Limited-Time Attachment - Chapter 46

“Have you shown the new proposal to the boss?”

The head of Boshen’s PR department asked his deputy as they walked toward the CEO’s office.

“It’s already been submitted to President Song,” the employee replied, checking his work logs while keeping pace. “President Song has already approved it, the next step is implementation.”

“It hasn’t been executed yet, has it?” The manager didn’t slow his pace, his expression grim.

“Not yet.”

“Good.”

Leveraging the power of public opinion was a strategy Song Ming had decided upon as soon as she took over Boshen. Winning the intellectual property lawsuit was important, but reversing the brand’s public image was equally vital.

The PR department had been the most criticized team since the change in leadership, and they lived in constant trepidation every day. However, it was precisely because Song Ming kept such a tight leash on them that the overall quality of the staff had improved significantly, allowing them to react instantly when changes occurred.

Originally, everything was going smoothly.

But just now, the opposition had suddenly reacted, leaking half-true rumors to smear Boshen and specifically purchasing accounts to push the spread of these lies.

The situation had shifted. To handle the current crisis, the original plan was no longer viable.

The PR manager rushed in and placed the urgently revised solution on Song Ming’s desk.

Inside the CEO’s office, Song Ming sat with one hand propped on the arm of her chair and the other on her mouse, quietly evaluating the proposal. Her grey-green eyes were dark and cold, appearing almost frozen, her gaze sending a chill through the room.

The PR manager felt apprehensive. “President Song, is there anything in this version that needs improvement?”

Song Ming didn’t answer until she had scanned the last line of the PPT.

The manager had brought a classic strategy, attacking the opposition’s history, essentially accusing them of a habit of using unscrupulous means. It was a safe, stable approach.

“No problem. Proceed with execution.”

The PR manager breathed a sigh of relief and led his deputy out of the office.

Once they were clear of the CEO’s suite, the employee carrying the laptop finally relaxed.

“That scared me to death… President Song seems to have been in a terrible mood lately.”

“Sigh, yeah,” the manager agreed in a low voice. Recalling the pressure of standing in that office, he shook his head with lingering fear. “It’s been many days now. Who knows what’s behind it.”

After dismissing the PR staff, Song Ming glanced at the document she had been halfway through reading, then leaned back into her chair with a lack of interest.

Song Ming hadn’t seen Zhou Jibai for half a month.

She refused to return to Zhou Jibai’s house, and when meetings occurred, she sent someone else in her stead. She worked regular hours, staying synchronized with Zhou Jibai’s schedule from a distance, but she simply refused to meet.

If there were differences, they were subtle: while Zhou Jibai worked late, Song Ming was drinking at a bar; by the time Zhou Jibai went home, Song Ming had already settled elsewhere.

Leaning back, Song Ming’s gaze drifted to the greenery by the window, thinking aimlessly:

If it weren’t for Zhong Zhengcheng’s ridiculous attempt to force an engagement, she and Zhou Jibai would probably still be targeting each other… tripping each other up, but never truly fighting. It would probably be exactly like this, never seeing one another.

Forget it, Song Ming closed her eyes. She would just treat it as returning to the “right track.”

“President Song!”

Song Ming’s secretary suddenly burst into the office.

“What’s the panic?” Song Ming frowned, her gaze sweeping over the flustered secretary.

“Teacher Wu just came and asked me to tell you,” the secretary said, struggling to regain her composure. “President Zhou of Jiaxin does not agree with your latest strategy. She said if you insist on proceeding with the original plan, she will consider withdrawing her investment.”

Withdrawing investment?

Wouldn’t that mean a complete break between them?

She hadn’t signaled Chen Shengrong to give up on the engagement yet, so what was Zhou Jibai playing at now?

Song Ming pressed her brow, suppressing her irritation with impatience.

It was all because of that meddling Wu Chen.

The royal blue Bentley pulled into the parking lot in front of Jiaxin Plaza. A woman in a light brown trench coat stepped out. Her beautiful face had strong mixed-race features, her bone structure sharp and inherently imposing. Her brow was low, her grey-green eyes suppressed a simmering rage, and her icy expression was terrifying.

Slamming the car door, the woman took long strides into the Jiaxin building.

The receptionist stood up the moment she saw her. “President Song, you…”

Song Ming bypassed the front desk without a glance, dropping a cold “I’m looking for your President Zhou” as she marched toward the offices. Her profile was so cold it could make someone shiver.

The receptionist hurried to signal the security guard to let her through.

