The launch meeting for the "Spark Project" pilot program was scheduled for Monday at ten in the morning.
At 9:15, Zong Yi had already arrived at the temporary project office located in the South New District.
The place had once been an old factory, now renovated into a creative park. Parts of the rough industrial structure had been preserved, combined with large amounts of glass and steel.
The space was bright and airy.
In the air floated the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the youthful, slightly nervous yet vibrant energy unique to a young team.
She was wearing a smoke-gray casual suit today, paired with a white knitted top and black trousers. Compared to her usual Director-office attire, it looked a little more relaxed, though she still appeared sharp and capable.
Her hair was tied into a neat low ponytail, revealing her smooth forehead and the clean lines of her profile.
She was quietly confirming the final movement arrangements with the head of the marketing team that had been stationed there earlier. Her speech was steady, her gaze focused.
"…The media reception area will be set at Entrance B. Make sure the movement routes don't intersect. Check the backup equipment for the technical demonstration one more time."
Zong Yi flipped through the schedule sheet in her hand, her fingertips sliding over each listed item.
"Everything's arranged, Director Zong," the person in charge replied crisply. He was a man in his early thirties. "As for President Yan…"
"President Yan will arrive at ten sharp and come directly up from the underground garage via the private elevator. She won't pass through the main hall." Zong Yi closed the schedule sheet and lifted her eyes toward the arched corridor leading to the main venue. "Walk me through it again."
The two of them crossed the high-ceilinged lobby. Sunlight poured down through the enormous skylight, scattering shifting patches of brightness across the polished terrazzo floor.
The venue setup was nearly complete. The word "Spark" on the deep-blue background board had been lit in a way that gave it an impressive texture.
Staff members moved busily through the space, and the sounds of equipment testing occasionally rang out.
When they reached the side of the main stage, Zong Yi stopped. Her gaze swept across the neatly arranged seats below before returning to the empty podium.
The microphone had already been set up there.
A laser pointer lay beside it.
There was also a glass water bottle prepared for the speaker, with fresh flowers placed inside.
Everything was ready. Perfectly organized.
She gave a small nod, signaling that the person in charge could go attend to other tasks.
Standing there alone, she looked around at the venue—a place she had personally pushed forward, a project that had transformed from blueprint into reality through countless hours of effort.
A familiar sense of certainty, of having everything under control, slightly eased the inexplicable heaviness that had lingered in her heart for days.
9:50 a.m.
Guests and media began arriving one after another. Their quiet conversations gradually merged into a low buzzing background noise.
The team moved to their positions, the atmosphere taut like a drawn string.
Zong Yi walked to the control console near the back side of the venue. From there the view was wide, allowing her to observe the entire scene without drawing attention.
She folded her arms and quietly watched the flow of people entering.
The second hand on her watch ticked forward steadily toward ten.
9:58 a.m.
A small disturbance arose at the entrance, followed by deliberately hushed exclamations and the rapid clicking of camera shutters.
The crowd parted as if pushed by an invisible force, automatically creating a pathway.
Yan Hanxie walked in.
She wore a perfectly tailored dark business suit again—an ink-blue so deep it was almost black—making her complexion appear like cool jade.
Her long hair was meticulously pinned up behind her ears, revealing the graceful line of her neck.
On her left wrist, the string of sandalwood prayer beads rested quietly against her skin.
Her steps were composed.
A faint smile rested on her face—distant yet confident—as her calm gaze swept across the crowd coming to greet her, occasionally giving slight nods.
Two assistants followed behind her, maintaining just the right distance to prevent anyone from getting too close.
Camera flashes chased after her, surrounding her in a halo of overly bright light.
It felt as though she had been born to stand at the center of such attention—to command the scene and accept the spotlight.
Zong Yi stood in the shadows, watching that figure surrounded like a star among constellations.
Strangely, despite the distance and the chaotic lighting in the hall, she could clearly see the faint trace of fatigue beneath Yan Hanxie's eyes—carefully concealed by exquisite makeup, yet impossible to hide from her.
She could also see that as Yan Hanxie walked toward the stage, her fingertips brushed lightly against the prayer beads on her wrist in a barely noticeable gesture.
Ten o'clock sharp.
The host's enthusiastic opening speech echoed through the venue's sound system.
Amid applause, Yan Hanxie stepped onto the stage.
