AADWFL Chapter 7

Lately, Jing Yan had begun to suspect that Yu Xiuming saw him as some sort of confidant or big brother — someone to talk to about his “personal affairs.” Unfortunately, most of those affairs seemed to revolve around his assistant, An Ning.

Jing Yan actually remembered An Ning quite well — which would probably shock the man himself. If An Ning knew that the “background extra” of the story had made such an impression, he’d be floored.

Yu Xiuming gave a succinct account of what had happened that day when Tao Kang came by to see An Ning. He paused twice — once to take the cocktail the waiter brought in, and again when the snacks Jing Yan had ordered were served.

“So that’s how it was,” Yu Xiuming concluded. “ Uncle Kang happened to see it. I thought about it afterward…” He loosened the top button of his shirt and, still feeling hot, rolled his sleeves up to his forearms. “And I decided that the best — and most direct — way to retain an employee who’s considering jumping ship is probably to give them a raise.”

“There’s not much room left for promotion,” he added reasonably, “but there’s no upper limit on salary.”
The more he said it, the more sense it made — at least to himself.

When he finally looked up, Jing Yan was quietly watching him without interruption. Only now did Yu Xiuming feel a faint sense of uncertainty — a rare reversal between the two of them.

How strange, he thought. Since when was I the one fumbling while he looked so sure of himself?

The tables had truly turned.

After a long pause, Yu Xiuming watched as Jing Yan’s thoughtful expression shifted — first to something contemplative, then to a look of faint pity, the kind that carried an inscrutable mix of amusement and concern.

“Yu Xiuming,” Jing Yan said gravely at last, his tone so weighty it made even the unflappable CEO’s heart sink a little.
“If that’s as far as your plan goes… then maybe,” he said slowly, “you shouldn’t be talking about feelings just yet.”

On the other side, however, An Ning didn’t get to clock out and head home as smoothly as he hoped.

Just after sending off Yu Xiuming, he was driving back when he got a call from Zhou Yehua, the assistant from the President’s Office. Something had come up, Zhou said—nothing major, but it required some overtime and a quick report to An Ning.

It wasn’t serious enough to bother Yu Xiuming, who happened to have dinner plans that night. After thinking for a moment, An Ning turned the car around and went back to the company.

It was just a bit of departmental overtime, and Zhou Yehua was merely giving her direct superior—the head of the President’s Office—a routine update. If An Ning didn’t want to come, he didn’t have to. The other department heads would naturally stay behind to manage things.

Maybe it was because of the recent raise, but An Ning found himself unusually motivated. Without overthinking, he told Zhou Yehua that he’d only stepped out briefly and would be back soon.

Since he was already on his way, Zhou naturally waited for him to give a proper rundown of the situation. Efficient as ever, Zhou asked what time An Ning would arrive, then waited at the elevator for him. From the underground parking lot all the way up to the twenty-sixth floor, Zhou gave him a full report.

The twenty-seventh floor was reserved exclusively for Yu Xiuming and An Ning’s offices. The rest of the floor was filled with conference rooms, a lounge, and an upscale break room—an absolutely private area.
In contrast, the twenty-sixth floor housed the main President’s Office—an entirely different layout.

The space wasn’t divided into cubicles; compared to the “absolute privacy” of the floor above, it felt more open and modern, with a sleek tech aesthetic.

A vast hall, huge floor-to-ceiling windows along one side, offering a panoramic view of the riverside sunset and the city’s gleaming skyline. The grey carpet stretched across the floor, and the workstations were scattered irregularly, almost like an art installation.

Technically, An Ning still held the top position in the President’s Office, so he also had a desk there. Occasionally, when needed, he would work in that shared space.

Since Yu Xiuming wasn’t in the building that evening, it was clear that the matter downstairs was more pressing. So An Ning followed Zhou Yehua straight to the twenty-sixth floor.

Inside, the staff were chatting about ordering takeout, and that’s when An Ning realized—it was dinnertime.

