Chapter 349: Young Miss
Chapter 349: Young Miss
The cell phone on the nightstand vibrated three times before Li Ruoyu lazily reached out her arm. She grabbed the phone, held it up to her eyes, and glanced at the caller ID. For a brief moment, her weary, slightly pale face flickered with an unusual glimmer of alertness.
"How did you get my cell phone number?" Si Yu answered the call bluntly, skipping any greetings.
"Huh... Then how did you know it was me calling?" Feng Bu Jue hesitated for two seconds before countering.
"It was Xiao Bone... Hmph...", Si Yu sniffled audibly, not bothering to hide the sound of her blowing her nose into a tissue. After wiping her nose, she continued in a thick, congested voice, "She accidentally blurted it out once, and I somehow remembered it by accident. That's why I know it's you right now."
"How careless does she have to be to accidentally spill an eleven-digit number...? And you 'accidentally' remembered it?" Feng Bu Jue chuckled, unable to resist teasing.
After exchanging these utterly undignified lines, both parties understood the truth: Feng Bu Jue had definitely pried the number from Xiao Tan, while Si Yu had long known Feng Bu Jue's number thanks to Bei Ling and had it saved in her phone.
So the real question was—why did Xiao Tan and Bei Ling know everything?
Well, their relationship was obviously close enough that they kept in touch even outside the game. As for exactly how close they'd become... With Singles' Day approaching, maybe it's better not to delve into such a heavy topic.
"Just get to the point", Si Yu ordered in a brusque tone, signaling Feng Bu Jue to change the subject.
Feng Bu Jue naturally chose to humor the girl. Smiling, he said, "I just called to check up on your condition, of course (I care about you)."
"I spiked a high fever last night, and it's already noon today. If anything serious happened, you'd only be able to confirm my cause of death by calling now (I'm perfectly fine)."
"I couldn't help it. I only saw Xiao Tan's message at midnight. That kid was in the scenario at the time, so I had no way to ask for your contact info." Feng Bu Jue replied, "Besides... Even if I had your number, calling a patient at midnight would be inappropriate, right? (I wanted to call you earlier, but I didn't want to disturb your rest.)"
"Oh, I see (you're actually quite thoughtful)." Si Yu responded coldly.
"Mm..." Feng Bu Jue hummed in acknowledgment.
Then, an awkward silence settled between them—a silence that was brief yet palpably uncomfortable. For reference, the content inside the parentheses above represented the unspoken thoughts of these two socially awkward individuals.
"Well... Since you're fine, let's just meet online again once you recover." Feng Bu Jue finally broke the silence.
"Fine." Si Yu answered briefly, then added after a two-second pause, "Thanks for checking in... Goodbye."
"Goodbye." Feng Bu Jue replied.
Almost simultaneously, both ended the call.
"Phew..." Feng Bu Jue exhaled sharply, placing the phone on the coffee table before rising from the sofa to stretch lazily. "What was that awkward atmosphere...? It feels more exhausting than chopping monsters in the scenario."
Just as the call ended, the intercom at the door suddenly buzzed.
"Huh? I didn't order any takeout food." Feng Bu Jue muttered, walking to the door and picking up the receiver. "Who is it?"
A young woman's voice came through: "Hello, I'm here to see Mr. Feng Bu Jue."
That voice was completely unfamiliar to Feng Bu Jue.
"That's me. Who're you?" Feng Bu Jue asked.
"My surname is An. I'm your new editor. There are some work-related matters I'd like to discuss with you." The voice replied.
"New editor?" Feng Bu Jue frowned. "What about Old Chen (his original editor)?"
"May I come up?" The woman interrupted.
"Oh, sorry. Please wait a moment." Feng Bu Jue quickly realized it was impolite to keep someone waiting at the lobby entrance, so he pressed the door unlock button.
Two minutes later, Miss An arrived via elevator.
Feng Bu Jue stood behind the door, peering through the peephole at the corridor. As soon as he saw her, he opened the door without waiting for her to ring the bell.
"Hello, Bu Jue. I'm your new editor, An Yueqin." An Yueqin had already reviewed Feng Bu Jue's file at the magazine editorial office. She knew the person before her was indeed "Bu Jue", so she introduced herself directly.
Feng Bu Jue shook hands with her while subtly sizing up the stranger.
Miss An appeared to be around twenty-five years old—delicate-faced with a pair of black-framed glasses, her long hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. Though her posture seemed slightly frail, her height was over 1.70 meters. Dressed in business attire—a white blouse under a dark-colored suit—the depth of her collar and the length of her skirt were both perfectly modest.
