“Go out first and hand off your work to Xiao Zhou.”

After Lin Qing left, Liang Meng allowed herself a brief moment of relaxation.

She quietly slid open the bottom drawer of her desk, inside which sat a picture frame.

The photograph was old — its edges had faded to a yellowish tinge.

There were four people in the photo:

Father Liang holding one-year-old Liang Meng.

Mother Liang affectionately linking her arm through Father Liang’s.

Seven-year-old Liang Xing standing beside their mother, doing her best to hold her small, slight frame as straight and upright as she could.

The background was a dilapidated gate, with a wooden board hanging at its side. Written on the board in chalk were the words: “Longquan Industrial Development Co., Ltd.”

This photograph had always been displayed prominently and openly on the desk when Liang Xing was CEO.

But once Liang Meng moved into this office, it had been put away inside the drawer.

Liang Xing had mentioned once that this photo was taken by Daiwei.

To be more precise, it was taken by Daiwei back when he was still called “Zhang Weimin.”

Liang Meng let out a soft sigh, gently brushed away the fine dust on the frame’s surface, and placed it back into the drawer.

The pot-bellied Daiwei of today was certainly a repulsive sight, but back then, “Zhang Weimin” had been a legend.

In those days, Zhang Weimin was not yet any VP of Marketing or Senior Vice President — he held only a vague and undefined title: “Office Director” of Longquan Company.

When the Longquan Group was first founded, it had only a single production line, producing an herbal cooling tea recipe passed down through the family.

The relatively unknown Longquan herbal tea happened to launch right as carbonated beverages were sweeping the domestic market in a craze — the consequences were as one might expect.

Faced with warehouses packed full of unsellable herbal tea, Father Liang’s frustration welled up so severely that his mouth broke out in large sores.

Even drinking their own family’s herbal cooling tea couldn’t bring it down.

With the scorching southern summer drawing to a close, Father and Mother Liang had no choice but to leave Liang Xing and the toddling Liang Meng at home and go out in every direction seeking sales channels.

Thinking of this, Liang Meng lowered her gaze to the faint scar on her middle finger.

Seven-year-old Liang Xing had been feeding baby Liang Meng soup in her stroller — Liang Meng found it too hot, and not knowing how to say so with words, she gave a little wave of her tiny hand and knocked the soup over.

Little Liang Meng had cried and wailed from the burn.

There wasn’t a single adult in the house — what could Liang Xing do?

She could only cry right along with her.

In the end, it was Zhang Weimin who pulled Longquan back from the brink of collapse.

The scrawny Zhang Weimin hoisted four crates of canned herbal tea — one hundred cans in total — onto his back, squeezed alone onto a green-painted train heading north, and traveled three days and three nights all the way to Harbin.

He told Father Liang: “If it won’t sell in the south, I’ll go north!”

“But what we’re selling is herbal cooling tea!!!”

Father Liang didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, yet he had no other option.

He gave Zhang Weimin fifty yuan for travel expenses — but what could fifty yuan even accomplish?

The north was dry. On the train, Zhang Weimin’s throat was so parched it felt like smoke was rising from it, and his lips cracked and bled — yet he didn’t open a single can of the herbal tea.

In October, the south still basked in brilliant sunshine, while in the north, many places were already blanketed in heavy snow.

Paired with sauerkraut and blood sausage hotpot and iron-pot braised goose, Longquan’s herbal tea found a surprising new lease on life on the warm heated kang beds of the north.

During nights when the temperature dropped below zero in the north, Zhang Weimin, hungry and carrying crates of herbal tea, wearing Warrior canvas shoes, walked along the ice-cold pavement going from barbecue stall to small restaurant to make his pitch.

Perseverance pays off.

Not only did he sell all one hundred cans of herbal tea, but he came back with over a hundred business cards from restaurants and purchase orders.

And that was how Longquan managed to claw its way back from the edge of a startup crisis.

This story was told to Liang Meng by Liang Xing.

Liang Xing said that when she was a child, Father Liang had recounted Zhang Weimin’s “great exploits” so many times that everyone around him had practically grown calluses in their ears from hearing it.

Liang Meng didn’t doubt it for a second.

