AADWFL Chapter 19

Business trips were always packed tight. Once they landed, Yu Xiuming would likely head straight to a conference venue. It was a long-standing habit of his to tidy himself up before disembarking—and if he’d slept on the plane, that meant changing into a fresh set of clothes.

“President Yu, would you like to change now?” An Ning asked.

He’d managed to catch a brief nap while Yu Xiuming slept, and though it hadn’t been long, it was enough to clear his mind. Now, recharged, he was back in full assistant mode.

Knowing Yu Xiuming’s schedule and preferences by heart, An Ning had already prepared a set of freshly pressed business attire. Though they technically had time to stop by the hotel after landing, An Ning knew Yu Xiuming would never choose such an inefficient option—he’d go straight to his engagements and rest only after finishing everything that night.

As for his wardrobe—Yu Xiuming’s closet was a museum of designer perfection. He never personally chose anything, of course. Luxury brands came regularly to tailor new suits for him, often sending over the season’s latest collections without being asked.

If a handmade shirt so much as wrinkled after a nap on the plane, Yu Xiuming would probably never wear it again.

“Don’t bother changing, we’ll go straight—” he began, still groggy, then abruptly caught sight of a faint crease on his shirt. His brows knit sharply. “Actually— I’ll change.”

The flight attendant, having reclaimed the blanket, discreetly exited the cabin, leaving only Yu Xiuming and his ever-present assistant in private.

The freshly ironed shirt was smooth and cool to the touch as An Ning handed it over.

Yu Xiuming stood up. The white shirt he wore was faintly creased around the waist, the fabric tucked into a sleek black belt. The dim cabin lighting traced the faint shadows of his lean torso—light and dark shifting like brushstrokes.

He had not an ounce of excess flesh. Unlike many executives in their thirties who carried the beginnings of a paunch, his figure remained taut and disciplined. That body—sharp lines, clean muscle—was almost distractingly perfect.

And An Ning, being a man who liked men, couldn’t help but feel a moment of breathless pause.

He shut his eyes briefly, pained, then forced them open again.

It wasn’t hard to understand now—the original An Ning’s hopeless situation. To harbor a secret crush on one’s boss while following him around every day, constantly faced with such effortless allure—it must’ve been torture.

Yu Xiuming had that kind of body that looked slim in clothes but sculpted underneath, his self-discipline etched into every flex of his abdomen. Even the smallest movement seemed to radiate quiet, physical tension.

An Ning went through the motions—preparing the clothes, organizing the cabin—everything by the book. He knew he was supposed to help Yu Xiuming change. But when the flight attendant finally left and the air itself seemed to still, he realized his pulse had gone haywire.

The lighting was soft, almost dim, and something about the quietness of it all lent the air a strange intimacy.

He was Yu Xiuming’s personal assistant—but this personal? Was he really supposed to help his boss change clothes?

“An Ning.”

He froze for a second.

Yu Xiuming’s movements were fluid and unhurried, as natural as breathing. He held out the light-colored shirt he had just removed, gesturing for An Ning to take it.

An Ning quickly snapped out of his daze, took the shirt, and inwardly berated himself.

What was he thinking? Yu Xiuming wasn’t that kind of boss. And besides—what kind of “casting couch” situation starts with the boss undressing himself?

Yu Xiuming didn’t need help, of course. He simply turned his back, unbuttoned his shirt, and changed with the effortless composure of a man who never thought twice about his own presence.
The lines of his back curved with striking clarity—broad shoulders, narrow waist, smooth and elegant contours.

As An Ning took the shirt from him, his fingertips brushed against his own cheek by accident—only to feel heat radiating there.

Thankfully, he had taken his time; by the time he finally looked up again, Yu Xiuming had already changed into a fresh shirt.

An Ning’s mind went fuzzy all at once—the brief rest he’d taken earlier seemed to have dissolved into nothing. The oxygen in his brain felt sucked away, leaving him struggling to think straight.

“All done,” Yu Xiuming said, glancing down at his watch. “Let’s get ready to disembark.”

He turned his head, his expression calm, his eyes passing over An Ning almost casually.

An Ning’s heart stuttered; his gaze darted away for once, uncharacteristically flustered.

But Yu Xiuming didn’t pursue it further, as if that fleeting near-meeting of eyes had been nothing more than coincidence.

Once the plane stopped, the crew was already prepared to escort them off. A black company car from the Lenzhou branch waited on the tarmac. The local driver, as instructed, got out upon greeting them and left in another vehicle—leaving the driver’s seat open for An Ning.

So, once they got in, only An Ning and Yu Xiuming were left in the car.

The tinted windows dimmed the interior light, though the front windshield still let in enough of the afternoon glow to sweep away whatever strange tension had lingered from the plane. The change in atmosphere helped An Ning relax, letting him slip back into his usual professional composure.

