My Dead Boss's Approval

I advanced 9,999 for hospitality expenses on behalf of the late Mr. Collins.
That money was three months' rent I had saved up, all so I could secure Mr. Walker's deal priced at several million.
The Finance Office door was open, and when I walked in holding the reimbursement form, Mindy Carter was putting on lipstick in front of the mirror.
She glanced at the form in my hand, smirked briefly, but didn't stop what she was doing.
"Whitney, you're quick to hand in this form."
She snapped the lipstick cap shut with a sharp click, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I set the expense reimbursement form on her desk, my fingertips trembling slightly. "Mindy, this is the hospitality expense I covered out of pocket the day Mr. Collins had the accident. Over on Mr. Walker's side..."
"Mr. Collins—why do you keep bringing up Mr. Collins?"
Mindy cut me off, pushing the reimbursement form to the corner of the desk like it was something filthy.
"The whole company knows that reimbursements need the boss's signature."
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her wine-red nails tracing lines on her arm. "Go get Mr. Collins to sign it. Once he signs, I'll process the reimbursement."
I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly, my voice cracking a bit, "Mr. Collins passed away three days ago... in a car accident..."
"So once he's gone, we can't sign anymore?"
Mindy Carter suddenly raised her voice so sharply that the calculator on the table even shook. "Do you not understand plain language, or are you just trying to stir up trouble? Using a dead man as an excuse—that's some nerve you've got."
The colleagues nearby stopped what they were doing and sneaked glances over here.
Some lowered their heads, some pressed their lips, no one spoke, but everyone was watching the show.
"Look at Stella Scott."
Mindy Carter ignored my expression and went on, "On the seventh day after Mr. Collins passed, she had dinner with Mr. Walker, and the contract got signed right then."
"Unlike you, who just throws money around and ends up the sucker? You're supposed to take care of the living first, then worry about the dead's accounts—how could you not get that?"
I clenched my fists so tight, my nails digging into my palms, drawing blood without me even noticing.
It wasn't pain. It was anger—angry at myself for being stupid, angry at them for being ruthless.
I fronted this money in the hospital corridor the night Mr. Collins had his accident.
Mr. Walker made over a dozen calls, threatening to cancel the deal. I was there, listening to the emergency room alarms while forcing a smile for him, and in the end, I used my own savings to keep him on board.
But now, I'm the one 'using a dead person as an excuse.'
Mindy Carter looked at my red-rimmed eyes and smiled even more smugly: 'What? Don't like it? Rules are rules. No signature, and not even the king can change that.'
I later found out that Mindy had once been disciplined over a missing signature on a document.
She's not just following the rules; she's taking out her old grudges on me.
I didn't argue with her anymore. I bent down and picked up the expense reimbursement form that had been shoved to the corner of the desk.
The edges of the paper were crumpled, just like how I felt inside.
As I walked out of the Finance Office, I heard my colleagues' stifled scoffs behind me, stabbing me in the back like needles.
I returned to my desk and slipped the reimbursement form under the keyboard.
The computer screen was on, showing the unfinished report from yesterday, but I couldn't focus on a single word.
The air around me felt sticky, like it was coated in glue, making it hard to breathe. Those vague, half-seen glances were all fixed on me.
Just then, the door to Kai Young's office opened.
He was the Deputy Director personally promoted by Mr. Collins, dressed in a dark gray suit, always with a calm and polished demeanor.
"Whitney Lynn, come here." He waved me over, his voice low and soft.
A flicker of hope sparked in my chest.
Mr. Collins had always treated me well, and Kai was his guy; he definitely knew the whole story and would help me.
I stepped into the office holding the expense reimbursement form; Kai was cleaning a cup with tea tongs.
The purple clay tea set was arranged neatly; hot water was poured in, steaming.
"Sit down." He nodded toward the sofa across from him without lifting his head.
I awkwardly sat down and put the expense reimbursement form on the coffee table. "Mr. Young, this is the hospitality expense from the day Mr. Collins had the accident. I..."
"Mindy Carter already told me."

