As people filed out, the noise came back.
Chairs scraped.
Laptops snapped shut.
Low voices restarted.
Like an audience leaving after a climax.
I stayed where I was.
I didn't move.
Because I knew—
this wasn't over.
Someone like Wang Fan didn't "turn the page" after being challenged in public.
She'd want something private.
A reset.
Rules.
A release of pressure.
Or the illusion of generosity: You think you won. This was where it actually started.
Wang Shanshan was beside me, gathering her documents.
Unhurried.
She didn't look at me.
But I could feel it—she was waiting.
Waiting to see what came next on this level.
Sure enough.
At the doorway into the corridor, someone stood there.
Wang Fan's assistant.
Young.
Short hair.
Business suit.
The kind of face that always knew the hierarchy.
She didn't look at me first.
Her eyes went to Wang Shanshan—
like she was reading the room.
Then she turned to me.
Her tone was light. Natural.
"Dr. Liu."
She chose it on purpose.
Not respect.
A frame.
"Director Wang would like a quick word with you outside."
She shifted half a step, opening a path.
Not an invitation.
An instruction.
There were still people inside who hadn't left yet.
Several pairs of eyes flicked over.
Curious.
Gloating.
Or that look that said:
You're in trouble.
This wasn't a normal check-in.
It was a display.
A reminder of territory:
No matter how you spoke in there—
this was still her room.
My body tightened.
Not moving forward.
Just the reflexive bracing.
Like years ago.
You saw someone waiting at the door and you already knew:
Either you bowed.
Or you got hit.
There was no third option.
I still hadn't spoken.
Wang Shanshan moved first.
She didn't look at the assistant.
Not directly.
She closed her folder.
Tapped it twice with her fingers.
Slid her pen into her bag.
Like this little scene wasn't worth her attention.
Only then did she lift her head.
Her voice was level.
Just loud enough to carry.
"She couldn't go tonight."
The assistant blinked.
Like she didn't quite process it.
"Hmm?"
Wang Shanshan finally turned her head.
Her eyes were blank.
All business.
"She had a data meeting with me tonight."
She said it like a status update.
"If something goes wrong with the project, the responsibility was mine."
The corridor stilled for a beat.
People who were about to walk slowed down half a step.
They pretended to check their phones.
But everyone was listening.
Because they all understood—
this wasn't scheduling.
This was claiming.
The assistant's expression shifted.
The easy confidence on her face receded a fraction.
But she kept the professional smile.
"Director Wang just wants a quick chat," she said, softer than before.
Smoothing the edges.
The content stayed the same.
Wang Shanshan nodded.
"She could chat."
Natural.
"But the project comes first."
Then she added one more line.
Light.
But loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
"If the model glitches again tonight and we have to make last-minute changes—"
A pause.
"Tomorrow it won't be her personal schedule delaying the external reporting node."
The words weren't harsh.
The message was.
If you pulled her away then—
you were delaying the work.
Not disciplining a subordinate.
Hitting the project itself.
Classic internal-system play.
No emotional confrontation.
Just a lock placed neatly on the responsibility chain.
The assistant hesitated.
She looked at Wang Shanshan.
Then at me.
Her gaze changed—
from "I was collecting someone on the way out"
to "this required caution."
But she was an assistant.
She couldn't decide this.
So she tilted her head and looked down the corridor.
At the far end, Wang Fan stood.
Back turned.
Talking to a VP.
She didn't look over.
Deliberate.
Waiting to see how her assistant handled it.
Waiting to see what happened.
I stood in the middle of the corridor and felt it, suddenly:
I was a piece on a board.
Not a core piece.
One that got lifted and placed by other people.
Either into her line.
Or into Wang Shanshan's.
It wasn't even my choice.
I'd been turned into a formation decision.
The assistant hesitated for one second.
Then raised her voice.
"Director Wang."
She didn't walk over.
She called from where she stood.
Every gaze in the corridor drifted that way.
Wang Fan didn't turn immediately.
She finished her sentence.
Nodded to the VP.
Then turned slowly.
Her eyes moved over a few heads—
and landed precisely on us.
First on Wang Shanshan.
Then on the assistant.
Then on me.
She didn't speak.
She just looked.
Weighing.
Take me or not.
If she didn't, she was conceding initiative to Wang Shanshan.
If she did, she was reaching directly into the project workflow.
Neither choice was clean.
She hated being forced into an either/or.
But Wang Shanshan's line was too neat:
The responsibility was mine.
A rope.
One end tied to the timeline.
The other tied to her.
If Wang Fan cut it in public—
she was effectively saying:
I didn't care about your process. I cared about control.
For someone obsessed with control—
that was a crack.
Wang Fan's eyes slid to me.
Cold for a beat.
Assessing my value.
Not as a person.
As a variable.
Then she looked to her assistant and said, quietly:
"Let her go with the project tonight."
No emotion.
"I'll see her tomorrow."
The assistant nodded immediately.
"Okay."
The corridor exhaled.
Silent, but obvious.
Someone dropped their eyes to a phone.
Someone resumed walking like nothing had happened.
Because the invisible clash was over.
Wang Fan didn't look at me again.
She turned.
And left.
Clean steps.
Efficient.
Her heels clicked down the hall—
but this time they were a fraction quicker.
Only someone who knew her well would have caught it.
I still hadn't moved.
Wang Shanshan had already stepped aside.
Not asking.
Just turning toward me.
"Come on."
Her voice dropped so only I could hear.
"Don't go back to your desk yet."
I fell in behind her.
I didn't speak.
Not because I was afraid to ask.
Because I knew this wasn't the moment for questions.
She wasn't "saving" me.
She was claiming me.
Not emotionally.
Positionally.
She took me from being about to get dragged out for a private lecture
and turned me into a critical node in the workflow.
From someone you could move at will
to someone whose movement triggered consequences.
This was the play she was running for me.
And if I asked, Why were you helping me?
I'd be admitting I didn't understand the rules.
We didn't take the elevator.
We didn't go back to the main office.
She led me around the central area—
toward the data room on the other side.
On the way, a few people recognized me.
They started to say something, then decided against it.
They pretended they didn't see me.
But their eyes had changed.
Not oh, the new PhD.
More like:
That person who'd just been pulled into something.
And I realized—
from the moment the meeting scene began,
I stopped being only a newcomer.
I became—
a new variable forced into existing faction tracks.
And Wang Shanshan—
didn't plan it in advance.
She chose in the moment.
She helped me.
And she also pushed me into a more complicated position.
She walked in front of me.
Back straight.
Like always.
But I knew.
From that moment on,
there was a sharper gaze on her back.
And I—
was standing on a colder line.