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Boxing Legend, 854 10th Avenue, New York, NY (2025)

10/29/2025

The relentless rain lashed the city, forcing everyone into a hurried blur. Beneath a Banyan tree, ignored by the indifferent crowd, an old man lay curled up in a murky puddle, his body trembling, his pale lips moving inaudibly. His hand desperately clutched a broken wooden cane.

Not far away, Mai, an eight-year-old girl, rummaged through a roadside trash bin for plastic bottles. Her mother was sick with a fever, unable to go to work washing dishes, so Mai had to collect extra scrap to buy medicine. Just as she bent down, she heard a heavy thud. Initially dismissing it as falling garbage, she looked closer and saw a wrinkled, shaking hand reaching out. Startled, Mai dropped her sack and rushed to the old man.

"Grandpa! Grandpa, what's wrong?" she cried.

The old man's breath was shallow, his eyes closed. Rain mixed with blood from a gash on his forehead. Without a second thought, Mai took off her torn raincoat and covered him. Trembling, she pulled him toward the closed storefront of a nearby general store with a sheltering awning. Even though she was soaked and freezing, her eyes were resolute. A few passersby muttered about avoiding bad luck, but Mai paid no heed.

At the store's awning, she helped the man sit against the wall, then opened her ragged cloth bag and offered him her old water bottle. The old man opened his eyes, staring at the tiny child.

"Why are you helping me, child?" he whispered.

Mai smiled, her voice clear. "You look like my grandpa... my grandpa passed away."

The man trembled, placing a weak hand on her head. "You resemble the person I owe..." He fainted before finishing his sentence. Mai, terrified, screamed for help. A nearby vendor called an ambulance. Mai sat beside the man, holding his cold, wrinkled hand. Later, a nurse asked, "Are you his relative, dear?" Mai shook her head, wet hair clinging to her face. "No, I just collect scraps. I saw him fall and helped."

That night, Mai returned to her damp rental room and recounted the event to her frail mother. "It's good that you helped, but don't let people take advantage of your kindness," her mother cautioned. Mai nodded, but her heart was only filled with the memory of the man's kind eyes and his cold hand gripping hers. Before sleeping, she secretly cleaned a small, blood-stained aluminum can she had found near the scene, hiding it in her bag, feeling it was an important clue.

The next morning, Mai and her mother went to the "Hoàng Gia Mansion" in the wealthy district to sweep the yard for extra money, a world away from their slum. The tall gates, black iron, and gleaming white walls seemed like a forbidden realm. The strict housekeeper, Madam Quản Gia, grudgingly allowed them in.

Disaster struck quickly. A sudden gust of wind knocked over a large crystal vase near a flowerbed. Crash! The housekeeper immediately blamed Mai. "It was the wind! I didn't touch it!" Mai pleaded, tears streaming. The woman, however, was ruthless. "Get out! Don't ever come back!" The mother and daughter were summarily dismissed.

Later that afternoon, a sleek black car stopped in front of their alley. A man in a suit asked for Mai, the little girl. Mai’s mother rushed to shield her daughter, thinking it was a mistake.

"No mistake, Madam. The old man your daughter saved yesterday is my boss, Mr. Tư Lâm, Chairman of Lâm Hoàng Group," the man explained. "He has regained consciousness and kept asking for Mai."

Mai's mother was stunned. Lâm Hoàng—the name on the gate of the mansion where they were just chased away! The next day, Mai and her mother were brought to the magnificent mansion. Stepping inside, Mai froze. A portrait on the wall depicted the old man she had saved.

Mr. Tư Lâm, now looking better, sat in the living room. "My little girl, I owe you my life," he said warmly. He asked Mai and her mother to stay for a few days, saying he needed their help. His assistant, Mr. Bình, a sharp-eyed, well-dressed man, looked visibly annoyed but complied.

Days turned into weeks. Mai and Mr. Lâm grew close. She swept the yard in the morning and spent the afternoons talking with him in the garden. "Why is this big house so sad, Grandpa?" Mai asked one day. "Because it was once a home," he sighed. "Now it's just a shell. Everyone I loved has left."

