448: Chapter 501 0-0

The sky over Seoul in February was still gray, with low-hanging clouds like an unwashed quilt draped over the city. The helipad on the top floor of the The Shilla Hotel seemed exceptionally empty in the winter wind; remnants of snow from a few days ago lay on the concrete ground, blown into piles like white burial mounds.

The waiter's pace was fast, the sound of his leather shoes on the concrete mostly swallowed by the wind. He maintained a distance of half a step from Jiang Zhiyu—neither too far nor too close—acting as both a guide and an escort. Jiang Zhiyu's pace was steady, his expression calm as his gaze swept over the white helicopter on the pad. The rotors had not yet begun to turn, and the livery on the fuselage stood out prominently under the gray sky. Several ground crew members in deep blue uniforms were performing final checks; one bent over to inspect the landing gear, another looked up at the rotor assembly, and another was speaking into a walkie-talkie.

"President Jiang, this way, please." The waiter's voice was moderate as he made a welcoming gesture.

Jiang Zhiyu did not respond. He walked to the helicopter, where the cabin door was already open. A young man in a black suit sat inside, a Samsung C&T ID badge pinned to his chest. His expression held a well-trained politeness, the curve of his lips perfectly measured—neither warm nor cold. However, Jiang Zhiyu noticed that the moment their eyes met, the man subconsciously looked away. It wasn't guilt; it was nervousness. There were two other men present, both with physiques that strained their suits—broad shoulders, thick backs, and necks nearly as wide as their heads. They sat on either side of Jiang Zhiyu, their expressions indifferent and their gazes fixed straight ahead, but that indifference was carefully controlled, like two statues placed there.

Jiang Zhiyu sat in the cabin and buckled his seatbelt. He didn't say a word throughout the process, asking neither "Where are we going?" nor "Why are we taking a helicopter?" nor whether the two men beside him were there to protect him or monitor him. He glanced at the assistant; the look was brief and swift, like a beam of light sweeping across water. Then he retracted his gaze and looked forward, his expression serene.

The assistant's hand clenched slightly on his knee. He had seen many people's reactions to being "invited" onto this helicopter. Some turned pale, some broke into a cold sweat, and some feigned composure while their voices trembled. Some started making phone calls the moment they boarded, some tried to act friendly, and others asked endless questions, trying to piece together information from scraps of conversation. But there had never been anyone like Jiang Zhiyu—asking nothing, saying nothing, just sitting there like a statue.

The rotors began to turn, the low hum escalating into a sharp roar, like a giant saw cutting through the air. The ground crew retreated behind the safety line, and someone signaled to the helicopter. The fuselage vibrated slightly as it left the ground. The helipad grew smaller in his field of vision, and the full view of the The Shilla Hotel unfolded beneath them—grayish-white buildings, orange lights, and dark green roofs, like an exquisite miniature landscape.

The Han River appeared in view, the gray water shimmering with fragmented light. Skyscrapers lined both banks, their glass curtain walls reflecting the overcast sky. Jiang Zhiyu continued to look straight ahead, his expression unchanging, as if he were viewing a landscape he had seen many times before. He didn't want to ask, and he didn't need to. He knew what Samsung intended to do. From the moment he stepped into the The Shilla Hotel, he knew today would not be an ordinary dinner. Lee Jae-yong requesting to meet him at the same time Lee Boo-jin invited Kim Soo-yeon was a test in itself. He wanted to see the true mettle of the person at the helm of TG. On Lee Boo-jin's side, Kim Soo-yeon would handle it; he had confidence in her. As for his side—the noise of the rotors filled the cabin, isolating them from the outside world and cutting off any possibility of conversation. The assistant opened his mouth several times only to close it again, unsure of what to say. According to the plan, he first needed to explain the reason for this treatment—because Jiang Zhiyu had purged the plants Samsung had placed within TG. Although those people were not physically harmed, all their memories of working at TG had vanished. This was more infuriating to Samsung than firing, lawsuits, or any other form of punishment. Those cleared individuals were not just pawns; they were the face of Samsung. By touching them, Jiang Zhiyue was essentially slapping Samsung in the face.

Next, he was supposed to express sincere apologies, letting Jiang Zhiyu know that none of this was personal, just standard procedure. Then, he would open the cabin door and have the security guards grab Jiang by the collar, making a motion as if to push him out. Then Jiang Zhiyu would learn that in South Korea, you can provoke anyone except Samsung. But since boarding, Jiang Zhiyu had kept his eyes fixed forward with a serious expression, showing no emotional fluctuations. The assistant ran the words through his head over and over, yet never found the right moment to speak. He couldn't help but admire Jiang Zhiyu's composure. Perhaps he truly was someone who had weathered great storms, or perhaps he was just feigning calm; regardless, this level of mental fortitude was something the assistant had never seen before.

