It started with an email.

Monday morning, Lu Zhi had barely reached the office when she opened her inbox and found a message from Ruichi. The subject line read: Request for Supplementary Clarification Regarding Your Proposal.

She clicked it, scanned the contents, and felt something drop in her chest.

The email cited three data issues in Shengyao's bid—two third-party reports with improperly formatted source citations, and one set of competitor data flagged for timeliness. The wording was polite, but the meaning was clear: if Shengyao could not provide original data sources within three business days, Ruichi would remove them from the shortlist.

Lu Zhi stared at the screen, fingers tightening on the mouse.

She had verified every one of those three data points. The third-party reports were industry-standard versions with clean provenance; the competitor data was from last month and fully current. The problem was formatting—her citations didn't match Ruichi's internal standards, standards that had never been spelled out in the RFP.

Harassment, or accident?

She ran quickly through the entire bid preparation. Chen Zhou had handled data collection and organization; she had done the analysis and writing. No third party had touched it in between. The sources were clear. There was no actual problem.

So why this email, out of nowhere?

Lu Zhi forwarded the message to President Lin with a single line: President Lin, we have original sources for all three data points. We need a call with Ruichi to walk them through it.

President Lin replied quickly: Good. I'll have Cheng Shu follow up.

Cheng Shu.

Lu Zhi looked at those two characters and remembered the note he'd given her after the pitch—the existing-user retention gap. For a moment she'd wondered if he wasn't trying to make things harder for her. Now she wondered: had he already known Ruichi would find fault with the bid?

Or—

She shook her head and dismissed the thought.

None of that mattered right now. The crisis in front of her did. She spent the morning assembling all original documentation for the three data points, packaged it, and sent it to Cheng Shu with President Lin copied.

Cheng Shu's reply came fast: Received. I'll set up a call with Ruichi this afternoon.

Lu Zhi stared at those three words for a long time.

He didn't say I'll handle it. He didn't say don't worry. Just Received. Professional. Emotionless.

At three o'clock Lu Zhi waited outside the conference room.

She didn't know how Cheng Shu's call with Ruichi was going, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be simple. She paced the corridor, the pen in her hand bent nearly out of shape.

At four, Cheng Shu came out of the conference room.

He saw her, paused for half a step, then kept walking.

"Mr. Cheng," Lu Zhi caught up with him, "how did it go?"

"Clarified." Cheng Shu said, voice flat. "They accepted our original sources. The bid issue is closed for now."

Lu Zhi exhaled.

"But," Cheng Shu shifted, "their marketing director added a last-minute requirement—they want to see our execution team structure, specifically the personnel list for private-domain operations."

Something sank in Lu Zhi's chest.

Private-domain operations were the core of her proposal—the part she'd promised to lead personally. The problem was that only one person on her team had real private-domain experience; the rest were still learning. If Ruichi wanted names, the cards she could play were limited.

"Why do they suddenly want this?" she asked.

Cheng Shu looked at her and said nothing.

That look made Lu Zhi understand, suddenly.

This wasn't Ruichi improvising. Someone had pushed from behind.

She thought of Shen Ning.

That day outside the pantry, Shen Ning had said, Lu Zhi, this client isn't easy, tone loaded with meaning. She remembered what Chen Zhou had told her later—Shen Ning's connection to a senior contact at Ruichi. She hadn't paid much attention at the time. Looking back now, something felt wrong.

"Mr. Cheng," she said, voice steadier than she'd expected, "can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"At the pitch, why did you warn me about existing-user retention?"

Cheng Shu's step stopped.

He turned to face her, expression still calm, but with something in his eyes she couldn't name.

"Because your proposal had a gap." he said.

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Lu Zhi held his gaze. He held hers without flinching.

"All right." She nodded. "One more question."

"Go ahead."

"Was someone working behind the scenes on this email?"

Cheng Shu didn't answer immediately.

He looked at her for several seconds, then said, "Do you have proof?"

"Not yet." Lu Zhi said, "But I have a suspect."

Cheng Shu was silent a moment.

"Lu Zhi," he said, voice lower than before, "some things aren't what you think."

"Then what are they?" she pressed.

Cheng Shu didn't answer. He checked his phone, then said, "I have another meeting. I'll keep following up on Ruichi. Focus on refining your execution plan."

He left.

Lu Zhi stood in the corridor watching his back disappear around the corner, anger rising from somewhere she couldn't locate.

Some things aren't what you think—what did that mean? Did he know something? Was he warning her not to make trouble?

She drew a deep breath and told herself to stay calm.

Ruichi was what mattered now. Everything else could wait.

She turned toward her office. Halfway there, her phone rang.

Chen Zhou.

"Boss," Chen Zhou's voice was low, "guess what I just heard in the pantry?"

"Talk."

"Shen Ning was on the phone with someone from Ruichi. As I walked past I caught one line—Don't worry, I've taken care of it."

Lu Zhi's step stopped.

"You're sure?"

"I swear—that one sentence. Nothing before or after." Chen Zhou said, "Boss, I think something's off. Want me to dig in?"

Lu Zhi gripped the phone, knuckles whitening.

She remembered what Cheng Shu had said: Some things aren't what you think.

Was he telling her not to investigate, or telling her not to act rashly?

"Chen Zhou," she said, voice steady, "don't spread this around. Write up what you heard as a formal record and keep it safe."

"Roger."

"And," she paused, "keep watching Shen Ning. But don't tip her off."

"Got it."

Lu Zhi hung up and stood in the corridor looking out the window.

This fight was more complicated than she'd thought.

Cheng Shu wasn't her enemy—but she couldn't be sure he was on her side either. Or rather—he might stand on his own side, or President Lin's side, but probably not hers.

Yet why had he warned her about retention that day?

Lu Zhi shook her head and stopped thinking about it.

Either way, she would finish the fight first. She wasn't giving Ruichi to anyone.

She quickened her pace toward the office.

Outside, the sky had turned heavy and gray, as though rain were coming.