Chapter 3: The Director's Test

Zhao Defa fixed his collar, but instead of walking out, he circled around to the farthest corner of the storage room and slid that stack of yellowed, abandoned ledgers across the floor toward Lin Xiaoman. The night outside was thick and heavy; the hazy, amber glow of a streetlamp leaked through the window, pooling on the ledgers and casting sharp shadows over Zhao Defa’s furrowed brow.

His gaze was sharp as a hawk’s. He pinned Lin Xiaoman with his eyes, seemingly checking to see if this temporary worker had actually touched that shady, off-the-books deal. Lin Xiaoman’s fingers paused for a split second, tracing the edge of the ledger. An alarm bell rang loud and clear in her head.

She didn’t let any panic show. Instead, she picked up her tea cup and took a measured sip, moving with such casual ease that the stack of books in front of her looked like nothing but a pile of waste paper. Seeing this, the corner of Zhao Defa’s mouth twitched—barely noticeable. Underneath that mask of the peaceful peacemaker, a flicker of anxiety leaked through, born from the realization that his cover was slipping.

Lin Xiaoman activated [Rhetoric Resonance]. The static buzzing in her ears cleared, and the hidden implications in Zhao Defa’s earlier words instantly became sharp and clear. She didn't catch anger. What she felt was deep, creeping fear. What Zhao Defa was really afraid of wasn't the loss of inventory value; it was accountability. If higher-ups came auditing these dead accounts, the director would be first in line for the heat.

His move to demand a full, discounted liquidation wasn't just difficult—it was a maneuver to push all the blame onto Lin Xiaoman. He wanted her to take the fall. Lin Xiaoman laughed inwardly, while her face stayed draped in a gentle, harmless smile. She knew that at this critical juncture, a direct clash would just corner her.

She needed to use his force against him, tossing this hot potato to the only person capable of catching it.

"Director Zhao," Lin Xiaoman spoke up, her voice low but precise, hitting right at Zhao Defa’s sore spot. "If we process this batch as a total loss, how will the audit record it?" She used [Hearing Needs] to cut through his cover and reveal that he wasn't worried about the goods, but about the black mark on the archives.

Zhao Defa’s face shifted. He slammed his tea cup down on the table, splashing a ring of brown water across the wood. He tried to mask his embarrassment, forcing a stiff tone: "Comrade Xiaoman, you’ve only been here a short while. You don’t know the rules yet. This is a decision by the Cooperative. You must execute it. If there’s a mistake, the responsibility is yours alone."

Lin Xiaoman didn’t take the bait. She gently closed the ledger and stood up. Her movements were elegant but firm, her eyes unflinching. She looked directly into Zhao Defa’s eyes and spoke slowly: "Director, a transfer might be more suitable than a clearance."

"Comrade Lu Zheng at the County Materials Station is an expert on technical transfers. If we hand over this stagnant stock to him for processing, it solves our inventory pressure and avoids the risk of a direct write-off. After all, transfers have their own procedures. The chain of responsibility is clearer, and it stops the Supply and Marketing Cooperative from looking disorganized."

Zhao Defa narrowed his eyes warily, his fingers drumming an unconscious rhythm on the desk. He was weighing the pros and cons, but his face plastered on a mask of fake gratitude and politeness: "Lu Zheng? That stubborn man? He just likes to count books. You’re playing a clever game, aren't you? Trying to divert the disaster east?"

He asked, testing the waters, his gaze darting between Lin Xiaoman and the empty corner of the room, suspicious that she might have made a private deal for personal gain. Lin Xiaoman smiled calmly, confident in her answer: "You're worrying too much, Director. Comrade Lu Zheng looks at goods, not people. He cares about balancing the books, not taking credit."

"I'm just helping him clear his inventory. And in doing so, I'm protecting our Cooperative's bottom line."

Before she finished, the iron door of the warehouse creaked open. Lu Zheng stood in the doorway, a thick notebook in his hand, his expression icy. He didn't even glance at Zhao Defa. His eyes went straight to Lin Xiaoman, then shifted to the stack of abandoned ledgers. He spoke, his voice low and devoid of warmth: "I can assist with the transfer."

"But on the condition that Lin Xiaoman assumes the final signing risk. Document flow, liability definitions—all of it must be pinned to a specific person." Lin Xiaoman rapidly simulated the conversation in her mind, predicting Lu Zheng's bottom line. She knew that only by actively taking on the risk could she trade for Lu Zheng's cooperation while showing Zhao Defa that she was the type who didn't steal credit.

Lin Xiaoman responded immediately, her voice crisp: "I accept. I will coordinate all subsequent document flows and risk exemption clauses. Comrade Lu Zheng only needs to handle the technical verification."

Seeing this, Zhao Defa’s tense shoulders finally relaxed. His face instantly bloomed with a smile; the earlier scrutiny and suspicion vanished, replaced by a relieved, polite demeanor. He nodded in agreement and even volunteered to stamp the Supply and Marketing Cooperative’s official seal on the transfer letter to show his support.

Throughout the exchange, Lin Xiaoman never hogged the spotlight. She skillfully handed the lead role to Lu Zheng, positioning herself only as the coordinator, perfectly cementing her image as high-EQ professional.

