We Are Not Dating! - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Suits

What was he called?

What sounded a bit “dia”?

Jiang Zhiyu had never encountered such nonsensical talk before. Hearing it now, he first froze, thinking it over seriously. Then, with a delayed reaction, he tilted his neck back and glared at the other man.

Qi Shu’s eyes were pitch black. Usually, they appeared sharp and cold, but as he met Jiang Zhiyu’s gaze now, they held a flickering hint of playfulness.

He! Was! Teasing! Him!

Jiang Zhiyu awkwardly turned his face away, slowly chewing on his words internally. If he were a cat, his tail would have stood up as a reflex, but as an adult human, he wasn’t going to hiss frantically at a villain.

He feigned composure. As long as he wasn’t caught red-handed, couldn’t he just say whatever he wanted to decide what was true or false?

“No way. You’re lying,” Jiang Zhiyu turned hostile and refused to admit it.

Hearing him speak so tough now, Qi Shu couldn’t help but chuckle. “You buried your face in the pillow and cried. The next day your voice was hoarse—was that because of dehydration?”

Jiang Zhiyu’s eyes widened in disbelief. Since his memories were a bit blurry, he couldn’t think of a way to refute it for a moment. But seeing Qi Shu’s expression remain indifferent, he naively thought the topic ended there.

However, Qi Shu was full of mischief. At a time like this, he would only push for more. Grabbing the opening provided by Jiang Zhiyu’s guilty conscience, Qi Shu pretended to realize something and answered his own question.

“True. No wonder you got the duvet on the bed all wet,” he said.

Jiang Zhiyu gnashed his teeth, angrily feeling slighted. Yet, he didn’t think about avoiding the man or drawing a line. Instead, with his blood boiling, he decided to offend him right back.

He huffed: “That was because you hurt me. Don’t go overthinking it. You made it hurt that much, and you still have the nerve to bring it up?”

As if that wasn’t enough, he continued: “That was your first time, wasn’t it? Fine, it’s normal for a blank piece of paper with no experience to be bad at the job.”

Qi Shu glanced at him upon hearing this. Jiang Zhiyu refused to be outdone and stared right back.

To be honest, he had always felt Alfred had a proud aura. Whenever those eyes looked at other things, they seemed superior, completely uninterested in his surroundings. This easily gave people a sense of distance while being paradoxically attractive; Jiang Zhiyu, too, would find his gaze captivated.

But if there hadn’t been those ridiculous blunders between them, Jiang Zhiyu wouldn’t have proactively approached him even if they bumped into each other later. God knows this man had a glamorous skin but was a puddle of black ink inside. Before Jiang Zhiyu even had time to learn the man’s name, he knew he was no good.

“Were you uncomfortable then?” Qi Shu wasn’t fooled. “Then your tastes are quite special—complaining about the pain while clenching tight…”

Before he could finish, Jiang Zhiyu reached his limit and covered his mouth. Given the way they were entangled, it looked like he might drag him to a construction site to bury him in concrete the next second.

“Sir, I’ve mostly forgotten about that night. After all, it was just a consensual one-night stand.” Jiang Zhiyu denied everything, using an innocent tone to provoke him. He asked: “But you can describe it so clearly—have you been secretly reminiscing these past few days?”

Qi Shu let out a light laugh. Once Jiang Zhiyu let go, he offered a casual explanation. “Rest assured, I wouldn’t do that,” he said. Then he reminded him: “Though your mind seems to have forgotten, your body remembers quite clearly. Why were you trembling so much?”

Qi Shu hadn’t touched him at all, yet Jiang Zhiyu’s spine stiffened, his shoulder blades shivering slightly. This reaction was exposed on the spot, and Jiang Zhiyu fluently shifted the blame. He fabricated: “I saw my subordinate nearly forget his lines and make a mistake. I turned around and was breaking into a sweat for him.”

Qi Shu stopped talking to him. Someone this stubborn was like a clam—try to pry it open and you’d get a sharp bite.

“You’re going to Songcheng for an interview?” He changed the subject, referring to what he had overheard on the call. “It’s not easy to catch a taxi here. Do you need a ride?”

Jiang Zhiyu had replied to the secretary saying they would meet tomorrow afternoon. They weren’t meeting tonight. He refused to speak properly to Qi Shu: “I’m afraid you won’t know the way. Forget it, I’m going to scout out the ‘enemy’ some more.”

