For a heartbeat, Mianmian could only stare at him, her chest tight with a swirl of humiliation, relief, and gratitude. She bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you, Mr. Zhang."
He gave her a small smile, the kind that carried reassurance without pity. "Don't thank me yet. Save that for after the evaluation."
With that, he led her through the gleaming glass doors, past the humbled guards, and into the heart of the Culinary Association.
Mianmian's steps were unsteady at first, but as the doors closed behind her, a new steadiness began to take root. She had made it inside.
Zhang Rui's shoes clicked sharply against the marble floor as he led her deeper into the headquarters. The building itself felt daunting, towering ceilings, glass walls that let the morning sun pour in, and sleek banners displaying the Association's emblem, each one a silent reminder of how prestigious this place was.
