Master of Microexpressions

When the elevator broke down for three minutes, Wang Fugui saw through his boss Jiang Lai’s three secrets.

She wasn’t afraid of heights, she had panic disorder. She wasn’t against marriage, she was afraid to get married. She wasn’t a tough businesswoman, just an ordinary person who had wrapped herself up like a hedgehog.

Jiang Lai grabbed him and made a beeline for the civil affairs bureau. “One-year contract, and I’ll pay the down payment on a house.”

Wang Fugui, the lowliest staffer in the marketing department and the man with the most old-fashioned name in the company, signed. Not for the money, but to pay off his mortgage.

From then on, he exposed rivals’ lies at business dinners, put relatives in their place at family gatherings, and even managed a masterful cover-up when paparazzi caught Jiang Lai chasing after her idol.

Jiang Lai thought she was using him, until one day she discovered that the locked drawer under her desk was full of notes Wang Fugui had jotted down on a whim.

Every one of them asked her: Are you okay?