The lights gathered around her.
Standing in that brilliance, her posture was straight, her presence elegant.
Her opening remarks were concise and powerful, combining a precise grasp of macro trends with a clever introduction to the strategic significance of the Spark Project.
Her voice carried through the high-quality sound system—clear, steady, and persuasive, filled with a calm strength that inspired trust.
Zong Yi listened while looking at the large LCD screen behind the stage, where carefully prepared slides changed in sync with the speech.
The logic was rigorous.
The data was comprehensive.
The images were carefully selected.
Everything perfectly matched Yan Hanxie's usual standards—perhaps even better due to the importance of the occasion.
And yet Zong Yi felt that something was wrong.
Yan Hanxie's speaking pace was slightly faster than usual.
Not nervousness.
More like… a subtle urgency pushing the rhythm forward.
When her gaze met the audience, it remained steady—but when it swept over certain sections, it lingered too briefly, as if deliberately avoiding prolonged eye contact with certain people.
And the hand holding the laser pointer—her knuckles had turned slightly pale from the force of her grip, though the movement was small.
These tiny irregularities might only be noticed by someone like Zong Yi—someone who had observed her for years and had experienced the strange entanglements of recent days.
Halfway through the speech, she entered the core data analysis section.
Yan Hanxie switched the slide. A complex chart comparing market growth curves appeared on the screen.
She lifted the laser pointer, and a red dot landed on one of the curves.
"As you can see, the growth of traditional channels has clearly entered a plateau stage, while the new business models incubated under the 'Spark' framework—though still small in scale—have shown growth rates that…"
Her voice suddenly paused.
Extremely briefly.
Less than half a second.
Perhaps not even the guests in the front row noticed.
But Zong Yi's heart skipped a beat with that tiny pause.
She saw it.
The hand holding the laser pointer trembled—almost imperceptibly.
Although Yan Hanxie quickly steadied it and the red dot remained firmly on the chart, that momentary loss of control did not escape Zong Yi's eyes.
Immediately afterward, Yan Hanxie's gaze drifted for a second—not at the chart, but sweeping quickly toward a direction in the audience.
That direction happened to be where the dense cluster of cameras in the media section was located.
Her brows furrowed very quickly.
Then relaxed again.
What was she looking at?
Or rather… What was she avoiding?
Zong Yi followed the direction of her earlier glance.
The media area was crowded with people, camera flashes going off occasionally. Nothing unusual.
The speech continued.
Yan Hanxie quickly regained her fluency—perhaps even appearing more composed than before, as though the pause had never happened.
She interpreted the data precisely, presented powerful viewpoints, and sparked murmurs of approval from the audience.
But Zong Yi could no longer focus entirely on the speech itself.
Her gaze fixed tightly on the dazzling woman on stage, trying to find the faint crack hidden beneath the perfect display of control.
She saw Yan Hanxie's left hand hanging at her side.
Her fingertips once again quietly pinched one of the prayer beads on her wrist.
Not the usual unconscious rolling motion.
This time she gripped it tightly—so tightly it seemed almost embedded into her flesh.
She saw that during a moment when Yan Hanxie turned slightly to coordinate with an animated slide transition, the line of her profile had become unusually tense.
She saw that as the speech approached its conclusion and moved into the summary, a faint bead of sweat appeared at Yan Hanxie's temple under the intense stage lights.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Zong Yi's back gradually stiffened.
An indescribable premonition—like a cold water snake—wrapped around her heart.
Finally, Yan Hanxie finished her speech.
Thunderous applause erupted.
She smiled and acknowledged the audience, her posture flawless.
Then, accompanied by her assistant, she stepped down from the stage. Instead of leaving immediately, she followed the schedule and walked toward the nearby interview area set up for a brief group interview with several core media outlets.
The crowd surrounded her as she moved.
Without realizing it, Zong Yi stepped forward a few steps, her gaze following that ink-blue figure through the shifting silhouettes of people.
The interview area was brightly lit as well.
Yan Hanxie stood before the backdrop, maintaining a composed smile as several microphones were extended toward her.
The reporters began asking questions.
All of them were within the anticipated range—about the vision of the Spark Project, its challenges, expected returns, and so on.
Yan Hanxie's answers remained structured and impeccable.
Yet Zong Yi noticed that her breathing seemed slightly faster than usual.
