449: Chapter 502 Glue

The corridors of the Samsung headquarters building were long. The gray carpet absorbed all footsteps, and only the occasional ringing of a phone or the hum of a printer leaking from an office door crack reminded one that this was still a place bustling with activity. Every few steps along the wall hung a black-and-white photograph—Lee Byung-chul, the founder of Samsung, standing on a wasteland with newly built factory buildings behind him; Lee Kun-hee sitting in a conference room, with drawings of the first semiconductor wafer spread out before him. The photos were taken with great restraint, not ostentatious, but every frame served as a reminder: this empire was not built in a day, and at this moment, you were walking through its heart.

Kim Mi-young walked ahead, her speech steady and carrying a well-trained sense of professionalism. She had worked in the Samsung Secretariat for over a decade and had received countless political and business celebrities; her tone was always composed and declarative. "This is the Global Marketing Department, responsible for brand promotion and channel construction in overseas markets. Next door is the Strategic Planning Office, mainly responsible for medium-to-long-term development planning and new business expansion." Her finger traced through the air, pointing toward another door at the end of the corridor.

Jiang Zhiyu followed behind her with a smile. Dressed in a sharp suit and walking with a composed stride, his gaze lingered briefly on what Kim Mi-young introduced before sweeping toward the nearby workstation area. Those workstations were very tidy, each cubicle looking much the same—a monitor, a file rack, a mug, and a small green plant. Employees sat with their heads down, staring at screens, their fingers tapping on keyboards. Everything was normal, like the office area of any large corporation.

But Jiang Zhiyu's gaze did not linger on the "normal" parts. His eyes swept across a monitor—on the screen was a quarterly sales report, the tables dense and the numbers lined up in ranks. Most people would look away from such a report after one glance because of the sheer volume of information. Jiang Zhiyu did not look away; in that fraction of a second's glance, he had already memorized the core data of that page. It wasn't intentional, but instinct—photographic memory and information synthesis were his innate talents.

Eight security guards surrounded him, not side-by-side, but distributed in a well-ordered pattern to his front, back, left, and right. These men wore black suits with earpiece wires tucked into their collars, their expressions cold and stern. Their hands were not in their pockets but hung at their sides, yet every person's center of gravity was leaned slightly forward, like leopards ready to pounce at any moment.

The feeling of being surrounded by eight burly men was not one of protection, but of prevention. After Kim Mi-young finished introducing a department, she glanced at him sideways, wanting to see his expression—would he be nervous? Would he be uneasy? Would he want to end this "tour" quickly? She saw nothing of the sort on his face.

Samsung employees passed back and forth, carrying coffee or holding documents, their steps hurried. They kept their heads down, focused on their work, but their gazes fell on Jiang Zhiyu with varying degrees of subtlety. This young president, who had risen to fame in recent years and possessed looks good enough to debut as a star, naturally attracted attention.

Jiang Zhiyu continued the tour. From the Global Marketing Department to the Strategic Planning Office, from the Finance Group to the Legal Department, and from the Personnel Office to General Affairs, every place was clean, tidy, and orderly. The information at every workstation was silently absorbed into his eyes.

Photographic memory and information synthesis were among his innate skills. On the Tianxuan Continent, he was the recognized "Support-type Genius" of the Tianzhou Group—he could lock onto key data in a hundred-page financial report with one glance; in a meeting of dozens, he could read the subtext from everyone's micro-expressions; from seemingly unrelated fragments of information, he could quickly piece together a complete map. At this moment, his brain was like a top-tier computer running at full capacity.

Samsung's business secrets were being continuously received by him. Information he wasn't supposed to know—an internal meeting summary placed next to a monitor titled "Q3 DRAM Price Trend Analysis and Countermeasures"; a sticky note on a partition hand-written with "Taylor Factory Project Progress Report"; a quarterly profit and loss statement tucked under a keyboard, where figures for profit margins, costs, and revenue emerged from dense tables—all entered his brain, where they were rapidly categorized, summarized, and integrated.

