It's just that they have money.

"You want me to go back to class?"

"right."

"The contract's already signed, aren't you afraid I'll run away?"

"Where do you think you're going?" Fang Chen looked at her. "The contract is already signed. You can run to the ends of the earth and I'll sue you and bring you back."

Wang Shiyi opened his mouth, then closed it again.

She found herself constantly being shut down every time she opened her mouth in the office today, and each time she was shut down, she couldn't think of a way to refute it.

So she simply stopped arguing, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and stood up.

"Okay, then I'll go back to class."

Fang Chen nodded, watched Wang Shiyi leave the office, then stood by the window, watching Wang Shiyi walk out of the building with her backpack, stand on the roadside and look up at the window of this building, then quickly walk across the street and disappear into the crowd.

[New progress has been detected in the host's industry layout. The film and television sector has completed the establishment of its core team, the signing of actors, and the approval of key projects.]

[Long-term mission progress update: The phase reward of 3000 million yuan has been distributed. Please check your account.]

Fang Chen took out his phone, glanced at the notification that the money had been deposited, picked up the now-cold tea on the table, took a sip, and frowned.

"Sister Gao, could you get me a hot cup?"

Gao Jie poked her head in from the doorway: "President Fang, you just had a student sign a contract for three films without even an audition. Aren't you afraid...?"

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid she won't be able to act it out."

Fang Chen leaned back in his chair, looked at the fluorescent light tube on the ceiling, and thought for two seconds.

Whether she can act it out or not is not determined by the number of words in the contract. I've taken a liking to her, so let her give it a try.

Gao Jie was silent for two seconds, then nodded and turned to make tea.

Fang Chen spent another day in Hengdian, getting things sorted out for the film crew.

The three writers revised the script of "The Silent Witness" to its third draft. Fang Chen read it through, offered a few suggestions, but didn't make any major changes.

He's not the kind of boss who likes to interfere in creative processes; he leaves professional tasks to professionals.

Fang Chen only cared about whether there was enough money and whether the matter could be accomplished.

Before leaving, he said a few words to Gao Jie.

"Keep an eye on Tong Jun's side. Have him work with Lin Xiao to find out who's best for the role, and then ask the director to start filming once he's fully prepared."

Gao Jie nodded, silently labeling the new boss in her mind.

She doesn't rush her to meet deadlines, doesn't pressure her about budgets, and doesn't interfere with her creative process—it's all good, but she always felt that something was off.

She thought about it for a long time and finally figured it out.

He's too idle and not anxious at all.

It was already dark when the plane landed in Jiangcheng.

Fang Chen stood at the arrival gate and took a deep breath.

The air in Jiangcheng is more humid than in Hengdian, warmer than in Fengtian, and something more than in my hometown, though I can't quite put my finger on it. It might be the exhaust fumes, the lively atmosphere, or perhaps that familiar sense of belonging that naturally arises after living in this city for five or six years.

"Boss, do you need a car?" Xu Wen stood next to him, already having opened a ride-hailing app.

"Go ahead and call out."

Xu Wen looked down at his phone, while Fang Chen stood beside him, watching the crowds coming and going at the arrival gate.

Some people hurriedly walked out with their suitcases, some held up signs to greet people and looked around in the crowd, and some held flowers and stood on tiptoe to wait for others.

He suddenly remembered something.

"Xu Wen, have you not taken a vacation at all?"

"really."

Fang Chen thought for a moment and said, "I'll give you a day off tomorrow, you don't need to come."

Xu Wen was taken aback.

"it is good."

She didn't ask why, nor did she say thank you.

But Fang Chen noticed that when she put her phone away, her fingers moved more gently than usual.

The ride-hailing car arrived. Xu Wen opened the car door and let Fang Chen get in first, then got in himself and gave Fang Chen's address.

As the car drove onto the airport expressway, the streetlights outside the window receded one by one, forming a long, continuous ribbon of light.

Xu Wen leaned back in her chair, unusually not opening her laptop or flipping through any documents. She just sat there, looking out the window, her expression relaxed, as if watching a movie that had nothing to do with her.

Fang Chen did not disturb her.

During this time, Xu Wen followed him around, from Jiangcheng to Fengtian, from Fengtian to Qiongzhou, and from Qiongzhou to Hengdian, traveling by plane, high-speed rail, and car, and staying in one hotel after another. She never complained once; she always completed the tasks Fang Chen assigned her in the first instance, her efficiency as high as a perpetual motion machine.

But Xu Wen is ultimately a human being, not a machine.

Everyone needs rest.

The car stopped at the entrance of the residential area. Fang Chen got out of the car and glanced back at Xu Wen.

See you the day after tomorrow.

See you the day after tomorrow.

Xu Wen waved to him, a rare, relaxed smile on his face.

Since the system's arrival, he's been constantly busy. Busy with fitness, medical checkups, buying a house, renovations, his medical company, agricultural projects, and film acquisitions. One thing after another, like being pushed forward, with almost no time to stop and catch his breath.

What happened to the life of the rich?

Fang Chen stood in the elevator, looking at his reflection on the metal door, and suddenly smiled.

Giving Xuwen a holiday is also giving himself a holiday.

He decided not to do anything tomorrow.

The next morning, Fang Chen was awakened by the sunlight.

The curtains weren't fully drawn, and a ray of light squeezed in through the gap, landing right on his face.

He squinted at the window; it was already broad daylight, and birdsong drifted in from outside, chirping and chattering excitedly.

He didn't rush to get up. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, then picked up his phone to check the time.

It's exactly eight o'clock.

There was no alarm clock, no meetings, and no appointments to arrive at a certain time. Fang Chen turned over, pulled the blanket up to his chin, closed his eyes, and slept for another half hour.

At 8:30, Fang Chen got up, washed up, changed into comfortable clothes, and went out.

First stop: the farmers' market.

He hadn't seriously browsed a farmers' market in a long time.

Since Zhang Wen taught him many cooking tips last time, Fang Chen has been either on business trips or socializing, and he mostly eats leftovers and takeout, so he hasn't had a chance to practice those skills yet.

Cooking is one of Fang Chen's few hobbies.

When I was working, this hobby was reduced to a routine activity on weekends.

I go to the market on Saturday morning, stew a pot of meat and stir-fry two dishes in the afternoon, eat two meals, and then reheat the leftovers on Sunday. That's how a week goes by.

Back then, we cooked to save money on food and also to give our stomachs a break after eating takeout for five days straight.

It's not so much about enjoyment as it is more like a necessary life skill.

It's different now.

Fang Chen stood in the kitchen, taking out the vegetables one by one from the canvas bag and placing them on the counter.

Pork belly, water spinach, tomatoes, eggs, ginger, garlic, and scallions.

The ingredients were few, but he personally selected each one, touching, smelling, and haggling with the stall owner over the price.

Although he no longer needed to haggle, he still habitually tried to negotiate the exact amount with the vendor, who then rounded down the price, and he left with his vegetables.

It's not about the money; it's more like a sense of ritual.