Su Wei murmured her thanks and sat beside Zhou Xi on the sofa. Zhou Xi casually picked up a book and began reading, radiating an air of total detachment. Su Wei flushed with embarrassment—the carefully rehearsed words died on her lips, fearing Manager Xu might take offense. Yet Manager Xu showed no displeasure at all. Instead, relief visibly softened his features.
Could it be that Manager Xu deeply feared Zhou Xi’s parents?
Su Wei had her suspicions, but she had no intention of leaning on Zhou Xi. Since Zhou Xi entrusted her to handle the negotiation alone, Su Wei was determined to deliver a result that would prove she was more than just a programmer. She knew Zhou Xi meant well. If Zhou Xi saw her merely as a money-making machine, she’d never have set up this test.
“Xiao Chen, bring tea.”
Manager Xu called to his secretary, who poured three cups. Su Wei thanked her, took a small sip, and asked with a smile,
“What tea is this?”
Manager Xu glanced at his watch, then looked up, smiling.
“Ah, Biyu Tea from Jingyue Mountain. Nothing extraordinary, but my personal favorite. Does Miss Su have a fondness for tea?”
“I’m not particularly interested in tea,” Su Wei said, shaking her head lightly. She turned and pointed to the painting on the wall. “But I am quite intrigued by this Impressionist piece.”
Manager Xu’s eyes lit up. “Oh? Miss Su is familiar with European art?”
After all, in this world, unless one had formally studied Western art history, most people knew little of it.
“Indeed, I have some knowledge.”
“To discuss Impressionism is to speak of Europe’s cultural shifts and its rival—Neoclassicism.”
Their conversation flowed effortlessly: from Ingres and Bouguereau’s Academic salons to Manet’s struggles as Impressionism’s pioneer, to Monet, Van Gogh, and Cézanne’s distinct legacies, the gap between Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, then to ink wash painting, classical poetry, and literature. Su Wei even recited a poem on the spot:
*A golden cup of fine wine costs ten thousand coins,*
*A jade plate of delicacies, ten thousand strings.*
*I set down cup and chopsticks, unable to eat,*
*Draw my sword, gaze around—my heart adrift.*
*I wish to cross the Yellow River, but ice blocks the stream;*
*I long to climb Mount Taihang, yet snow blankets the peaks.*
*Leisurely fishing by the emerald creek, I dream of sailing toward the sun;*
*The road is hard! The road is hard! So many paths—where lies the way?*
*But one day I’ll ride the wind, break the waves,*
*And hoist my sail to cross the boundless sea.*
Manager Xu slammed the table in awe; Zhou Xi’s eyes sparkled with admiration. Just then, the secretary leaned in and whispered to Manager Xu. He checked his watch again and gave Su Wei an apologetic look.
“Miss Su, my sincere apologies. I have a critical meeting in twenty minutes and must leave. Meeting you today is an honor I’ve waited three lifetimes for.”
“You’re too kind.”
“As for the floor lease—please finalize the contract with my secretary. Rent? Ten thousand Zhou Yuan per year.”
“This…”
Su Wei was thrilled. As she started to demur, Manager Xu waved gently with a smile. “That poem alone is worth far more than gold.”
He turned and left. Su Wei remained seated, dazed as if waking from a dream.
“Not bad at all, Weiwei.”
Zhou Xi beamed with genuine pride. Truth was, this building belonged to the Grand Zhou Royal Bank—her family’s property. She’d arranged everything beforehand. But to test Su Wei, she’d told Manager Xu plainly:
“Treat this floor as yours. You hold full authority. If Su Wei fails to persuade you, don’t rent it to her.”
Yet Su Wei hadn’t just succeeded—she’d excelled.
“Did you have a strategy during that chat?”
“Mm.” Su Wei nodded honestly. “Walking here, I thought: this tower has no shortage of tenants. Companies wave cash for space. So why’s the top floor vacant? The owner isn’t short on money—he cherishes it, believes no one worthy. So price or credentials wouldn’t sway him. I recalled a sales saying: third-rate talks price, second-rate quality, first-rate service, top-tier—vision and culture. Since money wouldn’t work, I spoke culture. Luckily, I know a thing or two about his interests. Otherwise? We’d be toast.”
*Clap, clap, clap…*
“Brilliant.”
Zhou Xi’s smile shone bright. She hadn’t misjudged Su Wei—a true genius. Even without help, Su Wei was destined to make waves. “This negotiation will be the talk of the town.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“How? That poem alone sealed it.”
“Oh, that wasn’t mine—it’s Li Bai’s…”
“Another Tang poem? I know, I know.”
Zhou Xi’s dismissive tone left Su Wei sighing inwardly. She’d long stopped explaining. She truly didn’t want to be a plagiarist! Her dream was simple: become rich. What use were stolen poems?
“Miss Su, here’s the lease. Please review and sign here if all is well.”
Su Wei accepted the contract with a smile, skimmed it, and signed both copies.
“Please transfer the ten thousand Zhou Yuan to this corporate account.”
The secretary handed her a slip with bank branch and account details. Though modest, it was still money—and the secretary couldn’t refuse it.
Afterward, Su Wei and Zhou Xi rode the elevator to the Sailboat Hotel’s summit.
Stepping out, Su Wei’s breath caught. Before her stretched the azure sea; behind, Future City sprawled beneath the skyline. A perfect view. She was utterly satisfied.
“This… is where our journey begins!”
Seeing Su Wei’s joy, Zhou Xi nodded warmly. “I’ll contact a design firm right away.”
“No need for extravagance. We won’t stay long.”
“Oh?” Zhou Xi arched a brow. “Meaning?”
“Within five years—we’ll own our own tower.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
Their eyes met. They laughed together.