Jiang Zhiyu's expression did not change, but his brain's processing speed was nearing its threshold. Information rapidly supplemented, overlapped, and categorized in his mind—Samsung Electronics, Samsung C&T, Samsung Heavy Industries, Samsung Life Insurance, Samsung SDI, Samsung SDS, Samsung Electro-Mechanics... Every subsidiary had vast business branches, every branch had complex shareholding structures, and every structure involved countless interests. They were like puzzle pieces spinning rapidly in his mind, searching for their places.

Semiconductors, displays, mobile phones, home appliances, memory chips, wafer foundries, OLED panels, 5G communications, artificial intelligence, biopharmaceuticals—every puzzle piece found its coordinates in the depths of his consciousness. As the core of the group, Samsung Electronics' business spanned three major fields: Consumer Electronics, IT & Mobile Communications, and Device Solutions. The Consumer Electronics division was responsible for TVs, monitors, refrigerators, washing machines, and other appliances; the IT & Mobile Communications division oversaw smartphones and network equipment; the Device Solutions division was the lifeblood of the entire group—semiconductors, display panels, and LED lighting.

Samsung's semiconductor business was the core of the DS division. Memory chips—DRAM and NAND Flash—were Samsung's specialty and the absolute leader in global market share. Wafer foundry was a key track where they had been striving to catch up with TSMC in recent years; the third production line in Pyeongtaek was under construction, and the Taylor Factory in the United States had already broken ground. In terms of display panels, Samsung Display had almost no rivals in the small-to-medium-sized OLED field; although large panels faced fierce competition from Chinese manufacturers, their technological advantage remained obvious.

In his mind, Samsung's business map went from blurred to clear, and from clear to three-dimensional, forming a dense, airtight web. This web was illuminating his consciousness while simultaneously draining his mental power. His stride changed from "composed" to a hint of "stiffness." It wasn't that his walking was unstable, but the rhythm of his steps had changed, gaining a touch of heaviness. His temples also began to throb slightly, as if something were expanding inside.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. It was something he carried with him, usually kept in his inner suit pocket against his chest, warmed by his body heat. The box was small, about the size of a palm, with a dark brown wooden surface polished smooth and warm; it had no carvings or decorations, just a simple box. He opened the lid, and inside lay several emerald-green pills, each one personally prepared by him—from the formula to the selection of ingredients, grinding, and rolling, all came from his own hands.

A refreshing fragrance surged from the box, diffusing into the air. That scent was not the cloying sweetness of chemical essences, but herbal, natural, like the fresh air emanating from a mountain forest after rain. Kim Mi-young's pace faltered for a moment, her gaze falling on the emerald-green pill, but she did not speak.

Jiang Zhiyu put the pill in his mouth and swallowed. The pill slid down his throat and dissolved in his stomach, a cool sensation spreading from his stomach to his entire body like a cold stream flowing through his blood vessels to his limbs. The throbbing in his temples dissipated within seconds, as if a pair of invisible hands were gently massaging them. His mind cleared instantly; those information puzzle pieces that had been spinning wildly in his head seemed to be doused with cold water, their rotation slowing from "out of control" to "controllable." The previous stiffness receded from his body, and his stride returned to its original composure. The curve at the corner of his mouth remained, now slightly wider than before.

He performed this entire process very casually, as naturally as pulling a phone out of a pocket to check the time. But he hadn't thought about hiding it—or rather, he had absolutely no intention of hiding it.

Kim Mi-young's gaze moved from the box to Jiang Zhiyu's face. "President Jiang, what was that?" her voice was low and curious.

"Vitamins." Jiang Zhiyu put the box back in his pocket and smiled.

Kim Mi-young's gaze lingered on his face for a moment before she nodded. *Who would believe that!* she thought, turning the phrase over in her mind several times. Vitamins? Could vitamins turn a person's stride from stiff to composed? Could vitamins turn a person's eyes from dazed to clear? She had seen it all in her time; such words couldn't even fool a three-year-old. But she did not press further; having worked in this industry for so many years, she knew that some questions wouldn't be answered even if asked, and some things were best left ignored even if seen.

With the help of the pill, Jiang Zhiyu's brain continued to run at high speed. The deep-level calculations previously hindered by information congestion now unfolded fully as if a seal had been lifted. Blurred outlines became clear blueprints, and scattered puzzle pieces formed a complete picture. Samsung Electronics' development trends from 2022 to 2025 presented themselves frame by frame in his mind like a movie being played in advance.

