There were three things Shen Zhiyao absolutely hated in life:
Mondays,
Being underestimated, and
Hotel seminar halls with no air conditioning.
And today, she had the misfortune of enduring all three before 10 a.m.
Zhiyao burst through the revolving doors of the Grand Jianye Hotel, her ponytail clinging to her neck, her blazer sticking to her back, and her dignity somewhere between the taxi driver who insulted her wig (it wasn't a wig) and the iced coffee that betrayed her (splashing its entire contents across her white blouse).
"Excuse me, ma'am, you—uh—your heel," a doorman pointed awkwardly at her left shoe.
"I know," she gasped, hobbling forward like a baby giraffe learning to walk. "Just pretend I'm a trendsetter."
She reached the elevators just as the doors were closing. With the reflexes of a woman who had spent her life missing buses by three seconds, she lunged forward, wedging her bag into the gap.
A chorus of gasps echoed inside. The doors reopened to reveal a crowd of suited professionals staring at her like she'd just broken into a secret board meeting.
"Good morning," she said, panting. "I believe I belong in here."
They made room. Reluctantly.
She leaned against the mirrored wall, adjusted her blouse in a very subtle tug-tuck-pray motion, and tried not to look like she'd just jogged through the Sahara.
The elevator dinged on the 5th floor.
The doors opened. Shen Zhiyao stepped out with all the grace of a warrior emerging from battle, only to realize she had exactly three seconds to find the registration desk, fix her blouse, and pretend to be a fully-functioning adult.
The seminar hall was huge. Rows of white chairs, an LED screen flashing "Emerging Trends in Global Strategy", and at the front… a stage.
And on that stage, the speaker for the morning: Lu Hanzhou, CEO of HanTech Industries.
Even she'd heard of him. The man who founded a billion-yuan company before his 30th birthday. The man who reportedly turned down investors by emailing them a single word: "No."
Rumors called him cold. Media called him brilliant. His employees just called him "Sir," preferably from a safe distance.
Zhiyao wasn't impressed.
She barely made it to the back row, plopped into the nearest seat, and yanked out her notebook. Right then, her phone buzzed.
Manager Zhu:
Don't forget the pitch with Luyin Group at 2. Don't embarrass me.
And for heaven's sake, look professional.
She stared down at her coffee-stained blouse.
"Too late," she whispered.
Up on stage, Lu Hanzhou scanned the audience, eyes sharp, posture perfect, suit probably more expensive than her rent. His gaze passed over rows of familiar faces
Until it paused.
Zhiyao was hunched over her lap, frantically wiping her blouse with the corner of a seminar brochure.
He didn't recognize her, but for reasons he couldn't explain, he lingered. Maybe it was the ridiculous sight. Or maybe it was the complete lack of pretense. Everyone else in the room was sitting straight, eyes glued, trying to impress him. She, on the other hand, looked like she'd wrestled a dragon in the parking lot and lost.
His lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.
She never noticed.
He cleared his throat and began.
"Ladies and gentlemen, strategy is not about how fast you climb—"
Zhiyao groaned as her pen exploded, streaking ink across her only clean sleeve.
"—it's about how long you stay on top."
She muttered, "Well, I'm already on the floor, so that checks out."
The woman beside her gave her a horrified side-glance.
Zhiyao offered a sheepish smile. "Just… notes."