One afternoon, while tidying, Mai accidentally dropped a old file, revealing a faded photo: Mr. Lâm, a young woman, and a sign reading "Lâm Gia Trang" instead of "Hoàng Gia." Before she could understand, Mr. Bình snatched the photo away, his voice icy. "These are not for outsiders. Curiosity leads to trouble."

Later, Mai overheard Mr. Bình talking to a helper, Ms. Ba Năm, about "taking action before he remembers." Soon after, Ms. Ba Năm vanished. Mr. Lâm began to suspect that Mr. Bình, who was put in charge after Mr. Lâm’s previous accident and memory loss, was systematically taking over the company. He suspected the original "accident" was no accident at all.

Mr. Lâm discreetly asked Mai to retrieve the original property deeds from his old office safe when Mr. Bình was away. Mai found the safe empty of important documents, save for an envelope containing a land ownership certificate. To Mr. Lâm's horror, the name on the deed was Nguyễn Hữu Bình.

Mr. Lâm realized the conspiracy was deeper than he thought. He had to prove the forged signature. Mai, remembering the blood-stained can, had an idea. She secretly sent the can to Mr. Lâm's doctor for testing. The results were shocking: the can contained Mr. Lâm’s blood... and blood matching Mr. Bình's group. Mr. Bình was present at the accident scene. The man Mr. Lâm trusted like a son was the one who had pushed him.

"He knows we are investigating," Mr. Lâm whispered to Mai. He then began writing a journal detailing everything. "If I'm gone, give this to the police," he instructed. Mai, a poor scrap collector, had now become the key witness in a high-stakes corporate conspiracy.

The atmosphere in the mansion grew tense. Mr. Bình sensed the threat. He pressured Mr. Lâm to sign away the remaining assets. "Sign the papers tomorrow, and the little girl and her mother can leave safely," he threatened. Mr. Lâm, though fearful for Mai, refused to yield.

The next evening, Mr. Bình hosted a grand "appreciation party" for business partners, a thinly veiled event to announce his new authority. Mr. Lâm, frail but resolute, attended.

In front of the shocked audience, Mr. Lâm revealed a small USB drive. "Before we discuss succession, I want everyone to see a memory."

The large screen lit up, showing a blurry but undeniable video clip: Mr. Lâm being pushed down the stairs by a figure whose face, though indistinct, was clearly that of Mr. Bình. The crowd erupted in gasps. Mr. Bình quickly denied it, claiming the video was fake.

"And what about the blood match on the aluminum can?" Mr. Lâm challenged.

Just then, Ms. Ba Năm, the former helper, walked in. "It's not fake! I hid in the garden and saw him do it that night!"

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10/29/2025

The 52nd-floor boardroom of the Thien Long Holding Group glittered under the brilliant light of crystal chandeliers. On a long, polished table, red wine glasses shimmered, reflecting the faces of the elite who had gathered to celebrate a momentous $300 million business deal. Standing at the center of the hall was billionaire Hoang Minh Khang, a man hailed as a rags-to-riches legend, dressed in a black suit, a red tie, and a faint smile playing on his lips. Beside him was the Japanese delegation from the Takamura Group, with whom he had just signed a memorandum of understanding.

In a secluded corner, a small janitor girl was silently scrubbing the floor. Her uniform was faded, and her sleeves were rolled up, exposing thin, sun-tanned wrists. She moved slowly, trying to avoid everyone's gaze. No one noticed that she was only 13 years old.

Hoang Minh Khang subtly leaned in, turning to his Japanese counterpart and speaking in a low, contemptuous Japanese. A Japanese businessman chuckled. "She smells of poverty. It’s unpleasant to have her in the same room." No one else in the room understood the exchange, but they joined in the laughter, a chorus of polite disdain.

The girl stopped. She looked up, her dark eyes surprisingly deep and bright. She replied in clear, impeccably pronounced Japanese, freezing the entire room in silence. "Poverty is nothing to be ashamed of. Only a poor soul is despicable."

The hall went utterly quiet. Hoang Minh Khang was stunned, his wine glass halting midway to his lips. A middle-aged woman, the girl's mother, Tâm, rushed forward, her voice panicked. "Ngoc Anh! What are you doing? I apologize, gentlemen. She is just a child; she doesn't know any better."

But Ngoc Anh was calm. She slowly put down the mop, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a sheaf of documents. "This contract bears a forged seal."

With just that one sentence, the sophisticated atmosphere of the room shattered. And from that moment on, the life of the small janitor girl took a turn no one could have predicted.

Three months earlier, in a cramped 10-square-meter rented room deep in an alley on Bach Dang Street, Ngoc Anh sat huddled over an old study table. The weak yellow light illuminated a notebook filled with Japanese characters—the result of hundreds of hours of silent study. Beside her, her mother, Chi Tâm, had just returned from work, her clothes still damp with floor-cleaning water and smelling faintly of bleach.

"Why do you study all night, my child? Take a break; your eyes are so dark."

"I'm practicing listening, Mom. I want to apply for a scholarship at Le Hong Phong Specialized School."

"That school is full of rich kids, and the tuition is expensive. Are you sure?"

Ngoc Anh looked up, her eyes burning with fierce light. "I am not studying to be hired. I am studying so no one will ever dare to look down on us."

Chi Tâm froze. The words pierced the heart of a mother who had endured too much contempt. She turned away silently, afraid her tears would fall. Ngoc Anh was an unusual child; she was fascinated by the distinct sounds of the Japanese language. Without the means to attend a language center, she learned from old videos, transcribing, imitating, and practicing alone. The old laptop her mother acquired from a former employer was the only treasure they owned.

That May, she took the scholarship exam and scored the highest in the interview. Her homeroom teacher even told her that if the process were fair, she would be chosen first. But when the list was announced, her name was missing. The scholarship went to the son of the bank director who sponsored the school. The teacher could only sigh. "Ngoc Anh, I'm sorry. The sponsor prioritizes students with means; they worry you won't be able to keep up." Ngoc Anh simply nodded, her smile fading.

That night, her mother returned late, her clothes wet from the rain. Seeing her daughter still hunched over her desk, she sighed. "My child, what is the point of studying so much? Other people have the power and the money; we can’t compete."

"It's okay, Mom. I am not studying to compete. I am studying so they will never dare to despise us again."

A week later, the school had an unscheduled break due to a power outage. Chi Tâm planned to send her daughter to a neighbor’s house, but Ngoc Anh pleaded, "Mom, let me go with you today. I'll just sit in one spot. I want to see where you work."

The Thien Long building was gleaming, the security guards in dark uniforms speaking into walkie-talkies. People in suits hurried by, carrying files, coffee, and phones. Chi Tâm gave a forced smile. "Sit over there, in the corner. Don't cause trouble. I'm just cleaning the hallway nearby."

Ngoc Anh sat down on the cold metal chair, opening her small notebook. She paused when she heard the rapid footsteps of a Japanese delegation passing by. She heard some familiar words: lowly person, dirty, pathetic. She glanced up and saw a tall Vietnamese man with slicked-back hair and a purple tie, laughing along. The janitors nearby whispered that he was Lam, the Finance Director, who spoke fluent Japanese and was the Japanese side's representative.

Ngoc Anh frowned. The man's Japanese was fluent, but some of the words he used—the titles, the sentence structures—were subtly wrong, different from the books she had studied. Even the red seal on the documents they were holding seemed off. The logo featured a crane turning its head to the left, while she clearly remembered that the authentic Japanese national emblem always featured a crane facing right. It was a minor detail that only someone who had studied the language and culture deeply would notice.

Her heart pounded. Fake documents. The thought flashed through her mind, making her hands tremble.

That afternoon, while her mother was resting in the changing room, Ngoc Anh whispered, "Mom, who is Mr. Lam?"

"He's one of the big bosses, child. Don't get involved. If he frowns, I'll lose my job."

"But, Mom, I think his documents are fake. I studied this; I know it's wrong."

Chi Tâm shook her head, her voice laced with fear. "My child, don't interfere with other people's business. We're just janitors; who will believe us? If they find out you're spreading rumors, I'll really get fired."