The primary dimension was the cyclical fluctuation of the semiconductor business. This was Samsung's lifeblood and the barometer of the entire group's profitability. In early 2022, prices for DRAM and NAND Flash had already shown signs of loosening. Downstream demand—PCs, smartphones, servers—was slowing in growth, and inventory levels were climbing. According to historical patterns, the semiconductor industry experiences a complete cycle roughly every three to four years: upturn, peak, downturn, and trough. The last peak was between 2020 and 2021, so the downturn would likely arrive between the second half of 2022 and 2023. Prices would fall, inventory would accumulate, and capacity utilization would drop. Competition in the wafer foundry business would become increasingly fierce, with TSMC's lead in advanced processes remaining obvious. Although Samsung was the first to mass-produce the 3nm GAA architecture, yield rates and securing customer orders were greater challenges. The Taylor Factory in the US still needed time to be built; it would take at least two years from groundbreaking to production. It wouldn't start contributing revenue until the second half of 2024; until then, there would only be investment with no output.

In terms of emerging businesses, biopharmaceuticals were another strategic focus for Samsung. Samsung Biologics and Samsung Bioepis were expanding rapidly, with their CDMO market share increasing year by year. The explosion in demand for the biopharmaceutical industry during the COVID-19 pandemic brought a large number of orders to Samsung Biologics. However, the periodic demand for vaccines and treatments could not last forever. Growth in the post-pandemic era required new drivers—biosimilars, antibody drugs, cell and gene therapies, and other new fields were the directions for long-term planning, but they could not support revenue growth in the short term.

Artificial intelligence and 5G/6G communications are also areas where Samsung is investing heavily. AI chips, smart homes, autonomous driving, and the Internet of Things all require support from powerful semiconductor solutions. Samsung's integration capabilities in memory and logic chips are a unique advantage, but its software and ecosystem are weaknesses. Operating systems, application ecosystems, and developer communities—these are not things that can be caught up with in a short time just by throwing money at them.

In Taylor, Texas, USA, Samsung is spending $17 billion to build a new wafer foundry, planned to start operations in the second half of 2024 to address the global chip shortage and occupy a more favorable position in the US market through this layout. At the same time, Samsung also plans to successively build and put into production 11 wafer fabs by 2042, with a total investment of up to $192.1 billion, of which 2 will be built in Austin and 9 in Taylor.

In the display business, Samsung Display's position in the small and medium-sized OLED field is unshakable in the short term. Smartphone screens, tablet screens, laptop screens—almost every high-end OLED panel comes from Samsung's factories. Large-sized panels are another story; Chinese manufacturers' capacity expansion is too fast, and the price war is fierce. Samsung is gradually exiting the production of LCD panels and shifting its focus to more advanced QD-OLED and Micro LED technologies, but the transformation takes time, and alternative products require market validation.

The consumer electronics business, including TV, refrigerators, washing machines, and other household appliances, is Samsung's cash cow. It has a mature market, stable profit margins, and world-leading brand recognition. However, challenges cannot be ignored; Chinese brands are penetrating the high-end market faster and faster, with Xiaomi, Hisense, and TCL occupying a large share of the low-to-mid-end market. Samsung needs to hold its ground in the high-end QLED and Micro LED product lines and maintain competitiveness in the low-to-mid-end market through cost control. Mergers, acquisitions, and strategic cooperation are also important means for Samsung to layout new technologies, including foreign investment in the medical technology field and acquisitions in the automotive electronics field, all of which are foreshadowing for Samsung's next decade.

Geopolitics is another unavoidable variable. Samsung has memory chip factories in Xi'an and consumer electronics production bases in Tianjin and Huizhou; the revenue share from the Chinese market cannot be underestimated. The intensification of China-US tech competition, the tightening of export control policies, and the 'de-risking' trend of supply chains could all impact Samsung's business in China. Lee Jae-yong himself has just been pardoned and resumed business activities, which in a sense is a necessary prerequisite for the smooth advancement of Samsung's future strategy.

Jiang Zhiyu's brain was like a precision processor, summarizing all the information—revenue growth curves, profit fluctuation ranges, investment return cycles, risk exposure assessments, market competition landscapes, and policy environment impacts. Every variable generated a branch in his mind, and every branch derived countless possibilities.