At that moment, Old Salesclerk Chen Maixiang, from the counter next door, walked past and watched the whole scene. She leaned against the doorframe, whispering softly, her eyes holding a mix of admiration and worry. She leaned in close to Lin Xiaoman’s ear and lowered her voice: "Xiaoman, you've got a silver tongue. But let me warn you, Lu Zheng is a character to handle. He’s a stickler."

"He believes his ledgers are bigger than heaven. If you want anything from him, never try to play games with him. He truly looks at the goods, not the person, but he will absolutely not tolerate any flaw in the accounts."

Lin Xiaoman felt a chill run down her spine, gaining a deeper understanding of Lu Zheng’s personality and adding a layer of caution to her upcoming cooperation.

It was late, and the warehouse returned to silence. Before Zhao Defa found a reason to leave, he reminded Lin Xiaoman once more to watch the archive safety, his words still tinged with lingering suspicion. He murmured, "Xiaoman, the archive room key is with you. Watch it carefully. The wind is tight these days. Upstairs is keeping a close eye on our mess of dead accounts. No one can afford a slip."

Lin Xiaoman nodded seriously, watching Zhao Defa depart. She knew that in this round of chess, she hadn't just defused the crisis; she had planted the seed of "Lin Xiaoman is reliable" in Zhao Defa’s mind. And Lu Zheng, who had been standing in the corner, had already quietly slipped away, leaving his open ledger lying still on the table.

Lu Zheng remained alone in the depths of the warehouse. Moonlight fell through the high window, illuminating his pale, resolute face. He opened that old ledger, his fingers lightly brushing over a line of numbers Lin Xiaoman had just marked. Beside those numbers, a tiny circle had been drawn in pencil. It looked casual, but it held a hidden secret.

Lu Zheng’s eyes grew complex. A thread of curiosity twisted into his originally icy gaze. He recalled Lin Xiaoman’s airtight rhetoric, the composure and wisdom she had displayed in the tense atmosphere. He closed the ledger, lost in thought. For him, this night had ceased to be a cold game of numbers; it had become a game full of variables.

Lin Xiaoman stood behind the counter, staring at the stack of thick cash. A warm current flooded her heart once again. She knew that she hadn't just revived the warehouse; she had unknowingly built a new web of relationships. Zhao Defa’s fear, Lu Zheng’s rigidity, and Chen Maixiang’s warnings all wove together in her mind into a complex picture.

She took a deep breath, filing away the messy thoughts. There was new work waiting for her tomorrow, and tonight’s trial was just the beginning. She looked out the window. The night was deep, the city lights still dazzling, as if foreshadowing some new possibility.

Lu Zheng’s finger paused on the ledger, finally resting on the line of numbers Lin Xiaoman had marked. His fingertip trembled slightly—not from cold, but from shock. He had never imagined that a temporary worker could so precisely grasp Zhao Defa’s psychological weak point while so openly accepting the risk.

He looked up at the empty corridor, as if he could still see Lin Xiaoman’s straight-backed figure. There was no boasting in that posture, only a steady, underlying confidence. Lu Zheng closed the ledger and tucked it away carefully. He knew that from tonight on, his account books would need to hold more than just numbers; they would have to record a ledger of people.

Lin Xiaoman returned to her dorm, lay in bed, and replayed the day’s details in her mind. Her [Rhetoric Resonance] level had increased again, allowing her to catch the emotional fluctuations of those around her with greater clarity. She remembered the complex look in Zhao Defa’s eyes as he left, Lu Zheng’s icy warning, and Chen Maixiang’s well-meaning advice.

She understood that in this era, talent with words wasn't enough. She needed to know how to borrow momentum, how to cooperate, and how to maximize her value without breaking the rules. She closed her eyes, a faint smile curving her lips. She had won this round, but the road was long. She had to stay sharp, stay vigilant, and keep that stubborn heart that refused to accept fate.

As the night deepened, the lights of the Supply and Marketing Cooperative went out one by one. The corridor was empty, except for a single, lonely lamp still burning in the depths of the warehouse. Lu Zheng sat at the desk, the ledger spread before him. The numbers Lin Xiaoman had marked were particularly clear under the light. He picked up his pen and wrote a small line in the blank space: Lin Xiaoman, Rhetoric Resonance, Level One.

Then, he set the pen down and gazed out the window. On the distant horizon, the first hint of dawn was quietly brewing. A new day was about to begin, and Lin Xiaoman’s story was just pulling back the curtain. Lu Zheng stood up, straightened his collar, and turned, disappearing into the darkness. Only the lonely lamp remained, swaying in the wind, a silent witness to this wordless duel.

In her dream, Lin Xiaoman seemed to hear the sound of an abacus. The noise was crisp and rhythmic, like some ancient melody, or perhaps a silent declaration. She rolled over, feeling a sense of ease. She knew that no matter how the path ahead looked, as long as she stayed clear-headed and kept trying, she would find a way out.

And that taciturn Lu Zheng might become the most solid support she had on this road. She stopped overthinking and quickly fell into a deep sleep. The wind outside gently blew the curtains, carrying the coolness of night dew to brush against her cheek. This day was over. But tomorrow was only just beginning.