If not for the occasional motion of the young man turning pages, the scene would have looked like a still image, with sunlight falling just right on everything.

The sound of a secretary knocking at the door brought Ming Yao back to his senses. Feeling that his behavior had been somewhat inexplicable, he closed the surveillance feed and turned his full attention back to work.

Lin Zhi had no idea that someone had just been watching him. After half an hour of reading, he got ready to head out and share the good news with Old Master Ming.

He had already set foot on this step — the next move was to climb to the one above it.

Old Master Ming had been keeping Lin Zhi's situation in mind and naturally knew something about how things had unfolded. When he saw Lin Zhi, he praised him with a: "most original."

"Tell me in detail — how did you come up with this plan?"

The method wasn't exceptionally brilliant, but it won on the word: "clever."

If they had known from the start that it would drive traffic their way, the variety show producers never would have let that segment air without extracting enough benefit for themselves.

Lin Zhi told Old Master Ming his plan with a smile. Long before he had signed the contract for the factory, he had already worked out this scheme. The key figure he had sought out first was Zhong Tian, Zhong Guo's daughter — a girl with a dream of becoming a star.

Zhong Guo was just an ordinary insurance salesman, and his wife ran a small convenience store. They couldn't afford to spend much on training their daughter.

Zhong Tian had seen a friend from the same dance studio get burned by a training company's contract, so she was too wary to sign with any company casually. On top of that, her singing and dancing weren't particularly outstanding, and she only wanted to try her luck at open auditions.

Lin Zhi had had his eye on that program for a long time, so he had naturally spotted Zhong Tian.

He made up some pretext — something about Zhong Tian resembling a late neighbor's younger sister — and dangled an opportunity before the Zhong family, had them sign a confidentiality agreement.

Of course, when relaying all this to Old Master Ming, he omitted that particular part, speaking only of results and not the process.

Renovating the factory, expanding the ice cream flavors, upgrading quality, establishing management procedures, negotiating prices with various wholesalers — everything had been completed before the program began filming. Until then, he had kept completely still, which was precisely why the variety show producers hadn't suspected a thing and had cheerfully let that segment go out.

Lin Zhi hadn't blanketed the market with promotional campaigns. He had focused strategically on a select number of high-quality content creators, avoiding the kind of brainwashing marketing that oversaturates, and steering clear of the pity-driven approach as well.

In the end, it was no longer Lin Zhi driving things forward — it was the momentum of the internet itself. Once something becomes a trending topic, countless people naturally flock to it, each one reinforcing the fact that yes, this is a trend.

"Very patient, very bold, and very much a gamble. For your first time doing something like this, you dared to play it this way — the younger generation is truly something to be reckoned with. I'm old now; I can only stand on the shore and watch you young ones make waves. This world, after all, will always belong to the young."

Old Master Ming offered his assessment. If any link in the chain had gone wrong, things would not have turned out this way.

"I was just taking a bold chance. If it had failed, I would have packed it in and waited contentedly for Ming Yao to support me."

Lin Zhi said it as a joke. He had plenty of steady, methodical marketing plans as well, but what he had wanted here was precisely this unexpected effect — to let people see the big picture through something small.

The fact that he had dared to do this meant that he had already assumed success.  In other fields, he wouldn't presume to speak, but in the jungle of the business world, he had once been one of those who wrote the rules.

"It would be a shame if you were just keeping at home. What are your plans going forward?"

Old Master Ming asked aloud, with his own thoughts already forming.

In his youth, he too had been a figure of some renown. While the Ming Family's business had climbed a level further under Ming Yao's hands, Ming Yao was his successor, and it was he himself who had opened up the Ming Family's primary domains. Though he was old now, without the ambition and drive of his younger years, his eye for people had not dulled. He thought Lin Zhi was someone worth cultivating.

If Lin Zhi was a talent — and one who could, moreover, suppress the malevolent stars fated to clash with Ming Yao's destiny — Old Master Ming saw no reason not to bring him in.

