Liang Wei had always believed humor was inefficient
It wasted time. It dulled urgency. It encouraged looseness where precision was required.
Laughter, in his experience, belonged to dinners he did not attend, to board members who pretended confidence, to men who confused charm with competence.
He did not laugh.
He observed.
Which was why the sound startled him.
It came from his own chest—low, brief, almost unfamiliar—as he stood just outside the elevator doors on Xiaoyu's floor, watching Mark from IT scurry across the open space holding a tray of snacks like he was delivering an offering to a temperamental deity.
Liang Wei covered it with a cough.
The doors slid open.
The floor changed instantly.
It always did.
Voices softened. Movements sharpened. People became aware of their posture, their expressions, the placement of their hands.
Power had a soundless gravity to it.
He stepped out—and nearly lost his composure again.
Because Xiaoyu was sitting at her desk, perfectly still, staring at her screen like a hostage awaiting negotiation.
She had a cushion.
A new one.
It was pale blue. Ergonomic. Very obviously not company-issued.
Someone had also placed a small potted plant beside her monitor.
Liang Wei paused.
No one noticed.
They were all watching Xiaoyu.
He followed their gazes and understood why.
She looked… polite.
Not relaxed. Not comfortable.
Polite in the way one became when surrounded by strangers who might applaud at any moment.
Ms. Huang hovered nearby with the alert attentiveness of someone guarding a priceless artifact.
Liang Wei felt something loosen in his chest.
This was ridiculous.
And somehow—
Endearing.
He moved forward.
"Good morning," he said.
The response was immediate and synchronized.
"Good morning, sir!"
Liang Wei nodded once, suppressing the urge to smile.
He walked toward Xiaoyu.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them—an unspoken exchange that said I see this too.
"…Why do you have a cushion?" he asked quietly.
Her expression didn't change.
"Don't ask."
His lips twitched.
Mei, stationed nearby, was vibrating with barely contained laughter.
Liang Wei noticed everything. He always did.
The fruit tray. The untouched emails on Xiaoyu's screen. The way Mark hovered within a five-foot radius like an overzealous bodyguard.
He looked around.
"This," he said mildly, "is not standard workflow."
Mark straightened. "We just wanted to make her comfortable."
Liang Wei nodded thoughtfully. "Has she complained?"
"No, sir!"
"Requested accommodations?"
"No, sir!"
"Lost productivity?"
"…Yes, sir."
Liang Wei glanced back at Xiaoyu.
She looked apologetic.
He felt the urge—unexpected and unwelcome—to laugh again.
Instead, he addressed the room, voice calm and even.
"She is not fragile," he said. "And she is not an extension of me."
A pause.
"If you want to impress me," he added, "let her work."
Silence.
Then nervous laughter.
The tension broke.
People returned to their desks, embarrassed but relieved.
Liang Wei turned back to Xiaoyu.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "I think so."
He studied her for a moment longer than necessary.
She wasn't shaken.
Just… bemused.
That was new.
"I'll see you later," he said.
As he walked away, something curious happened.
People relaxed faster than usual.
The floor exhaled.
Liang Wei stepped back into the elevator and let the doors close.
Only then did he allow himself to smile.
He spent the rest of the morning trying—and failing—to return to normal.
Numbers blurred.
Reports went unread.
During a board briefing, someone made a joke about risk mitigation, and Liang Wei almost smiled.
Almost.
It was deeply unsettling.
At noon, his assistant paused outside his office door.
"Sir?"
"Yes."
"…Are you in a good mood?"
Liang Wei looked up. "Is that relevant?"
She hesitated. "You approved three things without revisions."
He considered this.
"Make it four," he said.
She blinked. "Sir?"
"Approve the catering budget."
"…The one you rejected twice?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly and left.
Liang Wei leaned back in his chair.
When had this started?
He thought back to the morning—the cushion, the plant, Xiaoyu's restrained patience as an entire department hovered around her like anxious relatives.
It had been absurd.
And yet—
No one had feared him in that moment.
They had feared hurting her.
That was different.
He had spent his life being the storm others braced for.
Xiaoyu, somehow, had become the eye of it.
The realization was strange.
Not unpleasant.
Just… new.
Later that afternoon, Liang Wei passed by the break room.
He normally did not.
Executives did not linger where conversations happened organically.
Today, he slowed.
Through the glass, he saw Xiaoyu standing near the coffee machine, holding a mug.
Mei was beside her, animated.
"I swear," Mei said, "Mark almost cried when you rejected the third muffin."
"I didn't reject it," Xiaoyu said. "I postponed it."
Mei laughed.
Liang Wei felt it again—that warmth, unfamiliar and spreading.
Xiaoyu looked… lighter.
Less braced.
He stepped inside.
The conversation died instantly.
Xiaoyu looked up.
"Oh. Hi."
"Hello," he replied.
Mei stared between them.
"I should—go," she said, already backing away.
Liang Wei watched her flee, amused.
"Did you survive?" he asked Xiaoyu.
"I think so," she said. "They stopped feeding me."
He nodded approvingly. "Progress."
She studied him. "You handled that… nicely."
He considered the word.
"Nicely," he repeated.
"Yes."
A pause.
"I found it funny," he admitted.
Her eyebrows rose. "You?"
"Yes."
She smiled.
It was small. Genuine.
It did something to him.
"I don't think I've ever seen you laugh," she said.
"I don't," he replied.
She tilted her head. "You almost did."
He didn't deny it.
"That's dangerous information," he said dryly.
She laughed outright.
The sound caught him off guard.
It wasn't restrained. Or polite.
It was free.
Liang Wei realized then—
This was the humor he'd been missing.
Not jokes.
Not wit.
Absurdity.
Life slipping out of control in harmless ways.
"I didn't know work could be like that," Xiaoyu said softly.
"Like what?"
"Ridiculous."
He looked at her. "Neither did I."
They stood there, CEO and employee, no audience, no tension.
Just two people sharing the aftermath of something strange.
When she returned to her desk, Liang Wei walked away lighter than he had in years.
He didn't analyze it.
Didn't strategize.
He simply allowed it.
For the first time, Liang Wei understood—
Humor wasn't inefficiency.
It was relief.
And somehow—
Xiaoyu had brought it with her.