The muscles at the back of Qi Ji’s neck tightened. The instant he met those eyes, he hurriedly looked away, feeling inexplicably guilty—like he’d just been caught in the act.
He had actually forgotten how sensitive Pei Yusheng was to being watched.
Strictly speaking, the official announcement that the CEO would attend hadn’t even gone out yet. Still, once people in the front rows realized the new CEO was present, plenty of employees had been sneaking glances his way. With so many eyes on Pei Yusheng, Qi Ji couldn’t understand why—of all people—he had been spotted at once.
His thoughts drifted aimlessly, and he didn’t dare look up again. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, where Pei Yusheng had pressed earlier in the washroom. Back then there had been a layer of clothing between them, and some time had already passed since Qi Ji returned to his seat. Yet the moment their gazes met, his body seemed to remember on its own the sensation of being held there.
It left him feeling oddly weak all over.
He rubbed his neck for a while before the sensation eased, and then the lights around them suddenly dimmed.
All illumination converged on the center stage as the massive screen at its heart slowly lit up.
The conference had begun.
Compared to a banquet hall, Yuntu’s auditorium felt more like a large indoor stadium. Seating rose on three sides, with the stage set squarely in the middle, backed by a gigantic high-definition screen. The host was Yuntu’s PR director, a man in his forties who looked barely thirty.
He perfectly embodied Yuntu’s most recognizable image—energetic, vibrant, young, and promising.
The opening segments followed the usual format: quarterly departmental evaluations, public reports of business results, and other standard items. These were relatively serious proceedings. The first real highlight came next—the presentations by representatives of outstanding departments.
Qi Ji had never attended an employee conference before, but he’d heard designers and Li Anbei talk about this segment. It was a strangely magical part of the event. Department heads spoke earlier about achievements, but these representative speeches were given by ordinary employees within the department.
As long as you stood out, even a G9 employee with only two years on the job could speak in front of everyone.
The segment wasn’t long—three speakers, ten minutes each. Just half an hour, yet it was immensely motivating.
Another defining feature was the extreme freedom of content. As long as it related to the company, the format was unrestricted.
According to Li Anbei, someone once spent ten full minutes deriving a crucial formula live on stage, leaving Yuntu’s workforce—54 percent of whom were R&D staff—utterly baffled.
Topics like “How to Properly Use the Company Gym” or “Raising a Cat in the Office the Right Way” had all made appearances. And today’s conference featured something truly astonishing.
After the first two speakers finished, the third took the stage—a young man with glasses and slightly wavy hair named Qiao Kaiyang. Unlike Li Anbei, whose curls came off as carefree, this guy exuded a strong academic air, looking at first glance like an undergrad who hadn’t yet graduated.
But once his presentation began, no one had spare attention for his looks anymore.
“What I’m bringing you today is a new algorithm in visual technology. You’ve probably seen ‘holographic projection’ plenty of times in films, but we all know that current average network speeds can’t support the data volume it requires. Only when one of the three core application scenarios—eMBB, enhanced Mobile Broadband—is truly realized can this technology be widely adopted.”
As he spoke, he flicked his hand, and the lights in the auditorium dimmed instantly. Even the stage vanished into darkness, leaving only him visible.
He took a step to the left.
“The good news is that our company has already mastered the key algorithm behind this technology.”
A gasp rippled through the audience.
Not because of his words—but because as he moved left, another version of him remained standing exactly where he’d been.
He stopped and turned. Two identical figures stood side by side, facing opposite directions, then bowed politely.
“Most projections you’ve seen before were things like floating petals, hazy bubbles, or chubby cartoon figures. While those are achievable, they usually require secondary processing of broadcast footage. If you were watching them live from dozens of meters away, you could still clearly see the pixelation.”
As he spoke, both figures turned and walked toward the edge of the circular stage. With every step, another solid figure appeared behind them. These figures moved outward until they stood evenly spaced around the platform, forming a perfect circle.
And the real Qiao Kaiyang disappeared seamlessly among them.
The stage was close to the audience—no more than seven or eight meters away. Under the lights, countless eyes stared, trying to tell real from fake.
Qiao Kaiyang remained perfectly composed.
“Today, technology can finally make VR, AR, MR, HR—these R-plus concepts—truly become Reality. Right now, I might be only three meters away from you. Even after hesitating, you’d still choose to shake hands with my holographic projection.”
This wasn’t an exaggeration. Many in the audience were technical staff who understood how far the technology had progressed—but theory and seeing it with your own eyes were worlds apart, especially under top-tier equipment, in such a vast space, before thousands of people.
