For a moment, Chen Jian finally understood the helplessness teachers must have felt when facing a classroom full of idiots.
But this realization actually calmed his nerves. After all, in front of people who had to chase after even Zhenxi Kuo to ask questions, as long as he didn’t stammer too much, he’d still be considered an excellent manager.
The next part wasn’t too hard to explain—it was mostly about job assignments. Every position required wearing multiple hats.
The front desk, aside from handling check-ins, had to provide basic services when not busy. Housekeeping was responsible for cooking, and security… well, the “security personnel” besides their official duties would now have to help clean the courtyard and the road in front of the inn…
The manager also had to prune plants.
The manager also needed to learn to drive and study landscaping knowledge, because the boss couldn’t afford to hire a gardener regularly.
Chen Jian couldn’t help glancing at the boss.
“That’s basically it,” Chen Jian reviewed the notes to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. “If anyone has thoughts or suggestions, speak up now so we can discuss.”
“I have a suggestion,” Hu Pan raised her hand.
“Go ahead,” Chen Jian said.
“Can we restart the café? That area next to the restaurant is the café, right? There are coffee cups but no equipment anymore,” Hu Pan asked. “I noticed there’s no café in town, only bottled coffee in supermarkets.”
“Who drinks that stuff,” Chen Erhu scoffed. “Our fancy Boss Shan walks around chugging cola every day.”
Surprisingly, Chen Erhu’s observation skills weren’t bad.
“He drank tea when we discussed the contract,” Chen Erhu added.
It was cola that day too.
“We’re going to sell tea too,” Chen Erhu continued.
…Sell tea?
“How many fancy people have you actually met?” Hu Pan retorted.
“You’re picking a fight now,” Chen Erhu glared.
“Weren’t you the one who started it?” Hu Pan replied.
“This is a discussion,” Chen Jian interrupted. “Not an argument.”
“We can give it a try,” Shan Yu said, leaning back lazily in his chair. “But who can make coffee?”
“I know a little, but I’m average at it. I can make the simple stuff,” Hu Pan admitted honestly.
“People coming here to relax aren’t looking for gourmet coffee. Just having it is good enough,” Shan Yu said. “Talk to the manager in detail after the meeting.”
“Okay,” Hu Pan nodded.
“I have a question too,” Zhao Fangfang raised her hand. “Since I’m cooking, is the menu the same as before? Some dishes I don’t know how to make.”
“Forget the old menu. Write a new one with the dishes you can cook and give it to the manager,” Shan Yu instructed. “Doesn’t need to be a lot, just a few home-style dishes.”
“That I can do,” Zhao Fangfang nodded.
Since Hu Pan and Zhao Fangfang both spoke, Chen Erhu, not wanting to lose face as a “Boss Chen,” raised his hand too: “Boss Dan.”
“Go ahead, Boss Chen,” Shan Yu gave him the floor politely.
“About that… at night…” Chen Erhu halfway through switched to a mysterious expression. “At night…”
“What about night?” Shan Yu stared at him. “You inviting me to dinner or for a walk?”
Chen Jian couldn’t hold back his laughter.
Chen Erhu shot him a glare—he’d just promised to help Chen Jian, but now he was being laughed at, leaving him very dissatisfied.
“Boss Chen means the special night operation,” Chen Jian quickly covered, looking at Shan Yu. “Should we discuss the specific action plan?”
“Boss Chen shouldn’t stay at the inn this afternoon, come back tomorrow morning,” Shan Yu said. “Go find some blood, but not nearby. Go to a distant village, get some pig or chicken blood or whatever.”
“Okay,” Chen Erhu nodded, then added fiercely, “Should I bring some live ones and slaughter them on site? More brutal that way.”
“Why not just slit your own wrists and fling that around?” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian really wanted to remind him not to say such things to just anyone—Boss Chen might not get it.
“Oh fine, I’ll find the ready-made stuff,” Chen Erhu said.
Oh? He understood.
“Wait for my call tonight,” Shan Yu said. “Just go in and do it. None of our people should go outside. Just wait to watch the show tomorrow.”
“Should we call people over tomorrow?” Sanbing still remembered.
