Chapter 1: The Soundless Slap

The suffocating quiet in the conference room clung to Lin Nuannuan's skin like a cold, damp shroud.

The air conditioner hissed out a chill, but it couldn't disperse the dust motes dancing in the projector's beam, nor could it cut through the unconcealed disdain plastered on the oily face of Department Director Zhang. His thick, stubby finger hammered the smooth tabletop like it was tolling a funeral bell.

"...So, this is the proposal you spent three all-nighters on?" Director Zhang's voice was low, deliberately so, carrying an authority that made everyone's spine stiffen. "Lin Nuannuan, I asked you to analyze market data, not write a primary school essay for me! Illogical, lacking focus, complete and utter nonsense!"

A beautifully printed proposal was slammed onto the table, its pages splaying out like birds with broken wings, lying there helplessly.

Lin Nuannuan sat at the far end of the long table, her nails digging sharply into her palms. The pain was the only thing holding her fragile composure together. She wanted to explain – that the problematic data sources were the ones he had provided, that the confusing core direction was the one he himself had pounded the table to confirm in the last meeting. But her throat felt packed with burning sand, scorching and painful, unable to force out a single word.

She could feel the gazes of her colleagues around her – fleeting sympathy, hurriedly averted indifference, and, more than anything, a sense of relief that it wasn't them and a secretive enjoyment of the spectacle. Sister Wang, sitting directly across from her, even tilted her head slightly, adjusting her gold-rimmed glasses as a cover, the faint, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of her mouth like a fine needle, stinging Lin Nuannuan's eyes.

"The company doesn't support idlers, let alone fools!" Director Zhang's voice suddenly rose, flecks of spit flying in the projector's light like a swarm of disgusting little insects. "If you can't even handle a basic PowerPoint, I truly wonder how you managed to sneak in here in the first place! Redo it before you leave today! If it's not done properly, get the hell out!"

The words "get the hell out" slammed into her eardrums like two heavy, soundless slaps, making the noise of the world instantly fade away. She kept her head bowed死死地, staring at the notebook open in front of her. The densely packed handwriting blurred and distorted, swimming in the moisture gathering in her eyes. She could smell the overly strong cologne that belonged to Director Zhang, permeating the air, mixed with the chemical scent of printer toner, forming a unique and nauseating aroma of humiliation.

Time crawled by agonizingly slow. The meeting finally ended. The crowd receded like the tide, accompanied by low murmurs and the rustling of gathered belongings. No one glanced her way, as if she were a source of plague carrying bad luck.

Lin Nuannuan remained rigid in her seat until the conference room was empty save for her. Slowly, finger by finger, she unclenched her bloodless hands, revealing deep crimson crescent marks in her palms. She began mechanically gathering the scattered pages, condemned as "garbage." Her fingertips trembled slightly as they touched the cold paper.

Clutching the heavy stack of her "failure," she walked out. The main office area outside was brightly lit, colleagues chatting and laughing as if the storm had never happened. Head down, she hurried through the noise, wanting only to hide, to find a corner untouched by any gaze.

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