CIATB Chapter 9 Without the chef, the billionaire CEO can't eat!
Chapter 9 Without the chef, the billionaire CEO can't eat!
The lecture hall, in the back corner.
The sycamore leaves outside the window were fluttering in the evening breeze.
The old professor spoke passionately on the podium, spitting as he spoke.
Zhang Yan lowered his head.
The phone screen was cracked and mottled, reflecting the pure black profile picture.
[The Creditor (Nie Qingcheng)]
Fingertip hovers above the input box.
six o'clock.
This is the deadline set by that woman.
Being late will result in a deduction of pay, and being absent without leave will result in double the pay.
They are so domineering that they are unreasonable.
Zhang Yan pursed his lips.
In the past, he might have skipped class because of that astronomical debt.
But now, things are different.
The system gave him confidence and helped him regain his long-lost rhythm.
He came to pay off his debts, not to sell himself.
His studies were the foundation of his life.
Tap the screen with your finger.
There was no explanation, no flattery, only a statement.
I have a required course tonight, so I'm taking the day off. I'll be there on time tomorrow.
send.
Lock screen.
Zhang Yan put his phone back in his pocket, opened "Macroeconomics," and calmly jotted down a line of notes.
It was as if the person who had just refused was not a female tycoon worth hundreds of billions.
Instead, he was someone trying to sell membership cards.
……
Genting Manor, Building A-09.
The setting sun bathed the living room floor in a vibrant orange-red hue.
Nie Qingcheng walked barefoot on the carpet.
She had just taken a shower.
He changed out of his ruthless business attire.
She wore a burgundy silk slip dress; the minimalist cut accentuated her stunning S-curve figure.
She even sprayed some "No Man's Land Rose" on it.
It was cold and sharp, yet carried a subtle hint of desire.
My gaze swept over the clock on the wall.
5:55.
Five minutes to go.
The cook should ring the doorbell soon.
Just thinking about that steaming hot soup and that tall, upright figure busy in the kitchen miraculously soothed her stomach, which had been upset by those old men on the board of directors all day.
"bite."
My phone vibrated.
Nie Qingcheng's lips curled up slightly, making the beauty mark at the corner of her eye even more vivid.
He's smart to be sensible.
With a slender, white fingertip, the screen is opened.
next second.
The smile on his lips froze.
Requesting one day off.
Those few words were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head.
Nie Qingcheng stared at the screen.
I stared at it for a full ten seconds.
Ask for leave?
For class?
For Nie Qingcheng, a meal is less valuable than a few dry, boring pages of a book.
I feel a sudden tightness in my chest.
A sense of irritation, a feeling of being ignored, surged up my head through my veins.
it is good.
well.
"Zhang Yan, you're good."
Nie Qingcheng sneered and threw her phone heavily onto the sofa.
It bounced up and then fell down.
It's just a meal.
Without Butcher Zhang, would Nie Qingcheng starve to death?
She grabbed the internal phone, her voice icy cold.
"Call Huiting Mansion."
"Deliver a top-of-the-line dinner within half an hour."
"Tell the head chef that if he can't make it taste the way I want, he can quit tomorrow."
……
Half an hour later.
The Bentley was parked at the entrance.
Two rows of waiters in tailcoats filed in.
The silver tablecloth is lifted.
The aroma is tangy.
French-style baked snails, M9 Wagyu beef Wellington, black truffle risotto...
Each dish is as exquisite as a work of art on display in a museum.
The plating is exquisite, and the ingredients are luxurious.
This table is worth six figures.
Nie Qingcheng sat in the main seat, holding a heavy silver fork in her hand.
She looked at the table full of delicacies, but her stomach felt completely empty.
I have no appetite.
Not at all.
She forked a piece of foie gras and put it in her mouth.
It melts in your mouth and is rich in oil.
After chewing a couple of times, Nie Qingcheng frowned.
greasy.
It's too greasy.
It felt like swallowing a mouthful of solidified lard.
That industrial sophistication was breathtakingly perfect, but it was missing one thing.
Popularity.
The image of that bowl of plain noodles from yesterday kept popping into my mind.
It's bland and watery.
Yet it carried the warmth of that boy's fingertips, and the irresistible aroma of scallion oil.
"Clang!"
The silver fork was thrown onto the plate with a sharp, jarring sound.
The waiters trembled with fear and didn't dare to breathe.
"They've withdrawn."
Nie Qingcheng pulled out a napkin and wiped her mouth, as if she had just eaten something dirty.
"Mr. Nie, is this... not to your liking?"
The manager asked nervously.
"Tasteless and bland."
Nie Qingcheng stood up, not even glancing at the exorbitantly priced dinner again.
"It smells like money, not food."
She walked barefoot up the stairs, her feet sinking into the cold floor.
His back view was aloof and proud.
My stomach is empty and I'm starving.
But I feel even emptier inside.
That agonizing sense of loss pushed her to the brink of explosion.
Is this what withdrawal symptoms are like?
Just two days.
Did that kid named Zhang Yan poison her stomach?
……
The next day, at the City of Beauty Building.
The air pressure in the top-floor conference room was so low it was suffocating.
The dozen or so executives hung their heads, like prisoners awaiting sentencing.
In the main seat.
Nie Qingcheng flipped through the project proposal in her hand without expression.
"Snapped!"
The document was slammed onto the table, sliding several meters away and nearly hitting the marketing director in the face.
"Is this what you handed in?"
Nie Qingcheng's voice was not loud.
Yet it carried a chilling sense of oppression.
"The data is perfect, the logic is sound, and the layout is beautiful."
She leaned forward, her hands resting on the table, her gaze sharp as she swept across everyone's faces.
"but."
"Where is the soul?"
"They're like plastic flowers produced on an assembly line—they look pretty, but smell like glue!"
Everyone fell silent, terrified.
Nobody knows why President Nie got so angry today.
Only Nie Qingcheng herself knew.
She was taking her anger out on others.
This proposal is the same as the dinner at Huiting Mansion last night.
Exquisite and expensive, but utterly lacking in sincerity.
It's all a routine.
She was fed up with this kind of monotonous perfection.
She wanted something different.
That raw, grainy texture, yet so genuinely heartwarming, everyday life.
"Redo it."
Nie Qingcheng straightened up and turned to walk towards the floor-to-ceiling window.
"I need to see a new plan before I leave work tonight."
"Otherwise, you may all submit your resignations."
The conference room was filled with wails.
Nie Qingcheng ignored her.
She stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the ant-like stream of cars below.
My stomach growled at an inopportune moment.
hungry.
She hasn't eaten a single grain of rice since last night.
That feeling of hunger, mixed with resentment towards someone, was fermenting wildly.
She took out her phone.
Click on the pure black profile picture.
The last message was about yesterday's leave request.
That wretched brat.
There really wasn't even a single explanation?
There wasn't even a polite "Mr. Nie, have you eaten?"
Nie Qingcheng ground her back molars.
He jabbed his fingertip into the screen as if he wanted to pierce someone's face.