The helicopter's altitude increased further. Jiang Zhiyu's gaze passed through the window, landing on the distant, gray horizon. He thought to himself that the conversation on Kim Soo-yeon's end must have already reached the main topic. With her abilities, Lee Boo-jin had likely already lost control of the rhythm without realizing it. Meanwhile, he was still floating in the sky.

The air in the cabin was somewhat stifling. The noise of the rotors surged from all sides, like countless bees buzzing in his ears. The assistant finally resolved to speak. "President Jiang, we hope TG can cooperate amicably with Samsung. Open investment channels, allow Samsung to take a stake, and create a beautiful future together." His voice sounded somewhat ethereal amidst the roar of the rotors. "We express our deepest apologies for having you board this helicopter without prior notice." After speaking, he glanced at Jiang Zhiyu.

Jiang Zhiyu's expression did not change. The assistant didn't know whether to continue or stop. He waited for a few seconds. Jiang Zhiyu still didn't respond, as if waiting for him to go on. The assistant gave a subtle look to the security guard. The glance was very discreet—just a slight shift of his eyes toward Jiang Zhiyu before looking away. The guard sitting to Jiang Zhiyu's left nodded slightly. His hand rose from his knee and reached toward Jiang Zhiyu's collar.

Jiang Zhiyu moved. The movement was so fast that the assistant's pupils didn't even have time to dilate, and the guard's hand was still in mid-air. Jiang's right hand, with fingers joined like a scalpel, struck precisely at the side of the left guard's neck. It wasn't a blow, but a strike to a pressure point. His two fingers landed on the carotid sinus; the force wasn't heavy, but the guard's eyes instantly lost focus. His hand froze in mid-air, and his entire body seemed to hit a pause button. His lips parted slightly, and a muffled "uh" escaped his throat before he slumped down.

Jiang Zhiyu's right hand had already retracted from the guard's neck, and his left elbow struck backward, hitting the guard on the right in the abdomen. The strike was both fast and heavy; the moment the tip of his elbow sank into the abdominal muscles, the right guard's pupils dilated sharply. A muffled groan escaped him as his body instinctively hunched forward. Jiang Zhiyu took the opportunity to turn, his right fingers joined as he rapidly struck three or four times on the guard's exposed chest and abdomen—Shanzhong, Zhongwan, Guanyuan, and Qihai. Each strike landed precisely on a major acupoint. The force wasn't heavy, but each finger carried a spiraling energy. The guard's face shifted from "pain" to "confusion," and then from "confusion" to "blankness." His body stiffened, frozen in that hunched position like a statue.

The assistant's mouth hung open, forgetting to close. His brain struggled to process the information from those few seconds—the guard on the left was slumped in his seat, his hand still reaching out but his fingers hanging limply like a puppet with cut strings. The guard on the right was frozen mid-bend as if he had been paralyzed—no, he had been struck at his acupoints. In those two or three seconds, one was incapacitated and the other was frozen. Jiang Zhiyu had already retracted his hands and sat back properly in his seat, adjusting his collar.

"Is there any other part of the process?" His voice was very calm, his tone like asking "How is the weather today?"

The assistant's mouth opened and closed, then closed and opened again. His throat felt as if someone were squeezing it, and he couldn't make a sound. He wanted to say "no," he wanted to say "yes," he wanted to ask "what did you just do," but the words just spun in his throat and wouldn't come out. His face shifted from "professional composure" to "deathly pale," and then from "pale" to "livid." Fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and his lips trembled.

Jiang Zhiyu calmly watched the man's face, which seemed unsure of what expression to hold, and then suddenly leaned in closer. The movement was so sudden that the assistant's body instinctively recoiled. In the assistant's pupils, Jiang Zhiyu's smiling face was reflected—corners of the mouth upturned, eyes narrowed, radiating a casual "I'm just chatting with you" vibe. But there was no warmth in that smile; it was like winter sunlight—looking warm, but cold against the skin.

