Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Closer You Are, the Easier Stories Unfold

When Mai Xi-jun arrived at Eurasia, she hadn’t expected that as soon as she stepped into the lobby, someone would come forward to greet her.

“Miss Mai, please come this way,” a receptionist said respectfully, gesturing with a courteous wave of her hand. Mai Xi-jun was momentarily startled by the unexpected attention, but quickly recovered, bowing slightly and nodding in return.

Following the smiling young woman with a hint of suspicion, Mai Xi-jun entered the elevator.

Shen Yanlie, always precise with his timing, straightened his tie once more. Watching the video feed of Mai Xi-jun’s bewildered expression, his lips curled into a sly, wicked smile.

Later, Mai Xi-jun learned that the girl who led her upstairs had a lovely name: Han Xinyao. Han Xinyao hadn’t worked at Eurasia for very long—barely half a year. Yet today would be the first time she met the company’s president.

“Mr. Shen, Miss Mai has arrived,” Han Xinyao announced, her voice graceful and measured.

“Understood. Go back downstairs. Without my permission, no one is to enter,” came the reply.

His tall figure was obscured behind the high-backed chair. At that moment, the only visible movement was the elegant lift of his slender fingers; all other gestures and expressions remained hidden.

Han Xinyao nodded politely at Mai Xi-jun, smiled, and left the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Mai Xi-jun furrowed her brows. If he weren’t her superior, her temperament would never tolerate such abrupt summons and dismissals.

“How late are you? Count on your fingers how much you owe me,” Shen Yanlie raised an eyebrow, setting his wine glass down on the desk and slowly turning to face her. His cold, unruly gaze swept over Mai Xi-jun.

She bit the inside of her lip, glaring at him. Despite her efforts to remain calm, she couldn’t hide her anger and contempt. She feared she wouldn’t live long, burdened as she was by so much resentment.

“This afternoon, you’ll start work in the company. Your desk is over there,” Shen Yanlie pointed to a corner of his office—diagonally opposite him, where a desk was already prepared.

Mai Xi-jun glanced at him, biting her lip harder.

“Didn’t you refuse the training in Paris just to be closer to me? This is your opportunity. The nearer you are, the easier stories unfold. I’m doing this for our future. Don’t you think so?” Shen Yanlie spoke slowly, his gentle rhetorical question loosening her knitted brows.

So, that’s what he was thinking...

Mai Xi-jun lowered her gaze, her head drooping. She couldn’t deny why she hadn’t gone to France; she’d listened to He Jingjing’s words and read the reports. She felt he lived too lonely, too hard, carrying too much—she couldn’t bear it.

But more importantly, she couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d agreed to Luo Youcong’s terms because she wanted to see her mother. Faced with the choice between ideals and reality, she chose the latter.

Shen Yanlie glanced at her, then withdrew his gaze, picking up a stack of papers. He lowered his head to study them—it was a collection of Mai Xi-jun’s past works.

His words were calm and unruffled, leaving Mai Xi-jun unable to discern his true thoughts. He was always known for his mysterious and ruthless reputation; she couldn’t find her footing, unable to clearly distinguish her own thoughts, much like choosing only one path—science or literature—in school. Now she needed a precise place for herself.

“Can you still arrange for me to go to Paris?” she asked, her delicate brows shadowed with lingering gloom.

Shen Yanlie paused, then smiled with an enigmatic curve of his lips. “If you want to go, I can arrange it for you next time. This time, it’s already too late.”

“Oh...” she replied, crestfallen, the heavy burden in her heart easing but still hanging in the air—a weight that made her uncomfortable, unable to truly let go.

Shen Yanlie absorbed all her disappointment, just as he had at the exhibition, when he’d watched her loneliness from the audience.

“The training was too rushed this time. Next time, I’ll make sure the timing is right,” Shen Yanlie said, unsure why he felt compelled to explain. He needn’t have, but he knew clearly: he didn’t just not want her to go; if she did, he’d never be able to keep her. It wasn’t difficult to keep her, but he preferred her presence beside him. He didn’t want to let her go, to send her to Paris for further study. When she became an accomplished designer, she’d move closer to her dream—and inevitably farther from him. She was destined for the international stage; she wouldn’t allow herself to be confined by him...

“Though I can’t go to Paris, I still want to do the work I love. Can I...?” Could she return to Lov? She didn’t want to be by his side every moment; it made her feel suffocated.

“Eurasia owns a jewelry company. You’ll be my assistant. Whenever opportunities arise, you’ll be the first to know. Opportunities are for those prepared. Stay alert and ready—leave the rest to me.”

Shen Yanlie lifted his eyelids and gestured to the desk, then buried himself in the documents.

“That’s your workstation now. Without my permission, you can’t take leave. Don’t leave the office for long during work hours. Stay within my sight. Your phone must be on twenty-four hours a day—I must always be able to reach you. Never disappear before I leave work, and absolutely no men other than work matters during this period. Violate any rule, and it’s a thousand per second.”

Shen Yanlie’s words flowed effortlessly, as smoothly as the day she stood at the staircase, wrapping her arms around his neck and uttering those lines.

But...

Good grief, what was he planning? Rules and regulations—she wasn’t exactly willing. She hadn’t even decided whether to stay, yet he’d already set out these restrictions, and so many at that...

Sure enough, the closer she got, the more tragedy seemed inevitable.