The disturbance at the launch meeting of the "Spark Project" was barely covered up by Assistant Xiao Yang's sentence, "President Yan has an urgent call," and the subsequent busyness of pushing the project forward quickly shifted everyone's attention. It seemed to leave no obvious ripples on the twenty-eighth floor.
Only a very small number of perceptive people noticed President Yan's overly pale complexion when she left early that day, and Director Zong's half-hour disappearance afterward. But these fragments were soon scattered by more emails waiting to be handled, meetings, and KPIs.
Life passed in a rhythm of deliberately maintained "normality."
Yan Hanxie was still that decisive female CEO with prayer beads wrapped around her wrist.
However, the time she appeared at the company seemed to have become much more regular. There was no longer an office with lights on deep into the night, nor piles of documents that needed to be "handled immediately" sent to Zong Yi's inbox outside working hours.
The vegetarian lunches were still delicate.
But sometimes the lunchbox that was delivered inside would be brought out untouched, completely cold.
Zong Yi buried herself even deeper in work. Besides implementing the "Spark Project," she also took over the overseas market quarterly review that had originally been handled by another vice president.
She was like a tireless precision instrument.
Appearing at every meeting where she was needed.
Submitting every flawless report.
Solving every thorny problem.
Her interactions with Yan Hanxie were strictly limited to brief morning reports, project decision meetings, and necessary document signatures.
Their communication was concise, efficient, and professional. Not a single sentence exceeded the scope of work. Even their eye contact was restrained to the shortest necessary moment.
That string of sandalwood prayer beads was still wrapped around Yan Hanxie's wrist.
Occasionally, when she flipped through documents or lifted a cup of coffee, the beads would slide out from her sleeve. Zong Yi's gaze would pass over them naturally and without a trace, without the slightest pause.
Everything seemed to have returned to a certain balance.
An even "safer" distance than before.
Until Friday afternoon.
Zong Yi was in her office having a video conference with the overseas team, finalizing the last set of data standards.
Charts and dialogue boxes scrolled continuously across the computer screen. In her headphones were English discussions mixed with various accents.
She listened attentively, occasionally interrupting to raise precise questions.
The red light of the internal line suddenly lit up and began vibrating with a buzzing sound.
Zong Yi glanced at it. It was the internal line number from the president's office. She raised a hand to signal the video conference to pause, took off one side of her headset, and answered.
"Director Zong," Xiao Yang's voice carried a trace of barely noticeable tension, kept very low, "President Yan wants you to come to her office immediately. Right away."
"Now?" Zong Yi glanced at the paused meeting interface on the screen. "I'm in a video conference with New York right now. It should take another fifteen minutes to finish."
"President Yan said… immediately." Xiao Yang repeated, the insistence in her tone leaving no room for doubt. "The meeting can continue later."
Zong Yi was silent for a second.
"Understood." She hung up, briefly told the people on the other side of the video call, "Something urgent came up. We'll continue the meeting later," and cut the connection before waiting for their response.
She stood up and straightened the collar of her shirt.
In the mirror, her expression was calm, her eyes clear.
She picked up a project progress briefing that she had originally planned to submit tomorrow and walked toward the walnut door.
She knocked. From inside came a slightly tired "Come in."
She pushed the door open and went in.
The afternoon sunlight was just right, passing through the blinds and casting bright warm golden bands of light across the wide desk.
The air carried a stronger scent of sandalwood than usual. A thin curl of smoke rose from a newly added bronze incense burner in the corner.
Yan Hanxie sat behind the desk, not bent over work or taking calls as usual.
She simply sat there, her back to the door, facing the vast city skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling window.
The sunlight outlined her straight shoulders and the contour of her tied-up hair, yet somehow made her figure appear thin.
Her left hand was raised, resting on the armrest of the chair.
That string of sandalwood prayer beads hung quietly, the dark brown beads reflecting a gentle, restrained sheen in the sunlight.
Her fingertips were unconsciously and slowly rolling one of them.
Hearing the footsteps, she did not turn around.
Zong Yi walked to the desk and placed the briefing in her hand on the edge of it.
"President Yan, you were looking for me?"
Yan Hanxie's fingers rolling the bead paused.
She was still looking outside the window. Her voice drifted slightly, carrying a kind of almost hollow calm that Zong Yi had never heard before.
"Sit."
Zong Yi followed the instruction and sat in the guest chair opposite the desk, her back habitually straight.
"Lock the door," Yan Hanxie said again. Her tone remained calm, but it was an unquestionable command.
Zong Yi's fingers curled almost imperceptibly.
She stood, walked to the door, and turned the lock.
With a soft click, the sound seemed unusually clear in the overly quiet office.
She returned to her seat and sat down again, her gaze resting on Yan Hanxie's profile edged in gold by the sunlight, waiting.
Yan Hanxie finally turned the chair around.
She was not wearing makeup today. Her bare face was nearly transparent in its pallor. Dark shadows were obvious under her eyes, and her lips were very pale.
The sunlight shone directly on her face, clearly revealing every trace of fatigue and the fine dry lines at the corners of her eyes.
