The Chengshi Holdings building looked less like an office and more like a monument built to intimidate the poor. Glass and steel gleamed under the morning sun, each floor stacked like a promise to the sky that power always climbs higher.
Wu Suowei adjusted the collar of the suit he borrowed — slightly oversized, the fabric a little too shiny. He had tried to slick his hair back like those emotionless businessmen in dramas, but a stubborn cowlick curled at the top no matter how hard he pressed it down.
A security guard gave him a once-over as he passed through the revolving doors. His shoes squeaked on the marble floors. Everyone around him walked fast and talked in low voices — if they spoke at all. It felt like entering another dimension, one where emotions weren’t just hidden, they were erased.
Suowei’s fingers tightened around the handle of his messenger bag. He muttered under his breath.
“Okay. Act cool. Like you belong here. You're a young professional. Not a college dropout with revenge issues and a fake resume.”
The receptionist barely looked up as he approached the desk. She had the kind of sharp eyeliner and expression that said she could file a lawsuit just by blinking.
“Position you’re applying for?” she asked, tapping her keyboard.
“Executive Floor Inventory Intern,” Suowei said smoothly, pulling out his falsified resume with a plastic smile.
Her eyebrows rose just slightly. “Intern? On the 68th floor?”
He leaned forward just a little. “I have… strong ambitions.”
She stamped a badge and handed it to him without further comment. As he pinned it to his chest, she offered a polite warning.
“Most people don’t last a week up there. Good luck.”
The elevator opened with a soft chime. Suowei stepped inside, took a deep breath, and pressed the number 68. The doors began to close—
—only to open again, smoothly and without sound.
A man stepped inside.
Tall. Perfectly tailored suit. Sharp jawline. No cologne — just the faint clean scent of something expensive and dangerous.
Chi Cheng.
Wu Suowei felt his breath hitch, but forced himself to exhale through his nose.
The CEO didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. He was reading something on his phone, expression unreadable, posture rigidly perfect. His presence filled the elevator like ice spreading across glass — cold, silent, commanding.
The doors closed. The silence was suffocating.
“Floor 68,” Chi Cheng said flatly, as if speaking to himself.
Suowei swallowed, then said without thinking, “Your voice is colder than the elevator.”
It slipped out — half joke, half nerves. Instantly, he wanted to bite his tongue off.
Chi Cheng slowly looked up.
His eyes were… unreadable. Dark, unreadable, and cold. Like storm clouds behind a two-way mirror.
“What department are you with?” he asked, voice low and emotionless.
“Inventory intern,” Suowei answered, plastering on a grin. “Temporary. But I grow on people fast.”
Chi Cheng blinked once. The kind of blink that didn’t mean tiredness — it meant calculation. Evaluation.
The elevator dinged softly. Floor 68.
Without another word, Chi Cheng stepped out and walked down the long glass hallway.
Suowei stared at his back, wondering how a man could make silence so goddamn loud.
“Try not to rot before that happens,” Chi Cheng said over his shoulder, not looking back.
Suowei blinked. Did he just—?
Ms. Shen appeared beside him like a ghost, hands clasped, expression bored but perfectly professional. She wore a dark suit and moved with the elegance of someone who could either file your taxes or bury your body, depending on her mood.
“You’re under Logistics. I’ll walk you there.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks, Miss…”
“Shen. Don’t wander. Don’t speak unless spoken to. And above all…” She paused as they turned a corner.
“Don’t annoy the President.”
Suowei turned to look at Chi Cheng’s office door as they passed it — tall, matte black, perfectly shut.
He smirked.
“Too late.”
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