THE REAL PROTEGE

Four Eyes met her gaze.

"Only the parts that won't cross."

Renegotiation Vote — Project Skybridge

The rain had finally ceased, but the atmosphere inside the Shanghai boardroom crackled with unspoken tension. The legacy partners sat in a deliberate silence, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. On the wall behind Four Eyes, an imposing display flickered with the Project Skybridge metrics: rising growth curves that soared like the skyline outside, intricate regional integration maps, and a relentless countdown flashing towards deployment.

Standing at the head of the gleaming conference table, Four Eyes was a figure of resolution, arms folded across his chest, a steady gaze locking onto each partner in turn.

"You've seen the figures. You've heard our ambitious vision. Now I need your decision," he stated, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

Madam Qiu was the first to break the silence, her voice steady yet filled with the gravitas of experience.

"I built the very grid that powers this headquarters. I've witnessed your father sign contracts on the basis of nothing more than a handshake and a promise. But change is inevitable, and I have watched it unfold. I vote yes," she declared, her finger tapping fluidly on her tablet. A moment later, her signature materialized on the screen — clean, final, and undeniably binding.

Mr. Han leaned back, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the polished wood of the table, the rhythm echoing like a ticking clock.

"My ports still handle 40% of your materials. My people wear the Xu crest proudly. But there's a restlessness among them — they crave speed, they demand relevance. I vote yes," he affirmed, his determination evident in every syllable.

Two votes down.

The Lin Brothers exchanged a conspiratorial glance, one swiftly typing while the other nodded in agreement, the silent communication born of years of brotherhood.

"We vote yes, with one stipulation: we retain advisory status for the first 18 months," they said in unison.

Four Eyes nodded, a slight smile breaking the tension. "Granted."

With four signatures now inked, only Zhao Min remained, her presence like a palpable weight in the room. She sat unmoving, a statue of resolve.

"I crafted the clause you seek to obliterate. It was designed to safeguard the company against rash leadership. Against emotional whims disguised as innovation," she stated, her voice unwavering as she locked eyes with Four Eyes.

Four Eyes stepped closer, his voice calm yet insistent. "This isn't impulsive; it's overdue."

Zhao Min's eyes narrowed, her expression unyielding. "And when the technology falters? When the new partners withdraw? When the twins are left to inherit a company built on speed, not stability?"

Four Eyes addressed her directly, his tone measured and firm. "Then they will rebuild, much like we did. But they'll be constructing their vision, not yours."

Zhao Min's gaze shifted from the screen to Four Eyes, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. "You were never meant to lead. You were meant to preserve."

Unflinching, Four Eyes replied, "I'm not preserving; I'm preparing."

An agonizing pause settled between them, the air thick with unspoken history and future potential. Eventually, Zhao Min's resolve cracked as she tapped her tablet, her signature appearing last — reluctant yet resigned, sealing the decision with finality.

"Clause dissolved," she stated, her voice steady despite the gravity of the moment.

The screen flickered, the legacy clause dissolving into nothingness while Project Skybridge shifted to green—a beacon of hope and new beginnings.

With a deep exhale of relief, Four Eyes felt the weight of the world lift.

Zhao Min rose from her seat, her presence still commanding as she moved to leave. She paused at the door, casting a final, penetrating glance over her shoulder.

"Don't forget what you buried. It remembers," she intoned, her voice echoing as she exited the room, leaving a lingering sense of foreboding in her wake.

Fatty's Weekend of Madness — Vienna, Gloriously Unprepared

It began with a cascade of confetti.

But not just any confetti — Fatty had commissioned a sparkling spectacle imbued with emotional resonance. Each delicate piece glimmered and shimmered, exuding sentiments such as nostalgia, triumph, and a hint of mild regret. There was even a wild batch that unleashed waves of spontaneous weeping among startled diplomats. The parade hadn't even kicked off, and already three dignitaries were embracing strangers, murmuring heartfelt apologies for hasty treaties signed in moments of desperation.

Fatty, naturally, was late.

Not late in the chic, stylish sense. No, he was operationally late — entangled in the chaos of simultaneously inaugurating six store openings across three time zones, each one curated around a distinct emotional state. In Prague, the "Bittersweet Dumpling Emporium" had just unveiled its poignant grief-flavored mooncakes. In Kyoto, "Joy & Soy" tantalized taste buds with tofu guaranteed to incite uproarious laughter. Meanwhile, in Berlin, the "Regret & Ramen" establishment boasted a serpentine line that stretched around the block.

And in Vienna, the unicorns could barely contain their restlessness.

Their hooves scraped the cobblestones outside the magnificent Hofburg Palace, their manes intricately braided with fine silk and steeped in evocative scents of longing. Fatty had insisted on emotional fragrance — each unicorn wafted the aroma of a cherished memory. One radiated the sweet scent of first love, while another carried the poignant essence of a childhood argument that had been beautifully resolved too late. The lead unicorn, a resplendent creature aptly named Tax Deduction, emanated an intoxicating perfume that celebrated triumphant victories over red tape.

Then, at long last, he made his entrance.

Fatty descended from his whimsical chariot, shaped like a giant floating dumpling, its surface shimmering with paint that glinted in the sunlight. Draped around him was an eccentric robe crafted from a kaleidoscope of old receipts and vibrant ceremonial napkins, each piece telling its own story. His hair, a fantastical swirl, was lacquered to perfection, defying the laws of gravity and perhaps even the bounds of decency. With a flourish, he waved to the multitudes of onlookers, using both hands and one foot in a dance of overzealous greeting — he was a firm believer in what he dubbed "maximum greeting density."

Lily, who was watching the live broadcast and waiting for Fatty to show up.

"...."

'Is this man really Quan Ye, whom she fell in love with?"

"..."

The parade, a carnival of joyous absurdity, began its vibrant march.

Behind him, marching was the "Feelings Brigade," a troupe of dancers expertly trained in the art of expressing intricate emotions through the fluid movements of noodle choreography. They twirled elegantly, their bodies curving like soft pasta, while tears of joy streamed down their faces, occasionally punctuated by ecstatic screams of delight.