Ngoc Anh bowed her head, silent, but the Japanese words, lowly person, echoed clearly in her mind. That night, she didn't sleep. She pulled out her grandfather's old dictionary, flipping to the first page, where a faded, handwritten sentence lay: "One who knows the language of others will never be controlled by them."

She gritted her teeth, opened her laptop, typed every Japanese character to double-check, and examined the photo she had secretly taken of the seal. The light from the screen illuminated her small face, her eyes glistening but resolute. In the tiny room, the electric fan whirred steadily. Her mother was fast asleep, but Ngoc Anh, a 13-year-old girl, sat straight before her desk, writing on a blank sheet of paper: "Tomorrow, I will prove that knowledge is not kept in a moneybag but in the heart of someone who dares to speak the truth."

The next morning, Ngoc Anh skipped school, feigning a stomachache. After her mother left for work, she took the bus to the city library. She printed all the evidence she had meticulously gathered from discarded papers in the office trash: the seal with the crane facing left, the date "Heisei 35" when the era had ended at "Heisei 31," the mistranslation of "cooperation" into "legalization," and the blurry ink that proved it was a color print, not an official stamp. She saved everything to two small USB drives.

That morning, the Thien Long Holding building seemed brighter than ever. The 52nd-floor boardroom was meticulously decorated. Cameras, reporters, and guests filled the main hall. Ngoc Anh followed her mother, assigned to help bring in cleaning tools, but in her pocket, the tiny USB lay silent, a secret waiting to be unleashed.

She heard the final whispers of the Japanese delegation: After signing, the money will be transferred in two hours. Lam’s share will be handled separately.

"Mom, I have to speak up," Ngoc Anh whispered, her voice trembling.

Chi Tâm clutched her daughter's hand in panic. "No! They won't believe you. If you speak, I'll lose my job immediately!"

"Mom, if I don't speak, hundreds of people will be fooled. I can't." Her eyes shone with a mix of fear and conviction.

The ceremony began. Billionaire Khang stepped up to the microphone, his smile radiating confidence. "Today is an important milestone marking the friendship between Vietnam and Japan. The $300 million project will open a new era of cooperation." Applause erupted. Khang bowed to the Japanese delegation, his face beaming with pride.

Behind him, Ngoc Anh was shaking. She heard her heart pounding. And then, it happened: as she stepped back to avoid a waiter, her hand accidentally knocked into a giant crystal vase placed near the serving area. The shattering sound echoed sharply, and the entire hall fell silent, all eyes turning towards her.

Lam, the Finance Director, immediately stepped forward, his voice thundering. "You despicable little girl! Who allowed you in here? You lowlife, do you know how much that vase costs?"

Chi Tâm ran to her daughter, kneeling to pick up the shards, her voice quivering. "I apologize, Sir. She... she just followed me. Get out of here immediately! Don't pollute this place!" Lam turned to the Japanese guests, sneering in Japanese, “Truly the lower class, ruining the signing atmosphere.”

They thought the girl didn't understand, but Ngoc Anh stood up straight. She quickly wiped away a tear and looked directly at Lam. Her clear voice rang out in standard Tokyo Japanese, cutting through the silence. "Poverty is nothing to be ashamed of. Only a poor soul is despicable."

The whole room froze. Reporters turned their cameras toward her. Lam’s face turned ashen. Khang was startled, his eyes wide.

The girl took a few steps forward, her voice shaking but every word firm. "I apologize for the interruption, but before Mr. Khang signs this contract, I have something to say. The document you are about to sign is fake."

A murmur spread through the crowd. Lam changed color and rushed to block her, shouting, "Silence! Who do you think you are? A child daring to talk nonsense here?"

"I am not talking nonsense. I have proof." She pulled the USB from her pocket.

The entire hall held its breath. A quick-witted reporter plugged the USB into the projector, mistaking it for part of the presentation.

On the LED screen, a magnified image of the seal with the crane facing left appeared. Ngoc Anh pointed, her voice clear. "This seal is wrong. The real Japanese National Emblem always features the crane facing right. This is Point One."

