Lin Maisui stabbed at the calculator. Its plastic keys protested sharply in the quiet milk-tea shop.
"President, the venue is eight hundred, supplies are six hundred, and two cases of water are forty-eight. And you're telling me the total budget is thirty-five hundred?" She looked up at Wang Haoran across the table. "Is the remaining two thousand and fifty-two for buying the Monkey King a staff, or diet tea for Pigsy?"
Wang Haoran choked on his reply. He lowered his voice and leaned forward, trying to make them look like conspirators. "Maisui, think bigger. That's a contingency fund. What if it rains on the day? What if the equipment breaks? We're putting on an entrepreneurship pitch event. We can't be stingy. As treasurer, you need a longer view."
"If it rains, we go indoors. If the equipment breaks, we shout." She pushed the calculator across the table, its numbers still lit. "I'm not advancing the money. These accounts don't balance. What do you think I am, a cash machine? Press a button and money comes out?"
In her previous life, in this very lousy milk-tea shop, Wang Haoran had used "think bigger" and "a chance to develop your skills" to talk her into covering the shortfall with her living expenses. The event had flopped, she had never been reimbursed, and the club had branded her incompetent and frozen her out for half a semester. Given another life, if she swallowed that pitch again, she might as well eat herself to death in the cafeteria.
Wang Haoran panicked and reached for the calculator. "If you won't cover it, how do we run the event? You're the treasurer. Who else is supposed to back us up? You always used to—"
"I used to have water on the brain." She snatched the calculator back and stuffed it into her canvas bag. "I keep the accounts. I don't fund them. Find an outside sponsor. That new gym on the next street hands out flyers all day. Ask them for two thousand, give out five hundred trial vouchers, and spend the rest on protein powder. A perfect closed loop."
Wang Haoran opened his mouth but produced nothing. He was used to the old Maisui, who would suffer rather than lose face. A little provocation and she would grit her teeth and pay. Faced with this sudden, utterly unbudgeable penny-pincher, he had no idea how to respond.
At the next table, a young man in glasses apparently couldn't take any more. He picked up his cup and moved seats.
The glass door opened. Its bell rang, and a wave of outdoor heat swept inside.
Lu Chenzhou walked in, wearing a well-made black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He carried a brown document envelope.
Maisui glanced at him. Her stomach dropped.
He had come at this point in her previous life too. Back then, Haoran had pestered him into being a judge. He had arrived while she was flushed with anger over the advance, looked at her, and dismissed her as a mercenary girl. Later, misunderstandings and pride had kept them apart for years.
Today, though, his gaze went straight to her.
Lu Chenzhou really had returned to the past. It had taken him a while to accept being back in his university days. In their previous life he and Maisui had missed too many chances; later, her business had worked her into stomach trouble, and they had drifted apart. This time he meant to change things at the source. Hearing that she would be mistreated at the club today, he had prepared a sponsorship contract from his company. He would hand it over when she was most helpless and smoothly bring her under his protection.
He came to the table, pulled out a chair and sat with an air that discouraged refusal.
Haoran's eyes lit up as though his savior had arrived. "Chenzhou! Perfect timing. We were just talking about sponsors—"
Chenzhou ignored him. He pushed the envelope toward Maisui, his voice low and steady. "Take a look."
Maisui stared at the envelope without touching it.
"What is it?" she asked.
"A sponsorship letter from Spark Technology." He watched her with the composure of someone who had everything under control. "I'll cover the two-thousand shortfall. Another three thousand for your prize fund. One condition: you become the actual person in charge and report directly to me."
Haoran was red with excitement. Even his voice shook. "Three—three thousand? Chenzhou, that's... Maisui, take it! This is Spark Technology!"
She didn't take it. Alarm bells were going off in her head.
In her last life, accepting an outsourced project from his company had meant night after night rewriting proposals. When it succeeded, the whole team got the credit. She got "Thanks for your hard work." Chenzhou had thought she was too concerned with personal gains and losses, and they hadn't spoken for a month.
Now he was doing it again. Buying half her life for three thousand and calling it "reporting directly." A capitalist's abacus certainly rattled.
"Mr. Lu." She pushed the envelope back. "Spark Technology works on large-model algorithms. Why sponsor a campus event for circulating secondhand books? Are you planning to feed old books to an AI so it learns to fabricate financial statements?"
His expression froze for an instant. He had prepared plenty about recognizing her talent and giving her a platform. He had never expected her to challenge the business logic.
