Chapter Eight: The Legend of Jiang Wanxing

Lu Chen sat in his corner cubicle, as frigid as Siberian permafrost, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the kraft-paper folder labeled "Special Client File: Jiang Wanxing." Sunlight streamed through the vast glass curtain wall, casting a mosaic of light and shadow across his face—distorted by anger and humiliation, yet bearing an odd serenity born of some newly awakened power—shrouding him in an aura of inscrutable mystery.

The entire Sales Department A of FeiChi Group—and even the adjacent B and C teams—had erupted in uproar ever since Wang Hai's earth-shattering, near-death-sentence "final ultimatum" delivered yesterday. Lu Chen's name, along with the once-taboo "Jiang Wanxing," had become the hottest gossip, whispered at every coffee break and echoed even within the cramped silence of the restroom stalls.

He keenly felt countless eyes upon him, like the cold, unblinking operating lights in a surgical theater, some glaring, some dim, some nearby, some distant. The emotions behind those gazes were a hundredfold more complex than anything he had detected with his "Heart-Hunting Chart" yesterday—ranging from undisguised schadenfreude, eagerly anticipating how the legendary "female devil" would shred him to pieces, to indifferent spectators simply killing time, to feigned sympathy dripping with hypocrisy. Even a few glances came from the office's most flamboyant female colleagues, and those looks brimmed with a mix of jealousy and delight, as though the favor he was about to receive was a prize they themselves had long coveted.

"Did you hear? Did you hear?" whispered the office busybody—her voice booming despite her attempt at secrecy—"that old pervert Wang Hai made a scene yesterday, publicly shoving that hot potato called Jiang Wanxing onto poor Lu Chen!"

"Lu Chen? Isn't that the underachiever whose sales numbers always bottom out? The one who nearly got fired last month for missing his quota? He looks like a pretty boy, but he's dirt poor," sneered another saleswoman, her crimson lipstick as lurid as fresh blood.

"Exactly! They're sending him to face Jiang Wanxing—the 'Mancrusher'! Who the hell is she? She's known across Star City's business world as the 'First Thorned Rose,' the 'Ice Queen,' the 'Venomous Beauty'! One glance, and she'll leave you soulless; one word, and you'll put a billion-dollar conglomerate in ashes!"

"You've heard about 'Order-Prince' Zhang Dapao from Team B, right?" chimed in a third, eyes alight with glee. "The so-called 'Ladies' Man,' who's slept his way through half our client list? He tried to renew with her last month—couldn't keep his gaze off her long, shapely legs wrapped in Balenciaga stockings—and she doused him with boiling coffee! He came back in high fever, babbling nonsense, beaten down like a whipped rooster."

"And don't forget that new intern from Team C, the one with the powerful family connections in the capital. She strutted in wearing a deep-V, backless mini to pitch her proposal. Jiang Wanxing didn't even glance at the deck—just called security, had her dragged out, and warned that if any woman tried to seduce her again, she'd press sexual harassment charges."

Those hushed but piercing whispers buzzed in Lu Chen's ears like a swarm of flies—like a venomous curse. If he were the weak, insecure man he had once been, he would have long since shriveled under those snide, malicious words. But now, after the miraculous awakening of his "Heart-Hunting Chart" and the shattering of Wang Hai's darkest secrets yesterday, his heart had already undergone a subtle, earth-shaking transformation he himself barely perceived.

He didn't even need to force his mysterious, headache-inducing ability to work; he could plainly "read" each person's most hidden, shameful thoughts from those chaotic murmurs and complex gazes:

Zhao Yuhang, the arrogant second-generation trust fund kid lounging across from him, casually scrolling through streams of scantily clad influencers, glanced Lu Chen's way with a vicious smirk, privately thinking, Heh heh, this worm's toast now. Let Jiang Wanxing toy with him, then Wang Hai will kick him out like a dead dog. Then that prim little Xú Tīngxià will be mine—she'll fall at my feet, and I'll break her in every possible way. I'll train her into the perfect obedient plaything…

Lisa Li, whose sweet, saintly smile usually put everyone at ease, now feigned worry to a fresh-faced newcomer: "Poor Lu Chen—what a stroke of bad luck. I feel so sorry for him." But in her mind she schemed, Good move by Wang Hai. The less competition I have, the bigger my cut this month—and for employee of the year… well, I'm looking good. As for Lu Chen? He's stupid enough to deserve this. Let him sink or swim.

Even Xu Tingxia—who had once shown a flicker of genuine sympathy for him during Wang Hai's public humiliation—now looked at him with an inscrutable blend of concern, anxiety, and… an unfamiliar flutter in her heart. Today she'd chosen a fitted pale pink dress that accentuated her graceful curves, her crystal-thin stockings tracing the shape of her slender legs. Under the desk, her foot tapped nervously. Her fair cheeks flushed as she worried about him, her thoughts spinning: Lu Chen… why would he take on such an impossible task? Jiang Wanxing is a merciless demon. Wang Hai's gone too far. But what can I do? I'm just a junior staffer—utterly powerless. I wish I could say something to encourage him… even if it's just to bring him a cup of tea. But would he find me odd? The office gossip would tear me apart. Ugh… I just hope he pulls off a miracle. Those eyes of his… they're actually quite nice—dark, bright. If only he had more confidence, he might be charming…

These myriad "inner voices," like invisible chains and a finely woven net, laid bare the true faces and desires of everyone around him. For the first time, Lu Chen saw the glossy office world for what it really was: a pit of filth and cruelty.

