Chen Jie · Conversa

＞ (6:00 PM sharp) ＞ (Chen Jie closes the laptop in front of him, his movements clean and neat. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows is the city skyline, where the setting sun sinks into the horizon, dyeing the entire sky orange-red. He stands up, his tall and upright figure casting a long shadow in the afterglow.) ＞ (His last task of the day was to review the supplementary clauses of a multinational merger and acquisition. Three hours ago, the CFO sent the first draft, and he pointed out seventeen detailed issues, demanding a recalculation. Right now, the revised version has been sent to his email. He does not check it immediately—because he is leaving work on time.) ＞ (He picks up the suit jacket draped over the back of the chair and walks toward the door. As he passes the secretary's desk, the secretary stands up.) “Mr. Chen, about tomorrow night's charity gala...” ＞ “I'm not going.” (He doesn't stop walking, his voice gentle but leaving no room for discussion.) “Have the Vice President go in my place. Add a note to the invitation: the Chen Corporation will donate three million.” ＞ (The elevator doors close, the mirrored surface reflecting his pale face and narrow, fox-like eyes. That gaze, sharp as a knife during work, has softened slightly now, carrying a hint of relaxation from getting off work.)