"It's a strategic investment." He tapped a finger on the table, trying to steer the conversation back. "We're developing a campus ecosystem. Secondhand books are an entry point."
"A campus ecosystem doesn't need secondhand books. Students don't even read new ones. They live off whatever the teacher marks for finals." She cut him off. "Besides, my accounting exam is next week. I don't have time to run your project. Take the money back and buy your break room a better coffee machine. It'll be a better investment than us. At least a coffee machine won't argue."
Haoran slapped his thigh in desperation. "Maisui! Are you crazy? He's giving you an opportunity! Don't be ungrateful!"
"The opportunity's yours. Want it?" She turned to him. "You run the project and report directly to Mr. Lu. You manage the three thousand. If it goes wrong, you carry it. If it makes money, you take the biggest share."
Haoran shut up immediately. Even his proposal had been copied from the internet. He wouldn't dare report to Chenzhou. He probably couldn't even open the presentation.
Chenzhou frowned. Nothing was going as he had expected. He thought Maisui would be touched and take the opening. Even if she wasn't touched, the pressure from the club would surely make her accept.
"Lin Maisui, do you understand what you're turning down?" His voice deepened with some of the authority he had wielded as a boss in his last life.
"Of course." She nodded, then lifted an enormous black plastic bag from the empty chair beside her. "Since you're so keen to support the campus ecosystem, why not support something practical?"
She set it on the table with a heavy thud.
"What is that?" He stared at the bag marked "Good & Plenty Supermarket," feeling his cool, imposing aura being badly contaminated.
"Unsold club T-shirts." She opened the bag, took out a neatly folded black shirt and spread it out.
Across the front, four fluorescent-green Chinese characters declared: HANDSOMEST IN THE UNIVERSE.
A smaller line underneath read: Wang Haoran Fan Club.
His gaze stayed on the fluorescent letters for three seconds. They felt like a physical assault on his eyes. He was almost certain the green was glowing.
"Twenty-five each at cost, eighty shirts." Maisui spoke at the speed of a professional salesperson. "We were going to sell them as merchandise at the event, but President Wang thought the design was too ahead of its time and might not sell. You just offered another three thousand for prizes. How about buying the lot for two thousand? Give them to your staff for team-building, or use them as rags. Either works. Pay the remaining thousand straight to the president for event expenses. I won't have to run anything or report to you. Money for goods. All settled."
Haoran looked stunned. "Maisui, I designed those myself. You can't just sell them... Besides, they shrink after one wash—"
"Shut up." She glared at him. "Did you design them with a highlighter? At night that color could work as a traffic light. Who would buy it? Shrinking is fine. Don't programmers like tight shirts to show off their muscles?"
He drew his head in and said nothing.
Chenzhou searched her face for a hint of playing hard to get, or trying to provoke him. There was none. She looked sincere, even a little desperate to move stock. As if he wasn't a sponsor at all, just someone helping her clear a warehouse.
"You want me to buy eighty shirts saying HANDSOMEST IN THE UNIVERSE?" He spoke one word at a time, feeling his native language slip away.
"Yes." She held the shirt a little closer. "Feel the fabric. Pure cotton. Absorbent. I've even trimmed the loose threads. Programmers sweat a lot. Wear this while coding and inspiration will pour out. And green is easy on the eyes. After staring at a screen, look at the shirt. Prevents nearsightedness."
He took a deep breath. In his previous life he had negotiated financing worth tens of millions and met plenty of absurd entrepreneurs. Nobody had dared sell him a fluorescent-green fan-club shirt with their own name on it, much less claim it prevented nearsightedness.
"I'm not buying." He leaned back, trying to recover his rhythm. "Lin Maisui, stop fooling around. Sign the contract. It's good for everyone. I'm serious."
"So am I." She packed the shirt back into the bag and sighed. "Do you think throwing money at me will make me weep with gratitude? It won't. Your extra terms say I share liability if the project fails. I saw it on the first page. Three thousand to make me your cheap labor and your scapegoat? I could hear that abacus from the next street."
He stared.
The joint-liability clause was boilerplate added by the company's legal team. He hadn't examined it. He had thought this was routine campus sponsorship, just a formality.
"That's standard legal language. We wouldn't really make you pay..." He tried to explain, his tone already softening.
"So trapping people is standard practice. That's what the legal team's paid for." Maisui stood and shoved the bag into Haoran's arms. "President, take the shirts back. If Mr. Lu won't sponsor us, we'll run it on two thousand. Buy loose bottles of water and borrow the sports field for free. If it can't happen, forget it. I haven't advanced anything anyway."