The impact was beyond words.
For those not involved in this field, the shock was even greater. They’d seen VR applications before, usually via specialized equipment or post-processed footage. But being able to see something this close, with the naked eye, and still find no flaws—this was unprecedented.
As Qiao Kaiyang continued explaining, the figures around the stage moved back inward in small groups, demonstrating various actions. They didn’t just mimic human movement with fluidity—they performed superhuman feats effortlessly: floating upward from the stage, stepping onto projected stairways, ascending toward higher seating areas, interacting with audience members up close.
On stage, each projection moved independently, interacting with others without glitching or passing through bodies. Below, the audience watched, transfixed. Precisely because so many were technical professionals, they understood just how immense the data flow and processing behind this display had to be.
Ten minutes passed in the blink of an eye. When the tidal wave of holographic imagery finally receded, the stunned gasps slowly subsided.
The lights withdrew, leaving only two identical figures onstage. Exit music played as both bowed. One melted into darkness; the other abruptly transformed into a massive number.
The exit music ended, and a transition tone sounded for the next segment.
The lights still didn’t come on. The enormous digit lingered.
The number remained the sole light source as the host’s voice sounded from backstage. “Thank you for that incredible presentation. Next, we’ll move on to the next segment.”
Department-level awards and speeches were over. By tradition, the next part should have been the Outstanding Employee Awards.
The lights should have come up.
But they didn’t.
As the projected number straightened into a stark 1, the host delivered an introduction that caught everyone completely off guard—
“Please welcome Xinghai Board Director and Yuntu CEO—Mr. Pei Yusheng!”
The giant 1 turned into 0, round and radiant like a halo—or a firework in bloom.
At the center of that glowing ring stood a tall, slender figure with perfect proportions.
A wave of astonished exclamations swept the hall.
The man on stage was really Pei Yusheng.
Wearing a dark gray suit, he stood at center stage as light poured down over his deep-set, striking features. After the visual spectacle they’d just witnessed, the audience suddenly felt an almost physical reluctance to blink.
The surroundings remained dark. He stood alone under the lights, yet all the illumination in the hall paled beside him.
Many people hadn’t known the new CEO would attend. Shocked by his sudden appearance—and by how arrestingly handsome he was—the audience fell momentarily silent, forgetting even to applaud.
It took someone starting before applause finally spread, uneven and mixed with murmurs of awe.
Backstage, the host wiped his brow in relief.
This was the new CEO’s first official appearance before all employees, and the reaction had been… less than ideal. But given the lack of prior notice—and the fact that this segment had been added at the last minute—the response was understandable.
The host was debating whether to add some filler remarks when he saw Pei Yusheng adjust the microphone at his collar and step forward.
Seeing that the CEO intended to begin himself, the host quietly lowered his mic, still anxious on his behalf. Everything had been decided right before the conference started. There’d been no rehearsal at all. Even with flawless lighting and sound support, the overall effect rested entirely on Pei Yusheng.
For such a young CEO, it was a real test.
Onstage, the man was unaware that anyone was worried for him—and even if he had been, it wouldn’t have affected him in the slightest.
He lifted his gaze, sweeping across the hall, meeting countless excited, eager eyes.
Such attention could make anyone’s blood race. Yet the man at its center remained unmoved, steady as a mountain.
When he spoke, his tone was as calm as ever.
“Good evening. I’m Pei Yusheng.”
His low, cello-like voice, amplified through the speakers, reached every ear.
The murmurs born of surprise quickly faded.
Silence settled—serious, attentive.
Rather than tightening his expression, Pei Yusheng let a faint smile curve his lips.
“First, I should clarify,” he said. “I’m the real person—not a projection.”
The huge zero behind him vanished at just the right moment. The audience snapped back to themselves, laughter breaking out, followed by enthusiastic applause.
The host finally exhaled.
Pei Yusheng’s ability to handle the moment far exceeded expectations.
Facing thousands of eyes, he appeared relaxed, composed, utterly at ease.
As though he’d been born for the spotlight.
From the audience, Qi Ji watched him. He had always disliked intense lighting and focused beams—they stirred memories he’d rather forget. Yet the man onstage dispelled all of Qi Ji’s unease, steadying his thoughts and calming his heartbeat.
Holding the thin blanket, wrapped in its gentle warmth, Qi Ji listened quietly.