Because she knew that Jiang Han had once, out of sheer boredom on a plane, recited the whole story from memory word for word.

What a pity — the youth who slew the dragon had in the end become the dragon himself.

The Daiwei of today was no longer the “Zhang Weimin” of those early days.

Holding firmly to the belief of “I’ve been fighting battles my whole life, can’t I enjoy myself a little now?”, Daiwei had made not a single contribution to Longquan in recent years, and had instead turned the entire marketing department into a murky, foul-smelling mess.

Thinking of this, Liang Meng felt a heaviness in her chest.

She had never expected to sit comfortably in this CEO’s seat.

But the first one to jump out and openly “bite” her turned out to be “Uncle Weimin” — the very man who had such a deep personal friendship with Father Liang.

This truly chilled her heart. She hadn’t seen it coming at all.

“President Liang, which outfit would you like to wear later? A suit? Or a dress?”

Liang Meng was still lost in thought when Lin Qing, now changed back into that “post-apocalyptic” ensemble, came rushing in.

“Wait, wait, wait!!!”

Liang Meng grabbed Lin Qing’s hand before she could reach for the wardrobe, and asked in astonishment: “Don’t tell me you’re planning to walk into the executive meeting dressed like that?”

Lin Qing smiled and turned the question back on Liang Meng: “Is that not allowed?”

Liang Meng was speechless.

Although that “real estate agent” look had seemed cheap, if this “post-apocalyptic warrior” style were to blow into the boardroom, it would be a full-on act of provocation — there was no two ways about it.

Liang Meng gave Lin Qing a helpless look and teased her: “Fine then. You look through my wardrobe and tell me — which outfit of mine could possibly match yours?!”

Lin Qing was sharp enough to hear the sarcasm in her boss’s words.

But she still just smiled without saying a word, and began rummaging through the wardrobe to pick out something for Liang Meng to wear to the meeting.

“How about this one?”

Lin Qing held out an extraordinarily glamorous diamond-encrusted rose-pink blazer and offered it to Liang Meng.

“Are you out of your mind?” Liang Meng said coldly. “That’s what I wore to cut the ribbon at the company’s anniversary celebration!!!”

On her very first day at work, Lin Qing wasn’t just being outrageous herself — she was dragging her boss along into the outrageous with her.

Liang Meng began to wonder: was this really the educational output of nine years of compulsory schooling and a top-tier university degree?

Kids born after the year 2000 really did seem to live in another dimension entirely.

“President Liang, have you seen the movie Kingsman?”

Lin Qing smiled as she looked steadily into Liang Meng’s eyes.

“Manners maketh man.”

Liang Meng thought for a moment, then answered.

That line was delivered by the actor playing the gentleman spy in Kingsman.

Jiang Han was a big fan of that film series, and Liang Meng could recite every single line of dialogue from it backwards.

Lin Qing smiled, and in one smooth motion draped the extravagant rose-pink diamond-studded blazer over Liang Meng’s shoulders: “Since today’s trouble is coming straight at you, then this armor has to be hard, expensive, and eye-catching.”

Liang Meng considered it for a moment, said nothing, and accepted her new assistant’s arrangement.

She had also once heard of Fiona Shackleton — dubbed the “Mulan of the legal world” — who was known for her bold and daring fashion choices in court. The harder the case, the more flamboyant her outfit.

According to an analysis by Britain’s Daily Mail, the reason Fiona dressed so stylishly was to soften her image, to make herself appear less formidable, and thereby cause her opponents to underestimate her abilities.

The same goal.

Liang Meng thought to herself: this girl has something going for her.

“Let’s go.”

Once everything was in order, Lin Qing gave the USB drive and laptop one final careful check and invited her boss to head out together.

“You go first.”

With only five minutes to spare, the splendidly dressed Liang Meng remained in her seat like a precious jade figurine, unwilling to so much as lift herself up.

Inside Lin Qing’s head, ten thousand grass mud horses charged and roared: Boss, you’re not walking with me? It’s my first day at work! How am I supposed to know where the meeting room is?

This Longquan Group building is as massive as Pudong Airport!

Fortunately, she had a mouth on her.

She stepped out, found a colleague, and after winding through several turns and twists, Lin Qing finally managed to track down the meeting room.

