Professor Xie, isn't this a case of forcing customers to buy products that don't match the

The next morning, Shang Song's alarm clock rang at 6:45.

He groggily got up to wash and change into the clean clothes that had been prepared. He walked out of the guest room, where the living room was filled with the aroma of food.

On the island counter of the open kitchen, there are several small dishes, a few Cantonese breakfast items, shrimp dumplings, siu mai, custard buns, and a bowl of boat congee.

Xie Jing was already dressed and sitting at the dining table, seemingly looking at some document in his hand.

"Awake? Come and have breakfast." Xie Jing heard the noise and put down the documents to look at him.

"Hmm!" Shang Song walked over and sat down, looking at the sumptuous breakfast, his mouth watering.

While eating, he couldn't help but start thinking about the details of the plan he would discuss at today's meeting.

Xie Jing slowly ate his porridge, occasionally nodding, without disturbing him.

After breakfast, the two got ready to leave. The driver and the convoy were already waiting in the underground parking lot, but Lin Zhou was not there.

It takes about half an hour to get from Genting Highlands to Tsing Kueh. On Saturday morning, the traffic was even lighter, and the convoy had a smooth journey.

As they approached, Xie Jing said, "Text me before you leave work tonight, and I'll come pick you up."

"Huh?" Shang Song was taken aback. "You...aren't you going back to Xishan? I'm here..."

He said somewhat apologetically, "I'll probably be working late every day from now on, and even on weekends..."

"It's the weekend, mine," Xie Jing interrupted him, his voice low.

Shang Song understood instantly.

The weekend was supposed to be Xie Jing's time, as they had agreed.

He stared blankly at Xie Jing's perfect profile, then his lips curled into an uncontrollable smile, his eyes crinkling into crescents, and he nodded emphatically: "Okay! I'll contact you tonight!"

The car happened to stop in the visitor parking area of ​​the Qingguo Company building at that moment.

Shang Song glanced at the quiet company building on Saturday, then at Xie Jing, and almost instinctively leaned over and quickly pecked Xie Jing on the cheek.

He finished pecking and immediately retreated to his seat, picked up his backpack, and glanced out the window. As he opened the door, he mumbled indistinctly, "Well, I'll go to work now!"

Shang Song quickly slipped out of the car, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Xie Jing remained in the same position, watching Shang Song walk briskly towards the Qingguo Company building, carrying a backpack like a little bear holding a honey pot, with slightly bouncy steps.

Xie Jing only slowly turned around after Shang Song's figure disappeared behind the revolving door, his face still expressionless.

He raised his hand, his fingertips lightly brushing the spot where he had just been kissed.

His gaze inadvertently swept over the driver in the front seat. He hesitated for a moment, then lowered his hand and suddenly spoke: "In an ordinary family, I'm just dropping my partner off at work."

He paused briefly, seemingly choosing his words carefully, "Is there such a fixed ritual when parting?"

The driver was clearly not expected the head of the household to ask this question so suddenly, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened involuntarily.

He glanced quickly and cautiously at Xie Jing's expression in the rearview mirror. Seeing that the head of the family remained calm and composed, he tried his best to answer in the most objective tone: "Master, ordinary couples or close partners often kiss and hug to express their affection and reluctance to part when they separate."

"Hmm." Xie Jing nodded slightly.

It turned out to be the case.

Last Monday morning, that sudden touch; and just now, that more natural "reward".

The examples are clear and the logic is sound.

When you drop Shang Song off at work, he will express his gratitude or reluctance to part with you by giving you a kiss.

His gaze swept briefly towards the entrance of the Green Fruit Garden before he looked away and gave a calm instruction:

"Back to Genting Highlands."

The driver secretly breathed a sigh of relief, immediately responded, and then steadily steered the vehicle away from the Qingguo Building.

Shang Song peered through the glass window, watching the familiar convoy disappear from sight, before taking a deep breath and walking toward the "Starfield Fantasy" project office.

In the office, most people were already seated at their workstations, but no one spoke.

Ken slumped in his chair, staring at the ceiling with his head tilted back. His eyes were dark and his hair was a mess.

Through the glass window of the small conference room, you could see the lead planner and several core planners gathered together, discussing something in hushed tones.

The other girls in the art group also arrived early, staring blankly at the computer screen or scribbling on draft paper, their expressions increasingly grim.

Shen Yan's workstation was on the inside, near the break room. He sat there, not looking at his computer, but with his head down. He glanced at his phone, his face turning deathly pale, and then quickly turned it off without replying.

Zhao Xiaowei wanted to lean over and say something, but was deterred by the oppressive aura emanating from him. She could only look at him worriedly for a few moments, hesitant to speak.

After quickly scanning the area, Shang Song strode to his workstation, put down his backpack, and swiftly turned on his computer.

He pulled up the concept video he had reviewed the night before, created several new documents, and his fingers flew across the keyboard as he listed out the ideas, storyboard points, and potential technical challenges that were constantly being refined in his mind.

He needed a clearer outline to convince everyone at the later meeting, especially Ken, who had a technical background, and the programming team facing immense performance pressure.

9: 50.

The project manager emerged from his private office, his face ashen, the bloodshot eyes even more pronounced than the night before. "Meet with everyone."

Everyone silently stood up, picked up their laptops or tablets, lowered their heads, and filed into the large conference room.

The seats filled up quickly.

"Let's get started." The project manager's gaze swept across the room, getting straight to the point: "The technical department's in-depth investigation is ongoing, but there's no new progress. Everyone understands what that means. But we don't have time to find the mole, nor do we have time to assign blame! Public testing is next Thursday—that's the deadline! Now, I want to hear solutions, truly feasible solutions!"

He looked at Ken and said, "Ken, you go first."

Ken wiped his face, sat up straight, and pulled up several schematic diagrams of the revised plans he had worked on overnight.

He spoke very quickly, explaining how to make extreme reversals, attribute changes, and visual logic reconstructions on the original basis.

But for every proposal he put forward, he would immediately point out its fatal flaws: not enough time, the effect might be incongruous, players might not accept it, and it might be easily criticized as plagiarism.

As he spoke, the atmosphere grew increasingly somber, and everyone could hear the reluctance and helplessness behind those proposals.

"Could we... reduce the visual impact of this ultimate skill and allocate resources to other phases of the boss fight, or compensate with a combination of story and mechanics?" a story planner tentatively suggested.

"Impossible!" the lead planner interrupted immediately, his voice cracking with excitement. "This core selling point has been hyped up and promoted all along, raising player expectations! And now you're just going to cut it like that? You'll take responsibility for the data? You'll bear the consequences for the reputation?"

The proposed plot planner sheepishly withdrew.

The discussion has once again reached a stalemate.

Ken slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes; the project manager's fists clenched so tightly they cracked, but he couldn't utter a word.

Just then, Shang Song pushed aside the notebook in front of him, stood up, and said somewhat nervously:

"Perhaps we can try a different approach."