207: Chapter 207 Little brat, go back and let your sister feed you.

Song Siyi took off her black high heels and kicked them aside.

She reached behind her back, grasped the zipper pull of her pencil skirt, and pulled it down a ways.

Right in front of Jiang Fan, she slipped the thin black silk stockings over her toes.

With her fingers hooked on the edge, she slowly pulled them up, her fair skin gradually being covered by the black fabric.

Jiang Fan leaned against the edge of the desk, his gaze following her hands as they moved upward.

The black stockings slid up her calves, over her knees, and all the way to the tops of her thighs.

She stood up straight and smoothed out the hem of her pencil skirt.

"All done."

Song Siyi looked up at him, her tone carrying a hint of petulance.

Jiang Fan walked over and sat in the executive chair.

He cast his gaze downward.

Song Siyi understood that look; she gritted her teeth, cursed him under her breath as a "little rascal," and slowly crouched into the space under the desk.

Half an hour later.

Jiang Fan stood up, caught her waist with both hands, and lifted her directly onto the desk.

Song Siyi braced herself with her hands behind her, brushing several scattered documents off the desk, which clattered to the floor.

Jiang Fan's fingers slid upward along the black stockings on her thighs.

Song Siyi turned her head away, biting her lower lip, her waist swaying slightly to match his movements.

The solid wood desk emitted a soft, rhythmic creaking sound.

An hour later.

[Lifespan Value gained: 300 points. Deep interaction x 1]

Jiang Fan glanced at the panel at the edge of his vision; the gains were the same as last time.

Song Siyi lay limp on the desk, her chest heaving rapidly.

The pair of stockings she had just opened now had an irregular, large hole on the inner thigh.

She pushed herself up to a sitting position, glanced down, took off the torn stockings, balled them up, and tossed them into the trash can nearby.

"Ruined another pair."

Jiang Fan straightened his clothes and fastened his belt.

"Let's go, I'll take you home."

Song Siyi bent down to put on her high heels, grabbed her bag from the coat rack, and followed him out of the office.

It was late at night, and there were few cars on the streets of Magic City.

Song Siyi sat in the passenger seat, watching the streetlights recede outside the window, silent for a long time.

"Jiang Fan."

"Hmm."

"I will definitely take Qitian Culture public."

Jiang Fan turned his head to look at her.

Song Siyi didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

"Don't complain that I'm too controlling when that time comes," Song Siyi added.

"The more you manage, the less I have to worry about."

The car drove into the residential underground parking garage, and Jiang Fan parked.

Song Siyi leaned against the passenger seat and turned her head to look at him.

"Tonight... are you sleeping at my place?"

"Yeah."

The elevator doors opened, and the two walked out.

Song Siyi took out her keys to open the door, entered, casually hung her bag on the coat rack in the entryway, and changed into slippers.

"I'm going to take a shower first."

She turned and walked toward the bathroom, her figure disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

Jiang Fan walked to the living room sofa, sat down, and took out his phone.

The screen displayed a message from Li Cheng.

"Brother Fan, I've contacted all the workers for the printing plant, and we'll start working tomorrow morning. I've also coordinated with the paper and ink suppliers; they'll deliver the goods tomorrow morning."

Jiang Fan typed a few words in reply.

"Good job. Tomorrow, I'll have President Song go to the plant to supervise, so you get some rest."

After sending the message, he tossed his phone onto the coffee table.

The sound of rushing water echoed from the bathroom.

Jiang Fan sat for a few seconds, then stood up and walked over.

He pushed open the bathroom door, and a wave of heat washed over him.

Song Siyi was standing under the showerhead; hearing the commotion, she turned around, covering herself with her hands.

"Again?"

"Let's wash together; it saves on the water bill."

Jiang Fan pulled his shirt directly over his head and tossed it onto the vanity.

Song Siyi leaned back half a step, her back pressing against the tiled wall.

Jiang Fan stepped into the shower stall, wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and pulled her close.

Song Siyi's palms pressed against his chest.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Not tired."

Song Siyi raised her arms, wrapping them around his neck, as the water flowed down over both of their shoulders simultaneously.