"This kind of simple intimidation is too childish." His voice was very soft. "I usually have them put on a parachute and give them a real experience of aerial swinging, or what you might call aerial bungee jumping—tying a rope to a person and then hanging them outside the helicopter." His finger tapped lightly on his knee. "You should try it next time; it's absolutely effective." He paused, the curve of his lips widening slightly. "Of course, you could also not give them a parachute. Blindfold them and throw them down; it's faster and simpler." His voice dropped even lower. "But you have to ensure safety measures are in place. If the rope isn't tied tight and they fall to their death, it becomes a hassle."

Having finished, he sat up straight. His expression shifted from "chatting" back to "calm" so quickly it was as if someone had flipped a switch on his face. The assistant was still staring at him, mouth agape, his brain not yet recovered from those few sentences. Jiang Zhiyu didn't look at him, his gaze falling on the scenery outside the window.

"If I miss the meeting time, I'll be labeled as a young president who is disrespectful to the Samsung Group for being late to his first invited gathering." His voice was neither high nor low. "So, please fly a bit faster, shall we?"

The assistant's mouth finally closed. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then he turned and signaled to the pilot in front. The helicopter accelerated, the vibration of the fuselage becoming more pronounced as the scenery outside blurred past. The Han River became a gray ribbon below, winding through the heart of the city. Jiang Zhiyu leaned back in his seat, his eyes closed, his breathing steady and long.

—

Samsung Headquarters was located in the very heart of the Gangnam District. It wasn't the tallest building in Seoul, but it was certainly the most significant one. The dark glass curtain wall reflected the grayish-blue sky, and the entire building resembled a massive black monolith standing silently in the center of the city. There was no conspicuous sign at the entrance, only a small, metallic Samsung logo glinting coldly in the winter sun. Those who didn't know it would pass it by; those who did knew that everything happening inside this building, to some extent, determined the direction of the country.

When Jiang Zhiyu stepped out of the car, a gust of wind funneled through the gaps between the buildings, catching the hem of his overcoat. He reached out to pull his collar tight, looked up at the black building, and a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth before he stepped inside.

The lobby was spacious, the grayish-white marble floor polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the crystal chandeliers on the ceiling. The front desk staff wore uniform dark suits, sitting upright with smiles on their faces. Security guards stood on either side of the security gates, tall and alert. Every detail revealed the order, discipline, and the deep-seated arrogance of this company.

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

The reception party was already waiting; not one person, but three.

The leader was a middle-aged man around forty, his hair combed meticulously, wearing a dark blue suit with a silver-gray tie, holding a tablet in his hand.

Behind him followed two young people, a man and a woman, also dressed in sharp suits with serious expressions.

Jiang Zhiyu walked over.

The three of them bowed slightly at the same time.

"President Jiang, welcome. I am Kim Jeong-hwan from the Secretary's Office, responsible for receiving you."

The middle-aged man leading them spoke in a low voice, carrying a sense of well-trained politeness.

Jiang Zhiyu nodded. "Thank you for your hard work."

Kim Jeong-hwan straightened up, his gaze lingering on Jiang Zhiyu's face for a moment.

He was waiting for an expression—curiosity, nervousness, unease, even the slightest bit of discomfort would do.

Those who came to the Samsung Headquarters for the first time would always have some of that.

The aura of this building was too strong, so strong that even those who were titans in the business world would unconsciously lower their posture upon entering.

But there was nothing on Jiang Zhiyu's face; his gaze was as calm as if he were strolling through his own backyard.

He swept his gaze over the lobby's decor, the reception staff, the security guards at the security gate, and the historical photos of Samsung hanging on the wall, finally landing on the glass door leading to the elevator area.

The curve at the corner of his mouth never disappeared; that smile was like looking at something—not with appreciation, not with admiration, but with the realization of "I see, I know."

Kim Jeong-hwan retracted his gaze, not letting the slight surprise in his heart show on his face.

He had been doing reception work for over a decade and had seen all kinds of people; managing his expressions was a basic skill.

"President Jiang, this way, please." He turned to the side and made a gesture.

Jiang Zhiyu followed him into the elevator area.

The glass door closed slowly behind them, shutting out the noise of the lobby.

The elevator was private and required a key card to select a floor.

Kim Jeong-hwan pulled a white access card from his pocket and tapped it against the sensor. With a "beep," the button for the top floor lit up.

The elevator began to ascend. It was fast, fast enough that his eardrums could feel the change in air pressure.

The scenery outside the window fell rapidly, from the office buildings opposite to Namsan in the distance, from the silhouette of Namsan to the Han River further away.

The entire city of Seoul spread out beneath his feet, turning into a miniature model.