Qi Shu curled his lips, learning to speak with barbs as well. “Are you going as a spy or a translator? You’re digging into them so thoroughly, one might think Songcheng will be under your command one day.”

When Jiang Zhiyu entered with his two colleagues, they all wore uniform work badges around their necks listing their company and position. It wasn’t hard to see they were translators. He wagged a finger at Qi Shu, sharing his insight: “In our line of work, do you know what’s most important?”

Solid linguistic foundations? A vast knowledge base? Or the ability to adapt? In practical terms, none of those were the top priority. Jiang Zhiyu said frankly: “Satisfying the client is the most important. If they prefer someone quiet, I won’t say a word too many.”

Qi Shu said: “Oh, you want to find out what they like.”

Jiang Zhiyu said: “Right now, I only know what their boss doesn’t like.”

Qi Shu arched an eyebrow slightly: “For example?”

Spreading Xiao Hui’s rumor, Jiang Zhiyu answered as if it were a matter of fact: “Women and men.”

Qi Shu had nothing left to say, though he understood where the rumor came from. That’s just how this circle was—if everyone else was indulging in something and you didn’t touch it, you stood out. If an outlier appeared in a group, there had to be some negative hidden reason; no one would think it was due to a moral burden or self-restraint.

There was no point in mentioning morality or restraint now. Jiang Zhiyu was chirping away in front of him, a constant reminder of the bastardly thing that had happened between them.

“By the way, remember to get a parking voucher when you leave. The organizers reimburse it,” Jiang Zhiyu said, turning his head.

Qi Shu replied: “I came in a company car today.”

Jiang Zhiyu gave an “Oh.” Thinking about it, it made sense; it wasn’t suitable to be too flashy at this kind of event.

The two walked along the asphalt road under the shade of the trees. The venue was huge; it took about ten minutes to stroll to the entrance. After receiving notice from the boss, the secretary had rushed the process. In addition to calling Jiang Zhiyu, she had also added him on WeChat. Now that both parties were free, they had already started chatting.

Secretary: “Mr. Jiang, I will wait for you at the Songcheng front desk at 2:00 PM tomorrow.”

Jiang Zhiyu: “Alright, thank you for your hard work.”

Secretary (unable to help herself from praising): “I heard your voice at the forum today and recognized it immediately. You saved the day very timely.”

Jiang Zhiyu was somewhat surprised—so Songcheng had also participated today? After bickering non-stop with Qi Shu, he now gave a modest thank you, leaving a graceful impression.

“Songcheng’s secretary has such a sweet tongue. What kind of heavenly life does Qi Shu lead every day?” Jiang Zhiyu lamented.

Qi Shu felt he was in dire straits. He went along with the rumor: “He’s ‘at peace with the world’ now, how happy can he be? Who knows what the attending physician says.”

They parted at the entrance. Qi Shu watched him walk toward the subway entrance, then got into a black Mulsanne. As Jiang Zhiyu walked into the subway station, he saw the Mulsanne driving slowly past the road and inadvertently glanced at it a few more times. He didn’t know whose car it was; the style was business-like and low-key, but the number of “8”s on the Beijing A plate was enough to play a game of Match-3.

Jiang Zhiyu didn’t overthink it. Since he had received a definitive reply from Songcheng, he turned around and contacted an undergraduate classmate, inviting him out for a meal. His classmate had been at this investment bank for two or three years. He started in equity financing and later chose to work under Qi Shu.

He warned Jiang Zhiyu to be careful with his words and to do thorough homework before meetings. Although Qi Shu had a stable personality, it was a stability of indifference and strictness.

“Normally you wouldn’t bump into him. Qi Shu has a very busy schedule, sometimes flying to five countries in a week. Sigh, there’s just so much business travel here. It’s good that you have another place to be.” After finishing, the classmate suddenly remembered: “Your dad worked hard for decades to build such a massive empire—he’s willing to let you roam free instead of succeeding him?”

“He’s more afraid that if I take over, I might ruin his reputation, making his decades of work go to waste,” Jiang Zhiyu joked.

The classmate laughed. Because he had a good relationship with the secretary, he could give Jiang Zhiyu a lot of pointers. The two chatted in the restaurant for a long while.

