It started when a bloody rain was about to fall.

Just then—

A completely different, vibrant human charm, like a bright and warm current, cuts into this realm of absolute radiance.

Su Wanqing.

She stood beside the holographic projection, her deep-sea sapphire blue custom-made suit hugging her exquisite curves.

The blue was deep and rich, like the sea at midnight, like the sky before a storm, but on her it became a backdrop—a backdrop for curves more vivid than the sea, and a face brighter than the sky.

Her chestnut-brown long curly hair cascaded down like shimmering satin, each strand with a carefully styled, natural curve.

The curve falls on the shoulder, brushes past the collarbone, and bounces slightly on the chest, like the splashes of a mountain stream as it flows around rocks.

Her hair color displayed rich layers in the morning light—the top layer was golden brown, the middle layer was chestnut, and the bottom layer was dark brown. As she moved slightly, these colors flowed and changed like living things.

It made Su Wanqing's bright oval face shine even more.

Her face was that of a classic Eastern beauty, with a slightly pointed chin, full cheeks, and rounded forehead.

Her skin was like the finest mutton fat jade, white with a rosy glow, and rosy with a moist sheen, as if a light touch would leave a rosy mark.

That radiance wasn't thanks to cosmetics—she had only applied a thin layer of sunscreen—but rather a plump, dewy glow emanating from deep within her skin, a natural glow that belonged to the youthful vitality within her.

Her eyebrows and eyes were thick and beautiful, like a meticulous brushstroke.

His eyebrows were willow-leaf shaped, thin and curved, with the ends slightly upturned, giving him a shrewd and sharp look.

Her eyes were peach blossom eyes, long and alluring, with upturned corners and thick, fan-like eyelashes.

Her eyes sparkled with both the liveliness of a young girl—a liveliness that allowed Su Wanqing to maintain a sense of approachability even in serious meetings—and a keen insight into the ways of the world—a keen insight that allowed her to spot the slightest flaw in the other party during ever-changing negotiations.

Her plump lips were painted with a matte mauve color.

The color is understated yet sophisticated, not flashy, but impossible to ignore.

When Su Wanqing reported on her work, her lips moved as if a flower were slowly blooming in the morning light.

When she smiles—a perfectly timed, professional smile—the upward curve of her lips can melt the hardest ice on the negotiating table.

This is undoubtedly a stunning beauty by human aesthetic standards.

It's the kind of beauty that makes passersby turn their heads when you walk down the street, makes the people at the next table look on when you sit in a restaurant, and makes you the center of attention wherever you appear.

More than one director present lingered on her briefly.

It wasn't because of any rudeness, but because this twenty-five-year-old general manager's assistant and personal assistant delivered reports that were doubly impressive—firstly because of her appearance, and secondly because of her professionalism.

Su Wanqing has only been with Ye's Group for four years, but she has already helped Ye Qingrou complete the international patent layout of the "Xingxuan" platform. In last year's patent war with European pharmaceutical companies, the litigation materials she prepared left the opposing legal team speechless on the spot.

A woman who possesses both beauty and talent to such an extent is a living legend in herself.

Fang Yuanshan, who was sitting on the left side of the conference table, couldn't help but raise his head and his gaze lingered on Su Wanqing for a moment.

He nodded to himself: This Su Wanqing, in four years of employment, has risen from the bottom to the position of assistant general manager, taking each step steadily and surely. Looks are a stepping stone, but those who go far are always those with real ability, unlike his own troublesome daughter.

He withdrew his gaze, but his peripheral vision involuntarily swept over the tranquil white figure beside the head of the table—

Ye Qingrou didn't even look at Su Wanqing; she just listened quietly, without a smile or a frown.

It was as if Su Wanqing's beauty and talent were nothing more than a bright star in the night sky in front of her, while she herself was the night sky itself.

Fang Yuanshan's initial admiration for Su Wanqing suddenly faded somewhat.

It's not that Su Wanqing isn't good enough, but rather that some people are born to define the word "good".

Zhou Heming, a senior director in the legal department, also glanced at him slightly.

His gaze lingered on Su Wanqing for two seconds behind his glasses, a thought flashing through his mind:

This girl's abilities certainly justify her position.

The Ye family has done a good job in building up its talent pool over the past few years.

