About three or four minutes later, footsteps came from the entrance.
A man in his early forties walked in, wearing a deep blue suit, with his hair combed meticulously and a just-right smile hanging on his face—not a real smile, but that kind of habitual smile that grows onto a face.
When he walked in, the four people from the Business Department simultaneously straightened up a bit.
“Aiya, Director Song, apologies. Went to see a client, traffic on the road was jammed, so sorry.” He sat down in the main seat, placing his phone on the table screen-down, moving very slowly, as if declaring, “From now on, attention is on me.”
Song Qiao raised her head and her lips curved slightly: “Director Zhao is too polite.”
Director Zhao—Zhao Heng, head of the Business Department, and the person competing with Song Qiao for the position of Vice President.
“Let’s begin.” Zhao Heng opened the folder in front of him, his gaze sweeping around the conference room, stopping on Xia Wei for a fleeting moment, “Who is this?”
“My assistant, Xia Wei.” Song Qiao’s introduction was as brief as before.
Zhao Heng nodded and didn’t ask any further, but Xia Wei noticed his gaze linger on her for two extra seconds.
In those two seconds, there was appraisal, evaluation, and something indescribable, as if judging what background she came from and whether she was worth paying attention to.
“For the promotional progress of the Starlight Project, let’s go over the Production and Promotion Department’s side first.” Zhao Heng leaned against the back of his chair, fingers interlocked, making a “please” gesture.
Song Qiao opened her notebook, her voice not loud, but every word very clear: “Twelve KOLs, nine originally scheduled, three as backups; all contracts have gone through the legal process, and material scheduling has been confirmed.”
“Starting Wednesday, preview content will be released successively. All four main visual posters have been finalized, double-confirmed by Party A and the platform. For short video materials, six trainees will have two each, a total of twelve. Ten have currently been completed, and the remaining two will finish editing within today, fully in-house by before Tuesday.”
She finished it in one breath without looking at the notebook; all the data was in her head.
Xia Wei was writing rapidly beside her, the tip of her pen almost piercing the paper. Looking back, weren’t all these the contents discussed in the morning meeting? She blamed herself for just blindly focusing on writing.
Hearing this, Zhao Heng didn’t speak immediately.
He lowered his head and flipped through the folder in front of him, stopping when he reached a certain page, tapping his finger on the paper.
“KOL backups? Why change to backups?”
“The originally scheduled three temporarily raised their prices by a thirty percent increase.” Song Qiao’s tone was flat, “The budget doesn’t allow it.”
Zhao Heng raised his head, looking at Song Qiao. That smile was still hanging on his face, but there were no smile lines in his eyes: “A thirty percent increase, has it been negotiated?”
“Negotiated. The other party won’t budge.”
“Is it that the other party won’t budge, or that we didn’t give enough pressure?” Zhao Heng’s voice wasn’t high, but that tone made Xia Wei’s heart skip a beat.
This wasn’t asking a question; this was questioning—questioning Song Qiao’s ability, questioning the execution power of the Production and Promotion Department, questioning whether she had seriously gone to negotiate.
The conference room fell silent for a moment. The four people from the Business Department lowered their heads; nobody looked at Song Qiao, but everyone pricked up their ears.
Song Qiao looked at Zhao Heng, her expression showing no change at all: “Does Director Zhao mean that I should go negotiate personally?”
This retort came very quickly, so fast that Zhao Heng’s smile stiffened for a second. Of course he couldn’t say “yes”—Song Qiao was the Director of the Production and Promotion Department, not his subordinate, and he had no qualification to order her around.
If he said “yes,” that would be crossing the line.
If he said “no,” it would be equivalent to admitting that what he just said was nonsense.
Zhao Heng smiled, that smile hanging on his face for two seconds before withdrawing: “I’m just concerned about the progress.”
“There’s no problem with the progress.” Song Qiao’s tone remained flat, “Changing to backups will lower the influence a bit, but the cooperation level is higher, and the timeline won’t be delayed.”
Zhao Heng didn’t reply, lowering his head to flip another page of the folder.