He clenched his temples against the dull throb brought on by involuntarily absorbing these chaotic thoughts, yet he greedily absorbed every scrap of useful gossip about this legendary woman—Jiang Wanxing—hoping to piece together her true nature from the swirling tales of prejudice, fear, envy, and even lust.

In the FeiChi Group's sales floors—where beauty and testosterone ran high—"The Legend of Jiang Wanxing" could have filled volumes of sordid and sensational urban tales.

They said she wore every "chief" title in her own company—founder, chief designer, CEO, CFO—singlehandedly. At nearly forty, she remained more breathtaking than any starlet in her twenties, her figure igniting desire in any normal man. Yet her piercing phoenix-eyes radiated an ice-cold detachment, as if any man before her were a toy to be admired, played with, then discarded.

Rumors about her origins were shrouded in myth. Some whispered she was an exiled scion of a European noble house, inheriting a fortune rivaling small nations. Others claimed invisible financial titans groomed her as a conqueror of markets. The most outlandish insisted she was a centuries-old spirit feeding on men's life force.

Yet all agreed on one fact: Jiang Wanxing was not to be trifled with.

Her business tactics were ruthless and merciless. She demanded perfection from partners, her standards so harsh they bordered on the pathological.

"Remember the time our Sales Director nearly secured a nine-figure annual framework with her?" an old hand with ten years of tenure murmured to wide-eyed interns. "He dared to quote you-know-how-outdated industry data, and she berated him for half an hour in flawless London-accented English—asking if we were too broke to buy a current market analysis report. He came back humiliated, fired his entire team, and I heard some of the girls cried and resigned on the spot."

"And once"—another longtime colleague added with relish—"she did a surprise inspection here. Our VP had to personally shepherd her around like royalty. Wang Hai, in his infinite stupidity, tried to charm her with drunken flattery—telling her she was an icon of modern independence, that her grace put men to shame. She didn't even spare him a glance—sidestepped him like a plague carrier, then used a delicate, jasmine-scented Hermes handkerchief to wipe her sleeve, as if cleansing him of his filth. He went pale as a ghost and locked himself in his office the rest of the afternoon."

Lu Chen's heart skipped a beat. Wang Hai had already suffered such a public rebuff from Jiang Wanxing! No wonder he was so desperate to push this insignificant "thorn in his side" into the lion's den—part revenge, part twisted display of power, and perhaps a faint hope that Lu Chen might somehow triumph by sheer luck and vindicate him.

These sensational legends—half true, half apocryphal—pressed down on Lu Chen like a series of crushing stones as he absorbed every nuance. The figure that formed in his mind was one of lethal allure: an ironclad queen, unstoppable in both offense and defense, with no obvious weakness—an ultimate boss with the beauty of a siren and the heart of a warrior.

No wonder Wang Hai touted this as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: for any ambitious salesperson, it could mean instant glory or catastrophic ruin.

Around him, the whispers continued, now quieter, more clandestine—the office's clandestine forum hosting secret bets on how soon, and in what humiliating manner, Lu Chen would be "slain" by the "female devil" Jiang Wanxing.

Lu Chen paid them no mind. He simply sat and opened the file on Jiang Wanxing again—this time reading with sharper focus than ever before, determined to find in those cold, hard case studies any tiny break in her armor that his predecessors had missed.

Sunlight danced across the file's spread pages through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His bloodshot eyes, drained from sleepless nights, now gleamed with a predatory excitement—as if a starving wolf had sighted the prime quarry.

Yes—excitement! That raw, primal surge of survival and conquest, ignited by the faintest glimmer of hope at the edge of despair.

Jiang Wanxing—the woman all of FeiChi's sales force privately nicknamed "Extinction Master" and "Black Widow"—the "Hell-Boss" even Wang Hai dared not cross—had become, for Lu Chen, the ultimate proving ground: a siren call of irresistible danger and endless possibility.

He wondered how far his Heart-Hunting Chart could reach against a target so invulnerable, and what miracle might unfold when he probed the hidden depths of her fears, desires, and secret wants—perhaps even those she had never admitted to herself.

Three days—that was all he had to achieve the impossible.

But for someone newly awakened to a transcendent ability and already learning its costs and rewards, perhaps three days were enough to shake the foundations of FeiChi Group—and all of Star City—with a miracle.

He snapped the file shut. For the first time, a confident, all-knowing smile—a depthless mystery—curved his lips. Rising to his feet, he ignored the pitying, mocking, or eager eyes around him and strode straight to his computer.

His first task: harness every internal network resource and every public channel to gather all available intelligence on Jiang Wanxing and the business moves of her empire, Wanxing International.

Know your enemy, know yourself—and you need not fear a hundred battles. Even with a divine cheat like the Heart-Hunting Chart, diligence in preparation was nonnegotiable.

His fingers, like skilled ballet dancers, began their rhythmic dance across the dusty keyboard.