Chapter 41 - The Script of a Simple Story
"Que Tang, time to wake up."
The voice was like a cool silk thread winding through the lingering haze of sleep, pulling Que Tang back to the waking world. She stirred, her eyelids heavy and her mind still adrift in the fragmented dreams of the night before. As her vision slowly came into focus, the first thing she saw was the elegant silhouette of Lan Mi sitting on the edge of her bed.
The shock was instantaneous. Que Tang’s eyes snapped wide, and in a frantic, instinctive blur of motion, she clutched the duvet to her chest and rolled backward, nearly tumbling off the opposite side of the mattress.
"G-General Manager..." she stammered, her voice cracking with a mixture of sleep-induced raspiness and pure bewilderment. "Why... why are you in here?"
Lan Mi remained perched on the edge of the bed, her posture impeccable even in the early morning light. Watching Que Tang’s panicked retreat, she couldn't help but let out a soft, melodic laugh that carried a hint of genuine amusement.
"Did you truly forget that I stayed over at your place last night?" Lan Mi asked, her tone teasing. She reached out, her fingers grazing Que Tang’s cheek in a brief, playful pinch that felt far too intimate for a workplace superior. "Hurry up and get out of bed. I’ve already prepared breakfast. Though my culinary skills might not quite match yours, I think I can manage a decent morning meal."
With a grace that seemed entirely out of place in Que Tang’s modest bedroom, Lan Mi leaned over to the floor. She thoughtfully gathered the scattered pieces of Que Tang’s pajamas and undergarments that had been discarded the night before, placing them neatly on the edge of the bed. Before turning to leave, her gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long on the way Que Tang was desperately clutching the quilt to her collarbone—an ambiguous, knowing look that sent a flush of heat to Que Tang’s face. Then, with a final, enigmatic smile, she turned and swept out of the room.
*What was that look? Dammit!* Que Tang thought, her teeth gritting against the fabric of the duvet. She felt like a character in one of those cliché *Xiao Bai Wen*—the kind of simple-minded web novels where the protagonist is constantly at the mercy of a dominant, unpredictable lead.
After a hurried session of washing up and changing into her comfortable loungewear, Que Tang tentatively stepped out of her bedroom. The sight that greeted her was jarring. Her small dining table, which usually sat empty and neglected by the window, was now laden with a lavish spread of breakfast items. Lan Mi was already seated, looking perfectly composed as she sipped coffee and leafed through a morning newspaper, the sunlight catching the sharp lines of her profile.
Que Tang hesitated, then shuffled over to the table and took the seat opposite her. Her eyes traveled from the steaming plates to Lan Mi herself, and then she froze.
"General Manager... those clothes..." Que Tang began, her brow furrowing. She knew her own wardrobe inside and out, and she certainly didn't own that crisp, tailored button-down shirt or those perfectly fitted trousers. The logic of the situation pointed to only one conclusion.
"I brought them with me," Lan Mi replied smoothly, her eyes never leaving the paper. She offered a serene, guiltless smile. "Yesterday, the weather seemed exceptionally fine, so I packed a small bag with my toiletries and a change of clothes, thinking I might spend the night out somewhere. I didn't expect they would come in so handy at your home."
If she could have, Que Tang would have loved to offer a dry, sarcastic scoff. But with Xiao Xianggu—her feline system guide—currently absent, she had no way of gauging the current state of the "Female Supporting Character." She didn't know if Lan Mi’s "Blackening Value" had spiked or if she had entered some kind of *Kichiku* mode. For all she knew, this was the start of some obsessive plotline where "loving you means tying you down."
Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Que Tang chose to remain silent. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into a bowl of golden, aromatic mushroom soup, focusing entirely on the food to avoid the predatory elegance of the woman sitting across from her.
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