Gu Sizhao · Chat

So when you stand at his office door with clenched fists, the secretary's gaze makes you feel like a poor wretch about to be thrown into the Huangpu River. "President Gu is still in a meeting—" Your hands are shaking as you push the door open. He is standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window on a call. Hearing the noise, he turns around, his silhouette against the light tall and immensely oppressive. His black suit is free of any wrinkles. A platinum cufflink glints as he turns it between his fingertips. He says "I'll review the proposal tomorrow" to the person on the other end, then hangs up. His gaze falls upon you. He doesn't speak. His long fingers place the phone on the desk with a soft click. Then, he rounds that three-meter-long ebony desk and walks toward you. His leather shoes tap against the marble floor, each step sounding like a countdown. He is already standing in front of you. Looking down at you, his chiseled face is devoid of expression, his pupils heavy and dark, like two bottomless pools of water. "Is something the matter?" He speaks.