The elevator door opened. The hallway was very quiet, the gray carpet absorbing all the sound of footsteps.

The wall lamps emitted a soft light, and every few meters there was an oil painting, all works by modern Korean painters.

At the end of the corridor was a dark wooden door. Beside the door stood a security guard in a black suit, an earpiece wire running into his collar, his expression cold and stern.

Kim Jeong-hwan walked to the door and stopped.

"President Jiang, please wait a moment." He knocked on the door gently.

A voice came from inside— "Please come in."

Kim Jeong-hwan pushed the door open and stepped aside to make room. Jiang Zhiyu walked in.

The office was huge, bigger than imagined, but it lacked that nouveau riche kind of luxury.

There was a dark solid wood desk, black leather sofas, and books neatly arranged on the shelves.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was the skyline of Seoul, the Han River winding in the distance, and Namsan Tower standing on the left side of the view.

A potted plant sat by the windowsill; he didn't know the species, but the leaves were a shiny green.

The overall color tone was dark—gray, black, brown—with only the sky outside and the potted plant providing bright colors.

Lee Jae-yong was sitting on the sofa, not behind the desk.

The position he chose was very interesting; it wasn't sitting opposite as superior and subordinate, but side-by-side as equals.

He was wearing a dark gray suit, a white shirt, no tie, and the collar was slightly open.

He had a standard square face, regular features, high brow bones, a straight nose, and thin lips. When pursed, they carried an inherent sense of aloofness.

He was smiling, but the smile was not deep. The curve of his mouth was just right—not making people feel warm, nor cold, but rather a composure that said, "I am waiting for you here."

He stood up and walked toward Jiang Zhiyu, his pace unhurried, each step carrying that upbringing and sense of distance that had been cultivated since childhood and carved into his bones.

He extended his hand.

Jiang Zhiyu also extended his hand and shook his. The grip was moderate, the duration neither long nor short, his palm dry and slightly cool in temperature.

Their gazes met in the air. Lee Jae-yong was looking at him, from top to bottom, from face to clothing to posture, without revealing his thoughts.

Jiang Zhiyu was also looking at him, his gaze calm, unhurried, equally sizing him up.

"Please, sit." Lee Jae-yong gestured to the sofa beside him.

Jiang Zhiyu sat down. His posture was the same as when he was standing: his back straight, not leaning against the sofa back, his hands placed on his knees.

Lee Jae-yong sat down opposite him and picked up a teapot to pour two cups of tea; they were white porcelain cups, the glaze warm and smooth.

The tea was amber-colored, with steam rising in curls, carrying a faint orchid fragrance.

"President Jiang is younger than I expected." Lee Jae-yong picked up his teacup and took a sip. His tone was like stating a fact.

Jiang Zhiyu also picked up his teacup, pausing as the rim touched his lower lip. "Chairman Lee is also more dashing than I imagined." He put down the teacup, the curve at the corner of his mouth still there.

Lee Jae-yong's eyebrows twitched slightly. He put down the teacup and leaned back against the sofa, crossing his legs, his posture relaxing a bit, but his eyes did not relax, still resting on Jiang Zhiyu's face.

"President Jiang should know why I invited you to meet, right?" The voice was neither high nor low, as if asking "How is the weather today?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked at him. "Because I purged Samsung's people." The tone was equally calm, as if answering "The weather is nice today."

Lee Jae-yong's fingers tapped lightly on the sofa armrest. He didn't expect him to be so straightforward; all those roundabout probes and tacit hints were blocked by this one sentence.

It wasn't "internal personnel optimization," not "normal personnel transfer," but "purged." He used a word that Samsung could understand.

Lee Jae-yong smiled. The smile was a bit deeper than when he entered. "Knowing it's Samsung, President Jiang still took action?" His tone was still gentle, but those two words—"knowing"—were emphasized heavily.

Jiang Zhiyu also smiled, the curve of his mouth just right. "Because it is Samsung, that is why I took action." The voice was very soft.

Lee Jae-yong's pupils contracted slightly. It wasn't anger, not surprise, but a more instinctive, natural reaction of pupils encountering strong light.

Provocation? Or confidence? He crossed out both words in his mind; provocation was too low-level, confidence was too general. This person made him think of an animal—a snake.

Usually coiled, unmoving, not speaking, not even breathing. But once it moves, you won't know from which direction its attack will come.

His tone became increasingly gentle, as if an elder speaking to a junior.