“You won’t miss it,” Shan Yu said, lightly patting the table. “That’s it for the meeting. Manager, come to my office.”
Chen Jian breathed a sigh of relief—the meeting was finally over.
He quickly folded the paper in front of him and pocketed it, following Shan Yu into the elevator.
Shan Yu leaned against the cabin, watching him.
Chen Jian turned around to press the floor button.
Recalling Shan Yu’s blind reverse button-pressing, Chen Jian hesitated, then reached back to fumble at the panel, trying to figure out how Shan Yu managed it.
“Are you stupid,” Shan Yu said.
“I’m just trying it,” Chen Jian muttered, still feeling around. “How did you do it?”
Shan Yu picked up his cane and tapped on the metal strip beside the cabin wall. “Look here, Manager, I’m only showing you once.”
Chen Jian looked over and saw that the metal strip clearly reflected the button panel.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Impressive, right?” Shan Yu asked.
“…Fucking awesome,” Chen Jian admitted.
Honestly, even if you could see it, it was still impressive—doing it reversed, with a cane, and just one precise, quick press.
The fourth floor was quiet; they couldn’t hear the lively chatter downstairs.
“So what do you need me for?” Chen Jian asked after entering the office.
“How’s your first day as manager?” Shan Yu slouched onto the sofa, tilting sideways. “Sit, let’s talk.”
Chen Jian sat in the single chair. “My mind’s a bit of a mess.”
“What do you think of the staff?” Shan Yu asked, massaging his temple.
“Well…” Chen Jian thought for a moment. “They’re pretty enthusiastic about the inn. I didn’t expect Chen Erhu to be this cooperative.”
“He probably won’t last,” Shan Yu said. “It’s still novel to him, a lifestyle he hasn’t tried before. Once the work feels boring and restrictive, he’ll get annoyed.”
“Really?” Chen Jian said.
“Sanbing’s alright, smarter than his big brother,” Shan Yu continued. “Train him a bit, maybe teach him to drive later.”
“Yeah,” Chen Jian nodded. “Old Four and Old Five are probably similar to Chen Erhu. I think Hu Pan’s not bad.”
“Agreed,” Shan Yu said, eyes closed as he rubbed his head. “Hu Pan’s interesting, resourceful, and knows what’s important.”
Chen Jian didn’t reply, but he was a bit worried about Shan Yu’s persistent headache. His grandma sometimes had headaches, but usually a good sleep would help—Shan Yu had been hurting for two days.
“If you have time, check with Hu Pan if she needs an advance on her pay,” Shan Yu said. “I think she’s broke. Offer her a part of her probation salary in advance, but discreetly—girls care about pride.”
“Okay, I’ll ask later,” Chen Jian said, then interrupted Shan Yu just as he was about to speak. “Your headache—didn’t you say painkillers helped? You seemed fine in the meeting…”
“That’s thoughtful,” Shan Yu stopped rubbing his head, opened his eyes to glance at him. “You want me lying on a chair massaging my head during the meeting? Then we’d never get it done.”
“If it’s serious, you should see a doctor,” Chen Jian said.
“Is there a massage place around here?” Shan Yu asked. “My head hurts down to my neck and back.”
“A legit one?” Chen Jian asked.
“Would I go to the shady ones with my bad leg?” Shan Yu shot back.
“…What the hell!” Chen Jian stared blankly for several seconds before raising his voice, “I meant proper places with certified massage therapists!”
“Oh,” Shan Yu chuckled. “Are there any?”
“No,” Chen Jian said.
Shan Yu pressed his head and laughed harder. “You bastard, my head feels like it’s going to explode when I laugh… Are there any shady massage places?”
“There’s an old man in the old village who does bone setting. Xiao Dou’er’s grandpa trusts him a lot,” Chen Jian said. “People from nearby villages and even the city come to him.”
“I have a headache, not a skull fracture,” Shan Yu said.
“He does massages too,” Chen Jian added. “But are you sure a massage will help with this?”
“Let’s go,” Shan Yu sat up. “Let’s go now, I’m about to throw up from the pain.”
