The news spread as if it had sprouted wings—by the end of a single morning, it had rocketed through every corner of Feichi Corporation with the force of a thunderclap.
Lu Chen—the perpetual underachiever of Sales Group A, the office whipping-boy whom everyone delighted in tormenting—had, unbelievably, truly managed to seal a deal with Jiang Wanxing: the company's fabled "She-Devil of the Boardroom," whom even the vice presidents dared not cross. Not only that, but he'd walked away from her lair clutching a "Golden VIP Strategic Partnership" worth thirty million yuan.
Thirty million yuan. It was nearly an entire quarter's worth of sales for Group A.
For those would-be spectators who'd spent months mocking Lu Chen behind his back—eager to see him crushed by the combined might of Wang Hai and Jiang Wanxing—this revelation was more stunning than the moment Mars collided with Earth.
In no time at all, every enclave of Feichi buzzed with talk of this miracle: from the secretive executive lounges to the crowded tea rooms and smoke breaks. All were abuzz with speculation about the mysterious man behind the feat.
"They actually say Lu Chen signed Jiang Wanxing herself? A thirty-million-yuan monster deal!"
"Impossible—Jiang Wanxing rejects every sales superstar who dares approach her. What did he do?"
"Rumor has it she's got a soft spot for pale, delicate types… maybe he played some 'special card.'"
"Ha! Never judge a book by its cover. That quiet, unremarkable kid just went all-in! Body and soul—for the sale! A real hero of our sales world."
The gossip spread like a virus—admiration mingled with doubt, jealousy, and contempt, but even more so a fierce awe and curiosity about the man who'd reinvented himself overnight.
And at the eye of this storm sat Lu Chen himself, calm as a placid lake, tucked away in his remote cubicle. He processed invoices with the same unhurried precision as ever, treating that thirty-million contract as if it were nothing more than a scrap of paper.
The more nonchalant he appeared, the more unsettled his colleagues grew.
None more so than Wang Hai.
Once Feichi's self-styled "king" of Group A, he'd been publicly humiliated by Lu Chen's spectacular turnaround. He'd locked himself in his office all morning, afraid even to grab lunch for fear of crossing paths with the one man who haunted his dreams.
He couldn't fathom it. How had this "worthless dog" of an underling defied every expectation—through sheer luck or some sordid trick—to not only win over the lofty "Queen" Jiang Wanxing, but earn her favor?
At the thought of Jiang Wanxing's legendary beauty—and the special rewards Lu Chen might now enjoy—Wang Hai's envy curdled his insides like centuries-old vinegar. He'd plotted every scheme to crush Lu Chen once and for all, yet now, Lu Chen had soared to heights even he dared not dream of. How could he bear it?
Before Wang Hai could steel himself for revenge, another claimant to wrongs untold could no longer stay silent.
"Lu Chen! Get out here!"
A roar filled the normally hushed office of Group A. Heads snapped up at the sound of rich-kid heir Zhao Yuhang, crimson with rage, storming toward Lu Chen's desk. His designer suit strained against his heaving chest, and his eyes—puffy from excess—glowed with savage jealousy.
"Zhao Yuhang again—what's he up to now?"
"Who knows? He's always had it in for Lu Chen, especially now that he's on Xu Tingxia's radar."
"This ought to be good: company hotshot versus arrogant trust-fund brat. Popcorn time."
The crowd circled, hungry for a free show.
Lu Chen finally lifted his gaze. His dark eyes—still as calm as a deep well—fixed on Zhao's furious glare. In that tranquil, unhurried voice, he asked, "Something I can help you with?"
Those three words—and the serene, almost eerie stillness behind them—made Zhao Yuhang's blood pound in his ears. The boy who'd once bullied Lu Chen now hesitated. But the moment had already been launched.
"Help me? You little—unbelievable!" Zhao spat. "You sold your body to that old she-devil for a contract. How was last night? How much tip did she slip you? Enough to live like a king for the rest of your life?"
His words dripped with venom and filth, designed to provoke a reaction so security could haul the "penniless worm" off for a good beating.
Yet Lu Chen remained impassive. Not a flicker of anger, only a flash of something—pity?—lingered in his deep black eyes.
"Done talking?" he murmured, voice low but edged with ice.
"Done?" Zhao's bravado cracked, but he forced out a roar. "That woman—Xu Tingxia—is mine! You'd better vanish, or I'll make sure you can't set foot in this city again!"
A faint, sinister smile curved Lu Chen's lips. Slowly, he rose to his full height. Though slight, he stood archly upright, radiating a quiet power that dwarfed Zhao's bloated frame, saturating the air with palpable oppression.
Step by deliberate step, he advanced. Each footfall landed like a hammer blow on Zhao's racing heart.
"Zhao Yuhang," Lu Chen said softly, voice like a blade. "In my eyes, you—and your so-called 'background' and 'connections'—are worth less than dog shit."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "Because dog shit at least fertilizes the earth. You… you just bark like a mindless mutt, polluting the air, utterly worthless."
"You… you dare call me a dog?!" Zhao shrieked, swinging his designer-clad fist at Lu Chen's face. But his blow never landed. Less than an inch from Lu Chen's nose, his wrist was seized by a hand that looked delicate—and yet clamped with crushing force.
A white-hot pain shot through Zhao's arm, and he let out a banshee's howl. "Let go of me!" he screamed, "You—trash! Pauper! How dare you touch me?!"
Lu Chen said nothing. He stared down at Zhao's twisted face, then bent close, his breath a cold whisper only Zhao could hear: "Zhao Yuhang, I'm in a good mood today. I don't want to dirty my hands. But if you ever dare insult me—or Xu Tingxia—again, I promise…"
His voice trailed off, his eyes glinting with a savage, blood-cold light.
"You will… die a very ugly death."
With a quiet crack, he twisted Zhao's wrist. Bones snapped. Zhao's scream shredded the air as his arm hung limp at a grotesque angle.
The office fell into a suffocating hush. No one breathed as they stared at Lu Chen, still smiling, still calm—the orchestrator of every fate in the room.
How could the once-meek punching bag have transformed into something so terrifying? So… merciless?
Lu Chen, as if his lesson were but an everyday chore, produced a pristine handkerchief. He wiped his hand carefully, then tossed the soiled square into a trash bin overflowing with cast-off debris.
He didn't spare the fallen Zhao another glance. Instead, his gaze swept across the frozen faces of his colleagues—finally resting on the office beauty, Xu Tingxia, whose cheeks were flushed and breath ragged, her bosom heaving in a mix of shock and something more… thrilling.
A confident, almost wicked smile curved his lips. From this moment on, Lu Chen was no longer the meek ant for anyone to trample.
His hunt—full of unknown pleasures and dangerous excitements—had only just begun.