"First, I want to stabilize what I have my hands on. I haven't figured out the rest yet, but I'd like to venture into other industries."

Lin Zhi understood what Old Master Ming meant. That was also his own objective.

Sometimes things couldn't be spoken too plainly — being too blunt was too crude. After all, neither party was a fool. There was no need to spell it out piece by piece; a mutual understanding between them was enough.

"Good to have that drive. Stay for dinner tonight — I'll have the kitchen, slice some fresh lamb, and we'll have hot pot."

"Grandfather, you're just craving it yourself, aren't you? You really shouldn't eat too much — I'll be counting for you.”

Old Master Ming grumbled away, and Uncle Jin stood to the side watching with quiet amusement.

After decades at Old Master Ming's side, how could he not understand that the old man wasn't really craving that particular dish? He simply enjoyed the feeling of being watched over and fussed about by the younger generation.

Uncle Jin even secretly snapped a photo of Old Master Ming looking thoroughly content and sent it to Ming Yao.

Upon learning that Lin Zhi was staying at his grandfather's for dinner, a thought stirred in Ming Yao's mind. He was about to instruct his special assistant to rearrange his schedule, but then thought better of it and let the idea go.

That would feel as though he were crossing a line. Ming Yao pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, the light in his eyes growing obscure and unreadable.

After this visit, the next time Lin Zhi returned to see Old Master Ming, he sensed a difference. The old man no longer confined himself to casually talking about home life, flowers and birds and fish — he also spoke of business.

Some of it was years past, some from recent times, and some concerned the market in the period ahead. Most of the time it was Old Master Ming asking questions, listening to Lin Zhi's views.

Lin Zhi knew he was being tested. To maintain his cover, he deliberately held back somewhat — at times even intentionally made small errors, saying things that were overly idealistic or naïve, or stepping into a mild misconception, so that Old Master Ming could correct him. He couldn't let the old man think he was too calculating.

Besides his visits to Old Master Ming every few days, Lin Zhi also kept up with various social engagements within his circles and found time to oversee the ice cream factory.

It was unclear which party had made a move, but someone had apparently grown tired of Little Cloud Mountain's recent prominence. Online, various exposés began appearing, along with critical commentary.

Little Cloud Mountain had a stable base of casual fans, so the situation remained relatively steady. Lin Zhi also had System No. 01 — as a superintelligent AI, creating virtual accounts to post comments was trivially easy for it, and this was part of why Lin Zhi's marketing costs had been so low.

System No. 01: [Don't worry, Host! With me here, there’ll be no surprises!]

As for the exposé revealing that Little Cloud Mountain had changed ownership, Lin Zhi made no move to suppress it, because it was true — it wasn't a distortion of the facts. Moreover, the person named in these reports as the one in charge was Zhong Tian's father, Zhong Guo, which was exactly the kind of outcome he had anticipated.

Zhong Guo responded with a video and a lengthy written post, explaining the situation — he said the old brand held personal meaning for him, and that it was a decision to take a chance that led him to take over the factory.

All manner of speculation followed in the comments. The variety show production team saw an opportunity they couldn't pass up: since Little Cloud Mountain had ridden the coattails of their program's popularity, they would naturally ride it back. They specifically arranged for Zhong Tian to be asked about it.

It was a closed-set audition competition, and the contestants had no phones to contact the outside world. So Zhong Tian still had no idea that the family ice cream factory had been turned around. She kept up the appearance of someone whose family business was struggling and who needed to debut successfully to support them — and when the question came up, she looked genuinely caught off guard.

"How did you know it was Little Cloud Mountain? I wasn't planning to say anything yet, ha-ha. This doesn't count as advertising, does it?"

"I never said the factory had always been ours — that's not how it is. You've got it wrong. My dad only took it over not long ago. I loved that brand when I was little. There was a stretch when things at home were really hard, and the only birthday present I ever asked for was that ice cream. My dad always felt a bit guilty about it."