“Xiao Zhou, have you all eaten yet?” An Ning asked softly, turning to him.

“Not yet, been busy,” Zhou said with a grin. “We were just talking about ordering something for everyone to eat together.”

“How about this,” An Ning said with his usual calm smile. “Don’t order yet—dinner’s on me tonight. Everyone just tell Xiao Zhou what you want. We’ll place the order in ten minutes. I’ll cover it.”

“Wow, Director An, you’re too generous!”

A few surprised gasps broke out, followed by scattered applause and a cheerful voice from one of the girls:

“Everything included? Dessert and drinks too?”

“Everything,” An Ning said, smiling. “All covered.”

“Director An, you’re amazing! Thank you!”

An Ning chuckled, taking a seat at his workstation.
“Send your choices within ten minutes,” he said. “If no one orders dessert, I’ll get a big cake for everyone. Thanks for working so hard tonight.”

---

Meanwhile, Yu Xiuming was sitting across from his friend Jing Yan, assuming an attentive expression as Jing sliced a piece of steak and began lecturing him.

“That night at the banquet—have you two talked about it since?” Jing Yan asked lazily, tearing into his steak.

“No.” Yu Xiuming paused, a faintly uncomfortable expression flickering across his face. “I was afraid it’d be awkward. Maybe it was just an impulse for him… anyway, since he didn’t bring it up, I didn’t either.”

The air seemed to still for a moment.

Yu Xiuming lowered his head, mechanically cutting at his steak. But in his mind, the scene from that night came unbidden—the banquet where An Ning had been drugged, the panic in his voice when Yu found him in that isolated restroom, desperately calling for help.

---

“Director An, how’s your health lately? Not pushing yourself too hard?”

Although An Ning now held a high position, he still moved frequently between the President’s Office and the twenty-seventh floor. He was young, easygoing, and got along well with the younger staff. Whenever everyone ate together, he was often the center of conversation.

At first, being called “Director An” by everyone had felt strange. But after a month, he’d gotten used to it—after all, everyone except Yu Xiuming called him that now.

“I’m fine,” An Ning said with a smile. “Everyone’s working hard these days. My body’s recovered well—it’s been a month since I left the hospital. I’m perfectly fine now.”

The whole company knew that “Director An” had been hospitalized after an incident at a recent banquet—though most only knew the surface details.

They’d heard it was an allergic reaction from drinking at a networking event—severe enough to require a two-day hospital stay. After that, he’d returned to work as if nothing had happened.

“Director An, you used to handle your liquor so well at company parties. What happened this time?” someone teased.

An Ning’s smile stiffened for a moment before he covered it smoothly.
“Just bad luck,” he said lightly. “The drinks at that banquet were all special mixes—different ingredients than usual. I must’ve hit an unlucky combination.”

Everyone there was sharp enough to take the hint. Whether or not they knew the truth, no one pushed further.

“Cake’s here!” Zhou Yehua announced.
Since An Ning rarely joined them for late-night overtime anymore, he’d added a big cake to the dinner order. Zhou helped slice and serve it to everyone.

The rich chocolate aroma spread through the air, soft and sweet, washing away the fatigue of the long day.

---

By the time they finished, it was already 8:30 p.m.
After saying his goodbyes, An Ning went back alone to the twenty-seventh floor. He gathered his things, then stood by the window, staring out at the night sky through the still-open blinds.

The office was quiet—eerily so. The entire floor was hushed, the world outside reduced to the dim shimmer of city lights.
He braced his hands on the desk, letting himself sink into that long-lost feeling of emptiness.

Without realizing it, more than a month had passed like this.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t used to it—on the contrary, apart from being busier, everything was fine. Materially, socially—he’d settled into the rhythm.

But suddenly, An Ning remembered something—something he’d almost forgotten completely.

The banquet that had triggered his transmigration into the novel.

Now, he could freely access all memories at will, blending them seamlessly with those of the original host. Yet, one thing continued to puzzle An Ning—he could not recall anything that happened at the banquet before he was sent to the hospital.