But he quickly shifted his gaze back to the documents on the desktop. He had seen too many young people whose talent was fleeting; beauty and talent were both double-edged swords, used well as an asset, and used poorly as a death sentence.

Whether Su Wanqing can go far depends on her character.

As for temperament... Zhou Heming's gaze once again drifted unconsciously towards Ye Qingrou—that twenty-four-year-old woman, who had not shown any emotional fluctuations due to Su Wanqing's appearance from beginning to end; that was true, unfathomable composure.

Shen Qingyi, the marketing director sitting diagonally opposite Zhou Heming, also looked up at Su Wanqing.

Her carefully painted eyes lingered on Su Wanqing longer than on anyone else.

She knew in her heart that Su Wanqing's appearance was top-notch in any setting.

But she also knew that Su Wanqing's ability to stand so firmly in this conference room was not solely due to her face.

Last year, during the patent battle, Su Wanqing stayed up all night for a whole month. The materials she compiled were piled up to be half a person high. Every argument had a source, and every piece of evidence was irrefutable.

Shen Qingyi asked herself if she could have done that.

Even so... Shen Qingyi's gaze quietly shifted to Ye Qingrou.

The woman wasn't even looking at Su Wanqing; she was just listening, listening with an almost cold, focused intensity.

Shen Qingyi suddenly felt that Su Wanqing was like a fine traditional Chinese painting, with rich colors and delicate lines, which was admirable; while Ye Qingrou was like ink painting—with just a few strokes, the artistic conception was endless.

Fine brushwork paintings can be reproduced, but ink wash paintings cannot.

Zhao Heng, the deputy financial director sitting at the end of the table, couldn't help but steal a glance at Su Wanqing.

In his gaze towards Su Wanqing, there was admiration, respect, and a subtle sense of pressure that comes with being the same age as her.

Su Wanqing is the same age as him, but she has already reached that position.

He was still meticulously checking the figures in each report. Zhao Heng took a deep breath, reminding himself not to get distracted.

But when he lowered his head, two faces appeared in his mind at the same time—one was Su Wanqing's bright face, and the other was Ye Qingrou's aloofness.

He suddenly understood a truth: Su Wanqing's beauty made people want to get closer; Ye Qingrou's beauty made people want to kneel down.

Ye Yunshen, sitting next to Zhao Heng, never once looked up at Su Wanqing.

He continued to stare at the coffee cup in front of him, the black liquid inside still reflecting the light from the ceiling.

Su Wanqing's voice echoed in the conference room, each word clear and powerful.

Ye Yun Shen silently commented in his heart: This woman's professional competence is indeed outstanding.

When he was young, he worked as a Doctors Without Borders in Africa and saw too many people who were all show and no substance, as well as too many people who had real talent but remained unknown.

Su Wanqing is one of the few among the former who also possesses the latter qualities.

But he also knew that the one who truly decided the direction in this conference room was never Su Wanqing, but that young woman who never spoke easily.

Ye Yun Shen picked up his coffee and took a sip, the bitterness spreading on his tongue.

He thought: Abilities can be cultivated, and beauty can be enhanced, but that innate aura that makes people dare not look directly at you is something you are born with.

At this moment, Liu Yu, the senior vice president in charge of sales in North China, who was sitting in the corner, privately sighed to his colleagues:

If Su Wanqing only relied on her looks, he wouldn't admire her in the slightest; but her abilities were even more outstanding than her appearance, which made him have to admire her.

Liu Yu was fifty-six years old. He was short and stout, with a round face, broad forehead, rosy nose, and a pair of small eyes that were always smiling, making him look like a kind Maitreya Buddha.

But those who know him well know that he is extremely shrewd. He has been deeply involved in the North China region for twenty years, and his channel relationships are deeply entrenched. He is the most unshakeable big tree in Ye's sales system.

At this moment, as he listened to Su Wanqing meticulously analyze the latest season's operational data, every number flowing effortlessly from her lips and every anomaly easily pointed out, his sense of "having to admit defeat" deepened even further.

However, while everyone was amazed by Su Wanqing's talent and beauty, no one noticed that when Su Wanqing's gaze inadvertently swept over the tranquil white figure beside the main seat, a fleeting, almost imperceptible pause would always flash deep within her bright eyes.

Those are roses blooming under the brilliant sunshine, and when gazing at the solitary, radiant moon in the night sky, the dimensional difference is self-evident without comparison.

