Chapter 12
With classes starting soon at the institution, Lin Qianqian couldn’t continue imposing on Lu Yin for rides.
Although she wasn’t entirely sure if it was even on Lu Yin’s way.
On her second day of work, Lin Qianqian was finally given a task: to edit a video into both horizontal and vertical formats, following the company’s usual style.
The previous videos were all humorous, filled with internet memes and emojis. Lin Qianqian, a seasoned internet user, found the work easy and enjoyable.
She started skipping breakfast. Lunch was only two hours away, and eating breakfast would only make her hungry in the afternoon.
The office had just finished a meeting. As a new employee, Lin Qianqian hadn’t been included.
But she overheard that, with the start of the school year and autumn recruitment season approaching, the company was reaching out to various institutions for promotional collaborations.
Lin Qianqian, remembering Lu Yin’s student information forms, doubted the art institution would be interested in such a collaboration.
She had been observing Lu Yin and knew the classes were already full, with a waiting list even for those willing to pay extra.
The list of potential partners was shared in the work chat group. As expected, Lu Yin’s institution wasn’t on it.
Lin Qianqian lost interest, staring at the clock, eager to leave.
Around six o’clock, Xu Sui asked in the office who knew how to operate a camera.
Lin Qianqian rested her head on her hand. No one responded.
So close to closing time, no one wanted to volunteer.
Xu Sui spotted Lin Qianqian’s slumped figure. “Can you?” she asked.
Lin Qianqian chuckled nervously. “I was in the photography club in college.”
Her interest in photography stemmed from Lu Yin. She had tried learning to paint, begging Lu Yin to teach her, but discovered she lacked artistic talent.
She had asked Lu Yin about the purpose of painting, and Lu Yin had replied, “To capture beauty.”
A camera could achieve the same goal.
Photography had become Lin Qianqian’s main hobby abroad.
“Alright, you’re in,” Xu Sui declared. “You’ll be joining us for an off-site project.”
Lin Qianqian glanced at the time—
6:45 PM.
She wanted to cry.
Her positive impression of the company had lasted exactly one day.
She sat in the back corner of the company van, her face pale.
A senior employee patted her shoulder reassuringly. “This only happens once a month. You just got unlucky.”
“I should be crammed on a crowded subway during rush hour,” Lin Qianqian said mournfully, “not on an off-site project with the boss.”
She glanced cautiously at Xu Sui in the front passenger seat, her voice trailing off.
“We’re filming at an institution today. They requested we film after hours so we don’t disrupt their classes.”
“Oh,” Lin Qianqian said. The explanation was reasonable, but she was still annoyed.
Half an hour later, the van stopped in front of an institution.
Lin Qianqian carried the heavy camera, slinging the strap around her neck, then went back for the tripod.
“It’s an art institution,” she observed, noticing the framed artwork and student projects on the walls. “Wait, is this a painting institution?” she asked, realization dawning.
“Yes. Classes ended at 6:30. It took us half an hour to get here. It’s just past seven. Perfect timing,” Xu Sui joined her, setting up the tripod while someone else spoke with the institution’s representative.
Lin Qianqian tensed up, her earlier relaxed demeanor vanishing as Xu Sui approached.
Lin Yun had instilled in her the importance of respecting elders and never questioning authority. Even if they were wrong, they were always right.
This had led to rebellious tendencies in her youth, but after a few harsh lessons from her college professors, she had learned the hard way that bosses were not to be trifled with, and that the adage “even if they’re wrong, they’re right” was, unfortunately, true.
“The lighting here is good. Let’s take some photos first,” Xu Sui instructed.
After fifteen minutes of frantic filming, Lin Qianqian finally understood the source of the gigabytes of useless footage on the company’s hard drive.
The boss was a trigger-happy, indiscriminate filmer.
Lin Qianqian stayed in the hallway, filming with Xu Sui, avoiding the interior of the institution.
She didn’t want to go inside. She just wanted to finish quickly and go home to Lu Yin.
Xu Sui offered her a bottle of water, suggesting she take a break. Lin Qianqian thanked her but couldn’t open the bottle.
Her hands were sweaty from holding the camera.
She held the bottle, deciding to call Lu Yin, just to chat and ask about dinner.
A familiar ringtone echoed from inside the institution. Lin Qianqian looked up, startled, and saw Lu Yin striding towards them. Their eyes met, and Lu Yin hung up the phone.
But this institution wasn’t on the list…
Lu Yin ignored her, approaching Xu Sui and engaging her in conversation.
“Hello, Teacher Lu,” Xu Sui extended her hand.
Lu Yin gestured apologetically at the paint on her hands. Xu Sui understood and withdrew her hand.
Lin Qianqian stood there, listening to Lu Yin’s polite and professional tone, not even glancing in her direction.
This must have been a common occurrence for Lu Yin over the past few years, interacting with people calmly and professionally, her expression pleasant but distant.
It was how Lu Yin had treated her during their first week together.
But now, she sensed a subtle difference.
She was doing something right. Just a little more effort, and she would be closer to Lu Yin again.
“Let’s go, Qianqian,” Xu Sui waved her hand, motioning for her to follow.
Lu Yin finally looked at her a second time, then turned and walked away without a word.
“Why haven’t you drunk your water?” Xu Sui asked, noticing Lin Qianqian struggling with the camera and tripod. She took the bottle from her.
“My hands are sweaty. I couldn’t open it,” Lin Qianqian replied honestly.
“You should have said something! Don’t worry, we don’t have a strict hierarchy here. No need for formalities. We’re colleagues at work, friends after hours,” Xu Sui reassured her, opening the bottle.
Lu Yin had already reached the studio door, unlocking it with a key and leaning against the doorframe, watching them.
Lin Qianqian took the open bottle, placed it on a windowsill without drinking, and entered the studio to continue filming.
She avoided looking at Lu Yin, but felt a burning gaze on her back.
“Here, and take a few shots over there,” Xu Sui instructed. “The more footage we have, the better.”
Lin Qianqian obeyed, her heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
Lu Yin watched their interaction, her expression unreadable.
The night was dark, but the studio lights were bright, illuminating the figures within.
She heard a mocking voice in her head—
Lu Yin, what are you afraid of?
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