Three years into her job in the IBD department of a top investment bank, Lin Siyi felt like she was about to split into two people.
By day, her immediate boss, Shen Huaijing, nicknamed the “Yama of Central,” could rip her and the entire project team to shreds over a one-pixel misalignment in her PowerPoint. Then, just before she left for the day, he would drop a stack of documents as thick as a brick on her desk and demand a new proposal by the next morning.
Colleague A: “President Shen has an aura that reaches three meters. Nothing grows within ten miles of him. He definitely doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
Colleague B: “I heard he’s allergic to women and firmly believes in staying single.”
Colleague C: “You’re all behind the times. I just overheard HR say a headhunter tried to poach him, offering an astronomical salary and beautiful women, but he wasn’t tempted at all! He must have someone special in his heart!”
Whenever she heard this, Lin Siyi, quietly chewing on a cold sandwich at her desk, wanted to flip the table and scream:
The person he can’t forget is me, the poor soul being ruthlessly exploited by a capitalist!
At night, this “Yama” would come home right on time, take off his expensive suit, tie on an apron, and make a four-dish dinner with soup. As he cooked, he would ask her in a wounded voice, “Was I too harsh at work today? That project really is risky. I was afraid you’d get hurt.”
Lin Siyi: “...”
Come on, even Sichuan opera performers can’t change faces as fast as you!
To make matters worse, the company’s most promising young talent began pursuing her fiercely. The gossiping crowd started taking bets on whether she would play out the story of “a low-level employee winning the heart of a rich, handsome man.”
Only Shen Huaijing, when they got home at night, would trap her behind the door and ask, eyes red:
