Unexpected Aerobic Exercise

The seven-thousand-yuan monthly salary proposed by Zhou Yong was the compensation currently received by Chen Jue’s subordinates. If Chen Jue’s impulsiveness led him to accept Zhou Yong’s grand promises, it would be as if he’d regressed, returning to the starting salary of a fresh graduate.

Moreover, President Zhou hadn’t mentioned any subsidies, and Chen Jue suspected that Zhou’s funds were tight; venturing out to start anew would mean gambling everything he had. Bosses like this were formidable—capable, ambitious, and well-connected—but they were often stingy. Those who rose from humble beginnings tended to be meticulous and frugal, and once they struck it rich, would exploit their employees relentlessly.

After chatting with President Zhou for over ten minutes and sipping some tea, Chen Jue excused himself with, “I’ll go back and consider it, I’ll give you an answer in a few days,” and left the office. He wasn’t skilled at painting grand visions to entice others. But after years in the workplace, he was no longer a clueless rookie. When the boss painted a vision, he responded with evasive diplomacy.

Besides, Chen Jue had already planned that if he couldn’t find a suitable next employer, he would take a break and travel for a while. He’d worked hard for years and had saved up some money. Though he couldn’t afford a house in Hangzhou, he could certainly afford to enjoy himself for a while.

“A gold nugget will always shine!”
“Let’s wait and see!” Chen Jue comforted himself.

He now felt like he was waiting for the highest bidder, believing that with his skills, experience, and technical know-how, finding a new job shouldn’t be hard. And now, with a mysterious attribute panel suddenly awakened, the awkwardness he’d felt in the HR office discussing severance had vanished.

...

Back at his desk, he went back to idling as usual. The news about Taisheng Financial’s imminent liquidation had already spread, and the company was no longer advancing funds. The salespeople from partner shops and agencies had become as shrewd as monkeys. By the afternoon, they had started to pause submitting new cases.

With no client data coming in, everyone in the risk control department became mere decoration. Without clients, what was there to review?

Three teams, over a dozen employees, all sat at their desks chatting, bantering, and joking. Some were busy looking for new jobs and sending out resumes. Others were openly playing mobile games—Genshin Impact, Honor of Kings, PUBG, one after another. Some, like Chen Jue, were frequently summoned to the offices of the general manager, director, or chairman. The bosses and shareholders, eager to extract every last resource from the company before liquidation, showcased their culinary and artistic skills, painting grand visions for everyone.

After all, these days, human resources were resources too.

But when Chen Jue heard that his apprentice, Jiang Lin, had received a verbal offer from Zhou Yong for six-thousand yuan a month with room and board, his expression soured. According to the straightforward description from his naive apprentice: President Zhou thought Jiang Lin, a fresh graduate, was transparent and diligent—a promising candidate to be groomed closely.

If Zhou Yong’s new company grew strong in a few years, perhaps Jiang Lin would be made risk control director.

Unlike seasoned veterans like Chen Jue, whose thoughts wandered, Jiang Lin’s compensation was slightly higher.

“This is infuriating! Just a little pushback and he pulls this trick?”

“Truly worthy of being a boss! Calculating to the extreme!” Chen Jue was thoroughly impressed by these executives’ talent for painting grand visions.

...

He idled away until six o’clock, and as the sun set outside the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire campus was bathed in the golden glow of dusk. In Hangzhou, night fell early, and in half an hour darkness would descend.

Chen Jue clocked out on DingTalk and squeezed into the elevator with his colleagues.

“Brother Jue, want to grab dinner together?”

“I don’t have much experience with what President Zhou proposed. I wanted to hear your advice. Dinner’s on me!” Outside Huaye Tower, Jiang Lin finally spoke after much thought.

Chen Jue glanced at him, knowing his apprentice had been swayed by Zhou Yong’s grand promises, and nodded, agreeing to offer his advice.

They didn’t go far; the two ordered grilled fish and a few side dishes at the comprehensive cafeteria on the first floor of Huaye Tower, spending over a hundred yuan.

The cafeteria was run by outsiders, thriving thanks to the tens of thousands of office workers in the campus. The rent for a single stall was rumored to have soared to half a million a year, and even then, stalls were hard to come by—evidence of how lucrative semi-monopoly catering was.

It was certainly much better than working for someone else!

As for the food, it was merely average. Hangzhou was a culinary desert; all the restaurant owners were outsiders. The flavors were bold and oily, with a hint of spice—better than the university cafeteria, perfect for cash-strapped graduates like Jiang Lin.

But Chen Jue, nearly thirty, found that eating out so often never matched home-cooked meals.

Still, everyone was here to work hard and build roots in the city, so there wasn’t much to fuss about.

After two beers, Chen Jue began earnestly advising his naive apprentice.

He’d personally interviewed Jiang Lin when the company hired him, knowing him to be a shy, introverted homebody much like himself, not good with words. Such personalities were well-suited to technical positions like programming. If Jiang Lin followed President Zhou into entrepreneurship, he’d probably end up counting money for the very people who’d sold him.

So Chen Jue suggested that if nothing else, Jiang Lin could return home and take the civil service exam or work for a major bank.

Jiang Lin had just graduated, with a bachelor’s degree, still young, with plenty of time and opportunities to secure a stable position.

From Chen Jue’s experience, financial companies in their startup phase were too weak to withstand risk—dissolution and liquidation could happen anytime, with no regard for employees.

Becoming a civil servant or working at a major bank, as long as one avoided major mistakes, would guarantee stable employment until retirement.

Moreover, salaries in Jiangsu and Zhejiang were already high; a grassroots civil servant’s annual salary plus various hidden benefits was nearing two hundred thousand yuan—a far more promising future than what self-employed white-collar workers could expect.

...

After dinner, Jiang Lin seemed to have gained some insight. Seeing his thoughtful expression, Chen Jue wasn’t sure if his advice had sunk in.

He’d said all he could; as a mentor, he’d done his duty. If not for their shared hometown, teacher-apprentice bond, and Jiang Lin’s diligent assistance with work chores, Chen Jue wouldn’t have bothered sharing his life experience.

He had struggled to nearly thirty without success himself, and lacked the wisdom to guide others—he could only urge them to avoid the detours he’d taken.

...

Leaving the campus, the two parted ways—one heading to Jianye Road’s subway station, the other mounting a Hellobike.

The next two days were the weekend, and Chen Jue had originally planned to continue job hunting.

But with the sudden emergence of the attribute panel, he felt he could try something different.

“Where could I go to skip stones?”

Sitting on the bike, Chen Jue found himself at a loss for direction.

After over two years working in the campus, he’d spent most of his time between his rental apartment and the office. Occasionally, he’d meet up with a few classmates who’d stayed in Hangzhou for a meal or a session at an internet cafe, but rarely explored nearby.

This area was a cluster of industrial parks, full of high-rises and residential blocks, with no novel sights.

He opened the map to search for places with pools or rivers, and found Baima Lake Park not far from his apartment in Changhe.

It took him over twenty minutes to bike there, and by the time he locked up, he was drenched in sweat.

“Huff... huff...” He took a few deep breaths to recover.

Chen Jue realized he’d neglected exercise for too long; his body was truly out of shape. After just five kilometers, his legs were weak and he was sweating all over.

To his surprise, as he rested, the attribute panel in his vision suddenly responded!

[Ding~]

[Completed one aerobic exercise meeting requirements]

[Allocatable free attribute point +0.01]