“Kaiyang’s presentation was truly impressive,” Pei Yusheng continued. “But since I was added at the last minute, his countdown originally should have led into individual awards. To make up for that, I’ll be joining the award ceremony to present the honors myself.”
Unlike department heads before him, Pei Yusheng didn’t stand rigidly behind a podium or read from a script. His posture was relaxed in a way that invited goodwill, yet perfectly balanced—never casual enough to clash with the formality of the occasion.
“This decision was made just two hours ago. Boston’s been buried under snow for two weeks—I nearly thought I’d be spending Christmas there. Fortunately, the weather cleared briefly, and I managed to fly back in time for this opportunity to speak with you all.”
His voice was unhurried, smooth, and naturally engaging.
Qi Ji had already experienced firsthand the impact of that low, magnetic tone. Now, watching him speak from afar, a different kind of sensation stirred.
This time it wasn’t his ears that tingled, but his throat—and his chest.
“Since I joined the company, unexpected situations haven’t been rare,” Pei Yusheng went on. “To the point where DingTalk often reminds me I’ve missed clock-in for the day. Fine: two hundred yuan.”
He spread his hands.
“And the penalties stack. It’s almost docked my entire monthly salary.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Qi Ji couldn’t help thinking of the time his own attendance bonus had been deducted.
Now someone had paid it back tenfold, a hundredfold.
“But fortunately, those deductions came with their rewards.”
The smile faded, revealing a deeper steadiness beneath.
“Just as none of our employees are doing mechanical, repetitive labor, Yuntu is not a rigid, outdated company. We need fresh blood. We need to break old conventions. We must seize fleeting opportunities, find our footing in a volatile market, and lead—甚至 guide—the direction of the industry.”
The hall fell utterly silent.
Thousands of people, and you could hear a pin drop.
“Not long ago, such an opportunity presented itself to Yuntu,” Pei Yusheng said, stepping forward. “During that time, every department worked overtime toward a shared goal. There were setbacks. There were surprises.”
“But in the end, the outcome was what we hoped for.”
He raised his hand.
Towering buildings rose from the stage, from the audience itself. Gasps erupted as the holographic projection brought the Qingpuhu Park concept to life—skyscrapers and flowing water within arm’s reach. The lake shimmered, fish leaping as though you could feel the spray.
If the earlier demonstration showcased technological advancement, this one immersed everyone completely in the grandeur of Xinghai’s Qingpuhu R&D base.
Nine parks, three islands, one lake. Verdant hills, clear waters—a breathtaking sight.
This was Xinghai’s future.
Pei Yusheng closed his hand, and the image zoomed in, freezing on a pentagonal building whose roof undulated like waves. It expanded again, enveloping everyone as the view shifted inside.
“This,” his voice rang out, “is Yuntu’s new R&D center.”
“Based on the concepts and functions outlined in the bid proposal, every area has been fully realized.”
As he spoke, people recognized the designs they themselves had worked on.
“Every corner here was drawn by your hands.”
Excitement surged through the audience. Seeing their effort made real filled them with a powerful sense of accomplishment.
This was their work—something they’d poured time, sweat, and dedication into, and would one day touch with their own hands.
Beyond cutting-edge tech, what truly moved people was recognition.
Applause broke out, first scattered, then unified into a roaring sea.
The applause was for themselves, for Yuntu—and for Pei Yusheng.
Powered by Yuntu’s new algorithm, the presentation achieved perfect synergy: a warm-up with Qiao Kaiyang’s demo, then a flawless culmination with Pei Yusheng’s vision.
When the projection faded, towers and lake vanishing together, the audience lingered in awe.
Only when Pei Yusheng spoke again did they slowly come back to themselves.
And when they did, what followed was sincere admiration and respect.
With a single speech and a single display, he had overturned every preconception—no more dissatisfaction or bias, no guilt or worry. Only genuine respect.
Afterward, he gave brief remarks on each department. His grasp of the company—and the industry as a whole—stunned everyone. The dense technical jargon he used was as precise as that of seasoned R&D staff.
Those who had spread rumors about him “serving as a cook in the army” burned with shame, squirming in their seats. Even though no one spared them a glance, and Pei Yusheng never mentioned the rumors, regret weighed heavily on them.
The man onstage was far more exceptional than anyone had imagined.
After the critique ended, everyone was completely won over. This wasn’t pressure from authority, nor was it persuasion through benefit—it was pure personal charisma.
When Pei Yusheng stepped off the stage, the hall once again erupted in thunderous applause that refused to die down.