She clicked the mouse. The next image showed the text mentioning "Heisei 35." "The Heisei era ended at year 31. Heisei 35 cannot exist. This is Point Two."

The room was utterly silent. She continued to present the remaining four points: the spelling mistake, the wrong name of the agency, and the difference in ink. Every piece of evidence she cited matched the genuine documents she had researched in the library.

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10/29/2025

Under the dazzling lights and the graceful music at the most luxurious party in Thanh Thành, a decision was made that would redraw the fates of people bound by debt, old grudges, and a love that seemed non-existent.

Tô Thiển stood beside her husband, Giảng Tư Thần, the young and powerful CEO of the Giảng Group. They were the perfect couple in the public eye. The celebration was meticulously organized by Giảng CEO, with his "Phu nhân Tư Thần" personally overseeing every detail, earning endless praise from the elite for their "loving newlywed" marriage .

However, few knew that this marriage was a five-year contract of obligation.

Five years prior, Tô Thiển’s father went bankrupt, owing the Giảng Group 5 million. Giảng's grandmother, kind-hearted but pragmatic, offered a cold bargain: "You marry my grandson. The 5 million debt will be treated as the betrothal gift, no need for repayment." Tô Thiển accepted, exchanging her youth and dreams for her family's peace.

Throughout this time, she perfectly played the role of a good wife, a model "Phu nhân Giảng." Giảng Tư Thần, a cold and arrogant CEO, never truly considered her his wife, seeing her only as a "lucky charm" to appease his grandmother.

Tô Thiển fought relentlessly in silence. She used her innate talent for design, selling her works to save up the money. Finally, a call from Paris opened the door to freedom. "Your design talent is truly impressive. We would like to invite you to work in Paris."

It was the signal. The debt was almost paid. Her grandmother’s health was stable. Tô Thiển decided: It was time to start living for herself.

At the successful party, when Giảng Tư Thần asked what reward she wanted, his overwhelming confidence was met with a calm yet earth-shattering statement:

"I want a divorce."

Giảng Tư Thần was stunned. "What did you say?"

"I said I want a divorce. I've nearly gathered the money I owed your family. Divorce is the most logical step now. What do you think?"

Tô Thiển placed the bank card containing the 5 million on the Giảng family's dining table, announcing the end of her marriage. Giảng Tư Thần’s mother was suspicious, but Tô Thiển was resolute: "That’s none of your concern anymore. I know my family background is ordinary, and I am unworthy of the Giảng family."

Faced with Tô Thiển’s finality, Giảng Tư Thần finally conceded: "Fine, if you want a divorce, then divorce." He tried to appear indifferent, but deep down, this loss of control hurt his pride and awakened a feeling he had deliberately ignored.

Giảng Tư Thần reassured himself: "I didn’t marry her for love back then. What now? Did feelings develop after living together for so long? I just don't understand why she suddenly wants a divorce."

Tô Thiển, however, was serene: "They want to be the woman of Giảng Tư Thần, but I only needed to play the role of Phu nhân Giảng. Ultimately, the relationship between him and me was just employee and boss."

Her dream was to complete her design studies, and she still hoped to meet the savior from 18 years ago.

Following a lead from her friend, Tô Thiển found the "former owner of Cẩm Lâm Villa"—the place where she almost drowned 18 years ago. She met Tưởng Minh, the CEO of Thịnh Vũ Group.

Tưởng Minh acted mysteriously, initially claiming he didn't remember, but when Tô Thiển mentioned the hairpin, he seemed to recall everything. Tô Thiển, overwhelmed with gratitude, was convinced he was her savior. She accepted Tưởng Minh’s offer to be the Head of Design at Thịnh Vũ, took a 3 million advance to fully repay the 5 million debt, definitively severing her financial tie to Giảng Tư Thần and abandoning her study plans, determined to prove her worth.

Giảng Tư Thần, initially agreeing to the divorce, showed clear signs of jealousy upon seeing Tô Thiển’s closeness with Tưởng Minh.

"Don't tell me you're divorcing me because of him?" he demanded.