After each answer, there was an extremely brief pause.
Her throat moved subtly, as if swallowing something—or gathering strength for the next question.
A reporter from a financial magazine asked a slightly sharper question about balancing the massive initial investment with uncertain short-term profitability.
The question itself was not particularly out of line.
But while answering, Yan Hanxie's speaking speed noticeably increased, and at one point she even repeated a word slightly.
"We… we manage risk through… through comprehensive multidimensional simulations and…"
She stopped.
Not merely a pause in speech.
Her entire body froze abruptly.
The smile on her face stiffened.
Her eyes suddenly lost focus for a moment, staring straight ahead but seeming to see nothing at all.
Her left hand gripping the prayer beads tightened sharply, the faint blue veins on the back of her hand becoming visible.
The abnormality was too obvious.
Even the reporter asking the question noticed something was wrong and hesitantly stopped speaking.
The assistant beside her immediately stepped forward half a step, seemingly about to whisper a reminder.
And in that instant—
Yan Hanxie's body swayed slightly.
The movement was small, like the faint imbalance caused by sudden dizziness.
But she quickly braced herself with her right hand against the edge of the interview table beside her, steadying her body.
The prayer beads on her left hand dug deeply into the flesh of her wrist from the force.
Her complexion, under the bright lights, visibly drained of color at a speed noticeable to the naked eye, becoming completely pale.
The trace of sweat at her temple quickly gathered into tiny beads that slid down along her sideburns.
Time seemed to stretch and solidify.
A brief, strange silence appeared in the interview area.
All eyes focused on Yan Hanxie—surprised, puzzled, probing.
Zong Yi's heart thudded heavily in her chest, beating in panic.
She almost pushed the people in front of her aside and rushed over.
The next second, Yan Hanxie closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the scattered look in them gathered once more. Although there was still little vitality, at least the focus had returned.
She took an extremely slow, deep breath, then, facing the reporters in front of her whose expressions were uncertain with surprise, even forced the corner of her mouth to move again.
"Sorry," her voice was much lower and hoarser than before, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible tremor, "just now… I got a little distracted. Regarding risk control, we not only have simulations, but also dynamic real-time monitoring and adjustment mechanisms, ensuring…"
She tried to continue answering the question, but the weakness in her voice was obvious even to the dullest person.
The assistant had already unobtrusively moved completely to her side, softly saying something to the reporters, probably an excuse like "President Yan has been overworking these days and feels a little unwell, the interview will continue later." Then, almost half-supporting and half-holding her, she quickly took Yan Hanxie away from the interview area and toward the backstage passage.
The crowd erupted in an uproar, discussions rising everywhere.
Flashbulbs chased after that hurriedly departing figure, flashing wildly.
Zong Yi stood where she was, her hands and feet ice-cold.
She watched Yan Hanxie disappear around the corner of the passage, watched the assistant hurriedly close the door of the corridor, isolating that patch of chaos and probing gazes outside.
A buzzing filled her ears—the suppressed, excited speculation and discussion of the people around her.
"What happened? President Yan looked so pale…"
"Is she too tired? I heard she's personally overseeing every detail lately."
"I don't think it looks like fatigue. It looks more like… she's sick?"
"Hey, do you think it has something to do with her believing in Buddhism? Maybe…"
Those words came as if through frosted glass, vague and indistinct.
In Zong Yi's mind, only the last moment of Yan Hanxie remained—her face pale as paper, her unfocused yet forced gaze, and the wrist trembling with effort, deeply marked by the pressure of the prayer beads.
And even earlier—inside the car in the rainstorm, that sentence: "I'm starting to regret it a little."
Under the quiet corridor's sunset, that moment of passing by sideways, words left unsaid.
Across countless days and nights filled with work yet hollow at their core, the persistent, heavy illusion on the inner side of her wrist that refused to fade.
Suddenly she could hear nothing, see nothing.
Pushing aside the people in front of her who were still talking excitedly, she quickly walked toward the backstage passage where Yan Hanxie had disappeared.
—
T/N: If you're enjoying this translation, feel free to check out my Patreon. If you're unable to support financially, you can still subscribe for free and receive chapters two hours earlier, along with updates and announcements. Paid tiers offer early access and daily chapters.
Thank you so much for reading!
patreon.com/Baenz