Adopting Myself from the Young Heiress - Chapter 3

Yan Ciwei sat with her head slightly bowed, reviewing the proposals submitted by the planning teams.

From An Chixu’s perspective, she could only see the strands of Yan Ciwei’s hair falling beside her ear, catching glimpses of her focused expression through the gaps.

It was a somewhat condescending gaze. An Chixu thought to herself, One day, I’ll be looking down at Yan Ciwei from a higher position.

Among the many people present, she was likely the only one harboring such malicious thoughts toward the director—a figure universally respected and feared, the heir who had parachuted into her position with undeniable authority.

An Chixu stepped forward, breaking away from the group.

Tian Ming, who had initially mistaken Yan Ciwei for a harsh critic, watched An Chixu with a hint of concern.

An Chixu squeezed Tian Ming’s wrist, which had reached out to her, without turning back.

As she passed Tang Shu, he gave her a meaningful wink, urging her to raise the issue of overtime. It wasn’t that he intentionally wanted to cause trouble; their planning team had simply been overwhelmed with work lately.

Throughout her movements, An Chixu ignored their glances. One by one, their gazes followed her like a breeze trailing behind her.

She fixed her gaze on Yan Ciwei.

Unwavering, she stared intently at Yan Ciwei.

Finally, as An Chixu approached, Yan Ciwei met her gaze and casually handed her the documents she was holding.

It was a perfectly normal interaction between a superior and subordinate. After all, An Chixu was still just an assistant planner, not much different from an errand runner.

Yet An Chixu caught a faint, lingering scent of geranium.

The momentary sense of tranquility irritated her.

She was utterly weary of this sweet-bitter fragrance.

Yan Ciwei walked ahead with effortless grace.

It was always like this. An Chixu found herself growing weary of Yan Ciwei’s retreating figure.

The documents in her hand weren’t heavy, but the top sheet contained the proposal Tang Shu and the others had finalized during their meeting a few days prior.

In this kind of setting, even the slightest weight felt like a burden, threatening to collapse under the oppressive gazes.

The elevator doors slid open.

Yan Ciwei never seemed to use the private elevator. During her two years on duty, An Chixu had frequently spotted Yan Ciwei in the main elevator.

Yan Ciwei’s intentions were transparent, and An Chixu had never tried to stop her.

But moments of solitude were rare. This was only the second time they’d been alone together.

An Chixu couldn’t fathom Yan Ciwei’s motives, so she simply stared at her, studying her every move. She wanted to mimic Yan Ciwei’s gaze, to crush her shoulders with the weight of her stare.

Yan Ciwei led An Chixu into the elevator like she was escorting a junior secretary, her slightly curled ebony hair swaying with each step.

She glanced at her watch, then casually tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the same strand that had been bothering her throughout the meeting.

Her slender fingers were elegant and captivating, drawing An Chixu’s gaze.

The An Chixu beside her was no longer the aloof figure from the previous night, who had refused to speak or even make eye contact while sharing a room.

Her gaze was too direct, hooking Yan Ciwei like a fish on a line.

Yan Ciwei always took the bait. She turned her head to meet An Chixu’s eyes.

An Chixu’s eyes were so cold.

Like that night they broke up, when she stood in the freezing wind wearing only a thin shirt. The wind whipped away her last shred of dignity, pouring icy coldness into her body.

The pain she had relived countless times layered upon itself, Yan Ciwei felt An Chixu’s gaze pierce her to the core.

It was the look one gives a stranger, the look one gives an enemy, the look one gives a lover—all mixed together.

It stripped Yan Ciwei’s heart bare, thread by thread.

Yet she found it strangely satisfying.

Yan Ciwei shifted slightly, fully meeting An Chixu’s icy glare. Even if it felt like a thousand knives tearing into her, she would endure it gladly.

Hate lasts longer than love, and is more intimate than indifference.

Hate me more, she thought.

Yan Ciwei’s eyes curved into a satisfied smile.

She had expected An Chixu to recoil in disgust and turn away.

Her Tuantuan had always been like this: cautious and reserved, yet with a fierce temper that erupted after prolonged suppression, leaving her overwhelmed.

But An Chixu merely blinked.

Like a delete key, erasing Yan Ciwei’s smile.

Yan Ciwei continued to stare at An Chixu.

It was a silent condemnation, questioning why An Chixu had contacted her privately.

