AADWFL Chapter 43

A few minutes later, the call ended. The outline of the situation was mostly clear—just as expected.

From the HR entry files An Ning had asked Zhou Yehua to fetch, it turned out that the person in question really was a relative of Yu Qi’s maternal family, hired only recently.

Yu Xiuming asked a few follow-up questions, had Jing Yan send the full dossier to his email, thanked him, and hung up.

“Prepared in advance,” Yu Xiuming said. “When they planted this person, they couldn’t have predicted Gao Ling’s incident—but clearly, they seized the opportunity when it came. This one’s tricky.”

An Ning watched the frown furrowing Yu Xiuming’s brow and felt a painful tightness in his own chest.

“Go home and rest for now,” Yu Xiuming sighed. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow. For the moment, there’s nothing else to be done. This can blow up or quiet down—it’s not hopeless yet.”

“Okay.”

An Ning gathered up their late-night snack trash, dropped it in the hallway bin, and returned to his apartment upstairs.

As soon as he stepped through the door, a strong, heady floral scent enveloped him. He froze, and it took him a few moments to remember—

Roses. A huge bouquet of roses.

He’d ordered them just the day before. They were still in full bloom, lush and perfect.

But smelling them now, he just felt… deflated.

He changed shoes, went inside, glanced at the bouquet sitting exactly where he’d left it that morning, untouched—and turned away. Avoiding it entirely, he headed straight for the bedroom, showered, changed, and dove under the covers, curling up like an ostrich.

After an entire day of mental strain and emotional exhaustion, he was spent. Sleep came quickly, but it was far from peaceful.

He tossed and turned, drifting in and out of a series of disjointed, oppressive dreams.

When he finally woke up, he felt utterly drained.

He couldn’t remember the dreams—only that they’d been suffocating, leaving him with a heavy mood. Even the simple act of getting out of bed took him ages.

He thought he must’ve missed his alarm and bolted upright in panic—only to find it was 5:40. The alarm wouldn’t ring for another twenty minutes.

He’d woken up on his own.

Seeing that it wasn’t late, he relaxed slightly.

But his head buzzed faintly; beyond glancing at the time, he could hardly think straight. He moved on autopilot, half-dressed before realizing—it was still early.

He had time to linger.

The air had that early-winter laziness; even in a heated room, one longed to stay buried in warmth. Following that instinct, An Ning slid back into bed and absently picked up his phone from the nightstand.

Overnight, several WeChat group chats had updated—but nothing tagged him directly, which was a relief. He skimmed through the “99+” notifications, then, with faint anxiety, refreshed his social feed.

The new headline that popped up made his blood run cold.

[Decoding the XX Group’s “Mr. An” Executive — Some people climb too high on too little merit. Karma always comes around.]

The media outlet’s avatar was familiar—it was one of those contacted by the company’s PR department yesterday and supposedly forced to delete their previous report.

And yet, barely a night later, not only had they resurfaced, but they’d used the quiet hours to drop an even juicier, more damaging piece.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but An Ning’s eyes stung badly. Dazed, trembling slightly, he tapped the article open.

It loaded quickly—published three hours ago, with moderate views so far. The real problem, though, was that after yesterday’s initial buzz, enough people already knew how to “decode” the hints. Releasing this now would only add fuel to the fire.

And they’d picked a brutal timing—when most people were still asleep and PR teams couldn’t react.

From the title alone, it was clear: the story had shifted away from the “employee death incident” and toward what the public truly loved—corporate scandals, power abuse, and moral downfall.

His rational mind told him to stop reading.

But the screen blurred; his vision dimmed. He closed his eyes briefly, but it didn’t help. With a sort of grim surrender, he kept reading.

He skimmed at a glance.

The writer was skilled—knew how to court attention. No outright lies, just a chain of insinuations: how An Ning joined the group, rose rapidly, and “earned the president’s extraordinary favor.” The tone implied something unspoken: could there be more behind this young man’s meteoric rise?

Then it detailed how he’d gradually consolidated real power, becoming “a man second only to one,” surpassing senior executives to become the president’s most trusted aide—and, of course, questioned whether “abnormal means” had helped him get there.

The killing blow came next: the writer described how this “Mr. An” and the president were inseparable—eating together, living together—claiming insiders said he even acted as the president’s personal assistant. Then, with deliberate vagueness, they leaned on the public’s associations with that role to paint a suggestive, ambiguous picture.

When An Ning finished reading, he tossed the phone aside, its screen still lit, his face utterly blank.

This world’s values weren’t quite the same as the one he’d come from. Society here was far more accepting of same-sex relationships—even recognizing same-sex marriage legally—but that change was recent, and public opinion hadn’t fully caught up.

And worse, the article’s angle—mixing “abuse of power,” “sleeping one’s way up,” and “improper relations with a superior”—was a perfect recipe for viral outrage. It didn’t just attract attention; it destroyed reputations.

By the end, even the “employee death from overwork” had been reduced to little more than a narrative prop. The rest of the piece was pure speculation and insinuation, wrapping up with moral judgment:

“A man who climbed so high through such means has no right to lead others. It’s a disgrace to the employee who died.”

Words had power.

A string of letters, sharp as knives, seemed to tear the air before him into jagged shards. And those shards—razor-edged and relentless—came flying at him, striking his face, his chest, his heart, until all that remained was pain.

In an instant, emotions like worry, anxiety, and anger surged over him like a tide—then, as if the tide had transformed into a torrential downpour, they crashed down on his head with deafening force.