At first, he assumed there was a temporal cut—that he could only access memories from the moment he transmigrated onward—but as he continued to explore the host’s memories, that theory quickly fell apart. After thinking it over for a long time, he could only blame it on some kind of “debuff” from transmigrating.

After all, transmigrating into a book wasn’t exactly a scientific event. If a few supernatural side effects came along with it, well… that was only to be expected.

Not remembering didn’t mean he stopped thinking about it.

Sitting at his desk, An Ning pulled out a pencil and began sketching on a blank sheet of paper—drawing a diagram, jotting down notes about what he still remembered of the event. In the end, one section remained blank, with all the arrows pointing toward a single point in time—

That banquet.

Feeling a bit frustrated, An Ning pressed the pencil down hard, tracing over the same spot again and again until the graphite left a deep, black mark.

Finally, he lifted the pencil and wrote in the blank space: Drugged.

He could only piece together this conclusion from what Yu Xiuming had vaguely told him. According to Yu Xiuming, being drugged wasn’t exactly a respectable thing—An Ning was a company executive and his trusted aide—so to outsiders, they simply claimed he had suffered a severe allergic reaction to alcohol.

As for the details, Yu Xiuming had been uncharacteristically tight-lipped. Not only did he keep An Ning out of the investigation, but even the report he allowed him to see was just a cursory glance.

That made An Ning a little uneasy.

So far, he hadn’t found that missing piece of memory to be particularly important, but the unknown always felt more dangerous than the known. That had always been his way of thinking.

The night outside wasn’t dark. Over the riverside, the neon lights of Binzhou shimmered in brilliant color—cruise ships gliding across the river reflected the glow of the skyscrapers in the central business district, showcasing the city’s vibrant energy, announcing that the nightlife of Binzhou was about to begin.

An Ning let out a barely audible sigh, tore the graphite-covered page from his notebook, and fed it into the shredder beside his desk.

After a few sharp whirs, the machine fell silent.
The paper filled with his secrets was now nothing but unrecognizable fragments in the bin.

Since transmigrating into this world, he hadn’t experienced such a quiet night.

It was always work, commuting, or accompanying Yu Xiuming to endless social events and meetings. Having every hour of the day filled was its own kind of comfort—but once in a while, the emptiness of free time had its charm too.

Outside, the full moon hung high—a flawless, pale disc of light that seemed to belong to a different world from the flickering city below. As An Ning gazed quietly at it, his mind drifted back to the hometown he had left behind.

Perhaps… he really couldn’t go back anymore.

He wasn’t sure. But whenever his thoughts began to wander, he recalled scenes from the transmigration novels he used to read.
In those stories, the only ones who ever returned to their original worlds… were those who had died.

His phone chimed—a single ding, followed by a flood of notifications that shattered his quiet reflection.

When he opened WeChat, he found that the group chat for the President’s Office was buzzing. One of the girls had sent a photo of a beautiful cake, along with the sight of a pile of delivery boxes arriving at once. She tagged him, writing:
“Thank you, Director An, so generous!”

A wave of identical messages followed in unison:
“Director An is so generous!”
“Director An is the best!”

The chorus of notifications made his phone vibrate nonstop.

An Ning smiled faintly, locked the screen, and set the phone aside.

He hadn’t yet decided how to respond—there was no rush.

“Director An, you’re still here?”

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Recognizing Zhou Yehua’s voice, An Ning immediately replied, “I’m here,” and told her to come in.

He expected there to be some new situation at work and mentally prepared himself to dive back in. But when the office door opened, he saw Zhou Yehua smiling, holding a paper plate in both hands. On it sat a generous slice of cake—chocolate-covered, neat and perfect, not the leftovers from downstairs.

A new fork rested on the edge of the plate, placed carefully beside the cake. Clearly, this was prepared especially for him.

“Director An,” she said brightly, “you were too busy working downstairs and didn’t have any cake, so I brought you a piece.”