Liang Meng sat quietly in her swivel chair, deeply ill at ease.

In the end, she couldn’t stop herself, and tore open the courier envelope that Jiang Han had sent over early that morning.

She despised herself for it.

Hadn’t she made up her mind, once and for all, to cut ties completely and never accept any help from him again?

Hadn’t she stubbornly and defiantly sworn to Jiang Han’s face that from now on she would rely entirely on herself?

Hadn’t she been deliberately keeping her distance from him, calling him “brother-in-law” on the left and “brother-in-law” on the right?

And yet, at the very last second, she still couldn’t hold herself together and tore open the kraft paper envelope.

Inside was nothing but a single thin sheet of paper. Liang Meng swore to herself — unless absolutely necessary, she would never use a trick handed down to her by Jiang Han.

She squinted and snuck a quick peek at that piece of paper.

Just one glance, and Liang Meng drew in a sharp breath.

She quietly scorned herself in her heart, folded the paper in half, then in half again, and tucked it into the pocket of her rose-pink blazer.

When Lin Qing appeared in Longquan’s largest meeting room in her “post-apocalyptic” outfit, every other attendee — all dressed formally for the meeting — stared at her as though they were watching a circus act.

“What on earth is she wearing?”

“All dull and grey and tattered-looking!”

“Who is this person? Never seen her before.”

But in the next second, the entire room fell silent!

Because an even more flamboyant Liang Meng had arrived.

Liang Meng settled imperiously into the seat at the head of the conference table, with Lin Qing moving to stand behind her.

The contrast between glamour and grit made the two of them look like they were staging some kind of avant-garde fashion performance art inside Longquan, poking fun at everyone else in the room.

“What is President Liang doing? Dressed up like a red dragon fruit.”

“She’s always been like this — the useless second daughter. Give her a break.”

“Longquan is in the middle of changing brand ambassadors, everyone’s stressed out, and she has time to dress herself up? Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

At this point, Daiwei swept in with more than a dozen people from the marketing department, along with a circle of senior executives, all crowding in from outside in an imposing dark mass, taking their places around the conference table.

In her heart, Lin Qing let out a silent “good heavens!”

Even a banquet for the oldest centenarian in their hometown village would never have a guest list this long.

“Little Meng, who’s this kid sitting next to you? An intern?”

The moment Daiwei sat down, he began giving Liang Meng a hard time.

“My newly hired assistant, Lin—” Liang Meng began to introduce her.

Before she could finish, Daiwei cut her off: “Little Meng, please have the people under you pay attention to their clothing. This is a corporation, not a circus.”

He appeared to be criticizing Lin Qing’s outfit, but the jab was aimed at Liang Meng as well.

Liang Meng was unruffled. She smiled faintly: “Freedom of dress. Lin Qing was born after 2000 — Daiwei, you should adjust to the rhythm of today’s young people. And also—”

Liang Meng paused: “In a professional setting, please do not call me Little Meng.”

Daiwei completely ignored her, and pulled rank in his usual way: “Oh come on! I’ve been calling you Little Meng since you were this tall! Actually no, since you were this tall — I’ve always called you Little Meng.”

Daiwei gestured to a height roughly level with the table, not taking Liang Meng seriously in the slightest.

Liang Meng glanced at his arrogant posturing and said coolly: “Let’s start the meeting.”

Daiwei couldn’t have asked for more, and launched right into the matter at hand.

“Little Meng! You haven’t been CEO for very long, and there are many things you don’t know yet — you should seek guidance more often from me and the other uncles! We’re all very willing to teach you. But the way things have ended up now…”

Liang Meng listened patiently as he ranted, occasionally glancing back at the surveillance camera in the office.

She was certain that behind that blue, fly-eye lens, at least two pairs of eyes were watching right now.

One pair was Liang Xing’s, and the other was Jiang Han’s.

Liang Meng suddenly let out a cold laugh and cut him off: “Ended up how? What exactly do you mean by that?”

Daiwei was equally forceful and fired back: “Zhou Zelong represents Longquan’s corporate image — he’s our living signboard. Little Meng, you didn’t consult anyone — you just said so yourself and bang! — smashed the signboard. Do you have any idea how much damage this has done to the company? Apart from the plummeting stock price, there are also countless invisible intangible assets that have been lost!”

