigarette. Three minutes later, a black Maybach S680 glided quietly to the bus stop. To Niem glanced at her phone, swiftly pulled open the rear door, and slipped inside. I memorized the license plate: a Shanghai A plate with five consecutive repeating numbers. Bus? Forty minutes? I snubbed out my cigarette and smiled. Miss To, your acting needs work. At least when I ride the subway, I really ride it.

The following days, things developed in a strange direction. Monday morning, I sat at my desk to find a soy milk and a tea egg waiting for me. A sticky note was attached: "Colleagues should look out for one another, no need to be formal! Signed, To Niem." I froze. Ly Huong leaned over, his eyes lighting up: "Damn, To Niem brought you breakfast?"

"Maybe she brought it for the whole room."

"It’s only on your desk!"

I glanced diagonally across. To Niem was smiling at me, very naturally, as if it were a casual gesture. But I knew better. This was pity. She thought I was poor. Five-thousand-yuan salary, Taobao clothes, takeout, subway rides. She was pitying me. To be honest, the feeling was complicated. Part of me felt warm; another part found it absurd. Someone who owned three office towers was being pitied by a girl who was also faking poverty. Who wrote this script?

By Wednesday, the breakfast had evolved into a sandwich and hot milk. By Friday, it had become hand-drip coffee and a croissant. Hand-drip coffee. Not instant, not convenience store Americano. It was made with a Moka pot, carried in a regular thermos. I took a sip. Jamaican Blue Mountain, medium roast. Not bad. Oh, Miss To, you bring Blue Mountain coffee to a "five-thousand-yuan-a-month poor boy"? Are you afraid I might recognize the taste, or did you forget you were playing a poor person?

"Is it good?" she asked from across the desk.

"Yeah." I kept my face neutral.

"Did you use instant coffee? It tastes quite strong."

The corner of her mouth twitched. It was tiny, but I caught it. That was the look of someone lamenting "wasted resources." Fine, we were even. She could play her sweet, poor girl, and I would continue to play my authentically poor self. Let's see who breaks character first.

The turning point came on the second Friday. That noon, the office gathered for a meal. Vuong Duc Phat was uncharacteristically generous, saying he was celebrating the approval of a project and invited the group to eat hot pot. In reality, it was the client who was treating us, and he was just the messenger. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that To Niem was invited too. The admin and marketing departments shared a table, and over a dozen people were noisily dunking meat into the broth. Ly Huong sat next to me, dropping a piece of marbled beef into my bowl: "It's free food today, eat your heart out."

"I don't need you to tell me."

To Niem sat diagonally across from me. She was still quietly dunking vegetables, chatting occasionally with little Lu, looking well-integrated. I was bowing my head to eat when the phone in my pocket vibrated. I took it out to look; it was a notification from the bank. My black card. A notification of a balance change.