I'll take the car, then. So when will the person who gave it to me belong to me too?
Under the spotlight at the annual gala, Gu Chengyu leaned in and whispered those words, sending Lin Xiaowei, an invisible nobody from the administration department who had just won a luxury car in a raffle, straight into a storm of gossip and scrutiny.
Everyone thought it was nothing more than a whim and a cruel joke from a cold, domineering CEO. They waited to laugh as she came crashing back down to earth. But instead of the reprimand or indifference she expected, Lin Xiaowei received a black access card to the heart of the group's power, along with a test that was almost cruel:
"I want you to become my 'sensory extension' and listen to the real voices that aren't 'pretty enough.'"
From then on, Lin Xiaowei was forced to put on her listening headset. From customer complaints lurking behind the Marketing Department's glossy proposals, to the friction and echoes hidden in the company's finely meshed gears; from picky grumbles in luxury malls to the helpless feedback of frontline workers on the production line. Clumsily, she gathered all the "noise," capturing real pain points and unspoken needs beneath the glittering curtain of data and reports.
And Gu Chengyu, the business tycoon high above the clouds, who was used to defining everything by results, watched her coolly. He gave her access, but also set traps for her; he allowed her to explore, yet cast a meaningful look whenever she touched certain corners. Was he raising a useful "tool," or keeping a "little bird" that might peck through the perfect illusion?
In this relationship, which began with an absurd "gift," Lin Xiaowei gradually realized that what she had to fight was far more than workplace barriers and people's suspicions. It was also the person who had given her
