New Project C-09
A code name that carried no halo at all.
Tight budget.Short timeline.High risk.
And most importantly—
Unimportant.
At least, that was how headquarters saw it.
The first time Ye Qing received the project brief, she actually froze for a moment.
She flipped to the last page, read it three times to confirm the project number, then slowly closed the file.
C-09 was not a line she was familiar with.
Nor was it her area of expertise in resource allocation models.
This was a textbook corner project—
If it failed, no one would be held accountable.If it succeeded, it would only be credited as "a stroke of luck."
There were seven people in the meeting room.
Five of them were newcomers she had never worked with.
Of the remaining two, one was about to resign, and the other was clearly coasting.
After briefly introducing the background, the project manager spoke with faint perfunctoriness:
"Let's just run a draft plan first and see how it goes."
No one responded.
The air grew slightly awkward.
Ye Qing lowered her head and flipped through the materials, not rushing to speak.
It had been a long time since she last rushed to take the floor.
Not because she couldn't.
But because she didn't want to.
She knew very well that in a project like this, fighting for presence meant nothing.
After the meeting, a newcomer caught up with her and asked quietly,
"Sister Ye… is this project… not very important?"
She stopped and looked at him.
It was a face not yet worn down by reality.
She neither brushed him off nor comforted him. She simply said calmly:
"Whether it's important or not isn't decided by the project."
"It's decided by you."
The newcomer froze.
She had already turned and walked away.
When Ye Qing was assigned to this project, she had already sensed it.
It wasn't good news.
The CC list on the meeting email was long—almost everyone who should appear was there—except for the one name that actually had decision-making power.
She glanced at the project title, then at the timeline. Her fingers paused on the trackpad for two seconds before she opened the attachment anyway.
The file wasn't thick.
But it was messy.
Broken logic. Blurred responsibilities. Timelines contradicting each other.
She barely needed to read closely to know this was a mess that had already been chewed over and spit back out.
And she was the one tacitly considered "most suitable to catch it."
That feeling—
She knew it too well.
So well she didn't even bother to sigh.
9:30 a.m., project kickoff meeting.
Cold white lights filled the conference room. People sat along both sides of the long table.
Ye Qing's seat was neither at the front nor the back—just the kind of position where she could be seen but not noticed.
It was a spot she used to excel at.
Easy to patch things up.Easy to be overlooked.
The project lead was a vice president from the marketing department, surname Zhou. When he spoke, he habitually interlaced his fingers on the table, appearing calm and composed.
"This project has a tight schedule and considerable external pressure," Vice President Zhou began directly. "There are some historical issues in early-stage communication that need to be straightened out quickly."
As he said this, his gaze naturally landed on Ye Qing.
"Ye Qing has participated in similar projects before and is familiar with the process. For follow-up coordination, we'll have to trouble you to put in some extra effort."
The tone was polite. The wording gentle.
As if he were offering her an opportunity.
But Ye Qing heard it clearly—
Not "you're in charge,"but "if something goes wrong, you'll fill the gap."
The room was quiet.
Everyone was waiting for her to nod.
If it were before, she would have.
She would have rapidly broken down risks in her mind, patched workflows, prepared exit paths for everyone—
And then accepted all responsibility with a simple "Okay, I'll do my best."
But this time, she didn't speak immediately.
In that instant, she realized something subtle—
It wasn't that she lacked the ability to take on this project.
It was that, for the first time, she didn't want to automatically shoulder what didn't belong to her.
She flipped a page, confirmed a key date, then looked up, her voice steady to the point of near coolness.
"Vice President Zhou, I'd like to clarify something."
"At this stage, is my role support—or project owner?"
A one-second pause fell over the room.
Vice President Zhou clearly hadn't expected the question. His brow moved slightly.
"You're mainly in a support role. Core decisions will still be made by the project team."
Ye Qing nodded.
"Then my responsibilities should focus on information integration and process support, correct?"
"…That's one way to put it."
She set down her pen. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly to everyone present.
"Then errors in early-stage market judgment and partner communication are outside my scope. I can assist in review, but it wouldn't be appropriate for me to bear remediation responsibility."
The air changed.
Not explosively—
But in a subtle, unmistakable misalignment.
Someone instinctively looked up.Someone frowned.Someone lowered their head and pretended to take notes.
Vice President Zhou slowly unclasped his fingers, then folded them again.
"Ye Qing," he said evenly, "we're not dividing responsibility. We're solving problems."
"I understand."
She answered quickly, without retreating.
"But problem-solving requires clear responsibility boundaries. Otherwise, subsequent decisions will always remain ambiguous."
She didn't raise her voice.
She didn't show emotion.
And precisely because of that, her words cut sharply.
This wasn't complaint.Nor deflection.
It was drawing an invisible line—clearly—right across the table.
The meeting ended on an uneasy note.
No one openly challenged her.
But no one said "thank you for your hard work" either.
As Ye Qing packed up her materials, her palms felt slightly cold.
Not fear.
But a blankness—the unfamiliar absence of emotions she used to rely on.
She realized for the first time that refusing doesn't bring instant relief.
