However, because Mr. Chi held a high position at the general hospital and it was such a sensitive era, the entire family was careful to avoid any appearance of favoritism. On the surface, they acted like nothing more than ordinary colleagues. They could only meet secretly in their old hometown to maintain their family bond.
They also occasionally mailed letters to each other within the city. Even this was done with great care—they had to go to other districts to mail the letters, which were then delivered directly to their homes.
Over the past ten or twenty years, their cautiousness ensured their relationship remained a complete secret. Not only did no one at the hospital know, but even their next-door neighbors were unaware they were related.
One could only wonder what great deeds Chi Yun’er had performed in her past lives. In this life, not only was she an only daughter, but among all the relatives on both sides of her family, every cousin her age was a boy. She was the sole, treasured flower in the greenhouse.
Who wouldn’t adore her?
Chi Yun’er smiled, her lips pursed. Blinking her eyes, she gave a demure bow and greeted her, "Hello, Director Gu. I’m Chi Yun’er, here to report for my first day."
Although Gu Nianchi was her aunt, her father had changed his first child’s surname to honor his wife’s family, grateful for the support and opportunities they had provided him.
The husband and wife had a wonderful relationship. After some friendly back-and-forth, they decided she would take her mother’s surname. They then named her Nianchi—"Thinking of Chi"—as a symbol of their deep love for one another.
Gu Nianchi was the Director of the entire hospital’s Human Resources Department. She was exceptionally capable and perpetually wore a frosty expression, which intimidated anyone who met her.
The Human Resources Department offices were quite large, taking up half a floor. Gu Nianchi had her own private office with an attached lounge. Outside her office were three other rooms, and across the hall were a conference room and a records room.
However, to maintain strict discipline, the entire department had only one entrance. Furthermore, the window of the director’s office was level with her desk, and its huge pane of glass offered a crystal-clear view of everything outside.
Her subordinates all trembled under Director Gu’s leadership. Behind her back, they called her "the Ancient"—a pun on her surname, Gu—implying she was as rigid and hidebound as someone from ancient times.
So they were aghast to see "the Ancient" absolutely beaming at the new employee—rumored to be the vice director’s daughter. They couldn’t help but mutter amongst themselves. ’Who said the Ancient was so incorruptible?’
’Turns out she knows who to suck up to, too!’
The office had poor soundproofing, so the aunt and niece could only catch up briefly.
"So you’re back from the countryside. What was it like?" Gu Nianchi asked, occasionally looking up from her paperwork with a smile.


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