“President Yu, we’ll arrive at the venue in about an hour. Once we get there, there’ll be fifty minutes before the meeting starts.”

He glanced at the navigation, silently striking out the option of stopping by the hotel first. Going straight to the venue would be more efficient—exactly how Yu Xiuming preferred it.

“Alright.”

The drive went smoothly, and they arrived at the Lenzhou branch in just fifty minutes—leaving a full hour before the meeting began.

An Ning worked nonstop to prepare the documents, and after three hours of meetings, dusk had already fallen by the time they wrapped up. He finally drove Yu Xiuming to the hotel for check-in.

They’d been on the move all day—only managing a quick meal before boarding the plane, sleeping through lunch, and now, still running on empty well past dinnertime.

Yu Xiuming, ever composed, decided they’d check in first, then head out again for the welcome dinner organized by the Lenzhou branch.

The dinner was mostly for show, and after sitting through it, both men silently came to the same conclusion: they needed real food afterward.

They weren’t extravagant men, and though the dinner was mostly about formality, they had planned to at least eat their fill while there. But Lenzhou’s cuisine was… another story entirely.

Despite the country’s rapid development, regional flavors still held strong. The Lenzhou team had gone all out, choosing only local specialties to show their hospitality—an effort that, unfortunately, backfired.

Both Yu Xiuming and An Ning were from Binzhou, and their taste buds rebelled at the heavy, unfamiliar flavors.

Being observant people, the local executives quickly noticed that President Yu and Assistant An weren’t eating much. Apologies came from every direction, but after such a long day, neither man had the energy to request new dishes. They picked at their food politely, then called it a night as soon as courtesy allowed.

“Staying in Lenzhou too long really doesn’t suit me,” Yu Xiuming remarked—a rare complaint from someone usually so undemanding, especially about food.

“The difference from Binzhou is huge,” An Ning said with a small laugh, hands resting on the steering wheel. “President Yu, what should we eat now?”

“Let’s just wander around,” Yu Xiuming mused. “We don’t get to come here often. Forget Michelin or fancy places—let’s go to a mall, find a restaurant, and eat whatever looks good.”

A mall. Again.

An Ning couldn’t help remembering the last time Yu Xiuming had suggested going to a mall for dinner. Back then, he’d tried to be clever and picked a Sichuan restaurant, thinking it matched Yu Xiuming’s tastes—only to end up staring in horror at a table covered in bright red chili oil.

Lesson learned. This time, he’d definitely avoid trying to outsmart himself—or his boss.

Luckily, Yu Xiuming was perceptive enough to spare him the dilemma.

“You don’t eat spicy food, and I do,” he said thoughtfully. “Let’s go for hotpot—yuan yang style. Half spicy, half clear broth.”

An Ning agreed it was a good idea, so he drove toward the nearest large shopping mall.

During the earlier welcome banquet, neither of them had eaten much. As Yu Xiuming’s temporary personal driver, An Ning hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in that crowd full of company people. Yu Xiuming, to show courtesy, had sipped a single glass. Now both of them felt hollow inside, and when An Ning thought about hotpot, his appetite stirred.

By the time they reached the mall’s hotpot restaurant, it was already nine in the evening. Most of the first wave of diners had left, so they easily found a semi-private booth.

An Ning scanned the QR code to order: a mandarin-duck pot, a few meat dishes, a few vegetables — all classic, foolproof choices. After making his selections, he handed the phone to Yu Xiuming for review. Yu simply nodded, indicating that An Ning could decide. An Ning submitted the order, and within minutes, steaming pots of broth arrived at their table.

“President Yu, what kind of dipping sauce would you like? I’ll go make you a bowl,” An Ning said. He had been wearing a two-piece suit, but under the haze of steam and spice, he had removed the jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“I’ll go with you,” Yu Xiuming said, standing up without hesitation. “Come on, let’s take a look.”

An Ning was surprised. It wasn’t that Yu Xiuming was helpless or pampered — but An Ning usually took care of every little thing, making sure everything was just right. Yu had never refused his help before. This sudden willingness to get up and do it himself gave An Ning an odd, dreamlike feeling.

“This way, President Yu,” he said, pushing down his confusion and pointing toward the condiment bar.

Yu Xiuming looked calm and natural — not at all like someone who’d never done such a thing before. An Ning had half expected to see the cliché “president in a suit, clumsy at real life” scene out of a novel, but to his surprise, Yu Xiuming was deft and precise, expertly pouring sesame oil over a bowl already lined with sesame paste.

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Author’s Note:
An Ning: Wait—aren’t CEOs in novels supposed to be completely useless at stuff like this?