The Story of the Eastern Young Lady and Then the Little Secretary

The night was long.

Dongfang Family Villa.

The little secretary ultimately failed to complete the 30-kilometer "warm-up exercise" assigned by Dongfang Zhixia. She collapsed after just three kilometers, her physical endurance automatically rounding down the task her young mistress had given her.

Even her bath had to be taken with Dongfang Zhixia dragging her half-dead little secretary along.

Perhaps she had been truly shaken today. Normally, even if she was slacking, the little secretary could manage five kilometers after some coaxing. But today, she gave up at three—likely because she had seen something not meant for young eyes.

It was hard to imagine. Despite being the young mistress, Dongfang Zhixia ended up having to take care of her own little secretary. Their relationship was beyond strange, leaving those around them utterly baffled.

Many wondered why Dongfang Zhixia was so indulgent toward a not-so-bright, clumsy little secretary.

In truth, the two had known each other for many years.

Their first meeting was at a banquet. Back then, Dongfang Zhixia was around seven or eight years old, while the little secretary was just over ten, a year or two older.

At the banquet, Dongfang Zhixia, as the young mistress of the Dongfang family, was the center of attention, showered with praise and flattery.

She had always been the focal point wherever she went—born into it, raised in it, and she believed it was only natural. She was meant to be admired by all.

In stark contrast was the little secretary, also attending the banquet.

She was led by a middle-aged woman who wasn’t particularly "beautiful," at least not compared to the others present. The woman wore an uneasy expression, nodding incessantly whenever someone approached, as if afraid of offending them.

The woman was clearly uncomfortable at such events. She had only come because she was required to, bringing her daughter along as a last resort.

If she had a choice, she wouldn’t have subjected her daughter to this—she knew the girl wasn’t good at handling such situations either.

Compared to the other wealthy young ladies at the banquet, the little secretary, clinging to her mother’s hand, seemed far more timid.

She didn’t dare wander around like the others, instead hiding behind her mother, gripping her hand tightly, peering at the crowd with wide, nervous eyes—as if she was easily frightened.

The puffy banquet dress she wore looked a bit bulky on her, but it was undeniably adorable. Her face was round and chubby, whether from baby fat or too many snacks was unclear.

The little secretary sat timidly behind her mother, watching the guests come and go. Only when a server passed by with a tray of mini cakes did her eyes light up.

She clearly wanted one, but her courage failed her. Too afraid to speak up in front of so many people, she could only stare longingly as the cake slipped away.

"Mengmeng, do you want that?" The middle-aged woman seemed to notice her daughter’s longing and asked gently, squeezing her hand.

The little secretary nodded, blinking rapidly as she swallowed hard before whispering in a tiny voice,

"I want it..."

"Then wait here for Mommy, okay? I’ll be right back." The woman patted her daughter’s head softly.

"Mm, okay..."

Once her mother left to fetch the cake, the little secretary grew restless, anxiously scanning the crowd and shrinking back whenever someone got too close.

If not for her mother’s instructions before arriving, she would’ve already crawled under one of the banquet tables and curled into a ball.

In her nervous dodging, she accidentally bumped into a boy around her age.

"I-I’m sorry..." Terrified, her small frame trembled violently, tears welling up in her eyes.

The boy shoved her to the ground, and she quivered like a frightened quail, on the verge of sobbing.

"Sorry doesn’t cut it. Who even are you? I’ve never seen you before—did you sneak in?" The boy’s aristocratic aura crushed her, making it hard to breathe.

She stammered incoherently, unable to form a response, tears betraying her first.

Her lips quivered, but she held back the sobs—her mother had warned her not to cry, not to ruin things, or her father would be upset...

Slap!

A sharp sound rang out.

The little secretary flinched, covering her head and crouching down, as if expecting the blow to land on her. Her reaction suggested this wasn’t unfamiliar territory.

"I saw you running around earlier. You bump into someone, refuse to apologize, and then play the victim? How dare you."

A voice, young but brimming with authority, cut through the air. Standing protectively in front of the little secretary was—

Dongfang Zhixia, in her pristine white evening gown.

Even at such a young age, Dongfang Zhixia carried an intimidating presence that made others shrink back.

"Which family do you belong to?" She glared down at the trembling boy, her voice icy enough to suffocate.

"And who gave you the right to push her?"