Bai Zhiqi stepped into the sleek, glass-walled office of the Talent Development Department, her expression composed but distant. The air inside was noticeably colder, both literally and figuratively. The hum of machines, the quiet clack of keyboards, and the subtle glances of curious employees greeted her as she made her way to the far end.
At the head of the open office sat Lu Chen—impeccably dressed in a fitted dark shirt, sleeves neatly rolled, and his eyes trained sharply on the screen before him. The department's famed creative director. Efficient, ruthless, and known for his utter disdain for incompetence.
Bai Zhiqi didn't flinch.
She stopped just short of his desk. "Lu Chen?"
He didn't look up immediately. His voice was curt. "You're late."
"I was told to report at 10. It's 9:58," she replied, equally calm.
He finally raised his eyes.
Sharp. Piercing. Assessing.
Bai Zhiqi met his gaze without flinching.
"You're the one the President reassigned?"
"Yes. Bai Zhi."
Lu Chen leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "You're not what I expected."
"That makes two of us."
A brief, charged silence settled between them. Some staff nearby slowed their typing, clearly tuning in without making it obvious.
Lu Chen's eyes narrowed. "You've been here two weeks, and I haven't seen a single contribution from you. Now suddenly, you're dropped in my department with no warning. Do you expect me to hand over responsibility because someone made a phone call for you?"
"No," Bai Zhiqi replied. "I expect you to give me work and let my performance speak for itself."
A flicker of amusement crossed his face—cold, not kind.
"You've got a sharp tongue."
"Only when needed."
He stood up then, tall and composed, radiating authority. He walked around the desk slowly, like a panther circling.
"You're hiding something," he said bluntly.
"I think that says more about your suspicious nature than me."
He smirked. "Interesting. Most people are either kissing up or begging for a spot. You, on the other hand, speak like you don't care if you're here or not."
"I don't," she said plainly. "I'm here to work. Not to make friends. Not to play office politics."
A few desks away, someone gasped softly. Another whispered, "She's crazy…"
Lu Chen's jaw tensed for a second before he let out a low chuckle.
"You don't scare easy."
"Not anymore."
He tilted his head slightly. "Tell me, what makes you think I won't kick you out in the next ten seconds?"
"Because if you wanted me out, you wouldn't be wasting time talking."
That stopped him briefly.
Then he turned, walked back to his desk, and picked up a thick folder.
"Fine," he said, handing it to her. "You want work? You've got it. You're taking over the second phase of the Rising Stars Project. You'll coordinate between talent scouts and scriptwriters. I want a draft framework by Friday."
She took the folder without blinking. "Understood."
"Mess it up," he added coldly, "and I'll make sure this is your last position in this industry."
She gave a polite smile. "I don't plan to."
Lu Chen watched her walk away with the file, his eyes thoughtful now. She didn't look back once.
The door closed behind her.
Outside, the air felt warmer—though the tension clung to her like a second skin. As she made her way back to her desk, the whispers returned, louder this time.
"She really talked back to *him*?"
"She's digging her own grave."
"She won't last a week."
Bai Zhiqi sat down, opened the file, and flipped through the pages without reacting. The moment she touched the paper, her fingers steadied.
They wanted her to fail. Let them.
She'd buried the girl who used to crave acceptance five years ago.
Now, she only needed results.
And if Lu Chen thought he could break her—he clearly hadn't learned what it took to survive the fall.
Not yet.