Chapter 85: Personal Assistant

“By the way, the person who installed the miniature camera today isn’t our enemy, but rather a competitor of Miss Li Yanyan in the art exhibition. The opponent is a local from Au Meng, both parents are businesspeople.”

Fu Yanyan’s eyes flashed coldly—decisive and sharp, he replied immediately. “Since they’re from the business world, it’s an easy matter to settle. Submit this evidence in my name to the organizers and have their qualifications revoked.”

The assistant nodded, as expected. The only surprise was that the boss used his own name, showing just how final this order was.

Zhong Huayan dreamed of Li Yanyan again that night. Li Yanyan never spoke, her eyes empty as she stood there motionless. No matter how loudly Zhong Huayan called her, she remained silent. It was as if Li Yanyan’s soul was gradually dissipating, until she became nothing but an inert object, placed there as a warning.

Zhong Huayan was startled awake. She gazed at the purple drapes before her, the nightgown she wore, and the soreness below. She could still feel a coolness in that place, likely from some ointment.

“Madam, allow me to help you wash and dress…”

“No need, I’ll do it myself.”

The servant seemed to have been brought privately from the capital. Her speech was fluent, without any trace of Au Meng dialect. She was likely the clever, delicate girl from the old house, young and innocent, without ulterior motives.

The girl always looked at her with shining eyes.

She remembered that last time the beautiful lady before her disliked being called ‘Madam,’ but today she didn’t correct her.

“Madam, I’m skilled at braiding hair.”

Her smile revealed two dimples.

“I’m going to an art competition today. Help me arrange my hair.”

The girl hadn’t expected the beautiful lady to be so approachable. Though her aura was rich and refined, there was no trace of arrogance; she was straightforward and easy to get along with.

Zhong Huayan chose a black ensemble that reached her ankles, paired with low-heeled black shoes. The back of her skirt and the area near her shoulder blades were adorned with vivid red Su embroidery—a tiger’s head, somewhat abstract, stitched onto the top, elevating her presence. A woman lacking grace could not carry this outfit; it was heavy, bold, its fierce claws prowling through the night.

Her hair was simply and loosely pinned up, secured with a white and yellow jade and diamond hairpin, gently hooked onto the low bun.

“How beautiful, Madam. Your looks and bearing are unique in this world.”

“You’re quite sweet. Is there something you like?”

The girl had grown up poor in a rural village. Her grades could have taken her to a top school, but her younger brother needed to study, so she started working early.

Of all the places she’d worked, the Fu family was the most comfortable—the best pay, excellent food, sometimes famous performers visiting the old house, or celebrities as guests.

Though she often encountered difficult guests, the woman before her was rare—easygoing and generous, direct in speech and action, easy to get along with.

Her eyes sparkled as she gazed at the jewelry in the cabinet; any piece could buy a house in a small city.

In this line of work, mistakes seldom led to dismissal, but stealing or workplace romances would get you fired.

“Madam, really?”

“Yes, take whichever you like. I’ll have my assistant record it.”

If it were anyone else, the girl would suspect a trap, but this Madam didn’t seem the type for such schemes.

She remembered clearly how a friend was tempted to take a guest’s purse and was beaten badly, now serving time. So, she knew to refuse such offers and do her job well; this was still a lucrative position.

“Don’t worry. What status do I hold in Fu Yanyan’s eyes? Since childhood, he’s followed my lead. I’m not just any guest. If I wanted to make things difficult for you, I wouldn’t need a reason.”

The girl was surprised—Madam had voiced her innermost thoughts.

She was overjoyed, feeling today was her lucky day, like winning a fortune.

She looked around and chose a bracelet set with purple gemstones and diamonds, recognizing the brand as extremely expensive.

“What’s your name?”

“Madam, you can call me Sweet Potato.”

“Sweet Potato? Is that your real name?”

“Yes. Our family grows sweet potatoes, so my father named me Lin Sweet Potato when I was born.”

Zhong Huayan watched as Sweet Potato excitedly clutched the bracelet, her dimples lingering. Instinct told her this was an honest, clever child.

“Alright, from now on you’re my personal assistant. For painting, appraisals, museum visits, handling contests, publishing art books—simple, trivial tasks, I’ll have you manage them. Your salary will be one and a half times what you earned before.”

Sweet Potato nodded eagerly.

“Madam, I will work hard! How wonderful—to follow you to museums and exhibitions every day, broadening my horizons!”

Sweet Potato nearly jumped up to kiss her.

“Now, pack up the bracelet, take my paintings, and move them to the car outside. If you can’t manage, call the butler.”

Sweet Potato quickly packed the bracelet in her pocket, then happily carried the paintings to a stretched limousine.

Zhong Huayan ate breakfast leisurely, then, supported by the servant, walked to the car.

“We’ll head to the competition venue first—President Fu should be on his way too.”

“Alright.”

She closed her eyes to rest, catching Sweet Potato glancing nervously around.

She smiled faintly.

Au Meng’s streets were more dazzling than those of Italy, but lacked elegance, giving a sense of intoxication and suffocation. Many people on the street stared at their car—the license plate was from three regions, all with matching numbers, naturally drawing attention. The driver was steady, the assistant played with her phone in the front seat, and two rows of bodyguards sat behind.

“Pull over here—the front is too crowded.”

She had barely finished speaking when the media rushed over, surrounding the car.

The assistant and bodyguards got out first to handle the situation.

Sweet Potato followed, supporting her so she wouldn’t trip on her skirt.

Finally, they entered the venue.

The Au Meng art competition hall was decorated in transparent hues, walls covered with works from the previous round—hundreds of flowers blooming, voices contending, showcasing the world’s artistic prosperity over the past three years. A transparent elevator took them to the second floor, where the bodyguards placed her painting backstage according to its number. They sat in the hall, awaiting the results.

Fu Yanyan arrived a few minutes later, wearing a mask to avoid too much attention.

He sat beside her with his assistant.