Both your salary and your salary will be as you wish.

Chapter 1: The Fireworks Are Half-Cooked: Sauerkraut and Pork Belly with Fermented Soy Milk

In a relationship, you don't need to understand each other's words, but you need to be heard.

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As soon as Zeng Jia stepped out of Zhang Zizhong Road subway station, the cold wind enveloped her. Late autumn in Beijing was as chilly as a refrigerator door that wasn't closed properly. She hurried home in her 8-centimeter heels, the clatter of her heels on the cobblestones more rapid than her heartbeat. Something weighed on her mind—Wang Haowen had unusually texted her that afternoon saying he'd make her sauerkraut and pork belly. The sauerkraut was pickled and sent by her mother from Northeast China, and the pork was something he and his father had bought at the market last weekend when they went to Tongzhou to sweep Haowen's mother's grave. The crucial point was, Wang Haowen usually worked overtime more often than he could breathe, but today he'd actually come home early?

In the long, winding alley, a few dim streetlights hung sparsely. Zeng Jia turned north from Dongsi 42nd Alley and entered Xinsi Alley. In recent years, the alley has been renovated, and 30% of the bungalows have been turned into youth hostels, specifically for foreigners visiting Beijing. Every time Zeng Jia bumped into a few international friends grinning and showing their white teeth in the dark, she felt like she had been transported to another time and space, which was quite a test of her courage.

She and Wang Haowen rented a one-bedroom apartment, huddled in the northwest corner of the courtyard. The towering sycamore tree in the yard had been stripped bare by the autumn wind. Zeng Jia turned into the narrow alley and immediately saw Wang Haowen, his 1.8-meter frame squeezed into the one-meter-wide kitchen, head down, stirring the food.

The old house had a poorly ventilated chimney, so cooking required leaving the door open. She quickly caught the aroma of sauerkraut and pork belly. Holding her nose, she realized it wasn't just the pork belly smell, but also the distinctive sour, rancid smell of fermented mung bean juice. Zeng Jia's heart sank. Wang Haowen was a native of Beijing, but his father had said he'd only drunk fermented mung bean juice twice in his life: once when his mother passed away ten years ago, and the other time when he lost the student council election. What was the third time?

"Where is Chef Wang feeling unwell? Why did you make douzhi (fermented mung bean juice) to cool him down?" Zeng Jia changed her shoes and leaned over to tease him.

Wang Haowen turned his head and glanced at her, but didn't respond. He continued to deal with the food in the pot. "Come inside and wait to eat. It'll be ready in five minutes." He was no longer his usual talkative self. His voice was muffled, and even the back of his head seemed to say, "Don't ask."

Zeng Jia entered the house, put down his bag, and glanced at the sofa. There was a square cardboard box on the sofa, filled with his notebooks and manuscript papers, with his worn-out cloth shoes that he wore when commuting stuck on top of them.

With a "click," the stove was turned off, and the door was slammed shut. Wang Haowen carried in a bowl of sauerkraut and pork belly, slammed the dish on the table, and collapsed onto the sofa. "The company's gone bankrupt. Yesterday they were making promises about going public and giving out bonuses by the end of the year, and today they announced bankruptcy and dissolution. Two months' salary is pending liquidation; whether I'll even get it is another question."

Zeng Jia paused, then silently unplugged the rice cooker and placed it on the table. The fragrant Northeast rice glistened with oil. She scooped out two large bowls. "Eat first. My mom has a famous saying: 'Even the biggest trouble can wait until you've eaten your fill.'"

Wang Haowen didn't touch his chopsticks. He touched the dishes on the table, went back to the kitchen, grabbed the remaining soy milk, and gulped it down.

"You even said you'd buy me that 'smog blue' shirt with your year-end bonus, but last year you were already watching and wouldn't let me. Now that you've lost your job, you're even more stubborn." He said, his eyes reddening, but he still insisted, "This soy milk is insanely sour, it's definitely leftover from the night before."

Zeng Jia pursed her lips but didn't reply.

Is it that she doesn't want to buy it?

It's all to save money for a down payment on a place in Beijing to get married.

They dated from their junior year of college until graduation, and after five years of hard work, they saved every penny, but they still couldn't afford the down payment for a tiny apartment outside the Fifth Ring Road. Her parents ran a small restaurant in Northeast China, and their hard-earned money was barely enough to make ends meet. Although Wang Haowen was from Beijing, his family didn't get the land expropriation, and his father was left to run a billiard hall alone, with no one to rely on.

She turned to move a stool from the corner of the room, and as she bent down, her gaze swept over the stack of secondhand housing flyers under the bookshelf. On the flyers, she had circled in red the down payment amount, which was far short of the required amount.

Zeng Jia suddenly felt a tickle in her throat. She picked up her chopsticks and shoved a big mouthful of pickled cabbage into her mouth, forcing down the churning feeling. She also put a piece of pork belly in Wang Haowen's bowl, saying, "Can a coat be eaten as a meal? It's better to eat a couple more slices of meat. You actually came up with the idea of ​​pairing fermented mung bean juice with pickled cabbage? This smell in our house could apply for intangible cultural heritage status."

Wang Haowen picked up his chopsticks, chewed a couple of times, and it tasted like sawdust; it was tasteless. Zeng Jia's heart also felt heavy. Usually, her eyes would light up at the sight of meat, but today the meat didn't taste good at all.

The two men clinked their chopsticks together, remaining silent. The roar of their neighbor, Juanjuan, yelling about his child's studies echoed through the walls. Zeng Jia had never understood: spending millions to get their child a primary school enrollment, only to have the whole family crammed into a mere 30-square-meter bungalow and suffer. Couldn't Juanjuan have used that money to support himself? Even if he became a low-budget version of Wang Jianlin, the child could live off his parents. Why endure this constant bickering and strife between father and son?

