I arrived at Lao Zhan's house, my two suitcases dragging behind me with a dull thud on the concrete driveway. Standing near the entrance was Wen Zhou, Lan Zhan's personal assistant, waiting patiently. He looked at me with a slight nod and said, "The Boss is waiting for you in the lounge." He extended one arm toward the doorway, as if escorting me into enemy territory.
Taking a deep breath, I followed him inside. The house was large and intimidating, the kind of place that felt more like a fortress than a home. Every corner whispered of power and control. Wen Zhou walked steadily, his footsteps soft but purposeful, leading me deeper into the heart of the house.
When we reached the lounge, he announced my arrival with a crisp tone. Lao Zhan was lounging on a sleek black leather couch, the dim lighting casting sharp shadows across his angular face. In one hand, he casually held a glass of whisky, amber liquid shimmering inside. His other hand gripped a burning cigar, the smoke curling upward lazily as he surveyed the room with sharp, calculating eyes. Nearby, one of his subordinates was engrossed in swiping through an iPad, as if reporting back on some urgent matter.
Lao Zhan glanced up, his eyes briefly resting on me, unreadable. "Follow me," he said smoothly, setting down the whisky and crushing the cigar in the ashtray with deliberate force. "I'll show you where you'll be staying for the next month."
He rose and strode toward the grand staircase, his movements fluid yet commanding. I followed, my heart pounding with a strange mixture of nerves and defiance.
The tour began. He showed me the high ceilings, the expensive décor, and the expansive windows that let in golden afternoon light. It all screamed luxury, but none of it softened the coldness that clung to the place. Finally, he opened the door to my room. It was spacious, immaculately clean, with a large bed and heavy drapes. I nodded in approval; at least this part was comfortable.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly until the moment he decided to pull one of his childish tricks. Without warning, I took a sip of my coffee—and nearly spat it out. It was salty. Salty coffee. The idea alone made my stomach churn. I looked up sharply to see Lao Zhan smirking smugly.
I clenched my fists, fury bubbling beneath the surface, but I swallowed it down. Two could play this game.
Later, when he left for the shower, I saw my chance for a little payback. I sneaked into the bathroom and swapped his regular shower gel bottle with one filled with thick blue paint. My lips curled into a satisfied grin as I imagined the chaos about to unfold.
I waited quietly, hidden from view, as he stepped into the shower. Water cascaded down his body, and I heard him humming softly—a rare sound that made me pause for a moment. Then, oblivious to my sabotage, he squeezed the gel onto his hand and lathered it over his scalp.
Moments later, he stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist, heading toward the mirror. The reflection that met his eyes was a shock: his skin was stained bright blue, like some creature from Avatar. His mouth dropped open in disbelief, and then a furious roar exploded from his throat.
"LING ZHAO!!!!!!!!" he bellowed, his face turning a bizarre purple hue from the mix of red and blue anger.
I bolted to my room, locked the door, and collapsed on the bed, laughing uncontrollably. [Does he think he can mess with me just because I'm under his roof? Over my dead body, which will be after his dead body,] I thought fiercely.
Then, self-awareness struck me. [Wait, why am I hiding? He's the one who started this.]
Determined, I stood and marched downstairs.
Lao Zhan had quickly changed and was already waiting for me. The moment he walked into the room, my laughter resumed. His subordinates, trying to stifle their own chuckles, quickly grew serious when he shot them a murderous glance.
I kept teasing him, imitating the blue Na'vi from Avatar and making exaggerated growling noises. The laughter that erupted broke the tension, filling the room with a brief moment of lightness.
Lao Zhan's irritation was palpable, but instead of punishing me directly, he snapped, "One week deduction for everyone except Wen Zhou." Then, without another word, he stormed off to the shower, this time carefully checking the gel bottle before use.
Dinner came, and I noticed my phone was missing. I was sure I had it when I went to the kitchen earlier, so I slipped away to look for it.
While I was gone, that infuriating jerk Lao Zhan took the opportunity to slip some beer into my juice. He probably thought it was a clever prank, unaware that my body absolutely could not handle alcohol.
I returned clutching my phone, sat back down, and resumed eating, not yet feeling the effects.
It hit me suddenly. A wave of dizziness, warmth spreading through my limbs. My vision blurred just slightly before the tears welled up uninvited.
I started whining loudly about how sad I was because my favorite ship was breaking up. My voice cracked, and I leaned heavily on Lao Zhan's shoulder. I rubbed my face against his shirt, smearing tears and mucus, making no effort to hide my vulnerability.
Then, feeling self-conscious, I pushed him away.
Lao Zhan stood abruptly and, without warning, pulled out his phone to start recording. He didn't know I was planning my own little revenge.
As he filmed, he noticed his shoulder growing wet. Looking down, his face twisted in rage upon seeing the soaked fabric. "LING ZHAO!!!!!" he yelled, veins bulging on his neck, face flushed red.
Before I could respond, he swept me off the floor like a sack of potatoes and carried me to the guest room where I was staying. He threw me onto the bed with a grunt and began unbuttoning my shirt.
"Ehhh! What do you think you're doing? Even if you have a hot, tempting body, you're not my type," I protested, crossing my arms over my chest. "So get rid of whatever you're thinking."
"What the hell is in that tiny brain of yours? You better clean my shirt—I want it spotless by tomorrow," he snapped, tossing the damp shirt at me.
"Erhh! What do you mean? Do I look like one of your housemaids?" I retorted, standing and walking toward him with a glare.
He turned sharply and strode to the door.
"BANG!" The door slammed hard, making me jump.
[What the hell is wrong with him? It's not the door's fault that he's not my type—so why take it out on the door? Hahaha! I can't believe he's angry just because he's not getting laid tonight.] I thought, laughing to myself as I tossed the shirt on the sofa and crawled into bed.