Instead, it briefly strips you of your footing.
At noon, she ate alone in the pantry.
The microwave dinged, but she zoned out for a few seconds before reaching for the container.
She suddenly remembered something someone once told her long ago—
"You're too well-behaved. So well-behaved that organizations assume you can carry everything."
Back then, she had only smiled.
Now she understood—
That wasn't praise.
In the afternoon, she was called into the department head's office.
There was no criticism. No reproach.
The person simply looked at her and said something ambiguous:
"You were very different today."
Ye Qing didn't explain.
She only replied calmly,
"I'm just clearer about my responsibilities."
When she walked out of the office, her back was straight.
But only she knew—
That straightness wasn't pride.
It was restraint—holding back the instinct to retreat to her old position.
Before leaving work, she received an internal email.
Project responsibilities were redefined.Rectification would be led by the marketing department.She would remain in a support role.
The wording was official, neutral, emotionless.
Ye Qing stared at the screen for a long time and suddenly realized—
This might be the quietest turning point of her career.
No applause.No recognition.Perhaps even the loss of being labeled "easy to work with."
But for the first time, she hadn't pulled the problem into her own arms.
She packed her things, shut down her computer, and stood up.
Her shoulders ached briefly.
Not exhaustion.
But the sensation of a body that had just set down a long-carried weight—and hadn't yet adjusted.
She knew that from this day on, some people would reassess her.
Some doors might slowly close.
But she also knew one thing—
If she kept accepting everything, she would eventually be crushed by the system.
This time, she chose to protect herself first.
The first month of C-09 was ugly.
Data was rejected again and again.Requirements changed every three days.Clients kept adding conditions at the last minute.
And headquarters only sent a cold reminder at month's end:
Please pay attention to cost control.
No one cared how they did it.
No one asked whether it could be done.
For the first time, Ye Qing felt as if she had been thrown into a no-man's land.
No light.No sound.
She began building a model herself.
Not following the original process.
But overturning it entirely—recalculating from scratch.
At two in the morning, she was still in the conference room.
Outside the window, the city lights glowed.
Her phone screen lit up.
She glanced instinctively.
Not him.
She suddenly realized—
She hadn't expected his message in a long time.
And in that moment, her chest loosened instead.
Like a nerve long held taut finally snapping free.
She lowered her head and kept working.
In the second month, things began to change.
Not because of luck.
But because she made an overstepping decision.
She bypassed the project manager and contacted the front-line client directly.
Not to complain.
But to understand.
She spent three full days re-sorting real needs.
Cut 40% of ineffective modules.
Reordered priorities.
Then, in the weekly meeting, she placed the proposal on the table.
The room fell silent.
The project manager frowned. "This is risky."
She nodded. "I know."
"Then why change it?"
She looked up at him.
Her voice wasn't loud.Nor intense.
"Because under the original plan, this project will definitely fail."
"And I don't intend to die with it."
This was the first time she had taken such a firm stance in a non-core project.
Not to prove herself.
But because she had already figured one thing out—
She no longer needed anyone's approval to confirm she was right.
The plan passed.
Not because everyone trusted her.
But because there were no better options left.
In the third month, C-09 came back from the brink.
Costs reduced by 18%.Timeline advanced by two weeks.The client sent a thank-you email—CC'ing headquarters.
The email was forwarded in the department group.
Some began to reassess her.
Someone asked privately, "Did you see it coming all along?"
She just smiled, without explaining.
She knew those questions no longer mattered.
What mattered was—
She realized she had been unusually calm throughout the process.
No excitement of being seen.
No thrill of "finally proving myself."
It felt like completing something that should have been done long ago.
That evening, she ran into Huang Chujiu in the pantry.
It was their first face-to-face encounter since the transfer.
No appointment.No buffer.
The air stalled noticeably for a moment.
He spoke first.
"C-09 turned out well."
Objective. Controlled.
Like commenting on a report.
She nodded. "Thank you."
That was it.
No extra words.
He waited a second, as if wanting to say more.
But she had already turned to pour herself water.
The movement was natural—not evasive.
Yet not lingering.
In that instant, he noticed something—
Her state was different now.
The Ye Qing he knew used to unconsciously wait in front of him.
For instructions.For confirmation.For a "you did well."
Now, she stood there closed and complete.
Like a ship that had already left the main channel.
For the first time, he felt a clear loss of control.
"You've been… busy lately?"
A very ordinary pleasantry.
She understood it anyway.
She turned to face him, her tone calm.
"Busy, but not chaotic."
He didn't respond.
She continued:
"After this project, I may apply to stay on this line long-term."
Not a question.
A statement.
The air stayed quiet for a few seconds.
"You're sure?" he asked.
She nodded.
"I'm sure."
She didn't explain why.
Because the reason no longer involved him.
That night, he stayed alone in his office until late.
Two documents lay on the desk.
One was C-09's summary report.
The other was her original risk assessment draft from A-17.
For the first time, he clearly saw a fact—
She wasn't leaving her peak.
She was choosing her own trajectory again.
And on that trajectory—
There was no longer a default place for him.