The scolding continued until 10:30, when the neighbor's snoring took over right on time. Wang Haowen plugged his ears but still couldn't sleep soundly, tossing and turning. Zeng Jia took out her phone, opened the bank account book, and anxiously swiped her finger across the screen.

Anxiety won't feed her; she needs to increase income and reduce expenses.

With her meager salary, she couldn't even afford a down payment on a house, let alone rent and utilities. How about moving back to Haowen's dad's billiards hall? That would save her 3,500 yuan a month, but it would mean a longer commute and would delay her dad from finding a new partner.

"Forget it," Wang Haowen snatched the phone and tossed it aside, wrapping her tightly in the blanket. "I'll send out my resume tomorrow. If that doesn't work out, I'll go back and inherit my old man's billiard hall! I'll sell myself to marry you, you won't starve!"

Zeng Jia snuggled closer to him. "Dream on. I won't marry you unless I have a place to settle down."

"Do we really have to tighten our belts to buy a house? We'd be living a much more comfortable life without it. Besides, youth retirement homes are all the rage these days, why force ourselves to suffer when there's no way to do it?" Wang Haowen still couldn't understand why she was so fixated on buying a house.

"When sparrows lay their eggs, the male at least builds a nest first. So I'm not even as good as a bird?"

"Buying a house right now is a losing proposition. You always talk about settling down, but living with me doesn't mean you have roots. Do you have to accumulate a house of steel and concrete to have roots?"

"Yes, I just want a place to call my own." Zeng Jia stared at him, her eyes stubborn. "Even an old, run-down place is fine, it'll still be my own. Unlike now, I'm afraid of waking up the neighbors and getting complaints about disturbing the peace if I fart in the middle of the night."

"Okay, okay, I'll buy it. I'll do whatever you say. I'll work hard to earn you a home. I've decided on you for life. Without you, nowhere feels like home." Wang Haowen coaxed her with a kiss, and the two hugged tightly without saying another word.

Before going to sleep, Zeng Jia had a thought: Tomorrow at work, I'll see if there are any suitable positions at the company and give Wang Haowen a referral. If he gets the job, not only will he have a job, but we can also work long hours together and be inseparable. It would be a blessing in disguise.

The next morning, Zeng Jia went to work with a heavy heart. The OA page of Tianyi Group was lit up on her computer, and she stared absently at the employee attendance sheet. The company mainly did e-commerce, which sounded glamorous, but in reality, it was a mess—the boss, Zhang Zhishan, and his wife, Yu Li, were fighting to the death.

These two returned from studying in the UK and started their own business together. After going public, their business flourished and they gained a great reputation. However, with the economic downturn in the past two years, the company's strategic focus has become urgent. They must quickly lock onto a single core market to break through. But Zhang Zhishan wants to tap into the lower-tier market to capitalize on the demographic dividend, while Yu Li wants to pounce on the high-end luxury goods market. The two are determined to fight to the death, openly and secretly battling like roosters, leaving the entire company sandwiched in the middle.

At this critical juncture, what position would be suitable for Wang Haowen?

As Zeng Jia was pondering this, a notification suddenly popped up on the OA system—Zhang Zhishan was hiring a personal secretary. Zeng Jia's eyes lit up instantly, like a beacon in the darkness. Wang Haowen's major in university was e-commerce, and his personality was such that he could chat with anyone—wasn't this a perfect fit for Zhang Zhishan? Most importantly, the salary for a personal secretary wasn't low; it was 1.5 times that of Wang Haowen's former boss before his bankruptcy. If she could get the job, a down payment on a house would be a piece of cake!

Zeng Jia quickly screenshotted the job posting and sent it to Wang Haowen, along with three voice messages, speaking at breakneck speed: "Zhang Zhishan may be moody, but he's down-to-earth. Your personality is a good match for him." "Hurry up and prepare your resume. I'll refer you internally. Emphasize that you understand rural channels and can deal with distributors." "Forget it, I'll make your resume when I get home. Also, I want to eat braised pork slices tonight. If you keep fuming me with soy milk, don't blame me for getting angry with you two."

Zeng Jia was restless all afternoon. After get off work, she rushed home like a drawn sword. Wang Haowen was already dressed and waiting at the door with a plate of stir-fried pork slices.

"Did your boss hire a proper male secretary? Don't get me wrong." He received Zeng Jia's text message today, and it felt like a dream.

Zeng Jia stuffed two bites of meat into her mouth and sat down in front of the computer, eating while editing her resume. "He wants to develop a market for small commodities in lower-tier cities. His secretary is required to be proficient in production, procurement, and logistics, and also have to travel with him to the source of goods. Which female secretary can handle that?"

Wang Haowen curled his lip, "That's hard to say. With the current economic downturn, even mistresses are being forced to pursue doctoral degrees."

"Don't talk nonsense. You're not happy about the opportunity I gave you?"

"I'd be happy to do anything as long as it lets you have a place to live."

Wang Haowen made a witty remark, but Zeng Jia didn't have time to pay him any attention. She embellished Wang Haowen's resume, highlighting his experience in promoting products in lower-tier markets.

Before going to bed, Zeng Jia was still giving her instructions and reminders, "Zhang Zhishan is an ESFP Gemini, a drama queen, his mood changes like flipping through a book. You have to keep a close eye on his emotional changes. But most importantly, you must never mention Yu Li or luxury goods in front of him, he hates that stuff to death."

Wang Haowen tucked the blanket around her and said with a self-deprecating laugh, "Don't worry, the letters on those luxury brands are like gibberish. If he brings them up first, I won't be able to keep up with the conversation."