At 9:25, the directors began arriving one after another in the top-floor conference room.
The dark walnut conference table gleamed like a mirror, reflecting the clean geometric light fixtures on the ceiling.
The air carried the blended scent of premium leather and freshly ground coffee. Conversations were low and restrained, each person wearing an expression of measured seriousness or contemplation.
Zong Yi sat slightly to the right of the middle of the long table. In front of her lay her laptop and a set of streamlined handwritten notes.
She was speaking softly with the finance director beside her, confirming the definition of a particular data metric. Her side profile was focused. Sunlight streamed in from the massive floor-to-ceiling window behind her, outlining her silhouette with the faintest golden edge and making the skin of her ear appear almost translucent.
The silver collar pin caught fragments of cold light each time she gave a small nod.
The door opened again.
Yan Hanxie walked in.
All whispers vanished instantly as every gaze gathered.
Her steps were steady as she walked straight to the head seat. Behind her, an assistant carrying backup materials slipped silently into a corner seat for observers.
"Good morning, everyone."
Yan Hanxie sat down. Her voice was clear and steady as she glanced around the table. When her gaze passed over Zong Yi, it did not pause in the slightest, as though she were no different from any other attendee.
"Let's begin."
The meeting proceeded according to the established agenda.
Marketing, finance, research and development, operations… each department head reported in turn.
Yan Hanxie listened attentively, occasionally asking questions—precise and sharp, cutting directly to the core.
Her left hand rested casually along the edge of the table the entire time. The string of sandalwood Buddhist beads lay quietly against her wrist bone, swaying slightly only when she flipped through the documents before her.
Then it was Zong Yi's turn.
She stood and walked to the side of the projection screen at the front.
The lights adjusted slightly, placing her entirely within a clear halo of light.
Her shirt was snow-white, her trousers sharply pressed. The buttons of her lead-gray blazer were fastened with meticulous precision.
"Next, I will report to the board on the third-quarter strategic execution and the key planning for the fourth quarter."
Her voice traveled through the microphone across the conference room—not loud, yet every word crisp, carrying a cool, penetrating clarity.
The slides shifted, charts and data flowing smoothly across the screen. Zong Yi's explanation was concise and powerful, each link in her logic tightly connected. Her interpretation of key metrics was precise, and her warnings about potential risks calm and measured.
She rarely looked at her notes. Most of the time her gaze met the directors seated before her, steady and composed.
Yan Hanxie leaned back in her chair, resting her right hand against her chin, fingertips tapping lightly on the table. Her gaze fell on the screen—and also on the person presenting.
She watched more carefully than anyone else, as if she intended to dismantle every frame and every syllable.
"…Based on the above analysis, in the fourth quarter we will focus on consolidating our new channel advantages in East China. At the same time, we will pilot the 'Spark' initiative in South China to explore refined operational models in lower-tier markets. For specific resource allocation and risk-hedging plans, please refer to Appendix Seven."
After finishing her final sentence, Zong Yi paused briefly.
"That concludes my report. I welcome the board's review."
For a moment, the conference room was silent, filled only with the faint hum of the air-conditioning.
Then several directors began asking questions—ranging from market forecasts to technical implementation details. Each question was sharper than the last.
Standing in the light, Zong Yi responded calmly. The data came to her effortlessly, her logic flawless.
Occasionally she would turn slightly toward the person asking the question, the line of her neck taut and straight.
Yan Hanxie maintained the same posture and did not join the questioning.
Yet her gaze slowly shifted from the charts on the screen to Zong Yi herself.
More precisely, it settled on the side of Zong Yi's neck—just beneath the silver collar pin, where the top button of her shirt rested close against her skin.
Last night, Yan Hanxie's fingertips had almost brushed there.
Now it was tightly covered by neat fabric, leaving exposed only a small patch of pale, seemingly flawless skin.
Beneath the table, Yan Hanxie's fingertips gently rolled one of the Buddhist beads.
"…Regarding sensitivity analysis for policy risks, we have already established a three-tier early-warning model," Zong Yi was saying, responding to a director's follow-up about risk control. Her tone remained steady and calm. "Detailed simulation data can be provided in a full report after the meeting."
After finishing, her gaze instinctively swept toward the head seat, seeking confirmation.
At that very moment, Yan Hanxie moved.
She seemed merely to adjust her sitting posture, leaning slightly forward as her left hand lifted naturally from the edge of the table to reach for the coffee cup before her.
This movement caused the Buddhist beads around her wrist to slip free from the table's shadow, fully exposed under the lights—and directly within Zong Yi's field of vision.
The dark brown sandalwood beads carried a quiet, gentle sheen under the cold white lighting.
One bead pressed against the next, strung together, wrapped around Yan Hanxie's slender wrist bone.
As she lifted the cup, the beads swayed slightly, touching one another without sound.
Zong Yi's voice faltered for half a beat.
It was extremely brief—so brief that even the director staring directly at her might not have noticed.
