Chapter 2 — Playing Poor with the Heiress

The notification on the screen was crystal clear: Your account ending in 888 has just been charged 43,000 yuan. It was my father using the secondary card linked to my primary account. I quickly flipped the phone facedown on the table. It was too fast—the movement had been too swift, but Li Xiang had already seen it.

Who messaged you? A girlfriend?

Not quite.

Then why are you so tense?

He reached out, trying to flip the phone over. I slapped my hand down to secure it. Don't meddle.

The more you act like this, the more curious I get.

Li Xiang, let me tell you...

Just let me see it!

His hand moved like an octopus, sneaking around from the other side when I was distracted, and he snatched the phone away. My heart skipped a beat. Li Xiang glanced at the screen, then looked up, his expression deeply complicated.

Chen Yu.

Yes?

Are you in debt to the Merchants Bank for forty-three thousand?

My brain shifted into high gear, processing in under a third of a second.

That is right.

Credit card overdraft?

Exactly. Between the installment loans and the credit card, I am nearly a hundred thousand in the hole.

I kept my face completely neutral. Li Xiang took a sharp breath, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and sheer terror for my situation. Brother... you only make five thousand a month. How on earth are you planning to pay that off?

Little by little, I suppose.

No wonder you eat boxed lunches every single day...

He handed the phone back, patting my shoulder with the heavy, solemn weight of a man comforting someone suffering from a terminal illness.

From now on, I will treat you to lunch at the cafeteria.

That is not necessary...

I insist!

Li Xiang was iron-willed and righteous, his eyes even looking a bit damp. I remained silent for two seconds. Very well. The persona of the debt-ridden employee was now firmly established. However, I had overlooked one detail. Su Nian was sitting directly across from me. Her chopsticks hung suspended in mid-air, gripping a slice of beef tripe as her gaze shifted from Li Xiang’s face to mine. In that look, I read three distinct layers: the first was heartache, the second was self-reproach, and the third was the unmistakable shape of some plan forming in her mind. I didn't think much of it at the time.

That afternoon, when I returned to my desk, I discovered an envelope sitting there. It was white and bore no writing. I opened it to find five red banknotes: twenty-five hundred yuan. Tucked inside was a handwritten note: Manage with this for now. No rush to pay it back. Signed, S.

S. Su Nian. I held the money, my mind buzzing. This girl—she commuted in a Maybach S680, wore a handbag worth two hundred thousand, and drank artisanal Blue Mountain coffee. And yet, she was lending twenty-five hundred to a poor guy supposedly in debt for a hundred thousand. I couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling. Absurd? Hilarious? Or perhaps something else... no, let’s leave it at that. I folded the envelope and tucked it into my drawer. I couldn't accept it, but I couldn't return it to her directly either, as that would be equivalent to telling her that I knew she was putting on a show. The game was becoming increasingly interesting.

After work, I followed my routine and walked to the subway station. I pulled out my phone and sent a WeChat message to my father: Old Chen, did you use my secondary card to spend forty-three thousand today?

He replied instantly: A teapot.

Forty-three thousand for a teapot?

That is cheap.

Can you please stop linking things to this card? I almost got exposed.

What kind of crappy company do you work for if your colleagues are checking your phone?

It is your own company.

Oh. Then just suck it up.

The conversation ended. I stared at his profile picture—a cartoon Shiba Inu—and quietly closed the chat. My own father.

On the subway, I leaned against the door, closing my eyes to feign rest. My mind kept returning to the same question: Who is Su Nian, really? Was her arrival at the Shen Hui Group a coincidence or was there an ulterior motive? If she had also been kicked out by her family to gain some life experience, then what did her family actually do? The Shanghai license plate with five matching numbers—there weren't many people in the elite circles of Shanghai who could possess such a thing. I scanned the list in my head. The Su family? No, that didn't sound right; there were no prominent Su families at the top of the business world in Shanghai. Were they from out of town? I couldn't figure it out, so I set it aside. In any case, she hadn't realized who I was yet. The two of us, both pretending to be destitute, sat in the same office, pitying one another. That alone was enough to be made into a comedy.

By Monday, I had stuffed the envelope back into Su Nian’s drawer while she was in the breakroom. I tucked a sticky note inside: Thank you, I’ve managed to get by recently, I won on a scratch-off ticket over the weekend. The logic was flawless. Declining without causing her to lose face, while providing a mundane explanation. A low-wage worker relying on a scratch-off ticket to recover his finances—how perfectly reasonable. When Su Nian returned, she opened the drawer and glanced inside, saying nothing. However, I noticed the corners of her mouth twitching downward—not in disappointment, but with the frustration of a plan thwarted. Interesting. This girl was quite competitive.

At ten-thirty, Wang De Fa stuck his round head out of his office. Chen Yu! Get in here! I stood up, and Li Xiang flashed me a thumbs-up from behind, mouthing the words, Stay strong. I pushed the door open to find Wang De Fa sitting in his leather chair, legs crossed.

The proposal—how many versions have you done?

Three versions.

None of them are any good.

He hadn't even looked at them.