The night Shengji won the bid, Digital Marketing booked all three floors of a private kitchen near Jing'an Temple.
Lu Zhi did not drink much. She sat at the head of the main table, listening to round after round of toasts and polished congratulations, while another thought turned in her mind.
Would Cheng Shu come?
She had not formally invited him. At a small division celebration, a group VP had no obligation to attend. Still, she had left a chair open at the main table near the aisle—not the head seat, a corner spot, as if by accident, as if on purpose.
She told herself it was courtesy. Cheng Shu oversaw marketing; Shengji was Digital Marketing's client. His appearance would be reasonable.
She knew it was not courtesy.
It was expectation.
By seven forty-five, everyone was seated, dishes served, wine opened.
Lu Zhi wore a sleeveless black dress, a small silver brooch above her collarbone—the one place she allowed herself a touch of ceremony tonight. She knew she was the lead tonight. The lead could not be flashy, but the lead could not disappear either.
Her gaze drifted to the door three times without her meaning to.
The first time, seven fifty-five. The door stood ajar; servers carried cold dishes in and out. No familiar profile.
The second, eight o'clock. Chen Zhou at the next table had the room laughing hard enough to shake the chandelier. Lu Zhi laughed along, eyes still on the door.
The third, eight ten.
The server pushed the door open.
Lu Zhi's heartbeat skipped.
Cheng Shu stood in the doorway in a deep gray cardigan over a white crew-neck tee, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm, no tie, one button open at the collar. He looked years younger than in daylight, the sharp edge softened, something indefinably—relaxed.
He carried a paper bag. Whatever was inside, she could not tell.
"Mr. Cheng?" Chen Zhou was on his feet first, coffee nearly spilling. "What are you doing here?"
"Passing by." Cheng Shu's gaze swept the table and settled on Lu Zhi. "I heard there was good news."
Lu Zhi stood and pulled out the chair she had saved.
"Shengji Group's annual digital marketing agency." She looked at him, voice steady, heartbeat faster than she wanted to admit. "Bid amount three point two million yuan. Estimated annual revenue contribution seven million."
"Mm." Cheng Shu sat with ease. "Congratulations."
Two words, very light.
Lu Zhi was about to reply when President Lin rose from the head seat with a glass raised. "Come, come—Mr. Cheng rarely joins us. Let's toast Digital Marketing together!"
The whole table stood.
Cheng Shu stood too. As he lifted his glass, Lu Zhi noticed the skin at his inner wrist—in warm yellow light it looked thinner, paler than in daylight, blue veins tracing faintly beneath.
"Digital Marketing hit one hundred forty-seven percent in Q2 and won Shengji in Q3—seven million in annualized contribution." Cheng Shu's voice was not loud, each word clear, stones dropped into still water. "Among Shengyao's twelve divisions, that ranks third."
Someone drew a quiet breath.
Third.
Not in third place—third. At Shengyao, a top marketing group, everyone at this table knew what top three meant: each team could stand on its own.
Lu Zhi's pulse jumped again.
"The team Lu Zhi leads," Cheng Shu continued, gaze resting on her a beat, "proved digital marketing's value with results."
He paused.
"This toast—to results."
He drank in one motion, clean, no hesitation.
Lu Zhi went blank for a second.
One second. She watched him set down the glass, profile softened a few degrees in the private room's warm light, and as he returned to his seat he nudged the tissue box on the table toward her—
Small enough to ignore.
She noticed.
The box ended up within easy reach of her hand. His seat was actually closer to it.
He did not need to do that.
He did.
"Lu, did Mr. Cheng just praise you?" Chen Zhou materialized at her elbow, voice low, eyes full of gossip. "He said you 'proved value with results'! From him that's basically a perfect score! Lu, did you hear that? Perfect score!"
Lu Zhi did not answer.
Her eyes stayed on Cheng Shu.
He was talking with President Lin, expression still mild and businesslike, not warmed by wine—but Lu Zhi noticed he was spinning a pen.
The black fountain pen had somehow come from his pocket, caught between index and middle finger, turning once, then again.
Light. Slow. A habit of thought.
Lu Zhi's heartbeat grew loud.
She had remembered that motion from the first quarterly review—Cheng Shu questioning her data, pen half a turn between his fingers. She had read it then as not approved. She was not sure now.