The next day, Jiang Zhiyu stepped through the revolving doors of Songcheng. Everything in sight was exquisite yet cold, fitting the stereotype of the finance industry. Everyone wore professional suits, grooming themselves meticulously. Their perfume was high-end, and they all hurried about with expressionless faces. Someone passed Jiang Zhiyu and couldn’t help but look twice, though they didn’t stop their pace, only casting a sideways glance.

Such an environment could easily put psychological pressure on someone, but fortunately, Jiang Zhiyu was used to it, letting everyone observe him with their peripheral vision.

The secretary came to lead him in, her politeness holding a sense of distance: “Mr. Jiang, a pleasure to meet you. President Qi is on a business trip today. I went to the airport to see him off at noon—I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?”

“No, you were very punctual,” Jiang Zhiyu said. “How many days will President Qi be away?”

“Back and forth between Beijing and Shanghai on the same day. Domestic finance is mostly these few places,” the secretary said helplessly.

Jiang Zhiyu’s eyes curved as he chatted: “That’s a tight schedule. It must be quite exhausting.” The implication was: Such energy and career-mindedness sound a bit psychotic.

The secretary said: “President Qi is definitely used to it. It’s actually been okay lately. A while ago, he was always on international flights—closing his eyes for a nap the moment he got on the plane, and working the moment he got off.”

Great, so he’s a veteran psycho, Jiang Zhiyu said in his head.

He talked with the secretary all afternoon, finalizing the selection of the entire team and discussing the specific arrangements for those three days of events. The handover went smoothly, and the secretary was very pleased, warmly inviting Jiang Zhiyu to stay for dinner.

Songcheng had an internal cafeteria. When Jiang Zhiyu entered, he almost felt his trypophobia act up. Everyone’s clothing was similar, and their gestures and tones of speech were identical. The visual made him dizzy. Thus, Jiang Zhiyu confirmed once more that he was allergic to “finance men.”

This made Alfred seem very special. Although he had also worn a suit in front of him, he looked cold and upright, quite pleasing to the eye.

Afterward, Jiang Zhiyu returned to his apartment. Seeing the familiar furniture, the tension he had carried in the office building finally dissipated. Talking with the secretary wasn’t easy; every word and sentence required deliberation.

Once he relaxed, fatigue washed over his body. He dragged his feet to wash up and lay limp on the sofa. Outside the window, the night was pitch black. He squinted his peach-blossom eyes, too lazy to pull the curtains, only vaguely thinking that the house felt a bit empty.

It was just like when he first arrived in France; his father was busy with work and social engagements, leaving him to wander alone in the huge villa.

Thinking of this, Jiang Zhiyu sat up and habitually looked for a certain corner. He went to the bedroom, but instead of going to bed, he opened the wardrobe and crawled inside. He was nearly 1.80m tall, but the wardrobe space was intentionally designed; it could still serve as a sanctuary.

So he lay inside the wardrobe, leaving a small crack. In that space so small it was hard to breathe, he finally found a sense of security.

Jiang Zhiyu closed his eyes peacefully. Perhaps because he had seen too many suits earlier, he dreamed of Alfred appearing impeccably dressed. He seemed to be drunk; his body was swaying just like that night, but his consciousness was no longer muddled. He clearly watched how everything became chaotic, and how it heated up and fermented.

The man’s fingertips were warm and rough, landing on his skin with an unfamiliar touch. He was clearly trembling the whole time, yet he never asked the man to stop. When he left the bathroom, he had torn the other man’s buttons, and then they stumbled together, losing their balance and falling onto the bed. After that, he tacitly allowed those hands to do even more out-of-line things…

In the thick darkness, Jiang Zhiyu felt a bit hot. His breathing became slightly erratic, and he suddenly broke free from the dream. He rubbed his eyes, feeling somewhat ridiculous and embarrassed—why would he have such a strange dream?

It’s all Alfred’s fault for talking nonsense before, Jiang Zhiyu found an excuse, trying to clear himself completely. But being disturbed by a few of Alfred’s words—did that mean he was dwelling on it?

Jiang Zhiyu didn’t think he was so naive and ignorant that he would be tied down by a one-night stand. Then he nimbly flipped over in the wardrobe, recalling Alfred’s looks. It proves nothing, he thought firmly. Food and sex are human nature; this reaction is perfectly normal.

That face was handsome. What was wrong with having a dream in private? Even sleeping together a few more times wouldn’t be bad.

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