Having bought a car was convenient, but there were only two people at the inn who had a driver’s license: Chen Erhu and Shan Yu.
Chen Erhu had already left to lie low for tonight’s plan.
Despite his head feeling like it was about to explode, Shan Yu had to drive himself.
This was exactly why Chen Jian needed to get his license.
“Or should we take the sidecar? Or I can give you a ride on my motorcycle?” Chen Jian suggested.
“Motorcycle. The sidecar’s gonna shake my head right off,” Shan Yu said.
Chen Jian brought his motorcycle over, and Shan Yu hopped on the back, pressing his forehead against Chen Jian’s back.
“What’s up?” Sanbing, who was sweeping leaves in the courtyard, asked when he saw them.
“Headache…” Chen Jian glanced back.
“Go find Old Man Chen for a massage, maybe that’ll help,” Sanbing said.
“That’s exactly where we’re going,” Chen Jian replied.
“Hang in there, Boss Dan,” Sanbing said to Shan Yu. “It’ll be better soon.”
“…If you nag any more, I might not even make it to the village gate,” Shan Yu muttered.
“We’re off.” Chen Jian twisted the throttle and the bike roared out of the courtyard.
Since Shan Yu’s leg wasn’t hanging off Chen Jian’s hand, he had to lift his left leg himself to avoid hitting the footpeg. On the bumpy path, this got tiring fast, especially with a splitting headache.
Chen Jian let go of the left handlebar, reached to the side, and grabbed Shan Yu’s pants at the knee.
“What are you doing?” Shan Yu asked.
“Relax your leg,” Chen Jian said. “Stop tensing up, or your head might really explode and splatter me with blood.”
“Riding one-handed?” Shan Yu looked up at the road ahead. “On this crappy path?”
“On this crappy path, I could even let go with both hands,” Chen Jian said, giving Shan Yu’s pants another tug. “Relax, you won’t fall.”
Shan Yu didn’t respond, but he did relax his leg.
Chen Jian held Shan Yu’s leg as he rode into the village. Old Man Chen’s house was near Xiao Dou’er’s, so they didn’t have to ride through the village’s busiest street looking like this.
Shan Yu got lucky—there weren’t many people at Old Man Chen’s today, just a local aunt getting cupping done.
“I can’t treat fractures like that,” Old Man Chen said after one look at Shan Yu’s leg through his pants.
He was sharp.
“Not the leg, his head hurts bad, and his neck and back are sore too,” Chen Jian explained. “Can you give him a massage?”
“Headache, huh.” Old Man Chen got up, stood behind a chair, and pointed to it. “Sit here. Where does it hurt or feel sore? How bad is it?”
“Feels like it’s about to explode,” Shan Yu sat down. “Pain from my temples backward.”
“Been sleeping poorly, huh?” Old Man Chen placed one hand on Shan Yu’s forehead and started kneading the back of his neck.
“Yeah, a bit of insomnia these days,” Shan Yu admitted.
Chen Jian glanced at him in surprise. This guy went to his room before ten every night and never came out again—Chen Jian had thought his routine was more regular than the village oxen’s. Insomnia?
“Not just these days,” Old Man Chen said, taking Shan Yu’s wrist to check his pulse. “It’s been a while.”
Shan Yu stayed quiet.
“Really?” Chen Jian asked him.
“Don’t pry,” Shan Yu replied.
“I’ll massage you for a bit, you’ll feel half better right away, and after a good sleep, it’ll be mostly gone,” Old Man Chen said confidently. “But your insomnia needs treatment, or the pain will come back.”
“Herbal medicine…” Shan Yu started, but before he could finish, Old Man Chen suddenly applied pressure, making Shan Yu sit bolt upright, grimacing, and grab blindly to the side—clutching Chen Jian’s hand and squeezing it tight, finishing the sentence with a pained, “…right?!”
“Ah ah ah ah ah damn…” Chen Jian’s face twisted in agony as he yelled repeatedly. Now he knew how Shan Yu could grab someone’s wrist and throw them—the strength in his grip made Chen Jian’s knuckles pale. He rubbed Shan Yu’s hand, hoping he’d loosen up. “Relax, relax, relax…”
“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts…” Shan Yu frowned deeply.
