Li Yingqiao’s first company after graduation was Shengzhimei Biotechnology.
Before the company faced liquidation, she had actually already been laid off.
In those years, the company’s performance worsened steadily, and she fully understood the necessity of optimization—she just didn’t expect it to come to her so quickly.
After all, she had once shared skewers with the big boss on the street.
Later, she found out that what made or broke the company was the same factor: the boss himself.
Everyone who had eaten skewers with him was inevitably optimized out.
One of the sharp women in their team uncovered the truth right away.
Once they understood the whole situation, the two of them packed their things and were about to head out.
Just as they stepped into the elevator, before the doors even closed, Zhao Pingnan leaned against the wall, looked up, sighed deeply, and spilled some gossip: “You’re really an innocent bystander. You left early that day after taking a client’s call, so you don’t know what happened next.”
Li Yingqiao glanced at her, curious.
“Is there more to this?”
Zhao Pingnan said, “The boss got drunk and crazy that day, did something stupid, and someone from the team caught it on video. The boss himself blacked out and didn’t remember. I’m guessing someone leaked the video, and the other teams found out. Since our recent face mask collaboration just happened to blow up into a big scandal, Lucas added fuel to the fire, and our whole team got cut immediately.”
Li Yingqiao didn’t know about this incident.
She only knew she was laid off not because of it, but because she couldn’t reach an agreement with the boss.
Capitalists always had endless tricks.
This layoff thing?
He’d been secretly plotting it for over a month.
He even demagnetized the access cards—several people couldn’t swipe in and just slipped away without clocking in, instantly getting recorded as absent without leave.
He then held endless meetings with the management department, proposing a company-wide pay cut.
Pay cut or not, jobs were hard to come by now.
Those willing to work stayed; those unwilling resigned on their own.
But this boss was particularly heartless.
He had all the department heads sign a salary reduction agreement, slashing pay by 30%.
As long as the department heads cooperated with optimizing their staff—even by using some petty dirty tricks to make employees resign voluntarily—after the optimization, that 30% cut would be returned as a bonus.
He didn’t want to pay the N+1 severance compensation.
After Li Yingqiao spoke privately with the boss, she didn’t want to trouble her colleagues.
Her team was already very small—Zhao Pingnan was thick-skinned and carefree.
Even if you called her out by name and insulted her to her face, she would just react slowly, pointing to herself and asking, “Me?”
The rest were just Xiao Guan, Lin Xiaobei, and He Jie—each hard to deal with in their own way.
He Jie’s mother was still in the ICU, and she was barely scraping by on her mortgage and medical bills, which she and Xiao Guan pooled money to cover.
Li Yingqiao didn’t sign the new contract and returned her badge.
She decided to leave on her own.
She never expected that such a cunning and stingy capitalist would be so enraged that he directly axed their entire project team.
The only slightly better news was that they all received N+1 compensation.
Zhao Pingnan said it was hush money to buy off the video Xiao Bei had.
Xiao Bei, fearing he wouldn’t pay the N+1, had sent the video to them all.
Li Yingqiao couldn’t comprehend it, her face full of disbelief.
If she hadn’t been holding her box, she really would have grabbed Zhao Pingnan by the collar and shaken her violently: “Why didn’t Xiao Bei send it to me? With such an important piece of leverage, how could he not! send! it! to! me!”
Zhao Pingnan looked embarrassed: “…Xiao Bei thought you probably wouldn’t get laid off. Yingqiao, what are your plans now?”
Actually, many headhunters had tried to recruit Li Yingqiao by then, but she wasn’t in a rush.
She planned to stay in Beijing and find a job slowly.
“And you?” she asked Zhao Pingnan.
“As for me,” Zhao Pingnan had already made up her mind and left without regret, “I’m going back home. My mom just contracted a tea mountain. I’m planning to sell tea.”
To be honest, even after working together for almost two years, Li Yingqiao still didn’t know where Zhao Pingnan’s hometown was.
She didn’t ask further, only said, “Then I wish you a smooth journey.”
Zhao Pingnan leaned against the elevator wall, smirking mysteriously at her.
Li Yingqiao felt a chill from that smile.
What was that expression?
She hoped Zhao Pingnan wasn’t trying to sell her tea.
No, please don’t.
Li Yingqiao hugged her box and smiled apologetically, “Sorry, I’ll delete you as soon as I get on the subway.”