“What about the visual side? Four posters, I heard someone was changed. Have Party A and the platform both confirmed?”
“Confirmed.”
“Who is following up?”
“Xie Xiaoqing is temporarily standing in, a new person is already being recruited.”
Zhao Heng tapped his finger on the desktop, very lightly, but Xia Wei noticed it. She remembered the two people from the visual group ultimately going to the Business Department.
Zhao Heng’s tap might not have been considering progress, but calculating something else.
“The visual group personnel were transferred to the Business Department?” Zhao Heng suddenly asked.
Song Qiao raised her eyes to look at him, her gaze as calm as a mirror: “Yes. They are more suited for the Business Department’s work.”
Zhao Heng nodded and didn’t pursue the questioning further.
But Xia Wei noticed his finger tap the desktop again, the rhythm a bit faster than before. The Business Department was his department; of course he had known long ago that they were transferred over.
Song Qiao had sent people back, and he had to take them, but he didn’t take them willingly. Asking Song Qiao now purely belonged to annoying people.
“On the Business Department’s side, recently we’ve also been following up on some peripheral resources for the Starlight Project.” Zhao Heng opened another page, his tone turning casual, “Some brand parties are interested in the project and want to talk about product placement. If the talks succeed, the promotional budget can be supplemented.”
Song Qiao didn’t speak, looking at him.
Zhao Heng continued: “However, the brand party has a condition—the promotional plan needs to match their marketing rhythm, and might require adjusting some content.”
The atmosphere in the conference room changed.
Xia Wei couldn’t clearly tell what changed, but she felt the air pressure around her drop a little bit.
What Zhao Heng said wasn’t “cooperation,” it was “conditions.” He was using supplemental budget to trade for the adjustment right of the promotional plan—which meant trading for control of the Production and Promotion Department.
Song Qiao put down the pen in her hand and leaned against the back of the chair.
“Director Zhao, the promotional plan for the Starlight Project was made by the Production and Promotion Department. Party A has confirmed it, and the platform has also confirmed it. If adjustments are needed, it requires a three-way re-signing.”
She paused, looking at Zhao Heng.
“Does Director Zhao want me to run through the signing process all over again?”
This was said very politely, but the meaning was tough—you don’t have the final say.
Zhao Heng’s smile stiffened again, this time staying stiff longer than just now.
“I’m just making a suggestion,” he said.
“Suggestion received.” Song Qiao picked up her pen again, lowering her head to write a line of text in her notebook, “When the brand party actually negotiates a deal, we’ll discuss it again.”
The subtext of this sentence was: Wait until you have the ability to negotiate a deal first. Zhao Heng tapped his finger gently on the desktop and said nothing more.
The conference room was quiet for a few seconds.
A man from the Business Department cleared his throat and asked a few questions regarding the promotion timeline. Song Qiao answered them one by one, her tone returning to that nonchalant calmness.
Zhao Heng leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked, wearing that habitual smile on his face, but his eyes never left Song Qiao.
The meeting went on for about twenty more minutes, discussing budget allocation, resource coordination, timeline alignment, and similar matters.
Xia Wei had been taking notes the whole time until her hand was almost cramping.
She noticed a detail—every time Zhao Heng raised a question, Song Qiao could block the question back within three sentences. Not blocking it harshly, but in that kind of “I’ve already considered your question, this is my solution, do you have anything else to say” blocking method.
And every time Zhao Heng got blocked back, his finger would tap on the desktop, the rhythm getting faster and faster.
Near the end of the meeting, Zhao Heng raised another question.
“Who will come for the Starlight Project’s Vice President briefing?”
The conference room fell silent for a moment. This question was asked very directly—the Vice President briefing meant reporting project progress to group senior executives.
Whoever gave this briefing would gain an extra point of exposure in the Vice President election.
Song Qiao looked at him, her expression showing no change: “I am in charge of the project, of course I will brief.”
“The Business Department also participated in resource matching, I think we can do a joint briefing.” Zhao Heng’s smile was still hanging on his face, but there was no trace of a smile left in his eyes.
