Chapter 104 – An Unexpected Message

Time seemed to be locked away inside an exquisitely carved brocade box, its passage utterly imperceptible.

Yishu watched Tang Chao finish his porridge, then reached out to touch his forehead, checking his temperature as she had that morning. It was much the same. Judging by the vigor in his movements, she guessed his illness was nothing serious.

When she touched his forehead, the distance between them was only a few centimeters—close enough to observe the subtlest expressions on his face, even the tiniest pores were laid bare.

Tang Chao’s breath quickened, though he tried to maintain composure. He dared not look directly into Yishu’s eyes, for they were like an X-ray machine, revealing a person’s depths with startling clarity.

Yishu’s heart fluttered, sensing the breath he sent her way. She swiftly adjusted her posture.

“I’m leaving. Get some rest,” Yishu said, taking the bowl from him.

At nineteen years old, his constitution was naturally better than most; a common cold would hardly leave him bedridden.

“If you leave, how can I rest well?” Tang Chao didn’t want her to go.

Yishu glanced at him sideways. “Are you asking me to watch you sleep?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he replied, a shimmer of light dancing around him as he grinned. “If you’re willing, you could sleep here too. The bed’s wide enough for two.”

“Tang Chao, I hope you—”

A surge of irritation rose from deep within her, but just as she was about to vent it, her phone vibrated in her pocket, altering her intention. She fished it out and saw a text from Guo Yamei.

—Are you not coming to work today?

Yishu glanced at the time in the upper corner of her phone: 10:30.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and hurried out, ignoring Tang Chao’s anxious call, “What’s wrong?”

She rushed to the door, composed herself, then returned, “I have to go to work. If you really feel unwell, go to the hospital.” After a moment, she bit her lip and added, “You can reach out to me, too.”

Hearing those final words warmed Tang Chao’s heart; even a severe flu wouldn’t matter now, let alone a mere cold. As long as it wasn’t incurable, nothing else was truly worrying.

Seeing Yishu’s urgent state, he offered, “Should I take you?” Hearing her shoes at the doorway, he scrambled from his bed and called, “Be careful on the road!”

Yishu dashed upstairs, tossed the bowl into the sink, grabbed a thick tweed coat from her bedroom, snatched the shoulder bag hanging from the wall, and ran out the door.

She burst from the apartment complex just as a bus waited at the intersection for the light to change. Clutching her bag, she sprinted to the stop.

Her stomach empty, and after a marathon dash, it felt as though someone had scraped it clean with a ladle.

The bus was nearly deserted at this hour. Exhausted, Yishu sank into a seat by the window, leaning against the frame. Having rushed out, she hadn’t had time to think, but now, as she sat, she couldn’t help but ponder Guo Yamei’s message.

Why had Guo Yamei kindly reminded her about being late, rather than immediately reporting it to Liu Hanzhang? It was baffling. With her usual style, wouldn’t she seize this rare opportunity and make a fuss?

Could last night’s shared ride have so easily shifted the tension between them?

There was no time for deep analysis—the Textile City stop was approaching.

A mountain of vehicles and hurried merchants—these were the most direct impressions of Textile City.

Guo Yamei was slumped over her desk, listlessly replying to online customer inquiries. Seeing Yishu enter, she straightened and said, “You’re finally here; I thought you might not come at all.”

It was no illusion: her attitude and tone had changed, still stiff, but at least not unpleasant.

Yishu was surprised and uneasy. Was Guo Yamei plotting some grand betrayal? Such scenes were endless in dramas. If art imitates life, then perhaps they themselves were the raw material for literature.

“I...” Yishu couldn’t think of an excuse, nor did she want to reveal her dealings with Tang Chao.

“Did you oversleep?” Guo Yamei actually smiled, if only for a second. “I overslept too—was late by more than ten minutes.”

Seeing her openness, Yishu smiled back and nodded gently.

She walked to her desk, turned on her computer, logged in, and began her day’s work.

Several problematic customers from the early hours had been pestering them since eight o’clock. When they placed their orders, it was already November twelfth—past the big sale—so prices had reverted. But these bargain hunters wouldn’t let go, presenting all sorts of reasons:

—I work over ten hours a day, get off at eleven-thirty. I rushed home, but missed it by a few minutes. Can’t you make an exception?

—I’ve always loved your curtains; there are so many similar shops online, but I chose yours. Out of sincerity, could you sell me a set at the promotional price? I’ll advertise for you for free.

—It’s just a few minutes late. Would you rather not sell at all than offer a discount? Making less is better than nothing, right? Aren’t you businesspeople? Don’t you understand this logic?

...

These self-important customers flooded in just after midnight, right as the computers were being shut down. Every year at the end of the big sale, such situations were common: some blamed the internet, some a power outage, some claimed they hadn’t watched the time. They hoped the customer service staff would plead their case and offer the promotional price.

But the company had strict rules: once the deadline passed, all curtain prices reverted, and any request for the discount was refused.

The sale prices barely offered any profit, solely meant to boost sales during the online event. Only with impressive shop results would the website allocate more traffic, and with traffic came better customers.

Since there was no real benefit, why exhaust oneself for such meager gains? Worse yet, picky customers might return the curtains, making the effort entirely pointless.

Dealing with difficult customers was a test of endurance; experienced staff relied on tried-and-true responses:

—We’re truly sorry, but company policy prohibits discounted sales after the deadline.

—If I could, I’d gladly fulfill your request, but as a customer service representative, I must follow company rules. I hope you understand our situation.

—Thank you for your appreciation of our products. I apologize that the price may not meet your expectations, but we will ensure the highest quality and after-sales service.

...

These formulaic replies often felt inadequate, for customers simply wanted a deal. If their demands weren’t met, no amount of eloquence could change their minds.

In her years at Kaiseng, Yishu had seen colleagues lose patience with endless demands, resort to shouting, and ultimately grant every wish to avoid a complaint—only to be dismissed, never to be rehired.

Yishu, however, had grown accustomed to it. With years of internet experience and quick wit, she handled such situations with ease.

Eventually, the customers either left disappointed or quietly paid.

By the time she finished dealing with them, it was past noon. Guo Yamei and her father emerged from the communal dining area after lunch. Yishu touched her stomach—she’d been so hungry that the feeling had faded.

She breathed a sigh of relief; fortunately, Liu Hanzhang was taking a day off, or she’d have faced scolding and a deduction for being late.

Among those fighting at the front lines, some received comfort, while others had to keep battling. Until the moment they collapsed, they had to persevere.