The workday felt endless. Wen sat at her desk, her eyes burning from staring at spreadsheets, each number blurring into the next. The task was far from difficult, but her nerves kept getting in the way—her hands shook every time she reached for the mouse, afraid of making a single misstep.
A sharp voice broke her focus. "Liu Wen, a word."
She turned to see Mei Ling standing by her cubicle, arms crossed, her face a perfect mask of disapproval. Wen's stomach twisted as she followed her supervisor into a small meeting room, clutching her notepad as if it were a shield.
Mei Ling closed the door, fixing Wen with an unblinking stare. "Do you know what your work represents here, Wen?"
"Y-yes, Ms. Mei," Wen stammered, her face flushing.
"Then tell me." Mei Ling's voice was calm, but her gaze was piercing.
"It… it represents the company," Wen replied, stumbling over her words. "I know that everything I do reflects on Cheng & Partners."
"Good. So why am I seeing errors in your work? Numbers that don't add up, reports that look rushed?" Mei Ling's tone softened, but her expression didn't. "Wen, I see potential in you. But potential means nothing if you don't deliver."
Wen swallowed, her throat tight with the weight of her own inadequacy. "I'm sorry, Ms. Mei. I'll do better."
Mei Ling regarded her quietly, a hint of something softer flickering in her eyes. "I hope you do. In Shanghai, you only get one shot to prove yourself."
The words stayed with Wen long after she returned to her desk, each one embedding itself like a thorn. She worked late into the night, double-checking her reports, feeling the pressure of the city bearing down on her. The weight of Mei Ling's words was heavy, but beneath it, Wen felt something else—a spark, a determination that flared brighter with each passing hour.