She looked even more haggard than she had that day in the equipment room—not the disheveled state of sudden illness, but a kind of slowly drained exhaustion that had seeped into the bone.
Only her eyes remained unfathomably deep, calmly looking at Zong Yi.
Yet beneath that calm, it seemed as though something was silently breaking.
"This," Yan Hanxie said without any greeting, nor did she look at the briefing Zong Yi had brought. With her right hand, she slowly pushed a brown paper document envelope without a seal across the desk.
"Take a look."
Zong Yi glanced at the ordinary envelope, then at Yan Hanxie.
There was no expression on her face. She was simply watching her, with a kind of almost cruel calm—like waiting for a verdict.
Zong Yi picked up the envelope. It was not heavy.
She opened it and took out what was inside.
Several stapled copies of medical examination reports. On the name line of the top one, it clearly read: Yan Hanxie. The date was… three days ago.
Zong Yi's fingers paused. A cold premonition slowly climbed up her spine.
She did not immediately continue reading. Instead, she lifted her eyes and looked at Yan Hanxie.
"Keep reading." Yan Hanxie's voice was very soft, but it carried a force that could not be resisted.
Zong Yi lowered her gaze and began to flip through the pages.
The paper made faint rustling sounds between her fingers.
One examination value after another. Medical terms. Black-and-white and color imaging results…
She read quickly. Professional terminology was not unfamiliar to her.
Blood pressure, heart rate, blood routine, full biochemical panel…
Many indicators were marked with small arrows beside them—either up or down—outside the normal range. Not severe, but noticeable enough.
Until she turned to the last page.
It was a summary of a specialized neurological assessment report.
The conclusion section, written in calm and objective medical language, described a type of autonomic nervous system disorder closely related to long-term high-intensity stress and emotional strain.
It listed possible symptoms: sudden dizziness, heart palpitations, rapid breathing, uncontrollable trembling, a sense of impending death…
And a clear diagnostic recommendation: immediate systematic intervention was required, including strict rest, psychological counseling, and medication adjustment. Otherwise the symptoms might worsen further and could even trigger more serious cardiovascular events.
At the end of the report, the doctor's handwritten note pressed deeply into the paper:
"Patient compliance extremely poor. Refuses hospitalization. Refuses most medication treatments. Only agrees to short-term symptomatic treatment. Prognosis not optimistic."
The air in the office seemed to be drained by those few lines.
The sandalwood smoke spiraled upward, carrying a cloying sweetness that was almost suffocating.
Zong Yi slowly lifted her eyes.
Yan Hanxie was still sitting there, facing the sunlight. There was almost no expression on her face. Only her eyelashes cast a small, faintly trembling shadow in the bright light.
The fingers of her left hand had begun unconsciously rolling that prayer bead again, one circle after another.
"You've seen it all," Yan Hanxie said. Her voice was flat, without emotion. "That's the 'old problem' you saw that day. It's a little more troublesome than you thought."
Zong Yi tightened her grip on the report. The edges of the paper wrinkled.
Her throat was dry. She wanted to say something, but discovered that all the words about work, efficiency, and pros and cons seemed pale and ridiculous at this moment.
"The doctor recommends that I rest for at least three months and completely remove myself from the work environment," Yan Hanxie continued, as if talking about someone else. "I've already spoken with the board. Next Monday there will be an official announcement. Vice President Sun will act as president until I… recover."
She paused slightly. The fingers rolling the bead pressed harder, her knuckles turning pale.
"For these three months, the 'Spark Project' will be entirely your responsibility. You'll report directly to Vice President Sun. I've already signed authorization granting you all related decision-making power."
As she spoke, she took a document already stamped and signed from the drawer, placed it on the desk, and pushed it toward Zong Yi.
"Continue following the overseas market review as well. As for the rest, Vice President Sun will arrange it."
Her instructions were clear and orderly, like any ordinary work handover.
She had even considered authorization and reporting procedures.
Zong Yi looked at the authorization letter, then at Yan Hanxie's bloodless face. "Three months… Where will you go?"
Yan Hanxie seemed not to have expected the question. She paused for a moment, then pulled the faintest curve of a smile with no real warmth.
"Some quiet place. Maybe a temple in the south. Maybe a sanatorium abroad. I haven't decided yet." She paused. "In any case, somewhere far from here."
Somewhere far from here.
Far from work. Far from pressure. Far from… everyone and everything related.
"I've never doubted your ability," Yan Hanxie said. Her gaze fell briefly on Zong Yi's face before shifting away again toward the glaring sunlight outside the window. "These three months will be an opportunity for you. If you do well, when I come back, your position will be different."
She was paving the road for her.
In this almost entrusting manner, she handed over the most important project to her, giving her space to perform and a clear promise.
Zong Yi's chest felt as though something had blocked it, dull and painful.
She remembered Yan Hanxie's confused sentence in the equipment room—I can't calm down. She remembered the trembling force in her hands during every episode. She remembered the string of prayer beads on her wrist that seemed to carry far too much weight.
"You need to rest," Zong Yi heard her own dry voice repeat this pale, powerless sentence.