This time, the clapping didn’t stop at all. The host tried several times to cut in, but failed every time. In the end, they had no choice but to invite Pei Yusheng back onto the stage for an encore, and only then did the applause finally subside.
Qi Ji was seated in the front rows of the inner section, surrounded by other outstanding employees waiting to receive awards. Compared to the back rows and the three surrounding audience sections—where people were already eagerly chatting—the award recipients were noticeably more restrained in their conversations, largely because they were sitting so close to the senior executives in front.
Even so, Qi Ji still heard more than one voice brimming with anticipation.
“Did President Pei just say he’s personally presenting the awards? Oh my god, that’s up-close interaction… Please, please let it be my turn!”
Qi Ji didn’t get swept up in the excitement himself, but he completely understood how everyone felt.
He couldn’t deny it—just now, the CEO really had been…
Extremely handsome.
A man at work was always at his most attractive, and Pei Yusheng just now was practically overflowing with hormones. Add to that his striking looks and build… Qi Ji had forgotten to turn off his phone’s vibration, and when Pei Yusheng finished speaking and left the stage, the flood of messages exploding in the design department group chat nearly numbed his hand.
At least now, no one misunderstood the CEO anymore.
They’d switched to hyping him up instead.
Compared to his colleagues’ wild enthusiasm, Qi Ji himself didn’t have many thoughts. He didn’t even dare look at the CEO too much anymore. During Pei Yusheng’s speech, Qi Ji had figured that with so many people watching, the man wouldn’t notice his gaze, so he’d let himself look a little longer.
But before long, their eyes had met three times.
If eye contact could be dismissed as a coincidence, then what happened during the holographic projection really caught Qi Ji off guard. When the enlarged projection of Yuntu’s new R&D center appeared, the entire interior laid bare, everyone else was busy admiring the realistic 3D effect—yet in the projection area right in front of Qi Ji, he saw something…
A cat-paw pillow.
The white cat-paw pillow sat on an office chair. Because it was the same color as the desk and chair, it didn’t stand out at first. But when Qi Ji realized that the projected pillow was facing him—and that it looked exactly like the ones in President Pei’s home—he couldn’t hide his shock anymore.
Was he seeing things… or had a cat-paw pillow from President Pei’s house really appeared in the Qingpu Lake campus?
Qi Ji instinctively looked toward the stage. The man happened to lower his gaze at the same time, meeting Qi Ji’s eyes—and even smiled faintly.
Qi Ji felt his neck go numb all over again. Before he could even figure out what he was afraid of, his eyes had already darted away.
After that, he didn’t dare openly look at Pei Yusheng again. But just listening to the discussions around him, he was already completely surrounded by everything related to Pei Yusheng.
Online discussions were even more intense than the offline ones. No matter what notification popped up, Pei Yusheng’s name was always there.
The audience seating had turned into a buzzing hive, but the employee conference wasn’t over yet.
Next came the awards for outstanding employees.
Much like scholarship ceremonies at schools, Yuntu’s employee recognition followed a set process: outstanding employees lined up by department, then a senior executive would come on stage to shake hands, present certificates, and take photos.
Departments were grouped differently depending on size, with smaller ones merged. There weren’t many people who received this honor—no more than a hundred per quarter. Eight executives went on stage in total, roughly two departments each, and that was it.
As soon as the awards began, the first executive to go up was President Pei.
Aside from the employees on stage, the ninth department—who hadn’t been scheduled yet—was equally delighted. The remaining departments, however, could only feel disappointed, regretting their bad luck.
The waiting area was very close to the front-row executives. Everyone kept their emotions in check, but the whispers were still obvious enough that even Qi Ji, who hadn’t been paying much attention, heard quite a bit.
Compared to colleagues who regretted missing their chance with Pei Yusheng, Qi Ji himself didn’t think much of it. Though he would be going on stage, he was only an intern representative—and this time, it seemed he was the only intern who had received an offer so early, which meant he’d be the only one going up.
The situation for outstanding intern representatives was fairly special, with only a handful of past examples. Based on others’ experience, Qi Ji should be placed after the final department.
When the order list came out, his name really was at the very end—the sixteenth round.
He’d just missed Pei Yusheng’s award presentation.
As the number of people waiting gradually decreased, and after two rounds were finished, Pei Yusheng returned to his seat in the front row.
His part was over.
Though the waiting employees felt regret, they didn’t show it. They took the chance to observe Pei Yusheng up close instead. Qi Ji heard their chatter and almost felt tempted to look too—but remembering how sensitive Pei Yusheng was to gazes, he restrained himself.