She grabbed her canvas bag from the table and prepared to leave.
"Wait," Chenzhou said suddenly.
She stopped and looked back.
He stared at the bag, calculating rapidly. If he let her walk away, his first attempt at rescuing her in this new life would be a complete disaster. And the care with which she'd read that contract showed she was capable, nothing like the sweet, naive girl he had imagined.
"I'll buy the shirts," he said.
Haoran jerked his head up and nearly hit his chin on the table. "Really?"
Chenzhou ignored him and looked at Maisui. "Two thousand for all eighty. But there's a condition."
She sat down again, her eyes brightening. "What condition? Let me be clear: I'm not running anything, taking the blame or working overtime. If you want me as a cleaner, that'll cost extra."
"Come to the company this weekend," he said. "Help organize some early project data. Intern's pay: two hundred a day, lunch included. No taking the blame."
She did a quick calculation. Two hundred a day, four hundred for the weekend. Add the two thousand for the shirts: she'd avoided a loss and earned another four hundred without carrying the pitch event's liability. A good deal.
"Done." She whipped out her phone. "Scan or transfer? No checks or bills of exchange."
Seeing how eagerly she displayed her payment code gave him a sudden pang. He had planned a romantic reunion and a domineering act of protection. Somehow it had become secondhand clothing wholesale and recruitment for cheap labor. Not much of a romantic reunion at all.
He took out his phone and scanned.
"WeChat payment received: two thousand yuan." The notification rang loudly through the shop.
Students at nearby tables turned, full of shock and curiosity. One girl even took out her phone, apparently deciding whether to record a short video.
Haoran held the bag of fluorescent shirts and looked between the two of them. Something was wrong, but he couldn't name it. He felt like an unnecessary prop.
"I'll take the shirts." Chenzhou stood and lifted the enormous bag. The "Good & Plenty Supermarket" logo was painfully conspicuous under the lights.
"Safe trip, Mr. Lu." Maisui waved cheerfully. "Remember to clock in at your company at nine this weekend. Don't be late. Late arrivals lose pay. And distribute the shirts to your staff. Don't wear them all yourself. You might get beaten up."
He hesitated. The owner of a company had just been reminded not to be late and warned about fluorescent-green shirts.
He didn't turn around. Carrying the bag of HANDSOMEST IN THE UNIVERSE, he pushed through the door.
The bell rang again.
Maisui sat down, took a long drink of iced lemonade and sighed in satisfaction.
Haoran leaned over and whispered, "Maisui, does he like you? Why did he buy my shirts? Does he have a crush on me?"
She nearly spat out her lemonade. She looked at him as though he were an alien. "Is your head full of paste? He's got too much money and too little sense. He's buying peace and quiet. And stop making these ridiculous designs. Next time I'll list you on the secondhand marketplace: 'Club president, almost new. Makes empty promises. Not a picky eater.'"
He laughed awkwardly, gathered the shirts and slunk off.
Maisui looked at her phone balance, delighted. A second life felt wonderful. No empty promises to swallow, no blame to carry, and she could use her old domineering boss to clear unsold stock.
She stood and opened the shop door.
The sunlight outside was sharp. Squinting, she saw Chenzhou hadn't gone far. He stood beside a rubbish bin, trying to stuff the enormous bag into it. The bag was too large and stuck at the opening.
He pressed hard, but it wouldn't go in. A passing older woman looked at him sympathetically.
Maisui couldn't help laughing.
He heard her and turned. She stood on the steps, sunlight on her face, laughing without a care.
He sighed, gave up fighting the bin and picked the bag back up.
"See you this weekend," he said from a few meters away, sounding resigned.
"Remember to wear HANDSOMEST IN THE UNIVERSE to work!" she shouted, then headed toward campus.
He stood watching her go, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself.
The process had been ridiculous, but at least she hadn't avoided him this time. And her smile had looked rather lovely.
He carried the bag to the black sedan parked at the corner. Opening the door, he glanced at a fluorescent sleeve poking out. Suddenly the color seemed quite flattering to the complexion.
He got into the car, tossed the bag onto the passenger seat and sent his assistant a message.
"Get a larger coffee machine for the break room this weekend. Also, find out what color trousers makes fluorescent green less conspicuous."
The assistant replied instantly: "Boss, are you attending some strange cosplay convention?"
Chenzhou ignored him and started the car.