Lin Qing’s straight-faced, proper composure right now bore no resemblance whatsoever to the fearless, brazen energy she had displayed just moments before.

Liang Meng studied her for a moment, then let out a small, amused breath through her nose and sat down.

“Looking at your resume, you’re a top graduate from Fudan’s Mathematics department. Throwing yourself this hard at an assistant position. Came for the money, did you?”

Lin Qing was caught slightly off guard by the question.

How had such a blunt, unvarnished question come out of the refined and poised President Liang’s mouth?

Mom hadn’t predicted this one.

How to answer?

She hadn’t predicted it, but from the time Lin Qing was small, Mom had taught her one universal solution — call it the “cure-all plaster”:

When you don’t know what to say, telling the truth is the most effective thing.

“Mm.” Lin Qing gave an honest nod.

With 140,000 on the other side of the desk, arguing otherwise and pretending she was “powered by passion” would make that passion far too expensive.

Liang Meng smiled faintly and said nothing one way or the other.

Lin Qing couldn’t read her at all, and her heart started to waver: Could it be that President Liang is also one of those people who claims to “never look at their paycheck”?

For a moment Lin Qing drifted, second-guessing herself: which actually works better — the truth or flattery?

Come on, President Liang — just give me an answer.

“Being that short on money — is there a particular reason?”

Liang Meng gently dabbed a napkin over the desk surface and continued.

Lin Qing stared at her clear-lacquered nails and shook her head without hesitation: “No special reason. Who ever has enough money?”

Needing money doesn’t require justification.

Regardless of whether Mom had late-stage cancer, Lin Qing would have needed money either way.

She wasn’t about to use her mother’s illness to play the sympathy card for a job.

That would be far too undignified.

Liang Meng still gave nothing away. She lifted her water cup from the desk and glanced inside.

Lin Qing caught on immediately. She stepped forward, took the cup, walked to the water station, first rinsed it thoroughly with boiling water to sanitize it, then poured Liang Meng a cup of plain warm water.

Liang Meng found it a little unusual, but was beginning to feel quietly satisfied with Lin Qing’s intuitive attentiveness.

She thought to herself: How did she know I have a cleanliness obsession? She didn’t know what kind of tea to offer, so she went with plain water — the safest choice.

Liang Meng took a sip of water, then casually extended one foot.

Lin Qing glanced at the pair of golf shoes beside the desk, and without a moment’s hesitation, crouched down and knelt halfway on the ground. She unlaced the shoe and even folded the tongue back neatly — everything prepared — before helping Liang Meng change her shoes.

Xiao Zhou had been doing these things for her so long that it felt routine. Now, with Lin Qing doing it for the first time, Liang Meng felt a faint twinge of awkwardness.

Liang Meng tested her, looking down and asking: “Kneeling to do things for someone — doesn’t that feel beneath your dignity?”

Lin Qing looked up with a natural smile: “I’m not kneeling for you. I’m kneeling for the 140,000. So, President Liang — no need to feel any guilt about it.”

Generous and graceful.

Emotional value delivered to the fullest.

Liang Meng had no choice but to extend her other foot.

Lin Qing, carefully using the method Mom had taught her since she was small, tied Liang Meng’s shoe into a neat, beautiful bow. Then, as if in passing, she said lightly:

“Some jobs — you’re on your knees on the surface, but in practice you’re standing, talking to those above you as an equal. Other jobs — you’re standing on the surface, but you’re on your knees every single moment, and the people above you don’t see you as a person at all.”

Oh — this little one understands how to manage up.

Liang Meng gave a slight start and instinctively drew her foot back.

Lin Qing saw that defensive movement and knew she’d made her point.

A standard interview usually had the boss delivering the opening “show of dominance” while the candidate simply endured it.

But Lin Qing had to do the opposite — deliver a “preemptive strike” of her own to the boss.

If Liang Meng was easily offended by that, it meant the boss had too small a mind, and this job wasn’t worth taking.

Because working for a petty boss meant either having no future — or signing yourself up for a constant headache.

She was in this for the 140,000, yes — but if the boss turned out to be unreliable, she might not last a month and walk away with nothing. Just misery.