Maybe it was only how he thought.
Maybe—she should not read too much into it.
She could not stop reading.
She found herself cataloging every micro-expression, every small motion: when he frowned, when he spun the pen, when he looked out the window, when he reached for his glass. She stored the details like a complex business model, searching for an answer—
How did Cheng Shu see her?
"Director Lu! A toast to you!"
Old Zhou, Shengji's project liaison, broke her thread—face flushed, clearly deep in his cups, glass extended.
Lu Zhi stood, took the glass, drank it down. Clean and decisive. The room cheered.
"Director Lu is fierce!"
"A real powerhouse!"
Lu Zhi smiled and kept pace, glass after glass. She could hold her liquor, but not this pace. After three rounds, heat rose in her cheeks.
"That's enough." A voice beside her.
Lu Zhi turned.
Cheng Shu stood there with a cup of tea, not wine. His gaze swept her flushed face, then moved away.
"Drink some water." He held out the cup.
Natural. Almost casual.
Lu Zhi took it. Her fingertips brushed the back of his hand.
For an instant she felt his skin warmer than the man he presented—cool on the surface, but not entirely cold. The tea cup might have fooled her.
"Thank you, Mr. Cheng." Her voice came out slightly rough.
Cheng Shu nodded once and said nothing.
Then he walked away.
Back at his seat, talking with President Lin again, as if handing her tea had been a minor aside, not worth mentioning.
Lu Zhi stood holding the cup.
The tea was warm, not scalding—exactly right.
She thought of how he had offered it: no words, cup extended, then gone. So natural it might have been habit.
They had only met three times.
Three.
The celebration broke up at nine.
Lu Zhi saw people out at the door. Night wind carried late-September chill. She had not dressed heavily; goosebumps rose on bare arms.
"Director Lu."
A voice behind her.
She turned.
Cheng Shu stood in the restaurant light, coat in hand—the gray cardigan now on, shoulder line sharp in the dark, profile cut clean as if carved.
"On Shengji," he said, eyes on her face, "if you need resources coordinated going forward, come directly to me."
Lu Zhi blinked.
A gesture of goodwill?
"...All right." Her voice came out softer than she expected. "Thank you, Mr. Cheng."
Cheng Shu nodded and turned toward the parking lot.
His silhouette dissolved into the night.
A few steps on, he stopped.
He did not turn fully—only tilted his head, leaving her the line of his profile. Light from behind traced a faint gold edge along his cheek.
"Lu Zhi."
"Mm?"
"You did well tonight."
Then he was gone.
Black figure melting into darkness like ink dropped into water, silent.
Lu Zhi stood in the wind and realized her mouth had curved without her permission.
She touched her lips—they were indeed curved.
"Lu, what are you smiling about?" Chen Zhou popped up behind her, face screaming I saw that. "What did Mr. Cheng say? Are you blushing?"
"No." Lu Zhi smoothed her expression and pulled her coat tight. "Let's go home."
"Wait for me, Lu!"
She walked toward the parking lot without looking back.
The night air was cool on the back of her neck, but a warm fire burned in her chest, making the moon feel brighter than usual.
You did well tonight.
Four words.
Somehow they made her happier than three point two million in bid revenue.
At her car she stood a moment before getting in, head tipped to the sky. Late-September Shanghai—a few stars visible through light pollution, faint but there.
She remembered him handing her tea, spinning his pen, saying proved value with results in that flat tone. Beneath the flatness she thought she heard something else—approval she did not dare confirm.
She had never seen what Cheng Shu looked like when he truly approved of someone.
She wanted to see.
She wanted to see the ice in his eyes melt completely—what expression would be left?
She started the engine. Cold AC hit her face and took the edge off the heat.
Her phone buzzed.
WeChat from Chen Zhou: a panicked sticker and text—Lu! Were you possessed by Mr. Cheng today? You actually smiled while drinking! I caught you!
Lu Zhi rolled her eyes and sent back a get lost sticker.
She tossed the phone on the passenger seat and drove out of the lot.
In the rearview mirror the restaurant lights shrank to a point and vanished.
She knew that point would keep burning inside her.
Waiting for her to chase it again.
Chapter hook: Why did Cheng Shu show up at an ordinary division celebration—truly passing by, or on purpose? And what did it mean when he handed Lu Zhi that cup of tea?