At eight fifty the next morning, the atmosphere outside the president's office on the twenty-eighth floor was as tense as a fully drawn bowstring.
Assistants hurried past carrying documents. Their hushed conversations mixed with the hum of the coffee machine. From the corners of their eyes, everyone unconsciously glanced toward the tightly closed walnut door.
Inside the office, Zong Yi stood in front of the large desk, placing the last printed chart into a leather folder.
Today she wore a fitted lead-gray business suit. Her hair was neatly pinned into a bun at the back of her head, revealing her pale neck and sharply defined profile.
The hands of the watch moved steadily. There were forty minutes left before the meeting began.
Her face showed little expression. Only a faint bluish tint beneath her eyes hinted at a lack of sleep, carefully concealed beneath precise makeup.
The door opened silently.
Yan Hanxie walked in.
She wore a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit, making her complexion appear even colder and her figure tall and upright.
Her long hair was twisted into a low, full bun at the back of her head. Two simple diamond earrings glimmered in subtly on her earlobes.
On her left wrist, the string of sandalwood Buddhist beads rested quietly against her skin, occasionally appearing beneath the cuff as she walked.
Her makeup was flawless, as if she had never been drunk the previous night. Only deep at the corners of her eyes lingered the faintest trace of fatigue—something noticeable only at close distance.
She walked directly behind the desk. Her gaze swept over the neatly arranged documents before finally settling on Zong Yi.
That gaze was ordinary, businesslike, the focused look of a CEO reviewing a subordinate's work preparation.
It was completely different from the heated intensity that had clung to Zong Yi in the garage and the apartment the previous night.
"Good morning, Director Zong."
Yan Hanxie spoke, her voice clear and steady without the slightest hoarseness of a hangover.
"Good morning, President Yan."
Zong Yi nodded slightly and pushed the folder forward.
"The board's quarterly report materials are fully prepared. The electronic version was sent to your email and the directors' terminals last night. These are the printed backups. Key sections are marked with yellow tags, and the data has been updated to yesterday's market close. This is your speech outline, revised according to the adjustments from our last discussion."
Her speaking pace was steady and organized, like a precision instrument reporting parameters.
Yan Hanxie sat down and picked up the speech outline, flipping through it quickly.
The pages made faint rustling sounds under her fingers. For a moment, the only sound in the office was the low hum of the central air conditioning.
"The increase in third-quarter market share is mainly due to the expansion of new distribution channels in the East China region," Yan Hanxie suddenly said. Her eyes remained on the page, her tone calm. "The risk assessment report you prepared is overly conservative in its prediction of policy changes."
Zong Yi's expression did not change.
"The risk assessment is based on data from the past three quarters and currently available public information. If you believe adjustments are necessary, President Yan, I can organize the team to conduct a second analysis after the meeting and submit a revised version by five this afternoon at the latest."
Yan Hanxie lifted her eyes and looked at Zong Yi across the wide desk.
Her gaze was calm—calm like deep water, though something beneath it seemed to swirl silently.
She looked at Zong Yi for several seconds, unconsciously rolling one of the sandalwood beads beneath her fingertips.
"No need."
She lowered her gaze again and continued flipping through the pages.
"I'll supplement explanations as appropriate during the meeting. The budget breakdown for the increased R&D investment—is it attached at the back?"
"It's in Appendix Three, starting from page forty-five."
Zong Yi answered without hesitation.
"It has been verified with the finance department three times. The numbers have been confirmed."
"Mm."
Yan Hanxie responded faintly. She closed the outline and leaned back into the high-backed chair, placing both hands folded on the desk, the string of Buddhist beads resting directly against the back of her own hand.
"Coffee."
Zong Yi turned and walked to the coffee machine nearby.
Her movements were smooth, without hesitation.
Grinding beans, tamping the powder, pouring hot water—the rich aroma quickly filled the room.
She placed a cup of black coffee without sugar or milk beside Yan Hanxie.
Yan Hanxie lifted the cup and took a sip.
The bitter liquid slid down her throat. She frowned almost imperceptibly, then relaxed.
"Director Zong," she set the cup down, the porcelain base lightly striking the desk with a crisp sound, "you worked hard last night."
The sentence sounded casual, like any routine appreciation from a superior to a subordinate who had worked overtime.
But the words "last night" were pressed slightly by her tongue, carrying an indescribable undertone.