Chen Jian slapped Old Man Chen’s arm frantically: “Old Man Chen, take it easy, take it easy, take it easy… he says it hurts!”
“Alright, that was the worst of it,” Old Man Chen eased up, then scraped gently at Shan Yu’s neck. “And I wasn’t even using much force. Young folks can’t handle anything.”
The aunt getting cupping chuckled. “Look at this boss, so delicate. I had a headache and still worked the fields.”
What kind of correlation is that?
Chen Jian glanced at Shan Yu’s face. The aunt should see how this delicate boss beats people up.
Shan Yu’s grip slowly loosened, though he still held onto Chen Jian’s hand.
“You want to stop if you can’t take it?” Chen Jian asked, a little worried. He’d never seen Old Man Chen for treatment himself, so he didn’t know if this could cause more harm.
“Wait,” Shan Yu squeezed his hand again, as if sensing something. “It… kinda hurts less now.”
“Like fighting poison with poison,” Chen Jian muttered. “Cut your hand and it hurts—then chop your leg, your hand stops hurting. Old Man Chen, you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“What do you know,” Old Man Chen let go of Shan Yu and patted his shoulder. “See how it feels.”
Shan Yu leaned back in the chair, head tilted up, letting out a long sigh.
Chen Jian looked at his profile. Maybe from the headache and the ‘torture’ just now, Shan Yu looked pale, his usual laid-back and in-control demeanor replaced with a rare vulnerability.
“How do you feel?” Chen Jian asked softly.
Shan Yu let go of his hand, raised a finger to his lips in a “shh,” and kept his head back with eyes closed.
Chen Jian stayed quiet and used the chance to shake his hand out.
Zhao Fangfang had said before that their boss was good-looking—the best-looking boss in town.
Now, after being thoroughly ‘disciplined’ by Old Man Chen, Shan Yu wasn’t running his mouth, and yeah, he did look pretty damn good.
After a while, Shan Yu finally held his neck and straightened up. “Doesn’t hurt as much.”
“Really?” Chen Jian asked.
“What, you don’t want me better?” Shan Yu shot him a look. “I’m lying. Move back, my head’s gonna explode and splatter you.”
“Guess you’re fine then,” Chen Jian replied.
“How much do I owe you, Master Chen?” Shan Yu asked.
“Just a favor,” Old Man Chen said. “No charge.”
He had his principles—he never charged for simple techniques like this. Chen Jian was a bit worried Shan Yu would insist, but he didn’t. Instead, he had Old Man Chen prepare some herbal medicine to help with insomnia.
“Can you prepare it?” Old Man Chen asked.
“Can you prepare it?” Shan Yu asked Chen Jian.
“Of course he can,” the aunt said. “He always preps Xiao Dou’er’s grandpa’s medicine. There’s nothing he doesn’t know how to do—been capable since he was a kid.”
“…Yeah, I can,” Chen Jian said.
“He can,” Shan Yu nodded at Old Man Chen.
After getting the medicine, Shan Yu didn’t get back on the motorcycle. Once they left the village, he leaned on his cane and slowly strolled along the riverside path.
Chen Jian could only straddle the motorcycle and push it along with his legs to keep up.
After a while, he couldn’t resist asking, “You walking all the way back?”
“Getting some fresh air,” Shan Yu said.
“Those herbs…” Chen Jian kept pushing along. “Are you really gonna drink them?”
“Probably not. Too bitter,” Shan Yu replied.
“Knew it,” Chen Jian muttered. “So… is it because there’s too much going on at the inn that you can’t sleep?”
“You’re funny,” Shan Yu glanced at him. “Even Zhenxi Kuo isn’t losing sleep over this. If the inn works, great. If not, I’ll just live here like it’s a villa. What pressure?”
“Then why the insomnia?” Chen Jian asked.
Shan Yu sighed. “Were you good at essays in school? You’re circling back to the same topic like it’s a composition.”
“The boss being well is how we make money,” Chen Jian said.
Shan Yu smiled at him. “How much does your dad still owe? Total.”
“Trade info,” Chen Jian said.
