Chapter 41: Loyalty to One’s Duty

Chapter 41: Loyalty to One's Duty

Over time, Fang Jian began to feel that Chen Wan was different from those capitalists who were all about money from head to toe. Chen Wan understood his academic achievements and research spirit, and his attitude towards Fang Jian changed significantly. Even when Fang Jian came up with an excellent idea, whether it was at 1 AM or 4 AM, he would immediately tag Chen Wan in the group chat.

Zhao Shengge never spoke in the group, but whenever Fang Jian posted something new, reported on a matter, or discussed a new plan, he would promptly reach out to Chen Wan.

Chen Wan seemed to be always online, and with just a "?" from Zhao Shengge, he would immediately serve as Zhao Shengge's personal, on-call translator.

Minglong, of course, had its own technical team, and Zhao Shengge was more focused on managing the project's overall progress, coordinating all aspects and managing the big picture. But seeing how seriously Zhao Shengge took it, Chen Wan tried his best to explain Fang Jian's plans in a simple and clear manner.

"Mr. Zhao, Dr. Fang's plan is based on this principle. The winter ocean current is an uncontrollable variable, so we should try to finalize it before November."

"Hmm."

"Let me know if you have any questions."

"Am I interrupting?"

Chen Wan, with a strong sense of responsibility, replied, "One who serves the master should be loyal to the master's duties."

Zhao Shengge gave a soft chuckle, "Chen Wan."

Chen Wan's hand tightened slightly.

"I'm not the kind of client who exploits employees."

"..."

Zhao Shengge, understanding, said, "No need to reply if you're busy." He never expected immediate responses from Chen Wan.

But Chen Wan was the type to respond to everything.

They switched to voice calls as Zhao Shengge preferred more efficient communication. Given the current frequency of their chats, it was beginning to match his conversations with Zhuo Zhixuan.

Zhao Shengge's call requests carried the same authority as his presence, each one urging Chen Wan, caught off guard.

In Chen Wan's understanding, it seemed that only people who were particularly close and familiar with each other would use voice calls at any time.

Chen Wan, confused but maintaining his composure, said, "Mr. Zhao."

"Chen Wan," Zhao Shengge responded, and then fell silent.

The call fell silent, with only their breathing audible, sometimes matching, sometimes not. Zhao Shengge's breath was low and steady, but Chen Wan felt a spark through the call, igniting his thoughts. Yet, Zhao Shengge still didn't speak, so Chen Wan had to say, "Mr. Zhao, let me start by explaining the structural design of the offshore oil tunnel support."

"Proceed," Zhao Shengge said in a deep, magnetic voice.

Chen Wan focused intently and began to explain seriously to the client. Halfway through, Zhao Shengge said, "Chen Wan, your colleague is calling you."

Chen Wan, who had been speaking so earnestly that he hadn't noticed, turned around and said, "Oh, it's lunchtime."

"Hmm, go eat then."

Chen Wan said, "It's okay, let's wrap up this discussion first, or do you need to go eat first?"

Zhao Shengge said, "Go eat, we'll talk in the afternoon."

It took Chen Wan a few seconds to understand this sentence—did that mean another call in the afternoon? He immediately said, "Alright."

Zhao Shengge said, "I have two meetings in the afternoon, from 2:40 to 3:20 and from 5:00 to 6:00. I have no arrangements in the evening."

"Huh?" Chen Wan didn’t react immediately.

Not hearing his reply, Zhao Shengge asked in a matter-of-fact tone, "When are you available?"

Somehow, Chen Wan also started to outline his schedule: "I need to go to the Securities Building at 2:30, which will take about half an hour. Then at 3:15, I’ll go over the drafts with the team members, which will take about forty minutes, and I’ll share them in our group chat. At 4:30, a client is coming, and it should take about an hour to finish, and then I’ll be available."

After saying this, he felt he had been too detailed. To appear more professional, he quickly drew a timeline in his mind and added, "So our overlapping times are between 3:45 and 4:30, and after 5:30."

"Alright, I’ll call you."

Maintaining a professional attitude, Chen Wan said, "Okay, Mr. Zhao," and swallowed the instinctive urge to repeat "I’ll wait for your call."

After hanging up, Chen Wan was lost in thought, feeling a complex mix of emotions.

Of course, he was happy to be able to talk to Zhao Shengge, but he was also puzzled and felt a sudden stroke of luck.

He had never imagined having such close and frequent contact with Zhao Shengge, even though it was all about work.

Their conversations were mostly composed of long theories about ocean current movements, tree diagrams, and economic data points, with rarely any casual conversation, let alone friendly exchanges like "good morning" or "good night."

Even if Chen Wan’s phone were accidentally lost, whoever found it would assume it belonged to two workaholic colleagues or a superior and subordinate who were not very familiar with each other and exchanged a lot of formalities.

But Chen Wan seemed to have started compulsively checking his phone to see if there were any new messages from Zhao Shengge. He hoped that any question from Zhao Shengge would be answered as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

In the new week, the Baoli Bay project received a self-assessment report from the Environmental Protection Association regarding marine pollution indicators.

Fang Jian was very angry and directly expressed in the group: "I can guarantee that the model data meets international standards. The environmental agency is a bunch of amateurs trying to lecture professionals."

"..." Xu Zhiying said, "They have issued their new regulations. If we don’t make the necessary adjustments, the next step will be a yellow card alert, which will delay the project."

Fang Jian directly said, "There’s no need for changes. Their new regulations are unreasonable."

"..." Geniuses tend to be temperamental. This group usually relied on Chen Wan to act as a mediator and bridge. He carefully reviewed the areas of concern in the recommendation and mediated, "This is not difficult. We can optimize a few data points and strike a balance between efficiency and environmental protection from both commercial benefits and technical feasibility. I’ll handle the review of this part, and it won’t take too long."