Soaked through, chilled to the bone, he was wrapped tight in damp, suffocating fear—his whole being condensed into one raw, instinctive knot of dread.

Seeing such an article—half truth, half lies—how would people look at him now?
Would they believe what it said?
Would they think he was just a petty man who climbed the ranks through shady “unspoken rules”?

And in this latest incident—what then?

The news of Gao Ling’s death struck through An Ning’s heart like a blade, leaving it a mangled mess of blood and grief.

Would those who didn’t know the full story, after reading this kind of report, also believe that he was the one who imposed unreasonable, excessive work demands, forcing employees into brutal overtime that ultimately led to tragedy?

Thought after thought piled on top of him, pressing down until he could barely breathe.

An Ning sat on the bed, the world spinning around him.

For once, it wasn’t his alarm or precise body clock that woke Yu Xiuming, but the shrill ring of his phone.

Jing Yan?

He never set his phone to Do Not Disturb at night—because no one would ever dare call him unless it was truly urgent.

He looked at the caller ID, then at the clock glowing in the corner of the screen: 4:48 a.m.
A bad premonition crept up his spine.

And it was confirmed moments later.

He answered, his throat dry and raspy from a night without water.
“Jing Yan?”

“Something’s happened!”

Yu Xiuming immediately snapped awake at the genuine panic and gravity in his friend’s tone.

“What is it?”
His instincts told him that for Jing Yan to call at this hour, it had to be tied to yesterday’s incident.

“The nerve of them! Xiuming, didn’t you have PR warn that outlet? How the hell did the same account manage to post again—and with something even worse this time?”

Yu Xiuming frowned deeply.
“What did they post? Which outlet? When? What’s the content?”

Jing Yan didn’t waste words.
“XX Media. They posted it after you went to sleep. The content—ugh, I’ll just tell you straight to save time. But don’t blow up at me when you hear it.”

Yu Xiuming gave a low hum, his fingers unconsciously clenching the blanket.

If even Jing Yan was hesitant to describe it, how bad could it be?
Could it be that after being criticized by the PR department earlier, the outlet decided to retaliate by dragging him into it?

That shouldn’t be possible.
For one, he didn’t believe they’d dare go that far.
And for another, Jing Yan wouldn’t have warned him this way if it were merely that.

“They’re hinting—both openly and between the lines—that An Ning only rose to power because of an improper relationship with you. That he’s unworthy of his position, and that’s what led to the current disaster.”

Yu Xiuming’s mind went blank in an instant.

An Ning didn’t go to work that morning.

When Yu Xiuming reached him around seven, he had already ordered the article pulled down within a few hours of its posting.

His voice, though calm, carried fatigue. After a brief check-in, he first asked whether An Ning had seen the report. Once An Ning confirmed he had, Yu fell silent for a few seconds before speaking again, his tone gentle.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve already spoken to them—it’s been taken down.”

An Ning froze.

He had been curled up in bed ever since he saw the article, too afraid to even look at his phone again.

He didn’t know how long he’d stayed that way until Yu Xiuming’s call came through.

“Taken down?” His voice carried a fragile, disbelieving sense of relief. “But…”

“Yes,” Yu Xiuming said evenly. “It’s down. The situation’s complicated. I’ll keep negotiating on my end. For now, don’t come in today—just rest at home, alright?”

So An Ning murmured an absent-minded “okay,” and got up in a daze.

Normally, by this hour, he’d be up and ready, sharp and efficient, hurrying to meet Yu Xiuming. But now, with no need to go to work, the sudden slack in his routine left him drifting.

After washing up, he wandered around the living room for a while before opening the fridge—and only then did it hit him. He hadn’t eaten at home in so long that his supplies were nearly gone. He didn’t even know what to have for breakfast.

He could go down to the convenience store to grab something, but he didn’t want to leave the house.

His emotions were still raw and chaotic, and truthfully, he wasn’t even hungry.

Maybe… he just wouldn’t eat.

But then his phone rang, snapping him out of his thoughts.

It was the building manager.

An Ning hadn’t even had time to swipe to answer the call before a message banner appeared at the top of his phone screen—

Yu Xiuming:
[I’m heading to the company now, can’t come see you. I’ve ordered breakfast — not sure if you’ll have an appetite. It’s soy milk and bread; eat a little, at least.]

An Ning froze for a second, then picked up the call from the building manager — just as expected, the food delivery had arrived and needed to be brought up to him.

He really didn’t have much appetite, but the feeling of being remembered by someone — that quiet warmth, like something gently pressed against the heart — made it impossible to refuse.

Two minutes later, the building manager brought the paper bag upstairs. An Ning took it inside and opened it; the soy milk was still steaming, the coconut flakes on the bread fresh and soft.

His long-dormant appetite gave him a little face-saving courtesy — he sat at the dining table and finished the meal quietly.

For the first time, without work to rush to, he sat alone in his apartment on a weekday morning with nothing but silence and his own thoughts.

The air inside his climate-controlled home was perfectly clean — no need to open the windows, no hint of dust or pollution.

After breakfast, with nothing to do, he sat down on the floor mat just inside the balcony door, one knee drawn up, leaning against the glass as he stared at the sky.

There was something in the air — a faint scent that didn’t belong to this space.

He turned his head, a little dazed, and in the flood of sunlight remembered where that scent came from.

It was the bouquet of roses left in the living room.

—

Author’s Note:
When in doubt — feed him.
This time the feeding came just in time, otherwise our baby really wouldn’t have eaten.