Yan Ciwei’s lips curled into a faint smile.

The harsher An Chixu’s gaze became, the more painful it felt. The deeper and more real the memories of the previous night resurfaced.

Her sharp glares could also feel like caressing hands, even if they stung.

An Chixu would never know what Yan Ciwei had experienced or felt.

The 23rd floor arrived.

An Chixu withdrew her gaze, lowering her eyes to let her lashes conceal her emotions. She reverted to her role as a humble assistant, meekly following behind her director boss.

Yan Ciwei walked slowly, keeping An Chixu behind her.

She led her.

It took an eternity to finally reach the office, a five-minute walk that felt like a lifetime of mistakes.

“Sit down,” Yan Ciwei said, abandoning the pretense of being An Chixu’s superior. She poured tea for her.

An Chixu stared silently at the tea in Yan Ciwei’s hand.

Why be so polite?

They were strangers now, with no need for such formality or restraint.

An Chixu sat decisively on the guest sofa, crossed her legs, and took a sip of tea.

Yan Ciwei hid behind her, memorizing every movement, etching each gesture into her mind.

Yan Ciwei leaned back against the sofa, as if this would allow her to feel An Chixu’s presence through the thin barrier.

The gulf between them was far wider than the sofa’s width, yet Yan Ciwei still felt a faint warmth.

“Why didn’t you reply to my message? I’m still your superior, after all,” she said, though many hierarchical levels separated them.

An Chixu’s position was still too low. Yan Ciwei needed to find a way to get her promoted quickly.

Tang Shu wouldn’t simply step aside. In fact, it was likely because of him that An Chixu had been held back, remaining an assistant planner for two years.

An Chixu set down her teacup.

The clink reverberated through Yan Ciwei’s chest, causing another sharp pang.

These wounds, though painful, feel strangely comforting, Yan Ciwei thought, tracing the rim of her cup. I must be guilty, and sick. I crave the sting of my lover’s rejection.

“What was I supposed to reply to a simple ‘received’?” An Chixu asked, recalling the red notification dot in the corner of her computer screen after sending the meeting report yesterday. She felt a dull weariness.

They had broken up, yet their professional lives remained intertwined.

Though An Chixu had long locked Yan Ciwei’s personal contact information in her address book and changed her social media accounts to avoid her attention, the company accounts were still “friends,” forcing daily exchanges.

An Chixu’s voice was softer than the clink of the teacup against the table, almost a murmur to herself.

Yan Ciwei knew this was her most forceful act of defiance.

“Hmm?” Yan Ciwei murmured, her tone ambiguous, as she turned slightly and lowered her head beside An Chixu.

The scent of geraniums grew stronger. An Chixu’s brows furrowed with clear impatience.

“I mean, I’m sorry, President Yan. I was a bit busy yesterday and didn’t see it,” An Chixu said, turning her head to meet Yan Ciwei’s smiling gaze. Her eyelid twitched involuntarily.

Yan Ciwei chuckled softly.

Such a distant title. It used to be “President Yan,” or even “Sister Yan,” just “Sister.” Or Weiwei, Beibei, Qinqin.

Yan Ciwei used the moment to gather her hair, her slender, jade-like fingers threading through the dark wood of the comb.

Even the dust motes seemed to glow like tiny stars, shimmering softly.

Finally, An Chixu couldn’t maintain her composure under Yan Ciwei’s gaze. She turned away, abandoning her subordinate’s demeanor.

Yan Ciwei, however, sat down opposite her.

She still had so many personal questions she wanted to ask.

How have you been lately? Do you have any pets? Are you happier now that we’re apart? Does hating me bring you satisfaction?

Who was that person you were talking to before the meeting? Why were you standing so close? Did their words make you happy? Have you met many new people recently?

Is Tang Shu being annoying? Aren’t you tired from working late? Your dark circles are worse again—are you having trouble sleeping?

Yan Ciwei merely suppressed her jealousy.

“Your team’s proposal for the winter program was excellent,” she said. She could tell some of the ideas had come from An Chixu herself.

If she could help eliminate Tang Shu, that troublesome man, would she get a promotion?

Would she… get closer to her?

Yan Ciwei’s breathing deepened slightly.

If it hadn’t been for the unexpected presence of someone else last night, she wouldn’t have risked bringing An Chixu back to her office again.

But…

She was probably the least self-controlled lover. Even the slightest, dreamlike possibility could make her lose composure.