Tô Thiển replied coldly: "You're just afraid I'll embarrass you outside. Giảng CEO, rest assured, I won't tell anyone I was married to you. I'll even take detours to avoid meeting you."

The situation escalated when Giảng Tư Thần discovered Tô Thiển’s father, once again facing debt, came to borrow another 3 million from him. Giảng Tư Thần used the 3 million transfer to once again become Tô Thiển’s creditor: "I've become your creditor again. You have no right to ask for a divorce."

Tô Thiển was furious: "Ultimately, in your eyes, I'm just a tool you can buy and sell at will... I've had enough."

Tưởng Minh leveraged Tô Thiển's talent to challenge Giảng Tư Thần in the fashion industry. He hired her to design a gown for Lâm Tư Vũ, the celebrity managed by Giảng Tư Thần. Lâm Tư Vũ, jealous of Tô Thiển, continuously sabotaged her work, culminating in a confrontation at her birthday party, where Giảng Tư Thần surprisingly appeared as an "organizer," making Tô Thiển realize he was not indifferent, just uninterested in her.

When Lâm Tư Vũ tried to break the contract with Thịnh Vũ, Giảng Tư Thần used coercion to force Tô Thiển to take on the project: "Our Giảng Group only accepts the best, we never need alternatives. If your refusal causes the collaboration between the two companies to fail, no other company will dare to work with you."

At the Fashion Week event, Giảng Tư Thần acted strangely again. He participated in the bidding for the hosting rights, pushed the price up to 100 million, and then announced he was giving the hosting rights to Tưởng Minh for free.

"You once said you would stand by him even if he lost, but I don't want you to lose," Giảng Tư Thần explained his inexplicable action to Tô Thiển. He would rather spend money to ensure Tưởng Minh won and Tô Thiển saved face, than see her fail.

Tưởng Minh understood the implication: "Giảng Tư Thần, are you deliberately trying to humiliate me?"

Lâm Tư Vũ, wanting to uncover the secret between Tưởng Minh and Giảng Tư Thần, agreed to Tưởng Minh’s deal. She snuck into Giảng Tư Thần's office and discovered the shocking truth: Tưởng Minh and Giảng Tư Thần were half-brothers .

Tô Thiển, upon learning the truth, felt manipulated. She confronted Giảng Tư Thần: "So you and Tưởng Minh are half-brothers... You shouldn't use me."

Giảng Tư Thần tried to explain that their conflict was real, but he never used her, merely afraid to face the past. However, Tô Thiển’s trust was severely damaged.

Tưởng Minh, meanwhile, was consumed by jealousy and hatred. He used his power to pressure designers who had worked with Giảng Tư Thần. When Tô Thiển protested, he blurted out a denial of his true identity: "The person from childhood wasn't me, wasn't me."

Fearing exposure, Tưởng Minh proactively asked Tô Thiển to pretend to be his girlfriend to save Thịnh Vũ from bankruptcy, using her gratitude as leverage. Tô Thiển, due to the perceived life-saving grace, reluctantly agreed.

This relationship plunged Giảng Tư Thần into deeper despair. At a dinner party, he was set up by Lâm Tư Vũ, drugged, and taken to a room by Tống Tam Xuyên. Tô Thiển accidentally saw him and took care of him.

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10/29/2025

The Long Quoc Accounting Office, a part of the esteemed Cuu Cam Group, became the epicenter of the corporate world when it announced a groundbreaking recruitment: Special Assistant to the Chairman. This singular, powerful position attracted thousands of applicants, turning the entrance to Cuu Cam into a ruthless battlefield.

In the midst of this cutthroat competition was Hứa Nhược Gia, an intelligent and ambitious woman. She had planned to arrive with her boyfriend of four years, Mai Hạ Văn, but he was a no-show, his phone unreachable. "Forget it, I won't wait any longer," Hứa Nhược Gia decided, refusing to let another person's tardiness dictate her destiny.

As she was about to enter, she collided with a woman of striking yet arrogant elegance: Phó Minh Tuyết, the heiress of the Phó Thị Group. "Who is it? Are you blind? I'm rushing to an interview," Phó Minh Tuyết snapped. Upon realizing they were both headed to Cuu Cam, the heiress’s contempt immediately morphed into open hostility.