As the two walked out of the company building silently toward the subway station, Zhao Pingnan suddenly spoke again: “Yingqiao, actually I’m from S Province too. I know you’re from Fengtan.”
S Province was useless anyway. The WeChat would be deleted regardless.
But Li Yingqiao had rarely dealt with anything or anyone related to Fengtan in recent years.
Those two words sounded strange to her, making her feel slightly dazed and surprised: “You’re from S Province too? Where exactly?”
“I’m from Qingyi,” Zhao Pingnan replied with the same mysterious smile.
“You didn’t know, right? I knew from the start you were from S Province too, but I rarely mentioned it, fearing you’d think I was trying to get close.”
When Li Yingqiao’s project team was newly formed, she had tried to bring people closer by organizing dinners.
After a few rounds of drinks, everyone’s eyes would light up as they talked about their hometowns.
But she usually remained silent.
Over time, no one talked much about hometowns with her anymore, thinking she had no feelings for hers.
Zhao Pingnan and Li Yingqiao followed the crowd toward the subway station and stopped at a traffic light. She looked at Li Yingqiao and said, “Yingqiao, do you also want to go back home? Remember that dinner we had once? You drank quite a bit and then called someone. After that, you just kept crying. Xiao Guan asked what was wrong, and you said you wanted to go back to Fengtan, that you really wanted to go back.”
Though they’d worked together for two years, Zhao Pingnan wasn’t very close to her.
Li Yingqiao seemed friendless, always alone at work.
But her personality was actually quite cheerful.
People just kept a distance because she was their superior, maintaining a not-too-close, not-too-far relationship.
But Zhao Pingnan had always admired her.
A top graduate from B University, no matter what project was handed to her—even when they were struggling through the brain fog—she handled it skillfully, writing plans meticulously and orderly.
When she first joined the company, Zhao Pingnan was somewhat her mentor.
Li Yingqiao stood with her box, waiting for the light, her gaze a bit vacant.
Suddenly, a Koenigsegg sped past on the street in front of her, snapping her back from her thoughts.
She laughed and said, “I really forgot.”
“Do you still remember when I first joined the company, and you took me under your wing for the NYI stem cell project? Around midnight, the boss suddenly told me our plan was shortlisted, but only as a backup. One company had an unexpected scandal late at night, so we got that backup spot. I was an intern, just finished working overtime, hadn’t even slept for half an hour when you called. The client wanted us to be at NYI headquarters for the presentation by 7 a.m.—but their headquarters was in Shijiazhuang.”
Hearing this, Li Yingqiao looked over slowly and nodded, “I remember, it was a snowy day.”
“Yeah, the boss said forget it, thinking the other side was trying to make things difficult for us,” Zhao Pingnan said, “But you made a crazy decision, drove overnight to Shijiazhuang. We left at 1:30 a.m., arrived under the group building by 6 a.m., and we even squatted in the public restroom next door, washing and doing makeup looking like a mess. The cleaning lady felt sorry for us and gave us extra toilet paper. But there was a man lurking outside the restroom door, watching us. You remember that, right?”
“I remember. You said you didn’t sleep well in the car and worried it might affect the presentation. But when you dealt with that guy, I felt completely reassured. I thought your mind was very clear.”
“Yes, I remember wanting to call the police.”
“No, it was when you grabbed my compact powder out of all the makeup like a weapon. That’s when I knew the NYI plan was definitely ours.”
Zhao Pingnan laughed.
This lively side of Li Yingqiao was unfamiliar to Zhao Pingnan. Most of the time at the company, Li Yingqiao was too calm and rational.
But at dinner, she was laid-back and easygoing, letting everyone else make a ruckus while she curled up in the corner of the sofa, watching them lose their bearings and laugh wildly.
Then, silently, she would pay the bill and leave—someone dependable, but not easy to get close to.
Li Yingqiao, seeing her speechless, laughed again and pointed to the green light ahead, “Green light, let’s go.”
When they entered the subway station, Zhao Pingnan’s heels clicked loudly on the steps as she continued: “After we won the plan, you said something to me. Do you remember?”
“What?”
“Wow, Yingqiao, we’ve worked together so long and barely shared real feelings. You don’t remember? Are you full of nonsense?”