Xu Zhiying took his cue: "I’ll get someone to handle the PR."

Zhao Shengge waited until they had all spoken before raising a few questions. After the meeting, he said, "Chen Wan, stay for a moment."

Fang Jian was stubborn and hot-headed. Zhao Shengge felt that talking to someone who was still emotional was inefficient. When encountering problems, he preferred to address the root cause and resolve it swiftly, rather than wasting emotions on anything that was not beneficial to solving the problem.

Zhao Shengge expressed his views.

"Mr. Zhao, I don’t quite agree with directly replacing the instruments." Chen Wan and Zhao Shengge did not always share the same views and would speak directly, "The marine environment is inherently unstable, and inconsistent monitoring variables would lead to greater errors."

Zhao Shengge pointed out: "The recommendation specifies a deadline. This is the most efficient method."

Chen Wan argued with reason and evidence: "But it might lead to long-term issues." He added, "Actually, there are ways to make them less rigid." After saying this, Chen Wan regretted it a bit. He didn’t want Zhao Shengge to think he was reliant on shortcuts and tricks.

Zhao Shengge raised an eyebrow, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and told him to sign off and take a break.

Chen Wan estimated that after he logged off, Zhao Shengge would continue working, perhaps all night, but he didn’t try to persuade him. He also had to work overtime.

For a period after that, to meet the Environmental Protection Association’s indicators, Fang Jian proposed a new composite modeling. Voice calls were basically ineffective and inefficient, so Chen Wan and Zhao Shengge’s work communication increasingly turned into video conferences.

Thus, Chen Wan seemed to have obtained a front-row seat to observe Zhao Shengge himself. Although this would make Zhao Shengge sound like some kind of rare earth animal, in Chen Wan’s view, this metaphor was not an exaggeration.

This observation ticket was the only one in the world, with permissions including but not limited to work interaction links, and one had to be very lucky to have it.

For example, when Zhao Shengge forgot to turn off the camera after a video conference, Chen Wan could see Zhao Shengge working.

If this were a live stream, he could send money, and Chen Wan could watch all day, easily becoming the top donor.

But since it was free, he only watched for a bit before pretending to notice he hadn’t logged off and then turned off the camera.

Every week when Fang Jian released new data, the two would hop on a call to discuss.

Zhao Shengge and Chen Wan didn’t chat much, with the sounds of paper rustling and mouse clicks coming through the headphones.

Occasionally, Chen Wan could hear him telling his secretary, "The tea’s too strong" or "Not eating yet."

Once during a video call, Chen Wan was so focused that when he looked up, he was met with Zhao Shengge’s enlarged, handsome face, the other man looking down at him. Both were too close to the camera, making it even more intense than in person.

Chen Wan calmly leaned back a bit and asked, "Mr. Zhao, is there anything you need me to clarify?"

Zhao Shengge would then ask him some questions.

Chen Wan, like a thief, greedily and meticulously memorized every subtle expression and unintentional habit of Zhao Shengge, but never crossed the line.

He also never started casual chats with Zhao Shengge, never used the chance to make small talk, always serious and formal, like he was giving a remote report to his boss.

Perhaps having grown up in the Chen family, surrounded by wolves and tigers, and used to being bullied, Chen Wan naturally admired strength. He found that men, in certain work moments, were more attractive than in bed.

Zhao Shengge’s machine-like precision and strictness at work, the dominance and ambition in his bones, were why Minglong’s market value had surged over 60% in five years under his leadership.

Of course, Zhao Shengge wasn’t perfect. Chen Wan had known this for a while. The other man often showed his natural authoritarianism, need for control, and many… somewhat odd requests.

For example, during a video call, Zhao Shengge asked Chen Wan, "Do you mind if I record this for later review?"

Official video calls were always recorded as meeting minutes, so Chen Wan didn’t object. He just thought that if Zhao Shengge had given him a heads-up, he might’ve dressed a bit more formally, instead of wearing this overly casual knit sweater, since it was the weekend and he hadn’t planned to go out.

Another example was Zhao Shengge’s authoritarian streak when it came to workaholism.

Fang Jian’s model was built with his Columbia University students, and due to the time difference, video calls often flipped day and night. Zhao Shengge himself could run like a machine without stopping, but he didn’t like Chen Wan pulling all-nighters.

"Chen Wan, get some sleep."

If Chen Wan was caught online during the time he’d promised to sleep, Zhao Shengge would ignore him, not answering questions, leaving Chen Wan on edge.

During video calls, Zhao Shengge seemed to prefer Chen Wan sitting in certain fixed spots and angles.

If at home, Zhao Shengge liked him to go to the study with the best light.

If at the office, Zhao Shengge seemed to prefer him sitting at the spacious desk, not backlit.

"Chen Wan, too far, I can’t see you clearly."

Chen Wan then scooted closer to the camera, hoping the other wouldn’t notice his dark circles from staying up late.

"Chen Wan, your side’s too dark."

But on the screen, Zhao Shengge himself sat far back, though this let Chen Wan see where he was, but Chen Wan still wished he’d sit closer to see his face clearly.

Yet Zhao Shengge stayed leaning back in his chair, watching him from a distance, with no intention of moving closer.

"Chen Wan, turn it up."

"Or lean in when you talk."

"...Oh, okay."

At such moments, Chen Wan always felt a very strange sensation, hard to describe.

Chen Wan thought he was carefully observing, capturing, and memorizing every habit and trait of Zhao Shengge, but he seemed to forget that if Zhao Shengge didn’t want something noticed, no one in the world could spot it.

Chen Wan also forgot that when one gazes at someone else, they themselves are also being gazed at.