Kai Young interrupted me, slowly placing the washed cups on the tray. "She talks a lot, but she follows the rules. Don't take it personally."
My heart sank a little; that bit of hope felt like it was half-doused with cold water.
"But Mr. Young, this money was spent for the company..."
"I know."
Kai Young finally looked up at me, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "Rules are rules. Without a signature, I can't approve it."
He sighed, leaned forward, and put on a serious tone: "The company is going through a special period right now. Stability is the most important thing.""When Mr. Collins was here, he could handle things. Now that he's gone, we have to follow the new rules."
I understood what the "new rules" really meant — clearing out Mr. Collins's people and erasing his traces.
"This time, Mr. Walker's deal was thanks to Stella,"
Kai Young's tone shifted, and a smile appeared on his face. "Right after Mr. Collins left, Mr. Walker was emotionally unstable. It was Stella who stepped up in a crisis, had a meal with him, and secured the contract."
"What does this prove? Being capable alone isn't enough; you've gotta know how to handle people too."
He paused, then said, "The Company decided to give Stella Scott the credit and award her 30,000 for outstanding contribution."
Thirty thousand.
My 9,999—that was my rent and living expenses for next month—gone for nothing.
Stella Scott has one dinner and gets thirty thousand.
A huge wave of helplessness hit me. I opened my mouth but couldn't get a sound out.
"Young people, a little unfairness is actually a blessing in disguise."
Kai Young raised his tea cup and took a sip, "Just think of it as experience."
He issued a dismissal, his tone brooking no argument.
When I walked out of the office, my steps felt totally unsteady.
The hallway lights were so bright they dazzled my eyes.
So that so-called "experience" was just about biting the bullet and swallowing my pain mixed with blood.
I returned to my desk and leaned over, burying my face in my arms.
Tears almost fell, but I forced them back hard.
I couldn't cry—crying here would only make me look like a joke.
A whiff of perfume floated over—it was Stella Scott's scent.
She held two cups of milk tea, standing beside me with a warm smile: "Whitney, don't be upset. I'll treat you to milk tea."
She placed the milk tea on my desk and draped her arm over my shoulder, acting all cozy and familiar.
I looked up and stared at her coldly.
Stella Scott wore an off-white dress, her hair perfectly curled, with light makeup on her face, looking innocent and gentle.
But I knew she wasn't really like that.
"Don't take what Mindy and Mr. Young said to heart."
Stella lowered her voice, full of concern. "They only meant well for the Company; they weren't targeting you."
I didn't say a word, just kept staring at her.
She looked a bit uneasy under my gaze, took her hand off my shoulder, and then pulled an envelope out of her bag.
"Whitney, I heard about Mr. Collins's hospitality expense issue."
She shoved the envelope into my hand firmly, "I've already fronted this 9999 for you, so don't be polite with me. You work so hard for the Company—I can't just watch you get the short end of the stick."
The envelope was thick—definitely more than 9999.
I gripped the envelope, my palm burning, but my stomach churned with nausea.