"I know," Yan Hanxie replied calmly. "That's why I'm leaving."
She finally released the bead she had been rolling. Her left hand dropped, and the beads swayed gently.
She picked up another thin document from the desk and handed it to Zong Yi.
"Look at this as well."
Zong Yi took it.
It was a contact sheet for a private lawyer, along with a notarized summary list of some of Yan Hanxie's personal movable and immovable assets and an authorization document regarding their intended disposition.
The list was not long, but the value was considerable.
The authorization document stated that under certain circumstances (including but not limited to loss of legal capacity or death), a designated agent (currently blank) would be entrusted to handle the disposition.
Cold legal documents.
Black words on white paper.
They carried a sense of ominous finality.
"These won't be needed for now," Yan Hanxie said, her tone still without fluctuation, as though discussing an ordinary contract. "Just in case. Keep the lawyer's contact information. If… that day really comes, you may need to help contact him and assist with handling some of the aftermath."
She spoke so lightly, as if she were merely mentioning a trivial matter.
Zong Yi held those few sheets of paper, her fingertips icy cold, almost unable to control the trembling of her body.
The sunlight shone on her back, yet she could not feel the slightest warmth—only a chill that pierced to the bone.
"Yan Hanxie." For the first time, in such a formal setting, she cast aside all honorifics. Her voice was tight from suppression. "What exactly are you trying to do?"
Yan Hanxie finally withdrew her gaze from outside the window and looked back at Zong Yi.
The sunlight reflected a fragment of gold in her eyes, yet it could not illuminate the depths of that dark pool.
"I want to live," she looked at Zong Yi and said word by word, clearly and calmly. "At least, to look like I'm doing so."
She lifted her left hand. The prayer beads on her wrist reflected a quiet sheen under the sunlight.
"Wearing this, chanting scriptures, it feels like I can grasp something… stabilize something." She smiled with a hint of self-mockery, the smile brief and bitter. "But you've seen it too. It can't even stabilize my own body."
"So you're leaving? Throwing all of this… all of it away?" Zong Yi's gaze swept across the authorization letter and the lawyer documents on the desk.
"Not throwing it away," Yan Hanxie corrected her. A faint ripple finally appeared in her tone, like a trace of movement deep within exhaustion. "Temporarily letting go. Or… admitting that some things I might truly not be able to hold onto anymore, nor carry any longer."
She paused for a long time, so long that the drifting clouds outside moved an inch and the position of the sunlight shifted slightly.
"Zong Yi," she called her name again, her voice lowering, carrying a fatigue that was almost pleading. "For these three months, help me watch over 'Spark.' This is the last… thing I most want to accomplish. As for the rest, it doesn't matter anymore."
The last few words were spoken very softly, almost dissolving into the air.
It didn't matter anymore.
Work, status, wealth, even… this disobedient body, and the equally battered soul inside it.
Zong Yi looked at her.
Looked at the sunlight dancing on her pale face, looked at the unfathomable emptiness and exhaustion in her eyes, looked at the string of sandalwood beads on her wrist that seemed tightly entwined with her life, yet looked as though it might break at any moment.
The dull pain in her chest finally found an outlet, turning into a sharp, icy anger—and deeper still, a fear she did not want to acknowledge.
"What if," she heard her own cold voice speak, "I say no?"
Yan Hanxie seemed not to have expected that answer. Her eyes widened slightly.
"What if I don't want to accept this 'opportunity,' don't want to watch over any 'Spark,' and don't want to safeguard any lawyer's phone number or will list for you?" Zong Yi stood up, her hands braced against the edge of the desk as she leaned forward, her gaze pressing aggressively toward Yan Hanxie. "What if I demand that you go to the hospital right now, immediately, and receive systematic treatment instead of running off to some temple or sanatorium to deceive yourself?"
Her voice was not loud, but it trembled slightly from the suppressed intensity of her emotions.
Yan Hanxie tilted her head up to look at her, looking at the anger burning in her eyes and the things she was forcibly suppressing yet still leaking from the depths of her gaze.
In that empty look, a faint ripple finally appeared—like a stone dropped into a frozen lake.
But soon the ripple faded again.
She gently shook her head, the movement slow but resolute.
"You don't have the standing to demand that of me, Zong Yi." Her voice returned to calmness, even carrying a trace of distant pity. "I'm your superior. Now, I'm handing the work to you. That's all."
She pushed the authorization letter a little closer to Zong Yi.
"As for everything else, it's my personal matter. It has nothing to do with you."
Nothing to do with you.
Four words, like four ice spikes, precisely piercing through all the accumulated, ill-timed emotions Zong Yi had been holding back.
Her fingers pressing against the desk tightened until the knuckles cracked.
The sunlight stabbed painfully into her eyes.
She stared at Yan Hanxie, stared at that face so calm it was almost cruel, stared at the string of prayer beads on her wrist that seemed almost alive in the sunlight, silently mocking everything.
After a long time, she suddenly straightened up and stepped back, creating distance from the suffocating closeness.
Then she reached out—not to take the authorization letter, but to pick up the medical reports and the lawyer documents.
The papers made a strained sound in her grip.
—
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