Chapter 93 Is it work that makes you...?
In the early morning, the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room shone brightly, reflecting off the metal edges of the long table, yet it couldn't penetrate the undercurrents deep within people's hearts.
A thick stack of project documents lay on the table, and the laptop screen was neatly lit with the title "Cooperation Framework for Clean Energy Demonstration Zone Project".
Xia Zhiyao stood in front of the projector, dressed in a sharp dark suit. Her long hair was piled high at the back of her head, revealing her smooth neck and capable profile.
As she turned the pages, she lightly tapped the projector pen with her finger, the cursor moving across the screen. Her voice was steady and clear, but only she knew that her breathing was a beat heavier than usual. Last night's conversation was like an undigested stone, still pressing on her chest.
Zheng Xiaotian leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen in his hand. Occasionally, he would look up at her, a smile that only she could understand appearing on his lips, as if to tell her, "I'm here."
A little further away, Zhang Luyuan leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. His gaze wasn't directed at her, but rather like a sharp beam of light brushed across her silhouette.
As Xia Zhiyao demonstrated, she felt three completely different gazes: Zheng Xiaotian's was like the wind, gently supporting her; Zhang Luyuan's was like a knife, cutting into the invisible; and she herself was trying to maintain her position between these two currents, without revealing any flaws.
“According to the framework you have proposed so far…” Xia Zhiyao’s voice was steady as she lightly tapped the projector pen, and the next page of the proposal slowly lit up. “We suggest that both parties invest the initial funds in a 30/70 ratio, with the second phase adjusted based on the results and risks.” Her speech was crisp and direct, without any unnecessary turns. The cold white projector light shone on her profile, highlighting an almost hard, angular face.
Zhang Luyuan smiled slightly, tapping his fingertips lightly on the table, his voice low and unhurried: "President Xia is as decisive as ever."
As he spoke, his gaze slowly shifted from the projection screen to her face, a cryptic smile on his lips like a sharp blade, carrying an implication that only the two of them could understand.
Xia Zhiyao raised her chin, maintained her professional smile, and said with a calm gaze, "Thank you for the compliment. We also hope that this collaboration will bring about a real breakthrough."
She deliberately emphasized the word "truly," as if she were building an invisible defense for herself.
Zheng Xiaotian raised an eyebrow slightly, tapping his finger lightly under the table, producing a barely audible "tap." It was their pre-arranged signal, reminding her not to let the other party lead her by the nose.
Xia Zhiyao understood immediately. With a flick of her finger, she switched to the next slide, and her voice regained its composure, as if the tension she had felt just moments before was merely an illusion.
The projector beam flickered across her cheek, the light and shadow seeming to mock something. Xia Zhiyao forced herself to fix her gaze on the documents in front of her, but she couldn't ignore the piercing gaze from across the room.
Zhang Luyuan's eyes, which always held a hint of gentleness, were focused intently on the screen. His voice was as warm and gentle as I remembered, and his logic was almost perfect. Every question was presented as if it were the most ordinary business discussion.
It was as if there had never been any conflict between them, as if she were just a stranger sitting there as a business partner.
Only Xia Zhiyao could hear the sharp edge behind those words. Every question he asked was carefully crafted, seemingly objective and neutral, but in fact, it precisely targeted the most vulnerable nerves of their team.
That sense of familiarity almost suffocated her. He knew her too well—her thought patterns, her work habits, and even where she would slip up.
The worst part is that whenever she opens her mouth to respond, before she has even finished speaking, Zhang Luyuan always adds in that gentle, almost considerate tone, "Of course, if we refer to our experience in the previous large projects, we might be able to avoid this kind of problem."
When he speaks, he tilts his head slightly, just like when they were still together, he would always look at her and tell her about interesting things at work.
But now, that familiar gesture carries a condescending tone, as if saying: Look, you're still not good enough, not professional enough, not mature enough.
Xia Zhiyao sensed that she was trying to keep her expression calm, even managing a faint smile: "Experience is certainly valuable, but every project has its unique characteristics. Instead of blindly following the book, it's better to adapt to local conditions."
Something flashed in Zhang Luyuan's eyes, and the corners of his lips turned up slightly. The smile seemed both real and fake, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking.
The meeting continued in this strange balance. Suddenly, Zhang Luyuan put down his pen and tapped his fingertips twice on the table, as if he was savoring something or weighing his words.
"Zhiyao." He deliberately used this title, not "President Xia" or "Ms. Xia," but those two syllables that had been worn down by time.
“The tone of this project…” Zhang Luyuan smiled slightly, his voice lazy, “reminds me of some collaborations from many years ago.” He paused, his tone almost imperceptible, “Perhaps it’s a coincidence, but the methods, the rhythm, and some of your insistence are all quite familiar.”
His words were like a brush dipped in water, lightly spreading across the paper. They seemed to be merely a recollection of his style, but in reality, they brought out vague shadows: those old collaborations, old relationships, and old habits. He didn't explicitly state them, but they were enough to stir up emotions in those present.
The power of this statement lies not in what it explicitly says, but in the unspoken parts it leaves open, as if a hand has silently lifted the curtain on the past, reminding everyone that their interactions went beyond mere work.
What's even more frightening is that this kind of reminder inherently carries doubt: it questions her professionalism and her bottom line.
Xia Zhiyao's heart skipped a beat in her chest, her blood rushed to her temples, and her ears were ringing. She stared at the document on the table that she had read countless times, her fingertips almost digging into the paper. She gave herself three seconds to suppress the humiliation and anger that surged up.
Then, she slowly raised her head, her gaze sharp as a blade, her voice calm to the point of cruelty: "Previous work experience is irrelevant to today's project. We are more concerned with whether the collaboration can achieve substantial results, rather than a coincidence of styles."
