At nine on Monday morning, Lu Zhi pushed open the door to President Lin's office.
President Lin was drinking tea. When he saw her, his brows lifted slightly. "Well, well. Lu Zhi coming to me on her own initiative—that's rare."
"President Lin," Lu Zhi said without preamble, setting a file on his desk, "I want the Ruichi account."
President Lin's teacup stopped halfway to his lips.
Ruichi was the client Shengyao Group most wanted to win this year—a top-tier domestic sportswear brand that perennially topped sales charts across every major platform. The account came with a familiar profile: big budget, big temper, high standards, and a history with Shengyao three years ago that had ended badly.
The client contact from that engagement had long since left, but the failure still lived in the company system. Everyone steered clear of the word Ruichi.
"Do you understand Ruichi's situation?" President Lin set down his cup and leaned back, studying her.
"I do." Lu Zhi said, "Three years ago the problem was media channel selection. The company pushed traditional TV plus outdoor—conversion path too long, client wouldn't buy it. I've reviewed their marketing over the last two years. Their live commerce is strong, private-domain operations mature. Core demand is brand-and-performance integration—they want actual digital conversion, not paid exposure."
She paused, then continued, "Our division handled three comparable clients in similar verticals last year. The experience transfers. And—"
"And?" President Lin's interest sharpened.
"And if we win this client, it becomes the industry benchmark. Win Ruichi, and the sportswear line takes care of itself." Lu Zhi said, "That's one. Two—I hear this RFP comes with an eight-figure budget."
President Lin was silent for several seconds, then laughed once.
"Lu Zhi," he leaned back farther, tapping the desk with his fingers, "do you know Cheng Shu has his eye on this client too?"
Something sank slightly in Lu Zhi's chest, but nothing showed on her face.
"I know."
"He mentioned last week that he wanted Ruichi under the marketing portfolio he oversees." President Lin said, "You're coming for it now—planning to go toe-to-toe with him?"
"Not toe-to-toe." Lu Zhi said, "I want him to see."
President Lin's brows moved. He said nothing.
"President Lin, I know you brought Cheng Shu in with your own strategy in mind." Lu Zhi held his gaze. "But I want to prove one thing—I earned the director title, not because someone handed me an opportunity, but because I have the capability. Let me fight for Ruichi. Give me two months. If I can't close it, I won't keep the director position."
She said it calmly, as though discussing someone else's life.
President Lin stared at her for a full ten seconds, then suddenly stood, walked to the window, and stood with his back to her for a while.
"Lu Zhi," he said at last, voice lower than before, "do you know why I'm willing to give you this chance?"
"I don't."
"Because of Cheng Shu." President Lin turned around. "Do you know what he lacks most?"
Lu Zhi didn't answer. She waited.
"Someone who can help him walk out from behind that wall." President Lin said, "I've watched for a long time. I think you might be that person. But I can't push this. You have to walk into it yourself."
Lu Zhi understood, suddenly.
President Lin wasn't testing her. He was manufacturing a catalyst for Cheng Shu. And she had stepped into the game on her own.
"So," President Lin clapped her shoulder, "Ruichi's RFP drops tomorrow. You have one week to prepare the bid. Tight timeline, heavy lift. I won't say more. You'll know what to do."
"Thank you, President Lin."
"Don't thank me." President Lin smiled. "Show me results."
Lu Zhi came out of President Lin's office and nearly ran into Shen Ning.
Shen Ning held a cup of coffee, wearing her signature gentle smile. "Lu Zhi, it's been a while. Here to see President Lin?"
"Mm. A few things." Lu Zhi nodded, about to leave.
"The Ruichi account?" Shen Ning said suddenly.
Lu Zhi's step faltered. She turned to look at her.
"I heard people talking in the pantry just now." Shen Ning smiled, something deliberate in it. "Lu Zhi, this client isn't easy. Last time Shengyao worked with Ruichi, we lost more than we gained. Cheng Shu was involved then, I think—"
She stopped halfway, letting the pause do its work.
Lu Zhi looked at her. There was something in Shen Ning's eyes—not genuine concern, but a kind of waiting. Waiting for Lu Zhi to press her, waiting for a crack to show.
"Thanks for the reminder." Lu Zhi said, "But I trust data more."
Shen Ning's smile stiffened for an instant, then recovered. "You're something else, Lu Zhi. We'll be waiting for good news."
She walked off in her heels, leaving a sweet, cloying trail of perfume in the air.
Lu Zhi watched her go for two seconds.
Shen Ning knew something—or was at least probing. But that wasn't the priority now.
She turned back to the office and called Chen Zhou over.
"Pull everything we have on Ruichi." she said, "Competitors' media spend for the last three months, social buzz, scraped user comments—I want all of it."
Chen Zhou read her face and dropped his usual banter. "Boss, something wrong?"
"No." Lu Zhi sat down and opened her laptop. "We're going to war."
Chen Zhou paused, then grinned. "All right, boss. War's my thing. Where are we hitting?"
Lu Zhi glanced at him, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.
"The hardest part."
For the next forty-eight hours, Lu Zhi barely slept.
She tore apart Ruichi's marketing moves across every major platform for the past two years—livestream viewer curves, Douyin GMV from paid media, Weibo topic propagation paths. She even got hold of internal rate cards through a few industry contacts.
Data didn't lie. Ruichi's problem was clear—brand awareness was strong enough, but the share of young users was falling. They needed new growth, and growth lived where brand loyalty hadn't formed yet, among the new generation of consumers who thought Ruichi was "too basic."
On the whiteboard Lu Zhi drew a conversion path: from content seeding to private-domain repurchase. At the end she circled two words: emotional identification.
She wanted consumers to buy more than sportswear. She wanted them to identify with an attitude.
"Boss," Chen Zhou stood beside her holding coffee, eyes barely open, "this playbook... I don't think anyone's done it this way before."
"That's what makes it interesting." Lu Zhi said, "You only reach places no one's reached by walking roads no one's walked."
She looked at the path on the whiteboard and drew a deep breath.
Cheng Shu said she deserved better. Fine—she would show him what better looked like.
Not because he was her target. Because this was who she had always been.
She had never set out to prove herself to anyone. She was simply proving that she already was herself.
The bid document was finalized on the fifth night. Lu Zhi printed it out and checked every page for typos, data sources, punctuation.
Nothing wrong.
Chen Zhou leaned in. "Boss, you've burned the midnight oil like this. Can you even hold up at the pitch tomorrow?"
"I can." Lu Zhi closed the folder and walked to the window.
Shanghai's night spread out below—ten thousand lights, traffic threading through the dark.
"This fight isn't for Cheng Shu." she said quietly, as though to herself, "It's so everyone knows Lu Zhi can do what she sets out to do—without leaning on anyone."
She turned around.
"Tomorrow, let's show Ruichi what Shengyao speed looks like."
Chen Zhou stood up. For once there was real seriousness in his eyes. "Roger."
Outside, the night was deep.
And in Lu Zhi's eyes there was a light called refusal to lose.