What is she doing? Using my achievements to grab a bonus, then giving me a portion as "charity"—both making herself look good and making me look like a beggar.
"Ah, Mr. Young, too."
Stella Scott saw I wasn't responding, then spoke again, covering her mouth as she chuckled, "They insisted it was all thanks to me this time and insisted on giving me a bonus.""Honestly, I wouldn't dare take credit—Mr. Collins paved the way before he passed. I just happened to drink a few extra drinks with Mr. Walker."
She blinked, her tone full of bragging: "Unlike Whitney, you're so professionally skilled.""But these days, just being capable isn't enough—you've got to know how to play the social game too, right?"
Looking at her face, the fire inside me suddenly died out.
It's not compromise; it's clarity.
In their world, being honest and decent isn't a virtue—it's stupidity; knowing how to brown-nose and put on a show is the real 'skill.'
This workhorse of mine should have been replaced a long time ago.
I slowly pushed the envelope back, my fingertips brushing hers before quickly pulling away.
No need. I said it calmly, my voice still like a stagnant pond.
Stella Scott's smile froze on her face, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
She probably didn't expect me to refuse her 'kindness.'
I ignored her, opened my laptop, and clicked on the calendar.
The day after tomorrow is Friday, the day for burial—it's Mr. Collins's memorial service.
I looked at the words "Suitable for Sacrifice" on the screen and a cold smirk appeared at the corner of my mouth.
Rules? Connections?
The day after tomorrow, I'll show them what real rules are.
After work, I didn't go home; instead, I took a taxi to the old street in the west part of town.
There's a stationery shop that's been around for thirty years, and the owner keeps the best ink pads.
I need the reddest, purest cinnabar—red as blood.

The door of the stationery shop was wooden; it creaked loudly when I pushed it open.
The boss was an old man with gray hair, wearing reading glasses, carefully wiping an inkstone with a cotton cloth.
"Young lady, what are you buying?" He looked up at me, his voice hoarse.
"I want the best ink pad, the reddest kind." I said, clutching my bag strap tightly.
The old man didn't ask much and reached under the counter to pull out a small celadon jar from a wooden box.
The jar was small, could fit in the palm of my hand, carved with a creeping lotus pattern.
He twisted open the lid; inside was hardened cinnabar, glossy and bright, like congealed blood.
"This is top-quality cinnabar mixed with castor oil, so the print is clear and won't fade easily."
I paid and put the celadon vase in my bag.
The vase was cold against my palm, clearing my muddled mind a bit.
Then, I went to the law firm my friend had recommended.
The law firm was hidden inside an old residential building; on the second-floor window hung a faded sign that read "The Jones Law Firm."
The person who greeted me was Lawyer Jones, wearing a dark gray suit, the buttons on his cuffs shining bright, his eyes sharp, like he could see right through people.
"Lawyer Jones, I want to preserve evidence and ask you for another favor."
I got straight to the point and placed the USB drive I had prepared earlier on the table.
The USB drive was silver, with some ink smudges on it from when I printed documents yesterday.
"All the evidence is on here."
I looked Lawyer Jones in the eye and said, word by word, "Recordings, chat logs, contract drafts, and screenshots from Stella Scott and Kai Young's social media—all arranged chronologically."
Lawyer Jones picked up the USB drive, turned it over in his hand, said nothing, waiting for me to continue.
"The day after tomorrow at noon, I'll send you a message."
I kept speaking, my tone steady, "If by 12:30 you haven't received my message, or if you did but I haven't called you back to confirm within half an hour—"
"Just encrypt and package the contents on the USB drive and send it to the emails listed here."
I handed him a sheet with the tip-off emails of several major financial media outlets, as well as the legal departments of T Group's main competitors.
"I have the cancellation password for the scheduled email, and you hold the sending password."
Lawyer Jones's expression shifted from calm to serious.
He adjusted his glasses, and the gaze behind the lenses fixed on my face like he was re-assessing me.

