But Zhou Guoping would not bring that up.
He would only cite the numbers that worked in his favor.
“The decline in revenue is due to a business adjustment we made, cutting inefficient departments,” Gu Ziyao’s voice was calm and measured. “If you look at the profit margin, last quarter increased by eight percentage points compared to the same period last year. This is the best profit margin performance the company has seen in the past three years.”
“Profit margin?” Zhou Guoping’s tone carried a hint of disdain.
“General Manager Gu, we are a trading company, not a tech company. No matter how impressive the profit margin looks, if revenue doesn’t grow, what’s the point? Banks look at cash flow, not profit margins.”
“Banks do indeed look at cash flow, but valuation depends on profitability,” Gu Ziyao met his gaze.
“If we had continued to keep those two loss-making departments, revenue would indeed look better, but who would cover the losses? Mr. Zhou, are you willing to?”
The meeting room fell silent for a moment.
Chen Guodong and Liu Yongnian exchanged a glance but said nothing.
Zhou Guoping’s mouth twitched slightly before quickly returning to that half-smiling expression.
“General Manager Gu is young and driven, which is a good thing,” his tone softened a little, but the barbs in his words grew sharper.
“But doing business isn’t just about drive. The Gu family is left with only you and Zeming. Zeming is in poor health, and this burden falls on you—we all feel for you. But sympathy aside, the company belongs to everyone. We can’t just because we feel sorry—”
“Mr. Zhou,” Gu Ziyao interrupted him, her voice not loud but firm.
“You don’t need to worry about me when it comes to company matters. I am a member of the Gu family, and I will handle the Gu family’s affairs.”
Zhou Guoping’s expression shifted slightly.
That remark had hit a sore spot—the Gu family’s company should be managed by the Gu family. Those were Gu Zeming’s exact words at the board meeting.
“Fine,” Zhou Guoping stood up, gathering his documents into his briefcase.
“Then we’ll wait for Huatai’s news. I hope General Manager Gu keeps her word.”
He picked up his briefcase and walked toward the door, pausing as he reached it and turning back.
“Oh, and General Manager Gu,” his voice was light and airy, “next month’s board meeting will discuss a proposal. We’ll talk about it then.”
With that, he pushed the door open and left.
Chen Guodong and Liu Yongnian also stood up, nodding at Gu Ziyao as a form of acknowledgment before following him out.
The meeting room door closed.
Gu Ziyao sat in her chair, motionless.
Her hands were hidden under the table, gripping the fabric of her sweatpants over her knees, clenching so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
She did not move.
She knew that if she stood up now, her legs might give way. Not out of fear, but exhaustion.
Not physical exhaustion, but the kind of weariness that seeps from the marrow of your bones—the kind no amount of rest can relieve.
Two years.
Every meeting was like this. Zhou Guoping sitting in that seat, staring at her with those sharp, calculating eyes, looking for her mistakes, picking at her flaws, waiting for her to stumble.
She knew what he wanted—to force her out and then dismantle and devour the Gu Group.
Not possibly, but definitely.
She had seen Zhou Guoping’s plan, leaked from somewhere—a thick stack of documents detailing how to split and package the core businesses of Gu Group and sell them to different buyers.
The legacy built by three generations of the Gu family was, in his eyes, nothing more than a dish to be carved up and consumed.
And she was the one standing in front of the plate.
Gu Ziyao sat in the conference room for a long time.
So long that her secretary came looking for her: “Ms. Gu? Are you alright?”
“Hmm.” Gu Ziyao looked up, her face already regaining its composure. “I’m fine. Please gather the financial report materials for me; I’ll review them tomorrow.”
“Alright.”
She stood up and walked out of the conference room. As she passed through the hallway, she glanced out the window.
The sky over Shanghai was gray and overcast, the clouds hanging low like a worn-out rag. In the distance, office buildings stood in orderly rows, their glass facades reflecting a pale, cold light—devoid of warmth.
She withdrew her gaze, went to her office to grab her bag, told her secretary, “I’m heading out,” and walked toward the elevator.
As the elevator doors closed, the reflection in the mirror once again became the expressionless Gu Ziyao.
It wasn’t that she wanted to be expressionless—it was that she didn’t dare show any expression.
In this company, every face was a line of defense. Smiling too much would be seen as frivolous, being too tense would be labeled as nervous, and crying—she didn’t even dare to cry.
The Gu family’s old house was located in the western suburbs of Shanghai, a standalone villa with some years behind it. Its red brick exterior was covered in ivy, and two sycamore trees stood in front of the door, planted by her father when he was alive. They were now four stories tall.
Gu Ziyao parked her car at the entrance but didn’t get out immediately.
The engine was off, the air conditioning had stopped, and the silence was broken only by the sound of her own breathing. Outside the car window, the sky had darkened. The lights inside the villa were on, casting a warm, yellow glow through the windows onto the steps at the entrance.
She sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the door without moving.
When she was busy, she could suppress everything—the hotel night, Shen Junyan’s warmth, the lost earring, Zhou Guoping’s gaze, the stinging words in the conference room.
But when the car stopped, when the sound of the engine faded, when the world grew quiet, those things would resurface on their own, like a flock of unrestrained birds fluttering wildly into her mind.
Everything from last night felt like a dream.
No, it was even less real than a dream.
Dreams were at least hazy, but every detail from last night was as clear as if carved with a knife—the strength of his fingers gripping her wrist, the warmth of his lips against her earlobe, the weight of his arm draped over her waist as he slept.
And that earring.
The earring she had left in his room.
She shouldn’t be thinking about these things. There was no use in thinking about them.
The surveillance footage had been deleted; he wouldn’t know it was her. The earring was just an earring; there was no way he could know whose it was. Maybe the housekeeping staff would take it, or maybe it would be thrown away as trash.
It was better to just forget.
Gu Ziyao took a deep breath, patted her face as if to cheer herself up, then pushed open the car door and stepped out.
Her feet crunched softly on the gravel driveway.
She closed the car door, picked up her bag, and walked toward the entrance.
At the door, she paused for a moment to adjust her expression—a slight upward curve of her lips, relaxed brows, and a gentle curve to her eyes.
Alright.
She pushed the door open.
“I’m home.”
In the living room, Gu Zeming sat on the sofa, holding a magazine. Hearing her voice, he looked up, a gentle smile spreading across his face.
“You’re back? Wash your hands and come eat.”
His voice was soft, carrying a gentle, unhurried warmth, like a cup of hot tea in winter—not scalding, but comforting.
Gu Ziyao changed into slippers and walked over, placing her bag on the sofa.
She glanced at the magazine on the coffee table—it was an architectural design journal, opened to a page about the renovation of old buildings, with a few pencil marks in the margins.
“Looking at these again,” Gu Ziyao said, her tone tinged with a hint of reproach. “The doctor told you to rest more.”