It wasn't inferiority—Su Wanqing was never inferior—but rather a more objective understanding:

Just as she knew that it would rain and the sea would have tides, she knew that in the face of that white, all discussions about "beauty" would automatically fall silent.

But no one could see the moment of stillness.

To outsiders, she remains the radiant Su Wanqing, the youngest assistant general manager of the Ye Group and Ye Qingrou's personal assistant, an object of envy and jealousy for countless people.

In the brief moment that Su Wanqing switched PPT slides and the red dot on the laser pointer flickered slightly—

A man's face pierced through Ye Qingrou's calm, rational mind, which seemed to reflect the workings of the cosmos.

---

The background is the medical school's long corridor, forever permeated with the smell of disinfectant and old paper.

The stark white fluorescent tubes poured down with a scalpel-like, icy light, flowing along his sharp jawline, which resembled the axe-carved lines of a frost giant from Norse mythology.

The light cut a sharp line between light and shadow on the skin—the bright areas were cool white, and the dark areas were deep gray. Every undulation was outlined breathtakingly by this extreme light and shadow.

Deep-set eyes and brows.

The pupils are unusual—the dark brown irises reveal concentric amber circles when exposed to light—a color that is indescribable, both deep and brilliant, formed by molten gold solidified in an ice core or by the shattered glow of sunset.

However, the tired pale blue at the corner of her eyes, and the fragile, almost cracked look of the thin porcelain skin where her complexion met, contradictorily tore at that oppressive perfection.

Like a peerless masterpiece, it underwent too much hammering during the forging process. Although it was finally formed, it left behind an indelible memory of pain.

He stood there quietly in the cold, serene light of the long corridor.

It doesn't resemble a physical person.

It's more like a powerful illusion that suddenly emerges from a time rift or the deep sea of ​​the collective subconscious, only to vanish in the next second—breathtakingly beautiful, yet chillingly alienating.

five years ago.

It was the same time of morning.

The corner of the corridor.

The elderly professor, who was in a wheelchair and had difficulty moving around, had his documents scattered all over the floor.

She bent down to help pick up the documents and materials filled with the old professor's life's research, his life's work, and his life's dedication. The moment she looked up at the sound—

Why did it appear at this moment?

When his father, Ye Zhenglan, inexplicably fainted late at night five days ago and has not woken up since?

Amidst the recent frequent interactions and undercurrents among several powerful veterans within the group?

Just last week, her privately funded transnational research group at the intersection of mysticism and cutting-edge physics submitted an obscure report that was somewhat absurd and warned of “systemic disharmony” between the lines.

This is by no means a coincidence.

Ye Qingrou's expression, as perfect as porcelain glaze, showed no flaw whatsoever.

Even the most advanced emotion recognition AI could not capture the subtle pauses, measured in picoseconds, that might exist on her face.

Ye Qingrou brushed away this untimely and illogical conjecture in her mind as if she were gently wiping away a speck of dust from a screen with an eraser, precise and calm.

Only the tip of her left index finger, resting on the titanium alloy side of the tablet, applied approximately 5% extra pressure, almost imperceptibly.

That hard, stable, and real-world feel is the anchor she desperately needs right now.

And that student...

The name field next to the file photo is clearly printed in Song typeface:

Lin Ye.

She grew up in the "Dawn Orphanage". During her medical school years, she relied on full student loans and the lowest level of scholarships to support herself.

His grades were average, but he had published an independently authored paper in *Frontiers in Neuroscience*.

Ye Qingrou had read the paper. It had a unique perspective and a fresh way of thinking. Although it had some immature parts, it revealed a kind of genius-like intuition that could not be taught.

After graduation, he did not enter any hospital or research institution and disappeared from the sight of the mainstream medical system.

In sporadic alumni reunions, this name is occasionally mentioned, accompanied by a touch of regret.

Someone who should have achieved something, for some reason chose to give up; or a subtle sense of superiority—look, even medical school graduates aren't guaranteed success; or a detached, slightly morbid description:

It is said that he traversed the city's capillary-like streets and alleys, becoming a food delivery rider.

Why him?

Why now?

"Mr. Ye?"

At that moment, Su Wanqing's question came through. Her tone remained steady, but the last syllable rose slightly, carrying a professional and cautious confirmation of the decision-maker's attention.

The voice pulled Ye Qingrou back to reality from that fraction of a second of daze.