Every word was clear and powerful: "We are advised to focus our attention on the current content of our cooperation, as this would be more valuable to both parties."
In that instant, Zhang Luyuan's expression subtly changed, and something flickered deep in his eyes—perhaps surprise, or perhaps some other emotion.
Just then, Zheng Xiaotian, who had been sitting quietly beside Xia Zhiyao, moved. His fingers, which had been casually placed on the table, twitched slightly, and he slowly sat up straight, as if he had changed his usual carefree and playful demeanor. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and he seemed to have adopted a different persona.
“If Mr. Zhang needs some basic business etiquette training…” He paused slightly, his tone calm, “we can provide relevant training materials. Tianxing has a complete set of workplace training courses, such as corporate ethics and business etiquette, workplace sexual harassment and anti-discrimination prevention, conflict management and emotional control, etc.”
He paused, then added with a half-smile, "These were all personally introduced by our CEO Xia. If CEO Zhang is interested, we can provide the complete set of information." It was a rare moment of seriousness from Zheng Xiaotian, with less teasing and jokes and more sharp, confrontational remarks.
The people on the other side of the conference table subconsciously adjusted their postures; some straightened their backs, while others exchanged glances with barely perceptible wariness in their eyes.
Zhang Luyuan maintained that polite smile, the corners of his mouth slightly raised, but his eyes quietly darkened. The smile lingered on his face for a moment, then slowly froze like a mask.
Zheng Xiaotian cleared his throat at the opportune moment, breaking the silence. His voice was low but firm: "Let's get back to the specific framework and execution details of the project." His words were like a buffer rope, trying to pull the undercurrents of the confrontation back on track.
But everyone present understood that this was just a superficial return to normalcy; the real contest had only just begun.
As the project progressed, Zhang Luyuan's presence was almost ubiquitous: in the meeting room, he sat diagonally across from us, flipping through documents with a rustling sound; during on-site inspections, he whispered among himself and the technical staff; and in email communications, his name was always seen in the CC column.
She took a deep breath, placed her phone face down on the table as if nothing had happened, straightened her back, slightly shrugged her shoulders, and looked up with clear eyes. Even her breathing was steady and even.
At that moment, it was as if she was putting on an impeccable mask. There was even a slight smile on her lips, showing no sign of disorder. Only a momentary darkness in her eyes, like an undercurrent in the deep sea, was imperceptible to anyone.
She stood up, and her voice, as always, was calm and professional, each word powerful, as if the entire world of anxiety, suffocation, and heart-pounding disorder that had just passed away had never existed.
But she knew that her composure was just an act; there was still an invisible hand clenching her chest, her heart would occasionally throb as if she were being electrocuted, and the lingering ringing in her ears hadn't yet dissipated.
She pressed her temples hard, forced her breathing back into her abdomen, and silently told herself: Hold on, don't give yourself away.
Xia Zhiyao remained calm and composed on the surface, but every time he faced him head-on, it was like a light cut on an old wound, the scar turning inside out, bringing out a barely perceptible pain and memory.
This feeling, like a hidden thread, gradually grew in every corner of her life. Whenever she didn't get an immediate reply to a message from Zhou Yue, her mind would automatically start racing with endless speculation: "Is he busy? Did something happen? Does he... not want to talk to me?"
The phone was burning hot in her hand, her shoulders seemed straight but were actually hunched up almost imperceptibly, and she felt like she was being shoved into ice water. The more she breathed, the more suffocated she felt. Her chest rose and fell, her breathing was shallow and unsteady, and her throat was as dry as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper.
At night, insomnia is like a soaked net, tightly covering her and clinging to her skin, impossible to shake off.
She rolled over, sat up, and lay back down, the sheets a jumbled mess. Her fingertips repeatedly swiped and refreshed the phone screen, the veins on the back of her hands bulging. Each screen light felt like a needle pricking her heart, yet she never received a reply that would bring her relief.
It was late at night, and the air was filled with the humid heat typical of summer. Zhou Yue had worked overtime until 2 a.m. before returning home, his whole body radiating exhaustion and the stifling heat of the night.
He stopped in his tracks as soon as he opened the bedroom door. The lights were off, and only the phone screen flickered a faint blue light in the darkness.
Xia Zhiyao curled up in the corner of the bed, covered only by a thin towel blanket, her hair hanging messily over her shoulders, her temples damp with sweat. She gripped her phone tightly with her fingertips, her breathing quickening and slowing as the screen lit up and went off, as if she were fighting something unseen.
Zhou Yue's pupils contracted, and his sleepiness vanished instantly. He was all too familiar with that slightly forward-leaning posture with stiff shoulders; it was the look of anxiety churning within him.
"Zhiyao," he called softly, his voice deliberately lowered, "Still not asleep so late?"
Xia Zhiyao looked up, a smile immediately appearing on her face: "Hmm? You're back after finishing overtime."
Zhou Yue slowly walked over, bent down and gently took the phone from her hand. His fingertips touched it, and his palm was cold and sweaty. He frowned slightly, then sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward and pulling her little by little into his arms. He lowered his voice and said, "Stop pretending."
"I...I'm fine." Xia Zhiyao still tried to be strong, her voice trembling, but her eyes stubbornly turned to one side.
Zhou Yue looked at her, a familiar pity flashing in his eyes, his voice lower and more steady than before: "I know you too well now, I'm like this when my anxiety attacks."
He reached out and gently wiped the sweat from her temples, his gaze tracing her face inch by inch: "Tell me, is it work that makes you uncomfortable, or... me that makes you uneasy?"
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