The moment Fu Ling's voice echoed across the boardroom, everyone froze. Conversations stopped mid-sentence, and even the faint hum of the projector seemed to fade. Every pair of eyes turned toward the young man standing at the door—his face flushed with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
The executives exchanged uneasy glances. Some frowned. Others sighed quietly.
The mere mention of Fu Lianhua made their expressions shift. Disdain flickered in their eyes.
None of them liked her. Not one.
To them, Madam Fu Lianhua was a woman who carried misfortune like a shadow. Her presence had always brought an inexplicable heaviness into any room she entered. Even though she dressed in elegance and spoke with refined grace, something about her aura felt off. Cold. Cursed.
These were men who had spent decades building empires and surviving storms. They believed in signs, omens, fate—and superstition ran deep in their bones. To them, Fu Lianhua was bad luck incarnate.