Inside the Jiaxin CEO’s office, Zhou Jibai held the internal line, listened for a moment, and said calmly, “Fine, I understand.”

The brief communication ended. Just as the phone clicked back into its cradle, the office door was pushed open.

Song Ming appeared in the doorway.

The two made eye contact, and both froze for a second.

Zhou Jibai’s secretary followed behind Song Ming, looking like she was in a difficult position.

Zhou Jibai glanced at the secretary. “You can go out first.”

As she spoke, Song Ming blinked and regained her senses, her overly cold and arrogant expression softening slightly.

They hadn’t seen each other for half a month, and Zhou Jibai seemed to have lost weight…

She had likely just had her hair styled, the curve of her curls had changed slightly, and pearl earrings peeked through her strands. Her beautiful face seemed even thinner, making her look more fragile than their last meeting.

Song Ming’s anger dissipated for no apparent reason. Her expression smoothed out as she walked slowly into the office.

“Why don’t you agree with the new proposal?”

According to Song Ming’s arrangement, Wu Chen should be taking international orders now, designing custom private gowns for his socialite friends as the first step in rebuilding the brand’s reputation and opening the market.

But Zhou Jibai refused to agree.

“…It’s not the best timing,” Zhou Jibai said after a moment of silence, looking at the documents before her.

“What?” Song Ming frowned. “What’s the problem with this timing?”

The things tying Boshen down were merely that intellectual property dispute and the competition resulting from it. Since taking over, Song Ming had solved the capital chain issues and optimized the management team. Past rumors and scandals had been smoothed over. They could now fully begin getting Boshen’s core business back on track.

What “timing” was she waiting for?

“Is Boshen’s property lawsuit over?” Zhou Jibai looked up at Song Ming, her brow furrowed slightly, her beautiful eyes showing disapproval.

Song Ming’s brow furrowed as well. She let out a mocking laugh as if hearing a fairy tale, looking at Zhou Jibai with total lack of understanding:

“That lawsuit has been dragging on for nearly three years. Do you honestly intend to wait for a verdict before resuming Boshen’s operations? If we delay that long, do you realize how high the financial pressure will get? Do you still want a company? You aren’t Wu Chen, why are you making this kind of decision?”

Zhou Jibai looked at Song Ming, her frown deepening:

“For a brand, rushing to occupy the market when reputation issues haven’t been fully resolved creates massive hidden risks. Boshen’s positioning is high-end service, its clientele is the group most fastidious about the intangible value behind a product. Their eyes are no less sharp than yours. Between a new brand embroiled in disputes and an old brand representing nobility and decades of fashion leadership, which would you choose?”

Song Ming closed her eyes, suppressing her temper. “Those risks can be adjusted and solved through later operations. Waiting for a verdict is impossible. Boshen’s capital chain has already broken once, the first thing we must do now is self-rescue. Leaving capital idle when it’s available is against my principles.”

There were things that couldn’t be said aloud, but both women in this office knew each other so well they could read between the lines.

“Yes, you wouldn’t let Jiaxin’s funds sit idle,” Zhou Jibai’s eyes flashed with brilliance and obvious anger as she looked at Song Ming. “You just want to produce some results first, use those results to demand more capital, and then use that capital to realize your ‘operations’ subtly turning other people’s goals into your own, expanding your territory step by step, right?”

Song Ming’s most common tactic had been seen through by Zhou Jibai and called out plainly. Her expression didn’t change a bit.

Song Ming looked at Zhou Jibai, admitting it through gritted teeth like she was admitting to her own restless, unbindable nature. “Yes, that’s right. What of it?”

“…Building a brand is not the same as simply reviving an asset!” Zhou Jibai stood up, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Boshen should be deciding its next collaborations based on the status of the lawsuit, pushing public opinion reasonably according to the dispute’s current state, and maximizing the use of brand and celebrity effects, rather than pursuing expansion as the primary goal regardless of the risks. A brand is very fragile. Can’t you occasionally restrain those concepts of yours that only aim for ‘maximum profit’ and capital appreciation?”

Song Ming fell silent. After a moment of wordless tension, she suddenly couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore.

As Zhou Jibai’s voice brushed against her eardrums, a few words hit Song Ming’s thoughts hard.

Song Ming remembered the long period in the past when she had stayed in this city doing nothing, living as an idle photographer.

Yes, she only cared about capital appreciation.

Song Ming raised her eyes and looked at Zhou Jibai, her gaze cold. “It seems we have nothing left to say.”

Zhou Jibai froze, her hands propped on the desk slowly clenching into fists. “…I feel the same.”