Volume One, Chapter 7: The Eldest Brother So Comfortable He Lost His Temper

Having received both money and satisfaction, Shen Chaowu was in excellent spirits. Now, when she looked at Shen Yanzhou, his nose was just a nose, his eyes just eyes—handsome and refined in every detail.

She grinned and said, “Big Brother, how about a massage? The exclusive Chaowu Thai massage—miss it now and you won’t get another chance~”

The little money-grubber’s act made Shen Yanzhou both exasperated and amused. He tried to keep a stern face, his deep voice tinged with disbelief, “You know how to give massages?”

He’d sooner believe a pig could climb a tree.

Shen Chaowu, pampered from birth, had never so much as dipped her fingers in spring water—she was always the one being waited on, never the one serving others.

If only she could hear her brother’s inner thoughts, she would have laughed. Born to be a princess? She had tended to Old Master Zhou, and waited on the Zhou family’s heiress. In her three years with the Zhous, her workload grew heavier each day.

A massage was light work compared to what she’d endured. Old Master Zhou was a man of principle and kindness, and to stay by his side—and avoid being sent off to feed pigs or haul manure—Shen Chaowu had spent three years perfecting the art of massage.

From technique, pressure, and timing, down to the temperature of her fingertips and the smoothness of her nails, she had mastered every detail. Even the notoriously particular Old Master Zhou had been won over by her skill.

Unfortunately, her time with him had been short-lived; the butler had soon accused her of theft and locked her in the attic for three days and nights without a single grain to eat.

Her thoughts returned to the present. Shen Chaowu blinked, her foxlike eyes shimmering with mischief. “Why not try it, Big Brother? Then you’ll know.”

His room was decorated in dark tones, filled with a faint scent of cologne, spotless and immaculate—a space that spoke of obsessive order.

She pressed him down into a chair.

Shen Yanzhou, a little tense, didn’t expect much—he was only indulging his sister, trading rest for a bit of her playfulness. He closed his eyes with a sigh of resignation.

But the moment her hands touched him, his taut muscles instantly melted.

“Mmm…” he couldn’t help but let out a low groan. It was unbelievably comfortable.

“Does that feel good, Brother?”

“It’s alright,” he replied, stubborn as ever.

“Oh, is that so…” Shen Chaowu found each acupoint with unerring accuracy, kneading and pressing until Shen Yanzhou could have called for his mother in delight.

He forced himself to stay silent.

After half an hour, drowsiness crept over him.

Just as he was about to drift off, Shen Chaowu withdrew her hands, poured herself a glass of water, and sipped it leisurely. “You’re not reacting at all, Big Brother. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll stop.”

Shen Yanzhou, on the verge of sleep: “?”

Shen Yanzhou, plagued by insomnia for years: “!”

He’d been so close—just a little more, and he would have fallen asleep! He took a deep breath, tempted to grab her hand and place it back on his shoulder, begging her to continue. But pride held him back.

He glared at Shen Chaowu, jaw clenched, refusing to say a word.

As she finished her tea, a hopeful glint appeared in his eyes. Surely now she would continue the massage?

But Shen Chaowu simply smiled. “Why are you looking at me, Brother? It’s late. I should get to bed too.” With that, she started toward the door.

Just as she was about to leave, Shen Yanzhou finally spoke. “Come back.”

Feigning innocence, she said, “Big Brother?”

Even Shen Yanzhou, slow as he sometimes was, could tell his sister was doing this on purpose—deliberately denying him what he wanted. He wondered where she’d picked up this attitude.

“You’re very good at this. Continue.”

“My hands hurt.”

“…”

“What will it take for you to keep going?” Negotiation was nothing new to Shen Yanzhou.

Shen Chaowu smiled, finally stating her price. “Simple. I want to join the company.”

He frowned, thinking she must be joking. “You majored in art design. Our company specializes in high-end chips. What could you possibly contribute?”

“I can serve tea and water for everyone,” she replied offhandedly, but her hands deftly found every pressure point. “How about that?”

Combined with her newly crafted sleep-inducing essential oil, Shen Yanzhou was soon too relaxed to argue.

He lost track of how many times he said “alright” before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning, he awoke in his own bed, free of his usual headaches, feeling refreshed and energized.

It had been ages since he’d slept so well.

He almost regretted not sleeping a bit longer.

Thus, Assistant Fang discovered that their always punctual, rain-or-shine, never-missing-a-day CEO arrived late—for the first time in three hundred sixty-five days.

And, curiously, the CEO wore a rare smile—a mix of cool detachment, faint mockery, and unmistakable contentment.

Assistant Fang shivered, eyes wide with shock.

Was this the end of the world? Or had the iron tree finally blossomed?

He couldn’t fathom it.

Opening the car door, Assistant Fang bowed his head. “Sir, you’re late.”

Shen Yanzhou simply replied, “Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all.”

“Let’s go to the company.”

“Right away.”

“Oh, and tell Finance your salary is tripled this month.”

Assistant Fang: “!!”

So it wasn’t the end of the world—it was the dawn of his own springtime!

He smiled politely. “Thank you, Sir. You seem to be in a good mood today.”

“Not bad,” Shen Yanzhou answered coolly.

Assistant Fang thought to himself: “Sir, you might want to check that you’re still smiling before you say that.”

Then Shen Yanzhou recalled his promise to Shen Chaowu the night before, and his smile faded a touch. “The young lady will be reporting to the company in a few days. When she arrives, show her around and walk her through the procedures. Make sure no one knows her identity.”

Otherwise, it would only stir up trouble.

Assistant Fang asked, “Which young lady?”

After all, the Shen family now had two: one the genuine article, one an unexpected addition.

Shen Yanzhou loosened the strap of his Patek Philippe, worth seven figures, tossing it aside with casual indifference. His tone was cool yet commanded respect.

“I have only one sister. The Shen family has only one young lady.”

Assistant Fang understood.

The young lady entering the company was Shen Chaowu.

He’d thought the CEO had grown tired of her—after all, he’d recently instructed him to prepare a gift for Jiang Yao, never mentioning anything for Shen Chaowu.

But by his tone, Miss Shen’s position was, for now, secure.

That afternoon, Assistant Fang received a friend request on WeChat.

The profile picture was a silvery-white, downy little plant—slender, delicate, and radiant with an indomitable vitality.

He didn’t recognize it, so he looked it up online—

Morning Mist Grass.

A symbol of courage and freedom.