Lin Qing’s mind was sharp and clear.

Interesting.

Liang Meng’s interest was piqued. Some of the road-worn dishevelment from the scene outside finally faded from her face, replaced by a flicker of renewed energy.

She extended her other foot.

This time Lin Qing tied the second bow even more beautifully.

Once Lin Qing stood back up, Liang Meng asked the final question before offering her the job —

“You care so much about money. If someone offered you more, would you just go with them?”

Faced with this pointed question, Lin Qing made no pledges of loyalty whatsoever.

She simply let out a quiet, easy smile. “That seems like a problem for you, President Liang, to figure out.”

No promises. No guarantees.

And somehow that was exactly what cemented Liang Meng’s decision to hire her.

In the working world, is there anyone who can’t be swayed by enough money?

If so — it simply means not enough money has been offered.

If Xiao Zhou hadn’t already collected over a year’s worth of undercover fees and had no interest in staying in this industry, she would never have told Liang Meng the truth.

“Never test human nature. Trust in self-interest instead.”

That was the golden advice Jiang Han had given Liang Meng on her first day in the role.

She had never forgotten it.

“Do you play golf?”

Liang Meng stood up, stretched her legs, and walked toward the practice area in the office.

She swung two easy practice strokes to warm up, then paused to ask.

Lin Qing didn’t answer yes or no. She simply walked over and took the club directly from her hands.

Intrigued that she might actually know how to play, Liang Meng stepped aside to give her room.

Lin Qing composed herself, steadied her breath, adjusted her stance and angle, and executed a clean 60-degree swing. The practice ball made a satisfying crack! — landing squarely in the centre of the red target.

On a real green, that would have been a stroke-saving shot.

Liang Meng applauded and asked, genuinely curious: “How are you this good?”

Golf practice required both a proper facility and a coach — neither of them cheap.

Was Lin Qing secretly from a wealthy family, doing this to experience real life?

“President Liang, I studied mathematics.”

Lin Qing propped the club up with pride and looked back at Liang Meng.

“Golf is calculation. Distance, swing speed, shot count, even the wind conditions on site — all of it needs to be accounted for using statistical methods. If you can’t figure out basic Newtonian mechanics, don’t bother picking up a club.”

Lin Qing’s somewhat outlandish explanation sounded impressive but didn’t fool Liang Meng for a second.

“So by that logic, the best golfers in the world should all be mathematicians.”

Liang Meng’s expression cooled. The good impression she had built up of Lin Qing over the past few minutes began to chip away.

“Choosing a subordinate — loyalty is already hard to guarantee, but at least a basic level of trust between the two parties needs to be there.”

She gave Lin Qing a displeased look.

What Liang Meng needed right now was a true ally — someone ready to fight side by side with her, to take on Daiwei and that pack of seasoned foxes.

“Alright.”

Lin Qing hadn’t wanted to get into her private life, but seeing Liang Meng’s dissatisfaction, she had no choice but to come clean.

“My family background is ordinary, but my ex-boyfriend was from a wealthy family. He liked playing, so I had to learn. The person who taught me was my childhood friend — Lu Zhou.”

“Lu Zhou?”

That name — somehow, just like Lin Qing’s face — felt faintly familiar.

Liang Meng ran it quickly through her mental database.

Right — the champion she had considered buying a trending topic for, earlier.

“Fine. Go take care of the onboarding formalities.”

Liang Meng finally gave her the green light.

“Ex-boyfriend, wealthy family, childhood friend” — all of it sounded too authentic to be made up.

“No rush.”

Having passed the interview, Lin Qing was the one who was no longer in a hurry.

She calmly reached into her pocket and pulled out a USB drive, holding it out to Liang Meng.

A quick exchange of pleasantries could certainly leave a boss with a good first impression — but for their very first encounter, Lin Qing still wanted to put something real on the table and prove she was worth the price.

In the workplace, respect is something you earn for yourself.

If you carry enough weight, no one dares to look down on you.

Liang Meng accepted the drive with a raised eyebrow and plugged it in.