Li Yingqiao walked down the stairs leisurely, smiling calmly: “That’s just how we Fengtan people talk—we like to talk nonsense. And when we have nothing to do, we love to make up rhymes—”
“After winning the plan, we reported that guy lurking in the restroom and caught him. You said next time something like that happens, you’ll be the second person to stand up for me. I asked why not the first, and you said, the first is always ourselves. Then I said I’m planning to go back and sell tea. Do you support me?”
I knew you were waiting here.
Zhao Pingnan laughed so hard her hands holding the box ached.
She turned and waved wildly toward her own platform, back facing Li Yingqiao: “Don’t delete me from WeChat! I know you’ll delete me once you leave the company, but we’re from the same hometown. Come visit me in Qingyi sometime.”
Li Yingqiao never deleted Zhao Pingnan from WeChat.
She even got coaxed into adding Zhao’s private WeChat account, nicknamed “Innocent Dung Beetle Bong Chacha.”
Just as Li Yingqiao returned to the scraping therapy clinic, Li Shuli asked if she’d eaten.
Mechanically, Li Yingqiao nodded yes. Her phone vibrated, and Zhao Pingnan’s message popped up: “Are you in Fengtan?”
Li Yingqiao just replied, then another WeChat message appeared—from Yu Jinyang.
D321: “Address.”
Innocent Dung Beetle Bong Chacha: “Sending a location.”
Innocent Dung Beetle Bong Chacha: “Meow, here it is.”
Next second, D321: “Home yet?”
Innocent Dung Beetle Bong Chacha: “Yes.”
One second later, D321: “Me too.”
Li Yingqiao laughed out loud.
Innocent Dung Beetle Bong Chacha: “See you tomorrow.”
This time, after a long while and Li Yingqiao showered, Yu Jinyang replied again: D321: “See you tomorrow.”
***
Li Boqing’s place was a villa on Fengtan Mountain.
The mountains there hadn’t changed much over the years.
The peaks remained high, the stars still clear, the roosters crowing loud and sharp, but the wheat fields were silent as ever.
The muddy yellow road was still wet and sticky, until broad tire tracks covered the footprints, stretching toward the dark green mountains.
Two cars drove through the villa’s gate one after another.
At that moment, a tall figure stepped out of the restaurant by the door, striding briskly toward them, calling out loudly, “Jinyang!”
Yu Jinyang pulled over, rolled down the window, and exchanged smiles and greetings, “Brother Lianfeng.”
The man was Li Lianfeng, the eldest grandson of Li Boqing.
In his early thirties, he had a clean, refined face and wore rimless glasses.
He currently worked in municipal government and was a senior of both Li Yingqiao and Yu Jinyang from Tan Middle School, two grades ahead.
He wasn’t familiar with Li Yingqiao but knew Yu Jinyang fairly well.
There weren’t many young people in Fengtan, and they had played basketball together a few times.
Li Lianfeng teased as soon as he met them: “A rare guest, Jinyang. You wouldn’t come no matter how much I called before, but today you’re willing to come along with the girl?”
Yu Jinyang caught sight of Li Yingqiao stepping out from the rearview mirror and got out too, but didn’t respond to Li Lianfeng.
When Li Yingqiao reached them, he leaned on the car door and introduced, “This is Secretary Li’s grandson, Brother Lianfeng.”
Though Li Lianfeng had never met Li Yingqiao, he had heard from the old man that she was a bit fierce.
He hadn’t expected such a chilly, tall woman who seemed so out of place in this land—a true native of Fengtan.
His eyes brightened as he skillfully extended his hand, “Yingqiao, I’ve long heard about you from Grandpa.”
Meeting for the first time, naturally skipping the surname and comfortably using a first name without sounding frivolous was a kind of innate talent.
Yu Jinyang lacked that string.
Everyone in his WeChat was listed with full names, his meticulousness comparable to police records.
Li Yingqiao shook his hand briefly, then let go and smiled at Yu Jinyang, “Brother Lianfeng.”
She was poised and eloquent. Li Lianfeng’s smile deepened, his facial lines rippling like waves on a cold lake, smiling again and again.
After the greetings, Li Lianfeng invited Li Yingqiao inside first.
Then he handed a cigarette to Yu Jinyang, glanced meaningfully toward the flowerbed nearby, and said, “How about we chat here for a bit before going in?”
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