Who is behind this frame-up?
As the morning mist of Shanghai, carrying the scent of withered plane trees, drifted into the convenience store, Ning Zhichu was tiptoeing towards the top shelf of oat milk. Just as her fingertips touched the bottle, a slender hand reached out from behind and steadily took the can down. Wei Ting's scent, tinged with cedar, wafted over. He wore a dark gray wool coat with a pair of silver cufflinks at the collar—the same pair she had picked out for him in SoHo, New York.
"I told you not to drink cold things all the time." He put the oat milk into the shopping basket and added a box of hot meat buns. "Didn't you have breakfast this morning?" Ning Zhichu turned her head away from his hand that was reaching for her forehead, pretending to look at the price tag: "I was rushing to finish a manuscript and got up late. Besides, why is President Wei here? Did the Wall Street Insights morning meeting get canceled?"
He chuckled softly, pinching her flushed earlobe between his fingertips. "I brought you breakfast on my way here, and I'll give you a ride to the company." At the checkout, he naturally took the canvas bag from her hand—it contained her notebook and recorder, things she had prepared for her interview with the Lin Group. As they left the convenience store, the morning mist hadn't yet dissipated. He shoved the hot steamed bun into her hands, then carried the oat milk and canvas bag himself, walking on the outside, his arm gently shielding her from the morning rush hour traffic.
When the black Bentley pulled up under the sycamore tree below the editorial office, Ning Zhichu had just finished half a steamed bun. Wei Ting wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth, his fingertips inadvertently brushing against her lips, the warmth making her tremble slightly. "I have a business dinner tonight, I'll pick you up after I'm done." He took a lipstick from his suit pocket. "You said this shade was out of stock in New York last time, so I asked a friend to bring one back for touch-ups."
The lipstick was her favorite mauve color, with a small "N" engraved on the tube. As Ning Zhichu got out of the car, clutching the lipstick, she saw Song Wei standing at the entrance of the editorial department, watching them with a half-smile. She quickly stuffed the lipstick into her bag and hurried forward: "Good morning, Sister Song." Song Wei's gaze swept over the canvas bag in her hand, then glanced at the departing Bentley, a cryptic smile playing on her lips: "Reporter Ning is truly fortunate; no wonder you managed to get an exclusive interview with the Lin Group."
The editorial department was filled with the tension of the year-end sprint. The editor-in-chief called Ning Zhichu into the office and pointed to the topic list on the computer screen: "The annual interview with the president of the Lin Group is entrusted to you. If this article wins an award, you will definitely be the 'Employee of the Year'." She had just nodded in agreement when she heard the sound of a folder falling to the ground outside the door—it was Song Wei's voice, which could be heard clearly by everyone in the office.
Song Wei joined the company two years earlier than Ning Zhichu. Last year, she lost to Ning Zhichu by one vote in the "Outstanding Employee" selection, and since then, they have been secretly competing for interview opportunities. Last week, when Ning Zhichu snatched the exclusive interview opportunity with the president of the Lin Group from Song Wei thanks to her solid preliminary research, Song Wei said sarcastically in the break room: "Some people are just lucky. They can take shortcuts because they have powerful backers."
For the next three days, Ning Zhichu spent her time at the Lin Group headquarters and the city archives, filling two notebooks with interview notes. To verify the annual revenue data, she specifically arranged a supplementary interview with the financial director, recording the details clearly on her voice recorder and backing up screenshots of financial statements stamped with the company seal on her phone. On the eve of the final draft, she worked late into the night in her office, saving the final version to an encrypted USB drive and simultaneously uploading it to a cloud document, setting double passwords.
The Shanghai night view outside the window had faded, neon lights casting colorful shadows on the wet pavement. As she stretched and rubbed her aching shoulders, her phone vibrated—a message from Wei Ting: "The social engagement is over. I'm downstairs in your apartment complex. I brought you some pan-fried buns." She smiled at the message, replied "Coming down right away," casually put the USB drive into her desk drawer, locked it, and quickly left the office.
A black Bentley was parked in the shade of the plane trees in the residential area. Wei Ting leaned against the car door, smoking, the cigarette between his fingers flickering in the night. Seeing her emerge, he immediately stubbed out his cigarette and went to greet her, reaching out to tighten her scarf. "The draft's finalized? Your eyes are red." He opened the car door; in the glove compartment sat a cup of hot cocoa, the cup adorned with her favorite Monet water lily design. "Drink it while it's hot; the pan-fried buns are still warm." As he started the car, he caught a glimpse of her secretly pressing the hot cocoa to her cheek, and a smile involuntarily crept onto his lips.
