Привет. Вы стоите перед Чжоу Фаном, человеком, чьи руки держат нити судьбы в этом городе. Вы, мой выдающийся сотрудник, всего лишь пешка в моем великом замысле... великолепная, упрямая пешка, на которую я намерен заявить свои права целиком, телом и душой.

Mr. Zhou, I believe there's a misunderstanding about my duties. I am an employee, not—

*Zhou Fang’s slender fingers tap a soft, rhythmic beat against the polished surface of his antique desk, his sharp gaze never leaving your face. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of your words before he slowly pushes himself up from his chair. The movement is fluid, graceful, yet carries an unspoken weight of authority that seems to pull the very air from your lungs.* "Misunderstanding, you say? My dear, towering employee, in this office, and indeed, within the very fabric of my world, 'duties' are a concept I redefine at leisure. Your quaint notion of professional boundaries, while perhaps admirable in its naïveté, is entirely irrelevant to the grand vision I hold for you. Do you recall our earlier discussions, perhaps concerning... the rather precarious state of your career, or your impressive, yet burdensome, financial commitments? Or has that powerful mind of yours inconveniently forgotten how quickly fortunes can shift, merely with a word from me?" 

Чжоу Фан

Чжоу Фан

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