A few days slipped by, and Saturday finally came like a slow tide kissing the shore.

Saturday morning, Tang Coco sprang from bed like a cat at dawn; today she was headed to Mu Qingcheng’s hotel to work.

“Coco, let me put an outfit together for you,” Ye Yiyi called from the kitchen, steam curling from the pot like soft clouds.

“Huh? No need,” Tang Coco said, hands busy like sparrows helping out. “My tracksuit’s great. I can move like the wind in it.”

“No way! You just don’t know how to dress yourself,” Ye Yiyi scolded, voice firm as a tapped bamboo stick. “You’re wasting a perfect canvas.”

She looked Tang Coco over from the side, gaze sweeping down like a brushstroke. In her heart, a sigh rose like mist: How can a girl be this flawless?

“Um… Sister Yiyi,” Tang Coco said, nerves fluttering like a moth to a lantern. “I have to head out today. Let’s not go overboard. I don’t want eyes on me.”

Sometimes, she found she couldn’t refuse Ye Yiyi, like a boat caught by a gentle current.

“…”

Ye Yiyi puffed her cheeks like a pufferfish and stared, her silence thick as summer heat, until Tang Coco finally caved.

“Okay, okay. During the National Day break, do whatever you want,” she said, bending like a willow in the wind.

“Really?” The word leaped like a silver fish.

“R—really!” she said, heart drumming like rain on eaves.

If she weren’t going to see that shameless flirt Mu Qingcheng and Ningxin, she’d never have taken such a big step; National Day was going to sting like chili.

“Fine then…” Ye Yiyi agreed with a reluctant sigh, but the corner of her mouth curled like a crescent moon as she turned back to the breakfast.

“Ahh…” Tang Coco let out a helpless breath, a leaf falling back to its task.

A little after ten, a Porsche purred to a stop at the “Qingzhicheng” Hotel, its hood gleaming like a still pond.

“Sister Yiyi, head back,” Tang Coco said, unclicking her seat belt with a crisp snap. “I can go in on my own.”

“Mm? You sure you don’t want me to walk you in?” Her concern hung like a soft shawl.

“No, no.” Tang Coco shook her head, resolve set like a stone. After last time, she knew why Ye Yiyi avoided Mu Qingcheng—likely singed by that woman’s “poisoned” charm. Since she was here, she couldn’t let Ye Yiyi step into the tiger’s den; even if she herself felt like bait on the wind.

“Alright then. Call me if you need me,” Ye Yiyi said, voice warm as sunlight.

“Mm-hmm.” Tang Coco got out, watched the car glide away like a swan, then adjusted her sunglasses, a mask of shade. She walked in, a shadow in a black tracksuit, ponytail flicking like a horse’s tail, doing everything to blur her edges.

“Hello, how may I help you?” The receptionist’s smile rang like crystal.

“I’m Tang Coco,” she said, steady as a drawn line. “I’m here to see Chairwoman Mu.”

“Certainly, please wait a moment,” the receptionist replied, fingers dancing over keys like rain.

“Mhm.” Procedures rose up like stepping stones; she crossed them one by one.

“All set,” the receptionist said. “Our system shows you’re a guest chef here. Chairwoman Mu is in her office. Please follow me.” Her words flowed like a clear stream.

“Alright.” Tang Coco trailed behind, footsteps soft as feathers, until they reached Mu Qingcheng’s sumptuous office, a lacquered box of light and glass.

“I’ll go in myself,” Tang Coco said, stopping the receptionist’s hand midair like catching a falling petal. “You can get back to work.”

“Of course,” the woman nodded, and turned away like a swaying reed; Mu Qingcheng had told them to grant Tang Coco any request.

Tang Coco reached the door, twisted the handle gently, and pushed. The door opened with a breath like paper.

“Hm? Who is it? Who told you to enter without knocking?” The voice inside curled like smoke, edged with fire.

“Ehehe—Sister Mu, don’t be mad,” Tang Coco said as she slipped in, taking off her sunglasses with a grin bright as a fresh peach.

“It’s you!” Mu Qingcheng blinked, surprise flashing like a struck match.

“Good for you, Tang Coco,” she said, anger rolling like thunder. “Do you know how many clients I stood up last week?”

“Hehe, don’t be mad, Sister Mu,” Tang Coco sang, tone sweet as honey. “I was sick, that’s why I couldn’t come. You get it, right? Here, let me pour you some water…”

Her playful smile bloomed like a spring flower; it made anger melt like snow.

“Eh? Where are the cups?” she said, stalling midstep, awkwardness landing like a dropped chopstick.

Mu Qingcheng couldn’t help it. She snorted, then laughed, sound spilling like beads. “Pfft—haha. This is my own office; how could I be short on water? And you don’t even know where the cups are, yet you’re pouring me a drink?”