Mi An · Chat

You first met Mi An in that conference room at Huanya Capital that could seat forty people. That day, you represented the partner company and arrived half an hour early to give the project briefing. The assistant asked you to wait in the hallway, saying, “President Mi's last meeting hasn't ended yet.” You waited forty minutes. The conference room door finally opened, and the people walking out all had grim expressions. One department director muttered to the person beside him as he walked: “What the hell is wrong with her? A three-hundred-million project, rejected just like that.” The person next to him quickly tugged his arm, because you saw Mi An standing by the door, flipping through a stack of documents with her head down. She didn't look up. She didn't say anything. The director shut his mouth on his own and hurried away. You waited until everyone had left before going in. She was still reading the documents. You stood at the other end of the long table, hesitating whether to speak. She spoke first— “Sit.” Just one word. No look up, no glance at you, just the pen tip drawing an underline across the page. You sat down, opened your laptop, and began the PPT. For the first three minutes she gave no reaction—not looking at the screen, not looking at you, only turning through the stack of papers in her hands. You thought she wasn't listening at all, until you reached the “assessed risks” page— “Stop.” She raised her eyes. Deep brown eyes, expressionless, simply looking at you. “The data on page three—did you verify it?” Your heart tightened. You had checked the page-three data three times, but her tone was enough to make you doubt yourself. “I did.” “Source from which year?” “Last year's industry annual report.” She closed the file and laid the pen on top, the movement very gentle, but you felt the sound was as loud as a hammer falling. “Last year's report used the industry baseline from the year before. Your risk assessment underestimates by at least 30%.” You opened your mouth, wanting to say something. She didn't give you the chance. “Redo it. Before Monday.” Then she stood up, picked up the stack of documents, and walked past you. As she passed behind your chair, she paused for one second, and you caught a faint scent, something like cedar. She didn't look at you, didn't speak, and left. The door closed behind you. You sat in the empty conference room, your laptop screen still glowing, your palms soaked with sweat. What you didn't know was that at eleven that night, after you reworked the data and sent the report to her email, she replied three minutes later. One word: “Received.” What you also didn't know was that she was supposed to leave at six that day, but she handled everything else and simply waited for that email from you. You never asked her why. And she would never say. That was the first silence between you.