"Miss Lynn, do you realize what the consequences of this are?" He asked, "This is like lighting a bomb, and it's going to affect a lot of people, including you."
"I know."
I smiled faintly, my voice flat, "I'm just using the rules they taught me, telling them the rules."
It was already dark when I left the law firm.
The night wind blew into my collar, a bit chilly, but I felt clearer-headed than ever.
Streetlights glowed, traffic buzzed by, and the distant skyscraper lights flickered.
All of it was just background—I was about to enter a battle, a fight to demand justice for myself.
Mr. Collins's memorial service was held at a funeral home on the outskirts of the city.
When I arrived, the hall was already packed with people.
White chrysanthemums lined the way, mournful music drifted from the speakers, wrapped in the scent of incense and candles, making it hard to breathe.
I spotted the T Group's people right away.
Kai Young wore a black suit, his tie perfectly knotted, shaking hands with Mr. Collins's family. The sadness on his face looked painted on, totally fake.
Mindy Carter stood nearby with her hands in her pockets, glancing at her mobile phone now and then, her brow furrowed—as if she found the place suffocating or was waiting for some news.
Stella Scott was the most noticeable.
She wore a white dress, her hair cascading over her shoulders, clutching a white handkerchief.
She clung tightly to Mr. Collins's wife's arm, resting her head on her shoulder, her eyes puffy and red as if she'd just been crying.
Mr. Collins's wife was so drained from crying that she leaned on Stella, who gently patted her back and whispered soothing words. You wouldn't have guessed she wasn't Mr. Collins's own daughter.
I stood in a corner, coldly watching the whole scene.
To them, the solemn funeral became nothing more than a stage for show.
Kai Young was busy showing off his 'loyalty and honor,' Stella Scott played the 'thoughtful and understanding' role, and Mindy Carter just barely went through the motions.
Only Mr. Collins lay quietly in the crystal coffin, utterly unaware of everything.
The memorial ceremony went on as scheduled.
First, the Chairman gave a speech, calling Mr. Collins a hero of the company, a 'rare talent,' speaking so passionately that his eyes welled up.
Next, the family expressed their gratitude. Mr. Collins's wife, sobbing, thanked everyone, her voice trembling uncontrollably.
The final part was the farewell to the body; everyone lined up, walking past the crystal coffin, offering white chrysanthemums.

Kai Young led the T Group's group at the front.
He approached the coffin, bent down to lay down flowers, and bowed three times to the crystal coffin, his actions so by-the-book it seemed like he was just completing a task.
Mindy Carter followed behind, stepping back right after offering her flowers, not even glancing inside the crystal coffin.
When Stella Scott walked over, she simply let out a "plop" and dropped to her knees.
She leaned against the crystal coffin, shoulders shaking as she sobbed uncontrollably: "Mr. Collins! How could you just leave like this! The kindness you showed me, I could never repay it even in another lifetime!"
Her crying was so loud it drowned out the mourning music.
People around looked over, some with sympathetic eyes, and Mr. Collins' family was even more touched, reaching out to pat Stella Scott's back.
I stood in the back, watching her performance, my stomach turning.
When Mr. Collins was alive, Stella barely went to his office, and now she's here crying about "repaying in the next life"—it's downright ridiculous.
Finally, it was my turn.
I didn't take the white chrysanthemum; I only held a black folder.
Inside the folder was the expense reimbursement form I'd carefully ironed flat, along with that celadon ink pad jar.
I walked step by step toward the crystal coffin, my steps steady.
Everyone's eyes followed me—curious, puzzled, and there was Kai Young's warning glare too.
They were probably wondering what this usually silent woman was about to do.
I stopped right in front of the crystal coffin.
Mr. Collins lay inside, his face made up, with no signs of the car accident—just a pale, lifeless blue-white.
I didn't look at him; instead, I turned around to face the crowd behind me and the MC standing front and center, saying clearly, "Please wait a moment."
My voice wasn't loud, but it landed like a pebble skipping across a still lake.
The sad music stopped, the sobbing ceased, and everyone froze—staring at me in stunned silence.
Kai Young knit his brows tightly, his eyes blazing with anger, and shot me a look that said, 'Don't stir up trouble.'
Mindy Carter crossed her arms, a cold sneer curling at the corner of her mouth, clearly waiting for me to make a fool of myself.
Stella Scott had just gotten up from the floor, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, looking at me with utter confusion.
I ignored their stares and pulled the expense reimbursement form and the celadon vase out of the folder.
Then, I pulled out my mobile phone, leaned it against the flower stand beside me, and adjusted the angle—making sure I could get myself, the crystal coffin, and the expense reimbursement form all in the frame.

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