I Can Fix Her

Ten minutes before the meeting.

As Ah Chao and Guo Guo walked in, they saw Bai Weiran already seated in a corner, quietly engrossed in his phone.

Ah Chao covered his mouth with a small notebook, his face beaming with joy.

“Guo Guo, there’s Brother Weiran over there. Let’s go sit with him!”

Despite Guo Guo being a senior colleague, her youthful appearance and humble demeanor allowed her to blend in well with everyone. Hence, Ah Chao didn’t use an honorific for her like he did for Bai Weiran.

Watching Ah Chao eagerly approach Bai Weiran, swaying like a joyful worm, Guo Guo couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity.

Ah Chao, wake up. Weiran is a straight guy with an ex-girlfriend, he’s not gay, so there’s nothing to worry about.

As Guo Guo slowly followed, Ah Chao had already patted Bai Weiran on the shoulder, his face blushing with excitement like a fan meeting his idol.

“Brother Weiran, what are you looking at so intently?”

Ah Chao quickly glanced at the screen.

“Are you trying out a new game?”

Bai Weiran didn’t hide it and smiled, “Yes, I am.”

“What game is this? It looks like pixel art. Is it a third-person view?”

“It’s a girl-raising simulation game. I’m just trying it out for fun.”

“A girl-raising simulation game? Brother Weiran, when did you start playing these kinds of games? Weren’t you always into real-time competitive games?”

Ah Chao, now sitting on the chair to Bai Weiran’s left, looked at him with admiration, his eyes sparkling.

Guo Guo, who sat on Bai Weiran’s right, watched this inevitably doomed crush unfold.

“It’s not like that. Trying different things can help inspire game design ideas. Since we’re in this field, we need to understand the endless possibilities.”

The stars in Ah Chao’s eyes shone even brighter as he hurriedly took out his phone.

“Brother Weiran, you’re right. We need to learn endlessly to develop games. Tell me what this game is, and I’ll try it out too. The pixel quality looks pretty high.”

“That’s not convenient,” Bai Weiran smiled. “It’s a game made by my friend’s studio, it’s still in beta testing. I’m just helping out by playing and giving feedback. I’ll recommend it to you once it’s released.”

Ah Chao let out an “oh” of disappointment but quickly perked up again. At least he had more interaction with Bai Weiran today than usual. Step by step.

Guo Guo, hearing about the girl-raising game, was intrigued and leaned over for a look.

“Which studio is this? The interface looks like a pixelated first-person narrative style. Why not just use fine modeling? Simulation games nowadays have detailed models. Why stick with pixel art? Isn’t that too niche?”

Bai Weiran accepted her comments calmly. “You’re right. I’ll relay your suggestions to them.” He then turned off his phone screen.

Guo Guo wasn’t too concerned about the game, as she had more pressing matters to discuss with Bai Weiran.

“Hey, you should be careful. I think Dong Zhengyuan wants to give you trouble.”

“…?”

“You know how you often disappear from your desk and leave right at eight? We’ve noticed, and so has Dong Zhengyuan. I overheard him going to HR to check your work hours. I think he wants to use it against you!”

The culture in a game company is like this: Some are hypocrites, and some are outright jerks.

The hypocrites say: “We don’t advocate overtime. Creative industries aren’t labor-intensive. Overtime doesn’t increase output; it just adds meaningless exhaustion. We only require accountability; finish your work, and no one cares about your hours.”

Yet, the workload always exceeds normal working hours.

The outright jerks say: “We need to push hard. No overtime pay, but we’ll give big bonuses when the project launches. Working 996 (9 AM to 9 PM, six days a week) is a blessing. Those who don’t work overtime are slackers. We demand overtime, no negotiation. Don’t like it? Leave!”

But company policies are just policies; in the end, it depends on the management.

Bai Weiran’s previous boss was a true gentleman, letting people go when the time came and never nitpicking, even if a project fails, as long as it’s a genuine failure, and not because an employee is not doing their part correctly, he won’t be angry or make a fuss.

But his previous boss left for a world tour, probably having made enough to retire, Bai Weiran suspected it was partly because his boss had stocks worth millions and was a founding employee with close ties to the owner. His relaxed and nonchalant project management was something that many employees love.

He was the best boss.

Dong Zhengyuan was the worst one: he’s a hypocrite on the surface and a jerk underneath.

He publicly promotes no overtime and accountability, but secretly checks your work hours with HR. The bottom 30% in the project group during performance evaluations get called in for a chat. Not about work performance, but about work attitude.

Even if you perform well, if your attitude isn’t good or you’re not a team player, your performance won’t improve, leaving you at his mercy.

Bai Weiran often had to meet with Dong Zhengyuan for project development discussions. Many colleagues didn’t say it outright, but their preference for Bai Weiran’s approach was evident. Dong Zhengyuan, aware of Bai Weiran’s competence, didn’t act against him openly but seized any chance to make things difficult.

Claiming credit, deceiving superiors and subordinates were routine for Dong Zhengyuan, often leaving Guo Guo fuming with anger.

Bai Weiran himself remained incredibly calm, feeling nothing.

Given his recent early departures, he was giving Dong Zhengyuan a perfect excuse to act.

During Qin Ning’s particularly unstable period, Bai Weiran had to leave his desk frequently.

Several times he returned to find Dong Zhengyuan waiting for him, eyes full of malice.

Although his work wasn’t delayed, Bai Weiran could see the venom in Dong Zhengyuan’s eyes.

His attitude was: He has the system, so he doesn’t care. Dong Zhengyuan could say whatever he wanted.

So, when Dong Zhengyuan publicly mocked Bai Weiran in a meeting, Bai Weiran was actually busy thinking about Qin Ning.

Earlier, he had been checking on her status on his phone. To avoid seeming like a pervert watching a girl’s daily life, he applied a pixel filter.

That’s why Ah Chao and Guo Guo thought it was a high-end pixel game.

It also prevented awkward situations, like accidentally seeing her in the shower.

After being found by her family and being brought back, the first thing Qin Ning did was to help Chen Zhengde’s cleaning team.