“A joint briefing is fine.” Song Qiao nodded, her tone very crisp—so crisp that Zhao Heng was stunned for a moment.
“Director Zhao can organize a list of resources matched by the Business Department and send it to me, and I will add it to the briefing PPT. The Business Department’s name will be added to the signature.”
She said it very naturally, as if stating something that was a matter of course.
But Xia Wei understood—send me the resource list, I’ll add it in, add the Business Department’s name to the signature.
In other words, the briefing is still done by me, you guys are just mentioned.
Zhao Heng’s smile finally couldn’t hold up anymore. He looked at Song Qiao for two seconds, his mouth corners pressed downward, and then he nodded—neither saying good nor bad.
“Meeting adjourned.” Zhao Heng stood up, picked up his phone, didn’t look at anyone, and walked straight out.
The four people from the Business Department stood up following him, packed their things, and filed out one by one. No one spoke, and no one looked toward the Production and Promotion Department’s side.
The conference room instantly emptied, leaving only Song Qiao and Xia Wei.
Song Qiao sat in her chair without moving. She lowered her head to look at her notebook, twirled the pen in her hand once, and placed it on the table.
“How much did you take down?” she asked.
“About… three pages.”
“Go back and organize it, highlight the key points.” Song Qiao stood up and picked up her coffee cup; the cup was already empty.
Xia Wei closed her notebook, hesitated for a moment, and still asked: “Director Song, that joint briefing Director Zhao mentioned…”
Song Qiao glanced at her, and in that look there was something—not fatigue, nor complacency, but more like a realization of “you finally hit the point.”
“He won’t send the resource list,” Song Qiao said, her voice very soft, as if speaking to herself, “He has no resources to send.”
Xia Wei was stunned.
“What he said was brand parties that ‘want to talk,’ not brand parties that ‘have already negotiated deals.'” Song Qiao walked toward the entrance holding her empty cup, “From beginning to end, he didn’t have a single card, he was just bluffing me.”
She walked to the door, paused, and looked back at Xia Wei.
“During meetings, pay attention to what the other party says, but pay even more attention to what the other party doesn’t say.”
With that, she turned and walked out. Xia Wei closed her notebook, stood up, and followed her out.
Zhao Heng didn’t have a single card from start to finish.
Then why did he hold this meeting?
Walking to the door, she suddenly figured it out—this meeting wasn’t to discuss progress, it was to probe.
Zhao Heng wanted to know Song Qiao’s attitude toward the KOL replacement, wanted to know the progress of the visual group, wanted to know the Production and Promotion Department’s reaction after Chen Min and Zhou Yao were transferred away, and wanted to know how tough Song Qiao was regarding the Vice President election.
Everything he wanted to know, Song Qiao hadn’t given him.
And everything Song Qiao wanted to know—whether Zhao Heng actually had cards in his hands—she already knew: none.
Returning to the Production and Promotion Department, Song Qiao went back to her office. As soon as Xia Wei sat down, Xie Xiaoqing and Lin远 (Lin Yuan) sauntered over, lowering their voices to ask, “How was it? You got to witness it, right?”
“Yeah, witnessed it,” Xia Wei nodded.
Xie Xiaoqing asked again, “Did you probe to the bottom?”
“Yeah, they have no cards.” Xia Wei smiled slightly.
Lin Yuan and Xie Xiaoqing let out a sigh of relief as if a heavy burden had been lifted. Between them and Song Qiao, it was completely “when one person achieves greatness, even the chickens and dogs ascend to heaven”—if Song Qiao became VP, they could also contend for or two for the vacated director position.
“Alright, go memorize your materials, won’t disturb you anymore.” Xie Xiaoqing looked at the materials Xia Wei printed out and reminded her.
Xia Wei looked back and felt her head ache—it was too much, three thousand words per person, six people made eighteen thousand.
According to Song Qiao’s requirement, she wasn’t just remembering a general idea, but memorizing it fluently so that when Chen Yu asked, she could blurt it out.