"After I grew up, it was gone from the shelves for so long. My dad used to go straight to the factory to buy it in bulk for us to eat at home. When we heard the factory was going under, our whole family felt the loss. My dad had been thinking about starting a business anyway, so he just went ahead and took it over. He even said he'd make a special ‘Princess Ice Cream’ for me, with a Chibi version of me on it."

What Zhong Tian said was half true, half fabricated. She was privately in awe of her employer's foresight — the earlier parts were all true; the last few sentences were made up.

The production team was somewhat disappointed. After all, it would have been a bigger story if Zhong Tian had claimed the factory had always belonged to her family, playing the nostalgia card under false pretenses. Still, this version worked well enough.

Once the clip went out, it generated another wave of positive buzz online.

"So the Princess Ice Cream was based on Sister Tian's image! Each flavor’s adorable! Dad really kept his promise!"

"It's true the original Little Cloud Mountain was going to close, and it's true the ownership changed — but the classic flavors still taste like the classics. Worth every penny. Would certain corporate interests please stop squeezing out budget-friendly ice cream from the market!"

"Watched it and immediately ordered a whole case of Little Cloud Mountain Princess Ice Cream! Go get 'em in the competition, girl — can't buy your merch yet, but buying the ice cream is still spending money on you, and at least it's something you can actually eat!"

Old Master Ming listened to the report from his people and was very pleased with how Lin Zhi had handled things and with the care he had shown. He brought up to Ming Yao the idea of having Lin Zhi come work at the Group.

"I'm not ordering you around — you're the one in charge now, and personnel decisions are not mine to interfere with. But Zhizhi is the right material for this, and since he's your wife, his position is different from anyone else's. He's worth cultivating."

Ming Yao listened to Old Master Ming's words, pressed his fingertips together, and was silent for a moment before saying: "I'll think about it."

Lin Zhi's temperament was not what Ming Yao had originally intended to put to use. But recent events had shifted his perspective somewhat. He wanted to assess things himself — and first, he needed to understand what Lin Zhi was thinking.

He finished work for the day and returned home just past ten in the evening. Ming Yao's finger hovered for a moment before pressing the number "4" on the elevator panel.

Since Lin Zhi had moved in, Ming Yao had not set foot on the fourth floor.

The furnishings were as he remembered. Ming Yao knocked on the bedroom door.

The door opened. The young man standing inside was wearing a loose, oversized shirt, his face flushed with a hazy, lingering warmth, his whole bearing languid.

It was the kind of lazy ease that came after satisfaction — a faint, sweet fragrance drifting gently from him.

Having no experience was not the same as having no knowledge.

Ming Yao's jaw tightened. His voice came out cold and sharp: "I believe we had an agreement — no bringing anyone here."

Lin Zhi stepped aside and tilted his head slightly: "Is this what you mean?"

Ming Yao followed his gaze toward the bed. What met his eyes was a small, oval-shaped toy.

"It's fortunate you knocked when you did. Having it out while receiving a guest would have been rather impolite."

Ming Yao instinctively followed Lin Zhi's words and let his mind form an image — then immediately swept the thought away. He was aware of his own heartbeat, suddenly too loud, and felt his body growing more and more tense.

He thought: perhaps tonight was not the right moment for a conversation.

"Since you came looking for me on your own, you must have something to say. Come in and we'll talk."

Lin Zhi walked back into the room and picked up his glass, drinking a sip of water to replenish himself.

With System No. 01 there, he had of course known who was knocking. Otherwise he would not have presented himself in this state — at the very least, he wouldn't have finished up and then put on nothing but an oversized shirt.

Hearing no sound from the doorway, Lin Zhi turned around. He wiped the trace of water from his lips, then raised an eyebrow and asked: "Not coming in?"

Ming Yao's heart felt as though it had a rabbit kicking at it relentlessly. His body seemed to move ahead of his mind, pressing the forward key on his wheelchair.

The door drifted shut behind him on a breath of wind, sealing them inside a closed and ambiguous space.