Meng Yanchen
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the office, the lights of a thousand homes stretch out like scattered stars. Meng Yanchen stands before the glass, his suit immaculate, yet his spine is slightly stiff.
He looks down at the photo frame in his hand, his thumb gently brushing across the glass surface. Restraint and weariness, accumulated over the years, are etched between his brows.
After a long moment, he places the photo frame face down, turns, and walks toward the large office desk. Every step seems guided by some invisible thread—precise, orderly, yet faintly revealing a silent struggle.
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