Chapter 38: Are You Trying to Feed a Pig?

Chapter 38: Are You Trying to Feed a Pig?

Song Jiang was just spouting nonsense.

The thing was, the boss actually bought it and played along.

“Steward Song, so you're this caring. I thought you were hungry because you didn't eat enough tonight.”

Song Jiang's smile faltered.

He hadn't felt hungry when he bought the cake, but on the way back, his stomach growled twice at the worst possible moment.

Truly worthy of being a CEO, damn, he guessed so accurately—it's a shame he isn't a fortune teller.

“Mr. Fu, you really have sharp eyes. I really am hungry.”

It's only human to get hungry. He couldn't help it.

Maybe the boss's inhuman image was deeply ingrained in Song Jiang's heart; subconsciously, he felt the boss would say something to shut him up.

He batted his eyelashes at the boss and simply spoke first, “Mr. Fu, please don't scold me.”

The yellowish streetlight poured down over the young steward's head, his long eyelashes like little brushes casting a shadow beneath his eyes.

His round almond-shaped eyes stared straight at him, revealing a subtle hint of ingratiation and anticipation.

Was he acting spoiled?

The young steward really was... so sensitive; he never said he couldn't eat it.

Fu Zhichen's thin lips curled slightly, the fatigue from a day of work was unexpectedly swept away.

“Steward Song, when did I say I was going to scold you? Eat if you want.”

“Got it, Mr. Fu.”

Song Jiang's tone became much lighter, his almond eyes squinting into a smile, revealing two sharp, round, pure white little fangs at the corners of his mouth.

The young steward really was so easy to please.

It was already half past nine when they got back to the villa.

Fu Zhichen went to the study to prepare for a meeting. After showering, Song Jiang saw that Fu Zhichen still hadn't come out of the study, so he knocked and entered.

“Fu...”

The word “Mr. Fu” almost slipped out, but Song Jiang quickly covered his mouth.

The boss was in a meeting, in a meeting for the whole company's salaries!

He had almost disturbed the boss—what a screw-up!

Song Jiang gave himself two slaps.

Fu Zhichen heard the sound and looked up at him, seeing Song Jiang's action, his brows slightly furrowed.

The young steward was hitting himself?

Of course, Song Jiang didn't hit himself hard; he wasn't an idiot.

He thought since the boss was in a meeting, he might as well go to sleep first!

Woo-hoo, great! If I can sleep, I might as well.

He was about to figure out how to tell the boss when he noticed the boss frowning at him.

???

Did the negotiation not go well?

Why the sudden frown?

Song Jiang made a gesture asking if he could go to bed first, surely his presence here was affecting the boss's performance.

Fu Zhichen took a slow, deliberate sip of the coffee he had just bought, then shook his head.

“...”

Damn, what kind of person is this, making him stay up late? If he really ended up with the worst-case scenario and dropped dead... would the boss pay up?

Song Jiang ran his fingers through his hair and tugged a few times, annoyed.

I heard staying up late makes you age and gives you wrinkles. He had only graduated from college less than a year ago; he was in the prime of his youth. Was time going to leave marks on his face already?

His mind wandered for a few minutes, and then he suddenly felt a bit stupid.

Wait, why am I standing?

No one said he couldn't sit. Seriously, ridiculous.

If you can sit, never stand; if you can lie, never sit.

He had actually forgotten that ten-word mantra.

Fu Zhichen's office wasn't small; there were five bookshelves alone.

The only place to sit, aside from the boss's office chair, was the single-seat sofa not far from the boss.

A sofa in a study? What a strange setup.

Song Jiang shuffled over inch by inch, quietly.

He hadn't even sat down for two minutes before—wait, wait, wait—he remembered he hadn't eaten the mousse cake he bought.

He had completely forgotten after showering. If not now, when?

Song Jiang covered his stomach and made a gesture that he was going to the restroom and would be right back.

Fu Zhichen nodded lightly.

When Song Jiang came back, he didn't knock, mainly because he was afraid the noise would interrupt the boss.

As he sat on the single sofa eating the cake in small bites, Fu Zhichen shot him a meaningful look.

Song Jiang felt the boss's gaze meant: Steward Song, did you go to the restroom and come back with a cake?

His words might be a bit rough, but the logic held up—the boss was exactly that kind of sharp-tongued man.

Song Jiang put on a fake smile, nodded, and then shook his head.

This is something he wants to eat, and although it will eventually come out from the other end, that doesn’t shake his determination to eat it.

Fortunately, after seeing this, Fu Zhichen didn’t tell him to get out.

Fu Zhichen had his earbuds on during a meeting, and having someone beside him felt a bit off, but the person was the one he had inexplicably asked to stay just now.

The pajamas the young steward was wearing were bought by Fu Zhichen; he had the same pair, and the only difference was the size.

Probably because he had just washed his hair, the young steward’s head now looked soft and fluffy.

He was quietly eating cake, very well-behaved.

He gave it some serious thought… it seemed having someone to accompany him wasn’t bad.

Fu Zhichen finished the meeting at eleven o’clock.

Song Jiang brought in the late-night snack just then.

It was something the boss had asked him to cook during the meeting.

Hmph, he thought the boss had an iron stomach—having dinner at 6:30 and not getting hungry until 11 p.m.

“President Fu, your late-night snack is ready.”

Seeing that Fu Zhichen had finished the meeting, Song Jiang set the noodles beside Fu Zhichen.

Fu Zhichen’s coffee was nearly empty. Looking at the large bowl of noodles on the desk, he said, “Steward Song, are you trying to feed a pig?”

This was a late-night snack Song Jiang had cooked according to the best his family could offer.

One bowl of noodles plus two sunny-side-up eggs.

Damn it, the president was ungrateful. He certainly didn’t mean to treat him like a pig.

No joke, this level of treatment was only ever given by his grandmother on his birthday, and he could eat two big bowls at once!

If the president didn’t finish it, it would be disrespectful to him!

Song Jiang glared and pushed the bowl closer to the president. “Eat up!”

To supervise Fu Zhichen, he sat back on the armchair, propping his chin in his hands, puffing out his cheeks, and widening his almond eyes as if trying to stare him down.

Inside, he roared: Eat it now, damn it!

Fu Zhichen found the young steward's fluster baffling.

Song Jiang watched Fu Zhichen eat one mouthful after another and had to admit that Fu Zhichen’s table manners were very elegant—slow, unhurried, and refined.

Clearly, he had received proper dining etiquette training. It was a pleasant sight.

Unlike him, who ate like a ravenous wolf every time.

Soon, sleepiness overtook Song Jiang. His consciousness grew hazy, his eyelids couldn’t stay open, and his eyes would close for a second before opening again.

His head also kept drooping from time to time.

Fu Zhichen had been looking down at his noodles while eating. When he saw Song Jiang’s wobbling head, an involuntary flicker of softness appeared in his eyes.

Just as Song Jiang’s head was about to drop again, a big hand cupped his chin.

“Pig, go sleep on the bed if you want to sleep.”

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