Yan Ciwei suppressed the stubbornness in her gaze and turned a gentle look toward An Chixu.

“To finalize the project team, President Yan should consult with Team Leader Tang.”

An Chixu didn’t seem to notice the tenderness in her tone. Her response was strictly professional, with a hint of detachment.

“You’re right. I was just thinking aloud.” Yan Ciwei handed the documents to An Chixu.

“The meeting report is excellent. However, you could have assigned this to an intern.”

Her Tuantuan should be handling more important, high-value tasks.

Like that program proposal.

“Understood,” An Chixu replied, somewhat surprised.

She had expected Yan Ciwei, who had been so persistent—even seizing on her failure to reply to an email as an excuse to keep her close, even if it was just for work—wouldn’t let her go so easily.

Yet Yan Ciwei was acting like the considerate and reliable “Sister Yan” she used to be.

“Go home early and get some rest.” Yan Ciwei’s instructions were so minimal that there was no real need to bring An Chixu back to her office at all.

She had personally broken the rules she had established earlier.

She was testing the waters.

An Chixu stood up and gave Yan Ciwei a formal thank you.

As she stepped out of the office, Yan Ciwei could still see her furrowed brow.

The door slammed shut with a resounding crash, leaving Yan Ciwei stunned into silence for a full minute before she finally lowered her gaze.

Doesn’t she like my perfume?

But this was An Chixu’s favorite scent.

She remembered the day she brought a new bottle of perfume home. An Chixu had practically fought her for it, her eyes shining with delight.

Her hatred… it really hurts.

The impact of Yan Ciwei’s visit faded almost instantly.

As An Chixu sat in the car on her way to the set, she even wondered if she had already moved on.

It wouldn’t matter how often Yan Ciwei tried to contact her in the future. After all, she was just doing a job.

With her family situation so complicated, she lacked the courage to switch jobs. Besides, despite the heavy workload, the position offered decent compensation.

With these thoughts, An Chixu relaxed, tossed the meeting report to Tian Ming, and opened the demo of the promotional video to review for any necessary revisions.

She was in a good mood, knowing she would soon meet the Little Idol.

The young woman her team was responsible for was quite endearing, with a sweet personality. She often called An Chixu “Sister An.”

Yet her public image was strikingly charismatic, a persona meticulously crafted by An Chixu herself.

Some people lose their fascination with celebrities after entering this industry.

Every facet of their public persona is artificial, meticulously constructed by countless “An Chixus” behind the scenes.

But this realization only deepened An Chixu’s interest in celebrities.

She was intimately familiar with the styles of the industry’s top strategists. Sometimes, while watching variety shows or talent competitions, she could even identify which public image had been crafted by whom.

She felt like the mastermind behind the scenes, the soul sculptor of celebrities.

Controlling their words and actions gave her a strange yet exhilarating feeling.

“An Chixu,” Tang Shu called out to her before entering the venue, giving her a meaningful look.

An Chixu nodded in acknowledgment, her mind racing.

Tang Shu had taken many of her proposals.

But constantly taking her ideas would inevitably backfire.

An Chixu had already planned her countermove.

“I have complete faith in your work, Xiao An,” Tang Shu said, impressed by her attentiveness. He walked over, draped an arm around her shoulder, and patted her.

“Once the students are on summer break, there’s a great project coming up. Let’s work hard on it together then.” Tang Shu clearly intended to mentor An Chixu.

An Chixu responded with a perfectly calibrated smile of gratitude. She knew this middle-aged man, who had clung to his team leader position for years, was simply desperate to climb the corporate ladder, despite lacking the necessary skills.

“Sister An!” Her Little Idol arrived.

Shen Jibai skipped over to An Chixu. At just sixteen years old, she was at the age where she easily developed crushes on kind older sisters.

“Here,” An Chixu said, handing Shen Jibai the proposal she had written, bearing Tang Shu’s name. “This outlines what you should and shouldn’t do on the show. Take some time to familiarize yourself with it.”

“Thank you, Sister An,” Shen Jibai murmured, her eyes shining as she looked up at An Chixu. “I know you’re the one who writes these every time. You’re the only one who adjusts them to fit my habits.”

“If you can tell, that’s enough for me,” An Chixu replied, patting Shen Jibai’s head with a friendly smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at their team leader, the all-around ace.