The positive prediction is: If the global macroeconomy begins to recover in the second half of 2023 and demand in the smartphone and PC markets rebounds, memory chip prices will stabilize and rise in early 2024. Samsung's technical advantage in the 3nm GAA architecture translates into customer orders, and its foundry market share increases. The Taylor plant starts production as scheduled, local supply capacity in the US market is enhanced, and geopolitical risks are partially hedged. The biopharmaceutical business achieves break-even in 2024, and the layout of AI chips and smart home ecosystems begins to produce synergistic effects. In this scenario, the full-year operating profit for 2024 is expected to recover to over 40 trillion won, and the stock price may return to above 80,000 won.

The negative prediction is: Global inflation remains high, the Federal Reserve continues to raise interest rates, and demand for consumer electronics remains weak. Memory chip prices continue to fall, and Samsung's semiconductor division suffers quarterly losses. Construction of the Taylor plant is delayed, and mass production is pushed back to 2025. China-US tech friction escalates, and Samsung's business in China is further restricted. The biopharmaceutical business grows less than expected, and the progress of new drug approvals is blocked. In this scenario, the full-year operating profit for 2024 could fall below 20 trillion won, and the stock price could drop to the 40,000 won range.

The ideal state prediction lies between the two: Memory chip prices bottom out in the second half of 2023 and begin a moderate recovery in 2024, with Samsung consolidating its market share through advanced processes. The Taylor plant starts production on time in the second half of 2024, with stable orders from local US customers. Samsung's business in China finds a balance point through a diversified supply chain layout, with losses controlled within an acceptable range. The biopharmaceutical business grows steadily, and the layout of new businesses begins to bear fruit. Operating profit in 2024 recovers to 30 trillion to 35 trillion won, with the stock price fluctuating in the 60,000 to 70,000 won range.

These plans took shape one by one in his mind. Risk control, supply chain adjustments, capacity planning, and technology roadmaps. Every segment went from blurred to clear, and from clear to organized. An extremely detailed business plan had formed in his brain, complete with numbers, timelines, countermeasures, and alternative solutions. He only needed to return to the TG Building to turn it into a document in black and white.

As the information about Samsung was continuously refined, understood, and integrated into his brain, his pace became more composed, and the aura around him changed. If his posture when he first walked into Samsung's headquarters was that of a visiting external president, full of curiosity and respect, then at this moment, he had entered a different state.

Kim Mi-young walked ahead, her peripheral vision never leaving Jiang Zhiyu. At some point, an indescribable strangeness suddenly welled up in her heart; it wasn't discomfort, but lack of familiarity. This man's gaze was not right.

Just a moment ago, when she finished introducing Samsung C&T's global trading network, she turned her head to glance at Jiang Zhiyu's expression. He was looking at the organizational chart on the wall—a tree diagram of all Samsung Group's subsidiaries, densely packed with names, each followed by a vast power map and business empire. When he looked at that chart, the corners of his mouth didn't curve, but there was a light in his eyes. That light wasn't the light of 'I am learning,' but the light of 'I see it.'

Kim Mi-young was astonished. What did this man's gaze mean? It was as if Samsung belonged to him.

She was startled by her own thought. This was Samsung, not just any small company. In this country, from birth to death, no one could escape Samsung. This enterprise's influence permeated every corner of society, and its tentacles reached into any industry you could imagine. It feared no one and had no need to fear anyone. But the way this young man looked at it was not like looking at an existence one needed to look up to, but more like looking at something that belonged to him but was temporarily being kept by someone else.

Kim Mi-young withdrew her gaze and continued walking forward. Her pace was a bit faster than before; it wasn't that she wanted to go fast, but her body was unconsciously moving away. She felt a chill down her back, as if she were being watched by something.

Jiang Zhiyu continued walking through the corridors of the Samsung headquarters building. The eight security guards still surrounded him, a dark wall of people separating him from the surrounding employees like an invisible barrier. Those walls blocked the view but couldn't block the gazes. When he reached the entrance of the Strategic Planning Office, he paused and looked sideways at a workstation. It was a young man organizing documents, wearing a deep blue suit with his tie neatly tied. His computer screen was facing a quarterly business analysis report titled 'Analysis of Global TV Market Share and Competitive Landscape in Q3 2022'.