Inside were several files and a presentation.

She looked up at Lin Qing — this mathematics graduate — with a complicated expression.

Something between confusion and surprise.

Lin Qing assumed she couldn’t make sense of it, and immediately moved to explain: “President Liang, this is the model I built. This is the parameter set, and this is the formula…”

Liang Meng, clearly displeased at being interrupted, fixed Lin Qing with a steady gaze and said slowly, one word at a time: “I. Can. Read. It. Fine.”

Lin Qing thought she was just saving face.

Earlier, she had looked up Liang Meng’s background online. Liang Meng had graduated from some mid-tier business school with a finance degree.

Finance — a humanities subject. (Shocking to some, perhaps, but finance really is classified under the humanities.)

Which meant the mathematics involved was essentially surface-level.

Never mind the whole model — pull out any random derivative equation from inside it, and it would look like ancient script to Liang Meng.

And yet, she so naturally opened the model file first.

Lin Qing had prepared a separate explanatory presentation — straightforward and easy to follow — and placed it toward the end.

“President Liang, why don’t we just look at the slides?” Lin Qing said, guiding her toward the red icon.

Liang Meng, her voice cool and final, repeated herself one last time: “I. Can. Read. It. Fine.”

Lin Qing froze and slowly withdrew her hand.

Fine, fine. Have it your way.

You insist on saving face while making your own life harder, President Liang.

Liang Meng stared at those familiar equations, those familiar model templates — and in an instant, felt an unexpected sting behind her nose.

These formulas and numbers were like footnotes to the time she and Jiang Han had shared.

The outside world only knew that Liang Meng had studied business. Even Liang Xing had always felt smug about the choice she had helped steer her younger sister toward.

But inside the safe in the CEO’s office of Sansheng Group, there had always been a graduation certificate — issued to “Liang Meng” — from the University of Southampton.

Liang Meng’s parents had passed away early, and Liang Xing, as her sole guardian afterward, had held full authority over what she studied abroad.

Liang Meng had never wanted to study business. She thought it was too easy.

And Liang Xing believed that Liang Meng was too limited.

With grades like hers in secondary school, she might as well coast through some mid-tier university and get a diploma — she’d come back and inherit the family business sooner or later anyway.

But Liang Meng didn’t see it that way.

Her grades in secondary school had been average — but that was because she had already, at that age, developed a quiet and muddled adoration for Jiang Han.

Jiang Han had never attended secondary school. He had left after middle school to make his way in the world.

He was her idol.

But Jiang Han had warned her bluntly: “Life is a card game. A beautiful face is four twos. Family background is a pair of Jokers. You have beauty and background — but without brains, that’s like playing your hand with four twos and both Jokers all at once.”

At the time, Liang Meng had looked him in the eye and asked: “If I get my degree — will you love me then?”

Jiang Han had only sighed quietly: “Everything is business. You need to learn how to do the maths first.”

And so, after arriving in the United States, Liang Meng made up her mind to study seriously.

She started with a preparatory course, then — with Jiang Han’s help — transferred to the University of Southampton to study Applied Mathematics.

Liang Xing had assumed her younger sister was obediently studying business somewhere in America.

In reality, during those four years, every time Liang Meng came back to China, she first flew from England to the United States, and then took a flight back from an American airline.

All to avoid raising Liang Xing’s suspicions when she came to pick her up from the airport.

During Liang Meng’s four years in England, Jiang Han had claimed he was there to expand overseas markets — but really, he was there to accompany her.

Liang Xing was aware of everything else, but found one thing puzzling: “Jiang Han — you went to America to develop new markets. How come everything you brought back were British trade contracts?”

Jiang Han had glanced at a sheepish Liang Meng and improvised: “I ran into some British guys over there in America! They were trying to develop the US market too. We hit it off and made it happen!”

Liang Xing: “Ah. So America was just the middleman.”

Every time they finished spinning a story, Jiang Han and Liang Meng would share a quiet, knowing smile — a smile only they understood.

People who have done good things together aren’t necessarily that close.

But people who have pulled off “bad things” together — those bonds run deeper than anything.