"The talent that leaves Samsung has been tempered and assessed by the company; for them to be called spies by President Jiang when they go to work at TG is perhaps going a bit too far." He looked into Jiang Zhiyu's eyes.

Jiang Zhiyu picked up the teacup, took a sip, and put it down. "Chairman Lee, it is just a normal personnel transfer within TG." He slowed his speaking pace, as if every word had been weighed before being released.

"The replacements were all conducted in accordance with legal provisions. We also aim to let talent unsuitable for our company flow back into the market, allowing them to continue contributing to the national construction of the Republic of Korea." His tone was sincere.

"As for Chairman Lee's mention of calling those former colleagues spies, I think that is just hearsay. Chairman Lee is also joking."

Lee Jae-yong looked at him. Neither humble nor pushy, neither soft nor hard, watertight.

He said the personnel transfer was in accordance with the law; you couldn't find a loophole. He said those people were talent unsuitable for TG flowing into the market; you couldn't refute that.

He said "spies" was hearsay, but the word "purged" was one he used himself first, and then he kicked the ball to "hearsay" when he needed to deny it.

This combination of punches didn't tear apart the relationship, nor did it make any concessions.

In his heart, he raised his vigilance toward Jiang Zhiyu by another level. This man who was excessively young, what kind of behemoth was the mysterious family that raised him?

He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward slightly, and crossed his hands on his knees. His posture switched from "relaxed" to "serious."

"As a major Korean corporation, Samsung has many intentions for external investment." His voice lowered.

"As the company with the most potential in recent years, TG has numerous projects, but lacks cash flow on hand." He paused, looking into Jiang Zhiyu's eyes.

"I wonder if President Jiang is interested in accepting investment from Samsung—or rather, from me personally?"

Jiang Zhiyu smiled. "If Samsung is willing to invest in our small company, we would, of course, welcome it." His tone was sincere.

Lee Jae-yong's expression didn't change, but his fingers paused on his knees; he was waiting for the "but."

"It's just that—there is no need to expand investment recently. It was decided at the company's year-end meeting that investment channels would be opened up at our discretion after the film's revenue is settled." Jiang Zhiyu picked up the teacup and took another sip.

"When the time comes, if Chairman Lee has investment ideas, we can discuss it then."

Lee Jae-yong stared at him. Film settlement, how long would that take? A few months? Half a year? By then, who would even remember today's conversation?

It wasn't a refusal, it was procrastination; it wasn't saying they wouldn't accept investment, it was saying "we'll discuss it later." When is "later"? There was no answer.

Lee Jae-yong leaned back against the sofa, the "gentle" curve at the corner of his mouth still there. "Since President Jiang has said so, I won't insist." His tone was relaxed.

"Since you've finally come to Samsung, I'll have someone show you around. Shall we take a car to the banquet together in a while?"

Jiang Zhiyu put down the teacup and stood up. "Naturally, the guest follows the host's convenience." He bowed slightly and turned to walk toward the door.

The door closed behind him. Lee Jae-yong remained seated on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the closed door. This person was more difficult to deal with than he imagined, and more interesting than he imagined.

In the corridor, Kim Jeong-hwan was already waiting. His expression was still that well-trained politeness, but his posture was a bit more reserved than before.

He had probably heard about the two security guards on the plane. Jiang Zhiyu smiled at him. "Sorry to trouble you, Chief Kim." Kim Jeong-hwan bowed slightly. "Not at all, President Jiang, this way please."

Jiang Zhiyu followed him down the corridor, passing by the dark wooden door, and walked toward the elevator.

His pace was unhurried, his leather shoes absorbing all sound as they stepped on the carpet.

He looked around; the corridor walls were hung with several black-and-white photos, images from the era of Samsung's founder.

He paused in front of one of them; in the photo, Lee Byung-chul stood in front of a newly built factory, with wasteland behind him and the future in front of him.

He looked for a moment and continued walking forward.

The tour of the Samsung Headquarters building was more like a ritual. Showcasing strength, showcasing history, showcasing how this empire grew from nothing to something, from weak to strong.

Kim Jeong-hwan walked in front, introducing every department, every floor, and every piece of history in a steady tone.

Jiang Zhiyu followed behind, listening, nodding, and occasionally asking a question or two.

His expression remained that faint smile throughout, neither distant nor close, just right.

His gaze passed through the floor-to-ceiling windows and landed on the gray sky outside; this place would sooner or later be his.

Kim Jeong-hwan, walking in front, turned around. "President Jiang, this way please." Jiang Zhiyu withdrew his gaze and followed.