Pei Luochen’s loose, pine-green hair was tied back, her presence radiating a natural aura. Her blue contact lenses gave her the haughty look of a cat, reminiscent of her soft, orange tabby at home.

Not all idols were created equal. Pei Luochen was clearly destined for top-tier stardom. Her image strategist was undoubtedly far more skilled than An Chixu.

So beautiful.

An Chixu didn’t care whether Pei Luochen’s public persona was genuine or manufactured, or how often she trended online. She wasn’t a true fan, just someone with a weakness for pretty faces.

Even a fleeting glimpse was enough to satisfy her.

After a moment, An Chixu withdrew her gaze. Having been suppressed for two years, she knew exactly when to restrain herself.

Arriving home on time after work, An Chixu opened the door to find Orange eagerly waiting to greet her.

“Little kitty!” An Chixu exclaimed, delighted, as she closed the door and crouched down.

Orange sat before her, regal and proud as a sculpted statue, like a noble duchess. His sleek, well-groomed fur shone, clearly the result of meticulous care from his owner.

“I need to take good care of you too,” An Chixu said softly, cautiously extending her hand.

It was only their second day together, but Orange already seemed comfortable in his new home. An Chixu noticed a scattering of fur on the floor as she glanced around.

Should I try petting this adorable cat? she wondered.

Orange watched An Chixu’s hand without fear, lazily sinking lower to the ground. He stretched languidly, his entire body expanding, his fur puffing out like a dandelion seed head.

An Chixu’s hand froze mid-air, hovering uncertainly as she repeatedly moved it horizontally, vertically, and back again.

How do you even pet a cat?!

During the tense half-minute standoff, Orange gazed at her hand and even nudged forward slightly.

Startled, An Chixu recoiled.

“Orange, no, don’t bite me! I don’t taste good!” she pleaded, still sitting on the floor, the lingering softness of cat fur clinging to her palm. Her mood fluctuated wildly due to her inexperience.

She couldn’t understand what Orange was trying to do.

Orange, equally baffled by the human’s actions, settled back down and simply lay down.

In Orange’s mind, humans were generally good. She could groom herself in their presence without fear of harm.

It was normal to occasionally not understand what humans were doing.

Orange, ever laid-back, continued licking her paws and washing her face. When the human in front of her moved closer, she rolled onto her back, exposing her belly, and began purring contentedly.

She loved her new home and was happy. As she purred, Orange even kneaded the air with her paws, stepping rhythmically against nothing.

This display left the cat-less savage utterly dumbfounded.

An Chixu felt a pang of anxiety. Had her impulsive attempt to touch Orange startled the cat into a stress response?

Is this a stress response?

She quickly pulled out her phone to record a video and sent it to Pei Yuxi’s alternate account.

Hey Pei, I just tried to pet your cat. She nudged her head toward me, but I didn’t dare touch her. Then she flopped over like this and started making weird noises. Is she stressed?

Yan Ciwei faced her biggest dilemma in recent days.

Aside from An Chixu’s continued cold indifference and occasional hurtful remarks—something she had grown accustomed to, even finding a perverse satisfaction in it at times—there was a new development.

The newly added online contact, suspected to be An Chixu and the foster parent of her cousin’s cat, had sent her a flurry of messages.

They seemed urgent.

Yan Ciwei cared little about the cat; her primary concern was uncovering the true identity of this online contact.

She zoomed in on the video, screenshotting every detail.

Unfortunately, the video was too short, and the focus remained entirely on the cat. Apart from the floor and the distant table leg, Yan Ciwei couldn’t discern anything else.

The table leg closely resembled the style she and An Chixu had chosen together at the furniture store years ago.

But the image was too blurry. Yan Ciwei’s heart raced, her rational mind hesitant to draw any conclusions.

After staring at the screen for a long while, Yan Ciwei pressed a hand to her chest, suddenly recalling a memory from the past.

The cluttered table and chairs, the dimly lit living room, the overcast sky…

And their youthful hearts, brimming with restless emotions.

It was at that dining table, for the first time, that she had seen An Chixu’s body.

Back then, An Chixu had been like this little cat.

Crouching by the table corner, head tilted upward.

Gazing at her with rain-soaked eyes, wet and pleading.

Don’t keep the cat, my Tuantuan.

Keep me instead.

Yan Ciwei typed the message.

She hoped the recipient was her Tuantuan.