That person felt a gaze. It wasn't a casual, passing glance, but a gaze with extremely strong penetration, like an X-ray, leaving one with nowhere to hide. His fingers paused on the keyboard, and he looked up, meeting Jiang Zhiyu's eyes exactly.

Those eyes looked over from the gap in the dark wall of security guards, their gaze falling on his computer screen. The young man's back felt as if it had been stung by something, and he abruptly sat up straight. He began to get busy, picking up the mouse on the desk, dragging documents from left to right, then from right to left, tapping the keyboard a few times, performing several meaningless operations. His face was slightly flushed, his heart was racing, and he stood up from his workstation only to sit back down.

He didn't know why he had this reaction; the man's gaze hadn't even stayed on him for more than a second. But that feeling of being inspected was exactly the same as when following Lee Jae-yong on an inspection. A department manager walked back from the breakroom with a cup of coffee and ran straight into this scene. Her gaze briefly met Jiang Zhiyu's, and the coffee cup in her hand tilted for a moment, almost spilling. She steadied the cup and stepped aside, waiting for the group to pass before continuing. She didn't know who this person was, but she saw something in his eyes—the gaze of a superior, the gaze of someone who held power.

She wasn't the only one who felt that aura. From the Strategic Planning Office to the Global Marketing Department, from the Finance Group to the Personnel Office, as Jiang Zhiyu walked past every workstation, the employees involuntarily straightened their backs. Those who were used to secretly checking their phones, snacking, or dozing off at their desks found their fingers snapping away from their phones, snacks being quickly stuffed into drawers, and dozing heads snapping up, pretending to be seriously reading documents the moment that gaze swept over.

They didn't know why they were like this; they just instinctively felt a kind of pressure, like being stared at by a supervisor, like being checked by the boss, like being personally inspected by Chairman Lee Jae-yong. Only after the group had walked far away did they breathe a sigh of relief and exchange glances—'Who is that person?' 'I don't know, but he's terrifying.'

Kim Mi-young walked at the very front with a steady pace and a professional smile. Her heart was experiencing a storm; she had worked at Samsung for over a decade and had received countless visitors. There were young ones, old ones, polite ones, and arrogant ones. But never had someone, during a visit, caused employees who usually didn't even listen to the section chief to spontaneously sit up straight, pick up documents, and start pretending to be busy. This was a scene that only appeared when Chairman Lee Jae-yong personally inspected.

She glanced sideways at Jiang Zhiyu; his profile looked a bit blurred under the corridor lights, the curve at the corner of his mouth was still there, and his pace was neither fast nor slow. Kim Mi-young withdrew her gaze and thought silently to herself—this person, don't let him visit Samsung again. This was her evaluation of Jiang Zhiyu in her heart and her final conclusion for today.

—

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of Namsan Tower gradually flickered on in the winter twilight. The halo at the tower's peak blurred through the thin mist, hanging over the city like a fuzzy star. The Han River meandered in the distance, the reflections on its surface shattered by the night into patches of fine light, making it impossible to distinguish where the water ended and the shore began. This reception room in The Shilla Hotel was rarely open to outsiders; when Lee Boo-jin discussed matters here, it often meant the topic had transcended the scope of 'business negotiations' and entered a more private realm, one not meant for external ears.

Kim Soo-yeon sat on the sofa, the tea before her already on its second steep. The first steep of Da Hong Pao had a deep color; she had only taken a sip before setting it down. The second steep's aroma was more reserved, the tea liquor shifting from deep amber to a pale gold. She lifted it to her nose and swirled it gently but did not drink. Her fingers lightly traced the rim of the cup, her gaze falling on the water's surface as if looking at something far away.

Lee Boo-jin sat on the armchair opposite her, her posture slightly more relaxed than before. Her back remained straight, but the lines of her shoulders were no longer as tense. She shifted her crossed legs, and instead of clasping her knees, her fingers rested on the armrest. Her nails were neatly trimmed and painted in a dusty rose polish, glowing warmly under the yellow light. Their conversation had moved from the initial testing of waters to a deeper level. Abstract terms like 'macro value,' 'public reputation,' and 'influence' had been replaced by concrete profit clauses.

