The air behind him seemed to thicken, turning cold and heavy. Mark stiffened instinctively before slowly turning around.
Fu Jingrong stood several steps away, tall and composed, hands resting casually in his pockets. His expression was calm.
Too calm.
But his eyes—
If looks could swallow someone whole, Mark was certain he would already be gone.
He coughed nervously. "President Fu. I—I didn't realize you were here."
Fu Jingrong didn't respond immediately. His gaze drifted past Mark, settling on the golden field where Hua Jing was still running, her laughter carried faintly by the wind.
Only then did he speak.
Low. Even. Controlled.
"She likes it here."
Mark swallowed.
"Oh—yes! That's actually what I was thinking," he rushed to say. "I believe the campaign would work beautifully if we held the shoot here. The flowers match the theme perfectly. Would that be acceptable, President Fu?"
For the first time, Fu Jingrong's eyes shifted to him.
"Whatever she wishes."
