After finishing half a cup of coffee, Ying Jun’s stomach started to ache faintly again. It wasn’t fear, nor was it anger. On the contrary, it was a kind of aimless bewilderment, as if all her strength had been drained in an instant, leaving her body weak and limp. She wasn’t completely unprepared for this. The rumors had been swirling for some time that a new team would be brought in to "help." Everyone knew what that really meant. After all, the IPO project was of strategic importance; once completed successfully, it would secure the auditing contracts for the next few years.
Vivian was indignant: “Suddenly parachuting in—it’s even more hateful than a third party interfering in a relationship!”
Ying Jun didn’t comfort her. In truth, she needed a moment to steady herself before recalling everything that had happened earlier that day.
The meeting was scheduled for 10 a.m. At 9:50, Ying Jun finished reviewing the PowerPoint presentation one last time. The data was accurate, the visual analyses clear, the descriptive text concise yet thorough, with perfect grammar and precise word choice. Everything seemed flawless.
At exactly 10 o’clock, the Partner entered, accompanied by other senior managers. Ying Jun and her colleagues stood up to welcome them. The Partner, a Malaysian elder with fluent English marked by a distinctive Southeast Asian accent, introduced the team behind him, focusing particularly on the man at the forefront: “Mr. Song.”
A tall, upright man extended his hand to her, his deep, pleasant voice resonating: “Song Lang.”
Ying Jun’s fingertips went cold. It was as if she had drunk too much, her head heavy and feet light, as though she were treading on cotton. Even her heartbeat felt unusually rapid. In reality, she had never been drunk before. Her alcohol tolerance was excellent. Back when she graduated from university and attended the farewell banquet, all the male classmates at the table had been knocked out, yet she had remained clear-headed enough to split the bill. It was no wonder Song Lang had always praised her back then as a natural-born accountant.
During the meeting, Song Lang’s Mandarin was still perfectly enunciated, with a pleasant northern accent: “I hope that from now on, the two teams will merge into one, forming a single unified ‘we.’”
Ying Jun felt her ears inexplicably heat up. How absurd. He hadn’t even looked at her, likely having long forgotten about her. His composure and professionalism were impeccable, blending the personal and professional so seamlessly it was as if there had never been any overlap.
In the evening, there was a welcome dinner scheduled. She arrived a bit late to the restaurant lobby, only to run into him again.
The two of them being alone in the cramped elevator felt like pure torture, as if fate were playing a cruel joke on her. If anyone had told her this would happen, she would have scoffed, dismissing it as a clichéd, melodramatic plot straight out of a soap opera. And yet, here they were. After all the twists and turns, Song Lang had become her colleague, her future collaborator, and rival. Starting today, each of them would lead their own team, vying for success. It wasn’t a matter of life and death, but every step would need to be calculated and strategic.
When the elevator stopped, he held the door open with gentlemanly poise, gesturing for her to exit first.
She thanked him without making eye contact and stepped out. After just a couple of steps, she felt a sudden chill on her neck. Her MIKIMOTO pearl necklace, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, had suddenly snapped. The pearls spilled onto the floor like beans bursting from a pod under the scorching sun, scattering everywhere with a crisp clatter.
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