"Hello, hello..." Feng Bu Jue greeted her, holding the door open. As he shut it, he added, "Please come in. Have a seat anywhere, just watch out for the cat."
An Yueqin first glanced around the room's environment before moving to sit on the sofa.
"Would you like something to drink?" Feng Bu Jue asked.
"No need to trouble yourself..." Miss An had intended to say, "No trouble, just water is fine", but only half the sentence came out.
"Great!" Feng Bu Jue actually responded enthusiastically, plopping himself onto the sofa. "By the way, what happened to Old Chen?"
"He resigned." An Yueqin replied.
"Eh? How's that possible? What's the reason?" Feng Bu Jue asked.
"Excessive stress."
"Wait—how could he quit without even letting me know?" Feng Bu Jue continued.
An Yueqin fixed him with a steady gaze. "His stress mainly came from you."
"Huh? What did I do?"
"That's exactly what I'm here to discuss with you today."
Her tone was serious, her demeanor exuding an air of quiet authority. Though her age was similar to Feng Bu Jue's, her aura and pressure felt at least twice as intense as the former editor, Old Chen.
"There's one thing about me I think I should tell you upfront", An Yueqin said. She briefly manipulated her cell phone, opened a search engine, typed something, then turned the screen toward Feng Bu Jue. "As you can see, I'm the granddaughter of the chairman of the Si Rui Group."
Feng Bu Jue naturally recognized the name "Si Rui Group"—as familiar as Microsoft or Nike. In their world, "Si Rui" symbolized a commercial empire. The page before him displayed search results for "Si Rui Group chairman granddaughter."
Feng Bu Jue read the screen with a whistle. "Wow, so it's true. That means I'm... an employee under the magazine editorial office of your Si Rui Group headquarters' subsidiary company, right?" An Yueqin nodded and added, "Not to mention, most of your published works before were released through this 'subsidiary' you mentioned."
"Not to mention", An Yueqin added, "most of your published works before were released through this 'subsidiary' you mentioned."
"Heh... So I've been relying on the Si Rui Group's mountain for my livelihood", Feng Bu Jue laughed. "Should I call you... Young Miss from now on?"
"On the contrary", An Yueqin countered, "I told you my identity directly to prevent any special treatment."
"Mm... Makes sense. Even if you hadn't told me, I'd eventually dig it up myself given my personality. My attitude toward you would definitely change by then", Feng Bu Jue admitted candidly. "Better to lay all cards on the table from the start than pretend otherwise."
“Exactly. So please, treat me as a common editor who just started today,” An Yueqin said.
“I’ll do my best,” Feng Bu Jue replied lazily. In his mind, he wondered: What’s this act all about? Is this some rich conglomerate sending their privileged third-generation heir down to the grassroots for ‘training’?
“Great. Then…” An Yueqin picked up a magazine from her bag and placed it on the coffee table. “Let’s discuss business.”
“Uh… You’re not about to critique my drafts from last month, are you?” Feng Bu Jue asked.
“Of course not.” An Yueqin pointed at the magazine. “I just want to ask—have you ever bought or read our magazine?”
Feng Bu Jue was honest. “Before signing the contract with the magazine editorial office, and when my story first went serial, I bought a few issues. But I haven’t read one in nearly half a year now.”
“Then take a look first,” An Yueqin said. If she’d known Feng Bu Jue’s habits, she never would’ve uttered those words.
Without a word, Feng Bu Jue grabbed the magazine and started flipping through. Though his eyes skimmed the pages rapidly, finishing dozens of pages in minutes was still impossible. An Yueqin couldn’t bring herself to interrupt him—it was her request that had started this.
Before long, twenty minutes passed…
Feng Bu Jue set the magazine down. “I’m done.”
“Really ‘done’?” An Yueqin thought, but her voice remained calm. “What’s your overall impression of the magazine?”
Feng Bu Jue sensed her intent and paused to consider his words. “The paper quality and print are top-notch, the pricing is reasonable, and the content’s fine. But the advertisement pages take up almost half the issue. It feels… shallow.”
“Spot on,” An Yueqin agreed. “I feel the same. Our print sales lag far behind the digital version precisely because the ads make readers feel like they’re paying for a full magazine but only getting half the content.”
“But that’s how print media works these days. Without ads, they couldn’t cover printing costs,” Feng Bu Jue countered.