But in the next half sentence, her speaking pace accelerated ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if to quickly fill the gap left by that momentary loss of control.
"…The model's dynamic adjustment mechanism has also been validated in the previous round of stress testing."
Yan Hanxie lifted the coffee cup to her lips and took a sip.
Her gaze rose above the rim of the cup and looked calmly at Zong Yi, as though their eyes had met purely by accident.
Zong Yi had already moved her gaze away, refocusing on the director who had asked the question as she continued answering.
The line of her profile seemed slightly stiffer than before.
Yan Hanxie set the cup down. Her left hand returned to the tabletop, the beads once again half-hidden in the shadow of her arm.
Under the table, her fingertips slowly rolled over a second bead.
The meeting continued.
Zong Yi returned to her seat. During the following discussions she mostly listened quietly, responding briefly only when called upon.
She sat straight, both hands folded over her notebook, her gaze usually resting on the current speaker or on the notes in front of her.
But she did not look toward the head seat again.
Yan Hanxie began participating more frequently in the discussion, offering opinions and issuing decisions.
Her voice remained clear and calm, her logic powerful.
Only in certain pauses would her left hand unconsciously brush over the beads on her wrist, or lightly flick them with her fingertips.
When the R&D director mentioned a technical difficulty requiring cross-department coordination, Yan Hanxie turned her gaze to Zong Yi.
"Director Zong, you'll take the lead on this. I want to see a preliminary plan by Friday."
"Yes, President Yan."
Zong Yi responded. Her eyes met Yan Hanxie's for an instant before lowering again as she quickly recorded the note.
The pressure of her pen against the paper seemed slightly heavier than usual.
The clock on the wall pointed to 11:10. The meeting entered its final agenda item.
After such prolonged focus, a faint fatigue hung in the air.
Someone loosened a tie. Someone else lifted a glass of water.
Yan Hanxie was delivering the concluding remarks. Her voice carried a slight rasp from speaking for so long, lending it even greater authority.
She listed several key resolutions at an even pace.
At that moment, the screen of the phone in front of Zong Yi lit up briefly, then dimmed again.
It was a message preview from a number with no saved name.
The message contained only two words:
[Collar pin]
Zong Yi's body tensed for an instant, almost imperceptibly.
Her gaze remained on the notebook in front of her, but the fingertips holding her pen tightened slightly.
Yan Hanxie's summary happened to reach a pause.
She stopped, lifted her glass, and took a sip of water. Her gaze swept naturally across the room. When it passed over the top of Zong Yi's lowered head, it lingered for less than half a second.
Then she set the glass down, her left hand resting casually on the edge of the table, the string of Buddhist beads once again fully revealed.
Her fingertip hovered at the edge of the table and flicked lightly—
The smallest bead at the end—the slightly smaller disciple bead—was lightly scraped by her nail. It slipped free from the pressure of her fingertip and swayed ever so faintly in the air, tugging the entire string of beads into a brief, unsteady tremble.
The movement was small. The action was quick.
But Zong Yi's eyelashes suddenly quivered in that instant.
Like the surface of a still lake rippled by an invisible breeze.
The hand resting on her notebook curled slightly.
Yan Hanxie seemed completely unaware. She had already withdrawn her hand, picked up her pen, and signed her name on the resolution document in front of her.
The tip of the pen scratched softly across the paper.
"That concludes today's meeting." She closed the folder and lifted her head, her gaze calmly sweeping across everyone. "Thank you all for your hard work. The meeting has concluded."
The sound of chairs sliding echoed as quiet conversations began again.
The directors rose one after another and left their seats.
Zong Yi remained seated, not moving immediately.
She lowered her head and slowly capped her pen, closed her notebook, and shut down her laptop.
Every movement was meticulous, but half a beat slower than usual.
Only after more than half the room had emptied did she stand and begin packing her things.
Yan Hanxie was still sitting at the head of the table, turned slightly to one side as she spoke quietly with her assistant.
Her profile was sharply defined in the bright daylight pouring through the windows.
Zong Yi picked up her belongings and turned toward the door.
Her back was straight. Her steps were steady.
Just as she was about to step out of the conference room—
"Director Zong."
Yan Hanxie's voice came from behind her. It wasn't loud, yet it stopped her steps once again.
She paused for two seconds before turning around.
Yan Hanxie had already finished speaking with her assistant and was now standing alone beside the head seat, a document in her hand, her gaze resting on Zong Yi.
"The supplementary risk assessment you submitted last night," Yan Hanxie said, lightly raising the pages in her hand, her tone as calm as usual. "There are a few points I need to confirm with you in person. Come back to the office with me now."
She was talking about work.
There was nothing to criticize.
Zong Yi stood at the doorway. Behind her were the fading sounds of footsteps and conversations in the corridor. In front of her was the now-empty conference room—and at the far end of it, the woman with dark sandalwood beads wrapped around her wrist, quietly waiting for her answer.
The sunlight had shifted, casting their long shadows across the polished floor.
—
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