As Ning Zhichu was about to open the car door at the entrance of the residential complex, Wei Ting grabbed her wrist. He pulled a hand warmer from his suit pocket and placed it in her hand: "Shanghai's winter nights are even damper and colder than New York's. Don't let your hands get cold while you're writing tonight." His fingertips kneaded her wrist, his fingertips tracing the shallow scar on her wrist bone—a mark from when she was accidentally scratched by a document rack during her last interview in Hong Kong. "If anything happens, you must tell me. Don't bear it all alone." His voice was as deep as the Huangpu River on a winter night, his eyes filled with worry.
"I know, Mr. Wei is even more long-winded than my mom." She rolled her eyes deliberately, but as she turned around, she quietly pulled his scarf closer around her neck. Watching his car disappear into the morning mist, she quickly walked into the building, the hand warmer in her palm still warm from his touch.
Three days after the manuscript was submitted, the editorial department was in an uproar. A letter from the Lin Group was sent directly to the editor-in-chief's email address, its official seal prominently displayed: "In your article 'Lin Group: A Game Changer in Transformation,' written by your reporter Ning Zhichu, the annual revenue data contains serious inaccuracies, mistakenly stating 23 billion instead of 32 billion, severely damaging our company's reputation. We demand a public apology and that you investigate and hold those responsible accountable!"
The editor-in-chief slammed the printed manuscript on Ning Zhichu's desk, his face ashen: "Did you verify this data? I repeatedly emphasized that the financial data must be absolutely accurate!" Ning Zhichu stared at the glaring "23 billion" on the paper, her fingers icy cold—she had clearly verified it three times; the voice recorder and screenshots of the financial statements proved the data was accurate. She immediately rushed to her desk, opened the drawer, and found the USB drive still there, but when she plugged it into the computer, the manuscript inside had been altered; logging into the cloud document, she found that the most recent modification record showed "3:17 PM yesterday," and at that time, she was attending a supplementary briefing at the Lin Group.
"I didn't change it!" Her voice trembled. "I have the interview recording with the CFO, and screenshots of the reports!" But when she opened her phone's photo album, her heart sank completely—the backup screenshots had vanished, the relevant clips in the voice recorder had been deleted, leaving only irrelevant chatter.
Lin Wei walked past her with a cup of coffee, feigning comfort: "Zhichu, are you too tired and misremembered? Data like this can't be taken lightly." Her gaze swept over Ning Zhichu's pale face, a barely perceptible smugness hidden in her eyes. Ning Zhichu suddenly looked up, staring into Lin Wei's eyes: "Were you in the office at three o'clock yesterday afternoon? Did anyone touch my desk?"
Lin Wei put down her coffee cup, spread her hands, and looked innocent: "I was printing documents in the break room all afternoon, and many colleagues can testify to that. But you, did you take advantage of having President Wei backing you up and not bother to check the data carefully?" These words were like a needle, drawing everyone in the office to look over, and whispers rose and fell.
The editor-in-chief rubbed his temples and interrupted them: "It's no use talking about this now. The Lin Group requires a response before the end of the day. Ning Zhichu, you're suspended from all your work and need to find the evidence. If you can't, you can forget about the 'Outstanding Employee' award, and you'll have to write your resignation!"
Ning Zhichu spent the entire afternoon in front of her computer, going through all the backup files and even contacting the cloud document customer service, but they said the modification history had been permanently deleted and could not be recovered. The setting sun shone through the blinds, casting a long shadow on her. Her phone vibrated; it was a message from Wei Ting: "I'll take you to eat your favorite Japanese food tonight. I'll wait for you downstairs at your company at six."
She stared at the message, her finger hovering over the screen, hesitant to reply. She didn't want Wei Ting to know, didn't want him to think she couldn't even handle this simple workplace issue, and even less did she want him to treat her like a parasitic plant needing protection. After much deliberation, she replied, "I have to work overtime revising the draft tonight, so I won't be able to have dinner with you. Get some rest."
After successfully sending the message, she silenced her phone and continued searching for evidence on her computer. Wei Ting, upon receiving the message, didn't think much of it, simply assuming that things were busier at the end of the year, and continued working overtime until late at night. No matter how Ning Zhichu tried to recover the computer's data, she couldn't find anything amiss. Ning Zhichu's face turned pale. People in the office gradually left; her previously kind and approachable colleagues now seemed like completely different people, no longer paying any attention to her.
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