"Regarding the promotional work for The Shilla Hotel, the current partner's contract still has six months left." Lee Boo-jin picked up her teacup, her tone sounding like she was stating a long-decided fact. "I don't plan to renew it." Kim Soo-yeon didn't respond immediately, placing her teacup back on the saucer with a soft clink. Lee Boo-jin continued at a steady pace. "I've seen TG's capabilities in this area. Park Jin-young's solo project for JYP was promoted and executed perfectly; from the warm-up to the explosion to the conclusion, the control over the rhythm was impeccable. The same goes for aespa's comeback promotion—the buzz, the discussion volume, and the duration on the trending searches all reached the top levels of the industry."

Kim Soo-yeon listened, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. "President Lee, you flatter me." When she said "President Lee," it carried a subtle sense of distance. She had been calling her "Sister Boo-jin" just a moment ago, but now she had switched to "President Lee." It wasn't out of unfamiliarity, but to remind the other party that the words to follow were business negotiations, not sisterly chatter.

Lee Boo-jin's eyebrows twitched slightly. "If the promotional work for The Shilla Hotel is handed over to TG—" She set down her teacup, the sound of the cup hitting the table a softer clink than Kim Soo-yeon's. "What can Chairwoman Kim give me?"

Kim Soo-yeon leaned back against the sofa, her posture more relaxed than Lee's. She didn't answer immediately, reaching out to pour herself more water. As the hot water poured into the cup, the tea leaves tumbled at the bottom before settling. She held the cup but didn't drink.

"What does President Lee need?" Her voice was moderate, pushing the question back.

Lee Boo-jin looked at her, silent for a few seconds. Her eyes lingered on the girl's face, as if judging how much of a commitment this young woman could truly give. She had sat at negotiation tables for decades, facing opponents older and more senior than herself, each with their own hole cards. But she couldn't see through this girl's cards.

"Connections," Lee Boo-jin said.

The word came out very softly. It wasn't "capital," not "brand," not "market share," but "connections." Kim Soo-yeon's finger paused on the side of the cup, waiting for her to continue.

"TG's connections in China," Lee Boo-jin's voice grew even softer. "I've heard that your relationships in China are very deep. Not the ordinary commercial exchange kind of deep, but the kind—" She paused, seemingly searching for the right word. "The kind that can reach the decision-making level."

Kim Soo-yeon neither denied nor admitted it. Her expression didn't change, but those few seconds of silence were an answer in themselves.

"I can open some connection channels for President Lee," she said calmly. "Mainland China is currently one of the safest investment destinations in the world. This is especially true for someone like you."

Lee Boo-jin's eyelashes fluttered. She understood what Kim Soo-yeon meant by "someone like you." It didn't mean "a woman," "a mother," or "the eldest princess of Samsung." It meant "Lee Jae-yong's sister"—the sister who had lost all her say after her brother inherited the throne.

The Lee family naturally had their own connections in China. They had been cultivating them since the era of Lee Kun-hee; decades of accumulation were not something just any company could compare to. But those connections had become a constraint since Lee Jae-yong took power. It wasn't because those people were unreliable, but because they all knew who the real person in charge of Samsung was on this land. 'You, Lee Boo-jin, are coming to talk to me—does Vice Chairman Lee know? Does he agree? Will this affect our cooperation with Samsung Electronics?' Every question seemed to say: we respect you, but where does your authority end?

The risk of private contact would only work against her. Those conversation records, meeting photos, and dinner snapshots could appear in the wrong places at any time. She needed a line that belonged only to her, one that didn't go through the Samsung Group or Lee Jae-yong, but connected directly to her. No middleman, no need to answer to anyone.

Kim Soo-yeon placed her teacup on the saucer. "I will pass the message along." Those words were spoken slowly, as if each one had been weighed before being released. "President Jiang will need to confirm the specific method of connection and the degree of openness."

She didn't say "yes," nor did she say "no." She said she would "pass the message." By handing the decision-making power to Jiang Zhiyu, she placed herself in the position of a "middleman." She neither rejected Lee Boo-jin's request nor gave any substantial commitment. Lee Boo-jin nodded and didn't press further. She knew it wasn't easy to get this far today; any further step would require her own sincerity in exchange, and sincerity required time to verify.