Everything proceeded as planned. Finally, the sixteenth round arrived. When the host read out the last names, Qi Ji was about to go on stage with the others—when he realized he hadn’t heard his own name.
He froze, watching as the person in front hurried onto the stage, leaving Qi Ji standing alone.
Had they forgotten his name? Confused, Qi Ji noticed the usher hadn’t left yet, only politely asking him to wait a moment.
So he waited.
After the sixteenth department finished, executives and employees stepped down one by one. Only then did Qi Ji hear his name.
“Outstanding Intern Representative—Qi Ji!”
This time, the host read only one name.
Qi Ji was singled out.
The surprise made his body stiffen.
Going on stage alone…
Meant bearing every gaze by himself.
Rationally, he knew most people probably wouldn’t pay much attention, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be malicious. But the aversion etched deep into his instincts still made it hard to feel at ease.
He didn’t like it… didn’t like all those eyes, didn’t like so many people focusing on him at once.
But his name had already been called, and the usher reminded him it was time to go on stage. Qi Ji swallowed dryly and walked forward.
One step. Then another.
The closer he got to center stage, the more eyes found him.
Those eyes felt like loaded gun barrels, bullets ready to fire, tearing straight through him.
Qi Ji struggled to breathe.
The lights overhead burned hot, yet he felt cold—so cold that his thoughts drifted, absurdly, to that Persian rug below the stage.
So cold…
He just wanted it to end quickly, to go back and wrap himself in that thin blanket.
His vision warped. He could only vaguely see someone approaching, taking the certificate to hand it to him. Qi Ji reached out, his fingers trembling faintly—subtle enough that no one would notice.
He told himself it was fine.
But instead of the familiar texture of the certificate, his fingertips met a familiar warmth.
A long, strong hand, carrying a well-known body heat, clasped his ice-cold fingers. Like blazing sunlight, warmth enveloped him.
“Congratulations.”
First came the standard congratulatory words. Then a shadow fell before him as the man turned, his tall frame solidly blocking the surrounding gazes. In a voice only the two of them could hear, he asked quietly,
“What’s wrong?”
Qi Ji looked up, blinking with difficulty.
Cold sweat weighed down his lashes, and it took effort to see the man clearly. The familiar voice and scent wrapped around him more gently than any Persian rug.
“I’m… fine,” Qi Ji replied softly, forcing a habitual smile. “Thank you, President Pei.”
He was just uncomfortable, not out of control. With the man’s subtle reassurance, he looked almost normal again.
This wasn’t the place to talk. Pei Yusheng didn’t ask more. He stepped back, no longer standing like a wall between Qi Ji and the audience.
But before turning away, he reached out and drew an arm around Qi Ji’s shoulders, offering tighter protection with his own warmth.
They took photos, accepted applause, and left the stage together.
Once free of those gazes, Qi Ji visibly relaxed. Walking on the outside, the man tilted his head toward him again.
“What happened?” he asked.
Qi Ji shook his head and even smiled gently. “I’m fine. Just a little cold. President Pei, you should go back to your seat.”
Only now did Qi Ji realize—Pei Yusheng had gone on stage a third time, solely to present his award. With everything finished, the CEO should return.
The front-row seats were just ahead. Standing here would draw attention. Pei Yusheng didn’t say much more, only, “Keep the blanket on.”
Qi Ji nodded. Only then did Pei Yusheng release him and return to his seat.
Qi Ji went back to his own.
He let out a quiet sigh.
President Pei knew about the blanket.
So it really had been him… who arranged for it to be sent.
Back in his seat, colleagues around him were still animatedly discussing Pei Yusheng. Some even chatted with Qi Ji, envious that he’d received his award personally from the CEO—and even got a two-person photo.
Qi Ji smiled and said nothing. This kind of well-behaved demeanor came easily to him—he was already practiced at it.
Wrapped in the warm blanket, he sat for a while and gradually recovered.
It had been a long time since he’d felt like this. He’d thought that knot in his heart no longer mattered. But the sheer number of people, the shape of the auditorium, being singled out—it all mirrored the past too closely, stirring up old nightmares.
Fortunately, nothing went wrong. He calmed down quickly.
After the awards, the conference drew to a close. Less than half an hour later, it ended completely.
By the time the crowd dispersed, it was already 9 p.m. Qi Ji returned to the design department to clock out before leaving with his colleagues.