Zong Yi was organizing an extra draft paper beside her.
Hearing this, her fingers paused for a fraction of a second before smoothing out a slightly folded corner of the page.
"It was part of my duties."
She answered, her voice completely flat.
"You're too kind, President Yan."
The office fell silent again.
But this silence was different from before. Invisible barbs floated in the air, pricking the skin with a faint itching discomfort.
The sunlight outside grew brighter, passing through the blinds and casting alternating stripes of light and shadow across the carpet between them.
The second hand on the wall clock ticked one space at a time, the sound amplified in the overly quiet room.
Yan Hanxie's gaze drifted almost imperceptibly toward the hand hanging at Zong Yi's side.
That hand was pale, the fingers slender. Her nails were neatly trimmed and carried a healthy pale pink color.
At her wrist, aside from a simple watch, there was nothing.
The brief trace left by the sandalwood beads the night before had long disappeared, as if they had never been wrapped around it.
Yan Hanxie picked up her coffee and took another sip. This time her movements were slower, and her gaze never left Zong Yi.
Zong Yi could feel that gaze.
It was not scorching. In fact, it could even be described as calm. Yet its presence was strong—like winter sunlight shining through glass. It looked bright, but when it fell on the skin, it carried no warmth. Instead, it created the uncomfortable sensation of being silently examined, with nowhere to escape.
She maintained the posture of organizing documents, her back straight, the line of her profile tense.
Only the base of her ear, illuminated by the light filtering through the blinds, seemed slightly redder than the rest of her skin.
Not shyness.
More like evidence of a suppressed emotion on the verge of eruption, surging through her veins.
"President Yan," Zong Yi finally spoke again, breaking the unbearable silence, her tone still steady. "If there are no other instructions, I will go to the meeting room ten minutes early to check the equipment."
Yan Hanxie did not speak. She only looked at her. The speed at which her fingertips rolled the Buddhist beads increased ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.
A few seconds later, she withdrew her gaze and turned it back to the documents on the desk, giving a faint "Mm," which counted as permission.
Zong Yi picked up her folder and laptop, then turned and walked toward the door.
Her high heels struck the carpet with a dull, rhythmic sound—step by step—moving away from the wide desk, away from the person behind it who appeared focused on work, yet whose peripheral vision had never truly left her departing figure.
Just as her hand was about to touch the doorknob—
"Zong Yi."
Yan Hanxie's voice was not loud, but it cut clearly through the air and slipped into her ears.
Zong Yi stopped walking but did not turn around.
Behind her came the soft sound of a chair sliding. Yan Hanxie had stood up.
She could feel that gaze now firmly pinned to her back, tracing downward along her spine, bringing with it a pressure that felt almost tangible.
"Your collar pin," Yan Hanxie said unhurriedly, her voice betraying no emotion, "is crooked."
Zong Yi lowered her eyes.
Today she was wearing an extremely simple silver collar pin, fastened just beneath the collar of her shirt.
At this moment, the pin sat perfectly straight, with no sign of being crooked.
She still did not turn around. Instead, she raised a hand and let her fingertips lightly brush over where the pin was, making a small motion as if adjusting it.
Then she grasped the doorknob and pressed it down.
"Thank you for the reminder, President Yan."
The door opened. She walked out, her figure disappearing beyond it, temporarily sealing off the silent, taut battleground behind her.
Inside the office, Yan Hanxie remained standing where she was, fingertips rolling the Buddhist beads as her gaze fell on the place where Zong Yi had just stood, then shifted to the door that had already closed.
After a long moment, she tugged at the corner of her mouth. The smile did not reach her eyes; instead, it carried a hint of cold amusement.
She walked back to the desk, picked up the cup of coffee that had already grown slightly cool, and drank it in one gulp.
Bitterness instantly filled her mouth, sharpening her clarity.
The clock on the wall pointed to 9:05.
There were twenty-five minutes left before the board meeting began.
Enough time for her to "review" certain things once more.
She sat down, opened the documents, and fixed her eyes on the dense numbers and charts. Yet her fingertips continued unconsciously rolling the warm sandalwood beads around her wrist.
One bead, then another.
—
T/N: If you're enjoying this translation, feel free to check out my Patreon. If you're unable to support financially, you can still subscribe for free and receive chapters two hours earlier, along with updates and announcements. Paid tiers offer early access and daily chapters.
Thank you so much for reading!
patreon.com/Baenz