The atmosphere gradually relaxed from the cold exchange of interests. Lee Boo-jin picked up her teacup and steered the conversation elsewhere.

"Chairwoman Kim, do you choose your own clothes usually?" Her gaze lingered on Kim Soo-yeon's black suit-dress. "The tailoring is excellent, and the fabric is good too. Which designer's work is it?"

Kim Soo-yeon glanced down at her clothes. "It's not a famous brand, but the work of an independent designer. A Korean who spent a few years in Paris before returning home to open their own studio." Lee Boo-jin nodded. "Many talented Korean designers have indeed emerged in recent years. The Shilla Hotel has collaborated on several fashion weeks before; I can introduce you if there's an opportunity."

"Then I'll thank you, Sister Boo-jin." The address of "Sister Boo-jin" came naturally. Kim Soo-yeon's switch from "President Lee" back to "Sister Boo-jin" was seamless.

Lee Boo-jin smiled. "Soo-yeon, is the pressure of managing the company usually high?"

"It's alright. With President Jiang holding the front, I just need to handle the follow-up in the back."

"It's rare that you two coordinate so well." Lee Boo-jin picked up her teacup. "My brother and I used to coordinate well when we were young, too. He was responsible for charging ahead, and I was responsible for the follow-up." Her voice lowered. "Later, the person doing the follow-up was replaced by someone else."

Kim Soo-yeon didn't respond; this wasn't a topic she could weigh in on.

In the office with the river view, the two women chatted about everything from company management to industry investment, from investment to fashion design, and from design to the books they were currently reading. Lee Boo-jin was reading a book about the Chinese economy by a certain scholar whose views were quite sharp and had sparked much discussion in China. Kim Soo-yeon said she had read it too but disagreed with the analysis of local government debt. They exchanged views on the matter for several rounds; neither convinced the other, but the atmosphere was much lighter than when they were discussing the distribution of interests.

While Lee Boo-jin got up to take a call, Kim Soo-yeon's gaze drifted through the floor-to-ceiling window to the distant sky shrouded in twilight. She remembered that over an hour ago, at the rooftop helipad of The Shilla Hotel, she had caught a glimpse of a dark shadow ascending. The helicopter had taken off from the roof, the roar of its rotors carried over by the wind, sounding muffled. She hadn't turned to look, but she knew which direction it was flying and who was inside.

Jiang Zhiyu's face surfaced in her mind. He had glanced at her before boarding the helicopter, that same curl at the corner of his mouth present, saying nothing. There was a lot in that look: 'Don't worry,' 'I'll be right back,' and 'No matter what happens, don't panic.' She knew what it meant for him to face Lee Jae-yong alone; it wasn't a normal business meeting, it was a 'Hongmen Banquet.' Samsung had countless ways to make a person uncomfortable, and Lee Jae-yong happened to be the kind of person most skilled at it. Gentle, polite, and flawless—but beneath that layer of politeness was an arrogance that placed him a level above everyone else.

Lee Boo-jin walked back with her phone. Her expression was no different than when she left, but Kim Soo-yeon noticed her fingers gripping the phone a bit harder than usual, her knuckles turning slightly white before quickly relaxing. She sat back on the sofa.

"Soo-yeon, the banquet is about to start. Come in with me."

Kim Soo-yeon pulled back her thoughts. "Okay."

Outside the window, the lights of Namsan Tower had merged into a single expanse in the night sky. From the tip to the base, they lit up level by level like a silent guardian. Kim Soo-yeon looked at the lights, her heart still thinking of Jiang Zhiyu. The helicopter had flown far into the twilight; she didn't know where it would land, what he was experiencing in the cabin, or if he, when facing Lee Jae-yong, would be like her facing Lee Boo-jin—completing an exchange of interests amidst casual conversation. She trusted him, had trusted him since the first day she transmigrated here. But trust and worry were not mutually exclusive; they were two things that could exist simultaneously.

She withdrew her gaze and picked up her teacup. The tea was already cold. She didn't add more water, simply placing the cup back on the saucer. The night outside grew deeper and deeper.