“That’s why we need reform.” An Yueqin slapped the magazine decisively.
“This is a marketing department issue. Why are we discussing it so intensely?” Feng Bu Jue asked, half-amused.
“The other departments’ occupying a position without justification is their problem. As a company member, if I see an issue, I can’t stand by and do nothing,” An Yueqin interrupted.
“Wow~” Feng Bu Jue smirked. “So what’s your plan?”
“It’s not about wanting to do something,” An Yueqin replied. “This morning, my report was already submitted to the editor-in-chief’s desk.” She paused. “He’s approved it. Starting in May, we’re switching from weekly to biweekly publication.”
“Have you considered…” Feng Bu Jue leaned forward, “what happens if a common employee fresh out of the gate skips the chain of command and dumps a report on the Ceo’s desk?”
An Yueqin knew his jab. Her voice was firm: “The editor-in-chief approved my proposal because it’s valid—not because of my status.” Her tone brimmed with confidence.
“Heh… Miss An,” Feng Bu Jue said, adopting a professor’s lecturing tone, “occupying a position without justification is a relatively obscure idiom. But deceiving oneself and others? That’s something we use daily.”
An Yueqin leaned closer, her expression darkening. “Feng Bu Jue, I’ve read your articles. You’re practically screaming ‘narcissist’ with every line. You must think you’re so brilliant, right?”
“I am brilliant,” Feng Bu Jue said, leaning back on the couch. He quoted calmly:
*“Dance with the moon on the rocks,
Strum the flowers on my knee.
Beyond this pot, my heart’s content—
The world passes, but not for me.”*
He picked up the cold coffee on the table and sipped it like fine wine. “Made it up on the spot. What do you think?”
For a moment, An Yueqin was speechless. No one had ever written her a poem before.
Three seconds later, Feng Bu Jue grinned. “Ha… Don’t bother analyzing it. It’s Li Bai’s Drunken Solitude.”
An Yueqin flushed, her cheeks reddening. “Is it so impressive to quote classics and crack jokes?”
“Nonsense,” Feng Bu Jue said. “These days, what’s truly impressive is coming from a privileged background with powerful connections.” He spread his arms. “You want people to treat you equally? Start by adjusting your own attitude.
“If you really want to be a common editor like Old Chen, focus on your job. Don’t earn a sales rep’s salary while meddling in the chairman’s concerns. That’s usurpation—back then, they’d execute your whole family; now, you’d just get fired.
“And before you throw around terms like occupying a position without justification, think carefully. Even if it’s true, saying it aloud makes you sound like you’re calling the leadership blind and stupid. Do you want to keep working here?”
His tone was infuriatingly arrogant. “One last tip: When you leaned in earlier, I caught a whiff of your expensive perfume. That scent screams, ‘Stay away from me,’ to your colleagues. If you don’t want to become a target of workplace coldness, take my advice—be approachable, dress casually, use cheaper perfume, drive an old car to work. And most importantly… stop filing sneaky reports.”
An Yueqin’s expression shifted through his tirade. The confident aura she’d walked in with had vanished. Now, she resembled an intern absorbing life lessons from a grizzled mentor.
“Finished?” she finally asked, her face a mix of anger and hurt.
“More or less,” Feng Bu Jue smirked. “Don’t blow up—you asked me to treat you like a regular editor. If you’ve changed your mind and want me to fawn over you as a young miss, I’ll happily oblige.”
An Yueqin ignored him and got to business. “Starting in May, the magazine becomes biweekly, with double the page count and fewer advertisements. Therefore, all serial authors, including you, must increase your monthly content by 30% and—” She emphasized each word, “—submit on time!”
Feng Bu Jue swallowed hard, his face paling. To him, those four words were a death sentence.
An Yueqin stood. “Your proofreading is excellent, and your story is popular. Your only flaw is delayed manuscript. Starting this month, you must adhere strictly to the contract’s deadlines.” She walked to the door and reached for the knob.
Feng Bu Jue lunged forward and dropped to his knees with a loud thud. “Young Miss! Let’s negotiate! We can talk this through! I beg you—”
An Yueqin had already stepped out. Seeing Feng Bu Jue’s undignified spectacle, she suddenly felt lighter, almost tempted to laugh. But she kept her composure, delivering a final line: “Prepare June’s draft for my May fifteenth visit. Contact me via email—no changes to the address. And… thank you. Goodbye.” Only then did she leave.
(End of Chapter)
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