The transfer market had turned into a zoo overnight. Tom, the chief scout, watched helplessly as the price of the asset he discovered—Su Mang—skyrocketed past €120 million. Yet, Su Mang was resolute: the negotiation would only take place with Li Qingxue, and it wouldn't be about money.
Li Qingxue selected the venue herself: a private, historic London manor belonging to the Fosun Group, decorated with priceless Qing dynasty porcelain. She arrived wearing an emerald green silk dress that contrasted sharply with her usual severe business attire. Her hair was down, framing a face usually guarded by cold precision. She was trying to disarm him, using the environment and her status as a subtle weapon.
She found Su Mang in the manor's massive dining room, a cavernous space dominated by a long mahogany table. He was surprisingly focused not on the harbor view, but on studying a dense tactical manual, completely oblivious to his surroundings.
"You look beautiful, Miss Li," Su Mang said, closing the manual with a snap. "This is a good view, but I prefer the one from the Molineux center circle. That's where the real power is generated."
Li Qingxue maintained her composure, taking a seat across the long table. She needed to establish control immediately. "Let's get straight to business, Su Mang. The board authorized a new contract. We're offering you a £200,000 weekly wage, a £10 million signing bonus, and a five-year term. That's top-tier money, even for Manchester City."
Su Mang took a sip of his wine, looking completely unimpressed. "Your offer is insulting. Money is cheap, Director Li. My price, as I told your scout, is absolute authority over the defense, a guaranteed captaincy by next season, and a written promise that the Chinese FA's political threats will be legally ignored."
"That is unacceptable," Li Qingxue snapped, her voice regaining its corporate chill. "Absolute authority belongs to the manager. And the captaincy is earned, not given. I can raise the weekly wage to £250,000, but I cannot give you immunity from the manager. No player is bigger than the club hierarchy."
Su Mang smiled, a dangerous, lazy smile that instantly melted the professional veneer of the room. "You misunderstand, Miss Li. I already have the authority. The players won't listen to anyone else after that performance. I am the new hierarchy. As for the manager? He'll learn his place, or I'll replace him."
He stood up. Slowly, deliberately, he circled the enormous table until he stood directly behind her chair, violating every rule of corporate etiquette and personal space.
"The wage," Su Mang continued, his voice a low, gravelly vibration close to her ear, "is merely a tool to justify the contract. But I am not a tool, and I am not for sale."
Li Qingxue stiffened, every muscle in her back rigid. She was accustomed to controlling rooms, not being suffocated by raw, masculine presence. The subtle scent of his clean skin and adrenaline was overwhelming, invading the expensive perfume she wore.
"I need you to return to your seat, Su Mang," she ordered, trying to project authority, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her escalating panic.
"You need me to sit down, or you need me to stay?" Su Mang challenged.
He reached out. His large, rough hand gently adjusted the subtle, jeweled hairpin that was holding her black hair in place. His fingers brushed the sensitive, warm skin of her neck, just behind her ear.
Li Qingxue froze. Her breathing completely arrested, and the sudden electrical jolt rendered her usually sharp, analytical mind completely blank. She felt her meticulously constructed wall of professional detachment crumble under the intimate, dominant pressure of his touch. This was not a negotiation; it was a physical and psychological siege.
"I… I need you to stay," she whispered, the admission of vulnerability escaping her lips before her logic could stop it. She hated the word, hated the feeling of being overpowered, yet the honesty felt terrifyingly good.
Su Mang smiled in triumph, knowing the negotiation was fundamentally over. He had won the war of wills. He moved back to his chair, resuming his normal position as if the intense moment had never occurred.
Just then, his phone vibrated—a private call from China. Su Mang answered.
"Yes, Mr. Li. That is the cost of securing my commitment. You heard the demands. Good. I expect the paperwork filed immediately."
Su Mang hung up and looked at the stunned Li Qingxue.
"That was your father, Miss Li," Su Mang said casually. "He was surprisingly receptive to my terms. He authorized the legal team to grant me complete immunity regarding defense selection. He also thinks I'd make a fine captain."
Li Qingxue stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief, professional shock, and grudging respect. He hadn't just won the negotiation; he had gone over her head, secured the highest authority's approval, and done so without once raising his voice. He had implicitly gained the Chairman's blessing for his tyrannical style.
"You went over my head," Li Qingxue stated, her voice quiet, the professional insult automatic.
"I went straight to the source of power," Su Mang corrected, leaning back. "I told you, I only talk to kings. You are a Queen, but your father is the King."
He picked up the contract pen.
"Now, are we partners, or are you still trying to be the boss?"
Li Qingxue let out a long, slow breath, a trace of color finally returning to her cheeks. She realized that trying to control him was futile. The only way to survive was to ride the wave of his tyranny. She had never been dominated like this, and the feeling, terrifying as it was, was utterly intoxicating.
She took the contract pen from his hand.
"Welcome aboard, Captain. I look forward to managing your reign."