Phó Minh Tuyết, who was relentlessly pursuing Sở Quân Nhĩ, the powerful Young Master of Cuu Cam, viewed this position as her rightful claim. She aggressively blocked Hứa Nhược Gia’s path, unleashing a barrage of insults: "It is precisely because this job is important that we won't let an uneducated person like you step in. Cuu Cam Group doesn't need trash like you." Burning with indignation, Hứa Nhược Gia shot back: "If the leaders in Cuu Cam are all like you—biased and disregarding competence—then that is the real trash."

The conflict escalated until a calm, authoritative voice cut through the tension: "Stop." Sở Quân Nhĩ appeared, radiating an undeniable charisma. He made a clear declaration that halted all schemes: "From now on, anyone who dares to obstruct an interviewee will be immediately dismissed and never re-hired."

Despite Phó Minh Tuyết's furious pleas, Sở Quân Nhĩ upheld the principle of fairness, allowing Hứa Nhược Gia to proceed to the crucial written exam. Even though the staircase door was mysteriously locked (a scheme by Phó Minh Tuyết), Hứa Nhược Gia still managed to enter, leaving everyone—especially her rival—dumbfounded.

The written examination was a nerve-wracking affair, but when the results were posted, Hứa Nhược Gia’s name topped the list, securing the first spot for the final interview with the Chairman. Her success bred suspicion, even from Mai Hạ Văn.

Hạ Văn finally showed up after the exam, his face etched with a superficial remorse, but Hứa Nhược Gia's eyes no longer held trust. "I waited for you for an hour, but you showed up early at the testing room. I think you owe me an explanation," she challenged. Hạ Văn blamed his dead phone and accused her of being "tardy," deepening Hứa Nhược Gia’s doubts: "Am I overthinking this? But everything is too coincidental."

The dark truth about Mai Hạ Văn soon began to surface when Hạ Văn’s Mother sought out Hứa Nhược Gia, not to offer support, but to humiliate her: "Are you shameless, fighting with Tiểu Văn over a job? A woman should just stay home and take care of the family. That job rightfully belongs to my Tiểu Văn." She baldly demanded Hứa Nhược Gia relinquish the opportunity.

Refusing to be scorned, Hứa Nhược Gia retorted fiercely: "If you say that job is his, let him come and get it himself. Why are you coming to me?" She declared her intention to end the relationship and her refusal to yield, sending Hạ Văn's mother into a rage of vile curses.

Although Hạ Văn later appeared, putting on an act of apology and claiming the demand was only his mother’s idea, Hứa Nhược Gia saw through his calculation. She held her ground: "Even if I yielded, you wouldn't accept it. You want to rely on your own ability to show me how good the man I chose is."

The real battle commenced on the day of the final interview. As Hứa Nhược Gia prepared, a call came claiming her boyfriend had been in an accident. The timing of this blatant scam made her waver, but her composure held. She wisely double-checked the information and decided to stay, securing her victory in the final round.

Hứa Nhược Gia won the interview and officially became the Special Assistant to the Chairman. Immediately, Hạ Văn reappeared, heartbroken, accusing her of being cold-hearted for prioritizing the job over his "accident." Hứa Nhược Gia finally realized the extent of his wickedness—that Hạ Văn, failing to secure the job himself, had conspired with his mother to sabotage her.

The nadir of his malice came when Hạ Văn spread a rumor that Hứa Nhược Gia had an infectious disease, forcing her to undergo a health check and creating obstacles for her at the company. When that failed, Hạ Văn played the role of the caring boyfriend again, bringing her favorite jasmine tea, but having spiked the water with a banned substance to frame her for drug use. Fortunately, Hứa Nhược Gia noticed his suspicious behavior and refused to drink. She had known for some time and was only waiting for solid evidence.

Moments later, the police arrived to arrest Hứa Nhược Gia on charges of drug involvement. In the chaos, Hạ Văn cruelly broke up with her over the phone, blaming her for everything. The shock aggravated the illness of Hứa Nhược Gia’s Father, who was already hospitalized.

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