“That’s right! Zhou Zelong has been Longquan’s brand ambassador for so many years. Many people see Zhou Zelong and immediately associate him with the Longquan Group.”

“Daiwei is absolutely right. Just based on Zhou Zelong’s current fan base alone, they could buy out Longquan’s entire production line.”

“And the social impact is terrible — yesterday even my wife’s seventh aunt called me to ask why Longquan was changing its brand ambassador.”

“Your seventh aunt? That’s nothing — my phone has practically been blown up by calls from suppliers!”

Everyone chimed in and backed each other up, and all eyes in the room turned toward Liang Meng at the head of the table with accusatory looks.

“Uncle Daiwei, since you care so deeply about this — how about we do it this way: I’ll move the Lord Guan statue from the entrance of the office building right now, and you can be the one worshipping him?”

Faced with the room’s one-sided onslaught, Liang Meng — normally rather charming — could finally bear it no more, and her tone turned sharply sardonic.

“When has our Longquan Group, with a market value in the tens of billions, ever sunk so low that a single celebrity decides its fate?” Liang Meng said furiously, rising to her feet. “Zhou Zelong! Born in ’73! He’s over fifty years old! Under the Longquan Group’s umbrella, we produce beverages, small home appliances, home textiles and toys, and a cosmetics line! We’re not a foot-care shoe brand! Get your facts straight! Uncle~~~!“

In context, that drawn-out “Uncle” was unmistakably an insult.

Liang Meng had cursed without using a single profane word.

She wasn’t saying Zhou Zelong was too old — she was saying that Daiwei and his crowd of free-riding old foxes were too old.

She was calling them set in their ways, calling them stagnant, complacent, coasting along, pig-headed, and clinging to the past.

Still not quite satisfied with having spoken her piece, Liang Meng turned and casually beckoned to Lin Qing.

“Lin Qing! You’re a post-2000s kid! You tell us — how much do you know about Zhou Zelong?”

Lin Qing immediately picked up the thread: “Zhou Zelong? Oh, I think he’s some obscure singer from the Greater Bay Area.”

What?

An obscure singer?!

Every person in the room born in the 70s, 80s, and 90s fell into collective silence.

“Though the songs from this obscure singer are actually quite pleasant to listen to.”

Lin Qing, her face the very picture of wide-eyed innocence, drove in another blade.

Someone in the room wanted to argue back, but her “post-apocalyptic” outfit made a devastatingly convincing argument.

“You! You little brat! You can speak for every single person born after 2000, can you?!”

Daiwei was so furious he was nearly leaping out of his seat!

“Well, I can’t — but can you?”

Lin Qing fired back without an ounce of hesitation.

“You!! —” Unable to beat her on logic, Daiwei resorted to using his seniority as leverage. “You’re brand new here — who do you think you are? Since when do you have any standing to argue with me at this table? What’s your background, little girl — what gives you the nerve to pick a fight with me?”

Lin Qing was no pushover: “Don’t you come at me with all that squawking. You want to know my background? Here — my background is—”

“My boss, President Liang!” Lin Qing delivered a confident, resounding thump to her own chest!

The entire room was stunned!

Was that really something worth thumping your chest about?

Lin Qing wasted no time turning the question triumphantly back on Daiwei: “I dare to say who my background is — do you?”

Once those words landed, the atmosphere in the room became even stranger.

No one dared make a single sound — even the sound of breathing became hushed.

Liang Meng seized the moment, let out a cold laugh, and delivered the follow-up:

“Lin Qing, how can you be so thoughtless? Uncle Daiwei — the backing behind him, isn’t that President Liang too?”

With that, she deliberately gave a wink toward the security camera above them, full of knowing meaning.

Jiang Han, sitting in front of his computer screen, was so startled by that wink that his hand — which had been propping up his chin — gave an involuntary jerk, nearly slipping off the desk!

And Liang Xing watched through the surveillance monitor, cold and composed, as her younger sister in the meeting room called her out.

The meeting had barely begun, and already the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder. The scene was intensely, uncomfortably tense.