Gu Ziyao was awakened by her alarm clock.
She opened her eyes and for a moment didn’t know where she was.
An unfamiliar ceiling, unfamiliar curtains, unfamiliar light. The air carried a lingering scent of coffee, mixed with the faint soapy fragrance of laundry detergent.
Qin Yining’s guest room.
Everything that had happened last night—and this morning—slowly flooded back into her mind.
The hotel, the hallway, Shen Junyan, the torn evening gown, that sleeping face in the morning light.
And the earring left behind in the room.
Gu Ziyao closed her eyes, pushing that tangled mess back down.
She sat up in bed and glanced at her phone on the nightstand—1:23 p.m.
She had slept for nearly six hours, but her body still felt heavy, as if weighed down by something, her limbs lacking strength.
There were several unread messages on her phone screen, all from work group chats. She didn’t open them, instead throwing off the covers and getting out of bed.
Stepping out of the guest room, the living room was quiet.
Qin Yining wasn’t there. A note was left on the dining table, weighed down by a cup of warm water and a sandwich.
The note read: I had to go out. Remember to eat something. —Ning
Next to it was a drawn smiley face—round eyes and a curved mouth.
Gu Ziyao looked at the note, the corner of her mouth twitching in what could be considered a smile.
She picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It was ham and egg; the bread was a bit cold, but it tasted fine. Standing by the dining table, she slowly finished the entire sandwich and drank the cup of warm water.
Then she went to the bathroom to wash her face and changed into the clothes Qin Yining had prepared for her. Her own evening gown was unwearable, so she stuffed it into a bag, planning to take it back and throw it away.
Before leaving, she stood in front of the mirror in the entryway and looked at herself.
Her eyes were still a bit swollen, but much better than in the morning.
The small wound on her lip had formed a thin scab, unnoticeable unless looked at closely. She let her hair down, covering the faint marks below her collarbone.
Not bad.
Presentable.
She took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and walked out.
Gu Corporation was located in an office building in the eastern district of Shanghai. At its peak, the Gu family was a notable name in Shanghai’s business circles, starting with import-export trade before transitioning into real estate.
Although there had been signs of decline in recent years, a starved camel was still bigger than a horse—the foundation laid by her grandfather and parents remained quite solid.
When Gu Ziyao arrived at the company, it was 2:10 p.m.
As the elevator doors opened, her secretary’s expression shifted slightly—a subtle change, as if relieved yet also tense on her behalf.
“Ms. Gu,” the secretary reported, “the meeting room… has already started.”
Gu Ziyao paused.
“Started?”
“Yes. Mr. Zhou arrived at two o’clock and said he wanted to review last quarter’s financial report first. Mr. Chen and Mr. Liu are also here, waiting in the meeting room.”
Gu Ziyao didn’t respond. She handed her bag to the secretary, said “thank you,” and turned to walk toward the meeting room.
The hallway wasn’t long—just over twenty steps. She walked at a steady, unhurried pace, each step firm.
But in those twenty-some steps, many thoughts raced through her mind.
Mr. Zhou—Zhou Guoping, the company’s second-largest shareholder, holding 23 percent of the shares.
An old-timer who had worked with the Gu family since her father’s time, he was polite on the surface but the first to oppose her taking over the company behind the scenes.
His reasons were “well-founded”—Gu Ziyao was too young, lacked management experience, and as a woman, couldn’t shoulder such a responsibility.
At the time, Second Brother was still hospitalized, leaving the company leaderless. The board held three meetings, arguing for an entire week.
In the end, Second Brother, despite his illness, attended the fourth board meeting and made the final decision—the Gu family’s company would be managed by a member of the Gu family.
Zhou Guoping showed his displeasure on the spot but didn’t oppose it again.
Since then, at every shareholder meeting, every quarterly report, every meeting big or small, Zhou Guoping would sit in the conference room, watching her with the scrutinizing gaze of a predator, waiting for her to make a mistake.
Two years.
He had many opportunities, but he never once caught her making a mistake.
Not because she didn’t make mistakes, but because she didn’t dare to.
The conference room door was closed, and behind the frosted glass, the silhouettes of several people were faintly visible.
Gu Ziyao stood in front of the door, raised her hand to adjust her hair, and pulled the collar of her T-shirt up to cover her collarbone. Then she pushed the door open.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting.”
Her voice was soft but clear, deliberately casual.
Three people were seated in the conference room.
Zhou Guoping sat in the middle of the long table, a stack of documents spread out before him, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the sound of her voice. In his early sixties, with graying hair and a lean build, his eyes were small but sharp, like two polished nails.
Beside him sat Chen Guodong and Liu Yongnian, both shareholders with over five percent stakes and Zhou Guoping’s “old comrades-in-arms.”
“Director Gu is here,” Zhou Guoping said, removing his reading glasses and leaning back in his chair, a faint, ambiguous smile playing on his lips. “We thought you weren’t coming today.”
Gu Ziyao walked to the other end of the long table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
“Of course I would,” she said with a smile. “I just finished reviewing last quarter’s financial report and wanted to discuss a few figures with everyone.”
“The financial report can wait,” Zhou Guoping waved his hand dismissively. “Let’s talk about something else first.”
He paused, tapping his fingers twice on the table.
“I heard there’s been some trouble with the Huatai project?”
Here it comes.
Gu Ziyao’s heart tightened, but her expression remained unchanged.
The Huatai project was her biggest deal this year—the bidding for the East China regional agency rights. She had been working on it since the beginning of the year, making countless trips and drinking countless glasses of wine, finally securing it two months ago.
But last week, there was a hiccup—the partner company changed their point of contact, and the new person in charge had issues with several clauses in the contract, demanding renegotiation.
Somehow, the news had reached Zhou Guoping’s ears.
“The Huatai project is progressing normally,” Gu Ziyao said calmly. “It’s common for partners to change their point of contact. I’ll go negotiate next week. There won’t be any problems.”
“No problems?” Zhou Guoping chuckled softly, the sound echoing clearly in every corner of the conference room.
“Director Gu, the Huatai project is the company’s biggest revenue source this year. If something goes wrong, forget about dividends—we won’t even be able to pay salaries.”
“I know,” Gu Ziyao said.
“You’re aware of it, then.” Zhou Guoping pushed the documents in front of him forward. “I’ve reviewed last quarter’s financial report. Revenue fell twelve percent below expectations. With three consecutive quarters missing targets, Director Gu, what’s your take on this issue?”
Gu Ziyao glanced at the financial report. She knew the numbers better than anyone—revenue indeed fell short, but the profit margin had improved. Over the past six months, she had shut down two long-term loss-making departments and redirected resources to core operations.