Three coworkers lived in the same direction, toward Rose Villas, so they headed to the subway together. He’d gradually overcome his hypersensitivity to physical contact—being careful was enough for public transport.
Since it was a weekday, the subway wasn’t crowded. The four of them found adjacent seats easily and resumed talking about the evening’s conference.
The topic still revolved around Pei Yusheng.
“I really didn’t expect President Pei to be like that… He’s insanely handsome. Handsome in every sense.”
“Yeah, nobody expected it,” another colleague sighed. “And after all those misunderstandings and rumors in the company—President Pei never explained anything. He couldn’t, really. He just let people misunderstand him.”
“I feel like part of it is that he couldn’t explain, but part of it is that he just doesn’t care what people think. I’m sure he’s heard the rumors. His assistant has walked in on gossip so many times, but neither of them ever reacts.”
“Guess that’s the difference between big shots and normal people.”
Qi Ji didn’t usually join in gossip, but he shared the same thoughts.
Mr. Pei truly didn’t care about those rumors.
Qi Ji even felt that when he’d first heard about the joint letter, he himself had been more anxious than Pei Yusheng.
Thankfully, everything had passed, and things were finally moving in a better direction.
When the train arrived, Qi Ji got off first. After saying goodbye, he left the platform and headed upstairs.
As he exited the station, a cold early-winter wind hit him head-on. Qi Ji exhaled, about to move forward—when he spotted a familiar car.
Not the Mercedes G this time, but the black Bentley.
He walked over. Before he reached it, the rear window rolled down, revealing a handsome face.
Pei Yusheng frowned. “Why isn’t your coat buttoned? And your scarf’s loose.”
Qi Ji tugged at the scarf. “It’s fine. Not that cold.”
Pei Yusheng glanced at his pale fingertips and finally ground out two stiff words: “Get in.”
The moment Qi Ji got into the car, a fluffy blanket was tossed over his head.
Soft fingers pinched his cheek in passing.
“And you said you weren’t cold,” Pei Yusheng said in a deeper voice. “Your face is practically ice.”
Qi Ji, knowing he was at fault, stayed quiet and obediently wrapped himself up, curling into the fuzzy warmth.
The car’s temperature was turned up. Still worried, Pei Yusheng handed him a bag of warm milk.
Qi Ji warmed his hands with it, repeatedly assuring him, “I’m fine, really. I’m warm now.”
Only then did Pei Yusheng stop adding more blankets.
“When you were on stage, you had no color in your face,” he said softly. “Were you freezing?”
Qi Ji nodded along. “Yeah. The waiting area was drafty. Standing there too long got cold.”
Pei Yusheng said nothing more, just tucked the blanket in around him again.
Qi Ji turned to look at him. The man’s side profile was sharp and handsome—perfect lines that anyone in the arts would instinctively be drawn to.
But the man was far too perceptive. Barely a glance, and he turned his head. “What is it?”
Qi Ji shook his head. “Nothing.”
Then he added, “I just think… you were very charismatic on stage today, Mr. Pei.”
The coldness in Pei Yusheng’s expression eased slightly.
“Really?” he asked.
Qi Ji nodded seriously. “Really. Not just me—everyone thinks so.”
“What do they think?” Pei Yusheng asked.
Assuming he wanted to hear others’ opinions, Qi Ji relayed the praise one by one, finishing with a firm conclusion.
“Everyone thinks you’re great.”
He thought that was the end of it. After all, the CEO had never seemed to care about others’ opinions.
But Pei Yusheng asked again, “And you?”
Qi Ji was surprised. He hadn’t expected the follow-up.
Didn’t Mr. Pei not care?
He answered honestly. “I think so too.”
Only then did the man look truly satisfied.
Curious, Qi Ji asked, “Do you actually think about things like that, Mr. Pei? I thought you already knew… what everyone would think after tonight.”
After all, it had been a complete turnaround in impression.
Pei Yusheng smiled faintly. “I didn’t think about it. Even today’s speech was a last-minute decision. I don’t care what others say.”
That matched Qi Ji’s understanding. Still, he hadn’t expected the speech to be entirely unprepared.
It only proved how exceptional the man’s presence and leadership were.
Qi Ji was still processing that when Pei Yusheng added,
“But I do care what you think.”
…Huh?
Qi Ji looked up in surprise, meeting those pale eyes.
There was a trace of a smile in them—not much, because the rest of the space was filled entirely with Qi Ji.
“Mr. Pei…?”