In the cramped bathroom, the sound of the water drowned out all other noise.

——

The next morning, Magic City, Qishi Chinese Network headquarters building.

Copyright Director Zhang Hong pushed open the Vice President's office door directly; his forehead was covered in sweat, and his expression was grim.

"Vice President Zhou Ming, over at the industrial park... someone has accepted Qitian Culture's order."

Vice President Zhou Ming was looking down, signing documents, and his pen stopped.

"Who? Didn't I tell you to greet all the factories? Who dares to take their work at a time like this?"

Copyright Director Zhang Hong swallowed hard.

"It's not those factories."

"Then who is it?"

"Jiang Fan bought one himself."

The pen in Vice President Zhou Ming's hand slashed sharply, drawing a long black line across the document.

"Say that again."

"He bought Hongda Printing, the one in the suburban industrial park that was about to go bankrupt. Over fifty million, a full acquisition."

The office was silent for ten seconds.

Vice President Zhou Ming knew about Hongda Printing; it was a long-standing, large factory in Magic City with complete equipment, only up for sale because the owner was a compulsive gambler.

Vice President Zhou Ming slowly leaned back into his chair.

He had spent so much effort, using funds and connections to block the printing plants, just to choke off the physical publication of journey to the west.

The other party didn't even try to negotiate with him; they just pulled out fifty million in cash to buy a factory.

Where did this Jiang Fan get so much cash?

Even for him, a Vice President of Qishi Chinese Network, wanting to use ten million in cash would require three meetings and five rounds of approval.

This was simply not the business logic of a normal person.

Vice President Zhou Ming picked up the cigarette box on the table, pulled one out, and lit it.

"He's a fucking lunatic," Vice President Zhou Ming cursed.

——

Hongda Printing was officially listed and renamed Qitian Printing Co., Ltd.

The machines were running at full capacity, and new books smelling of ink rolled off the production line one by one.

Inside the large conference room of Qitian Printing.

Exactly ten thousand newly printed books were laid out on the conference table.

These were the limited editions reserved for Jiang Fan to sign.

Jiang Fan sat at the conference table, holding a black marker in his hand.

Song Siyi stood by his side, responsible for opening the books to the title page and handing them to him.

Jiang Fan took one, his wrist moving.

The two characters "Jiang Fan" landed on the paper, the ink soaking through, the handwriting bold and unrestrained.

After signing one, he tossed it to the right. Song Siyi took it and handed him the next one.

When he reached the one-thousandth book, Jiang Fan stopped and shook his wrist.

"Are you tired?" Song Siyi asked.

"It's fine. Let's continue." Jiang Fan changed to a new pen.

By the two-thousandth book, Jiang Fan's speed slowed down, and the inner sides of his right index and middle fingers were rubbed red by the pen barrel.

Song Siyi put down the book she was about to hand him.

She walked behind Jiang Fan.

"Take a break."

She reached out both hands, pressed them onto Jiang Fan's shoulders, and squeezed firmly.

After massaging his shoulders, her hands moved down Jiang Fan's arms to hold his right wrist.

She pressed her thumbs onto the webbing between his thumb and index finger, gently kneading.

Jiang Fan leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and enjoyed her massage.

At eleven o'clock that night, only half had been signed, about five thousand copies.

Jiang Fan tossed the pen aside and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.

His right hand was almost numb, his fingers stiffly curled.

Song Siyi called a few workers in.

The workers pushed carts in, packed this batch of signed editions, and sealed the boxes.

Then they transported them out box by box, mixing them into the stack of regular editions to randomize the order.

Half an hour later, Song Siyi stood by the window, watching the last logistics truck drive out of the industrial park gate.

She let out a long sigh of relief.

Six million copies, the life-or-death deadline of half a month; they had made it through.

She turned to look at Jiang Fan.

"Want to go get a late-night snack? My treat."

"My hands are sore, I can't hold chopsticks," Jiang Fan looked at her. "You can feed me when we get back."

Song Siyi didn't refute him; she picked up the car keys from the table.

"Let's go, little brat. I'll feed you when we get back."