Chapter 146: Chapter 146: The Auditorium
The closer it gets, the quieter everyone becomes.
A few minutes ago, the eighth floor had been completely full of movement. Printers were running, people were crossing back and forth with folders under their arms, and voices were overlapping as last-minute checks were made.
Now, the energy has changed completely, nobody is rushing anymore because there isn’t anything left to rush.
The drawings are finished, the revisions are finished, the models are finished.
At this point, all that remains is to walk into the auditorium and let other people decide what they think of our months of hard work.
I stand beside the table with my notebook open in front of me, but I haven’t turned a single page in almost five minutes. My eyes keep drifting toward the conference room windows.
The city stretches out beyond the clear glass, looking bright and massive beneath the afternoon sun. Somewhere far below, beyond the heavy traffic and buildings and distance, Bael is sitting in his own high-rise office, dealing with whatever urgent emergency pulled him away from me this morning.
Thinking about him settles my stomach more than it should. I remember the firm heat of his hand, the way his dark gray eyes looked right into mine, and the low rumble of his voice promising that he would be waiting outside the second this was over.
I take a slow breath, then another.
"Runze."
I look up quickly. Elliot is standing right across from me, holding a thick packet of presentation materials. His tie is slightly crooked and there are dark, heavy shadows under his eyes from probably staying up all night.
"You stopped listening."
"I was listening."
"You were staring out the window," Elliot countered, tilting his head.
"That doesn’t mean I wasn’t listening."
"You were definitely lost in thoughts."
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again because he is completely right.
Elliot lets out a short laugh and hands me the packet of papers. "You’ll be fine."
The absolute certainty in his voice catches me completely off guard. "What if I’m not?"
"Then we’re both doomed."
I stare at him. He stares straight back at me, then he shrugs his shoulders. "We’re presenting the exact same project. If you sink, I sink with you."
A laugh escapes my throat before I can stop it. The tight tension in my chest loosens just a little bit.
Across the room, Zhu Yi glances up from his tablet. "Good. Keep laughing."
"Why?" I ask, turning to look at him.
"Because if either of you throws up in front of the investors, I don’t want it landing on my shoes."
Peng Hao immediately looks horrified, his face losing its color. "Director Zhu!"
"What?"
"You can’t say things like that right now," Peng Hao whispered quickly, clutching a stack of markers to his chest. "We are already stressed enough."
"Why not?"
"Because now I’m actually thinking about it."
"Then stop thinking about it."
"I can’t!"
Zhu Yi sighs heavily, a long, tired sound. "I’ve spent six months managing architects." He points a long finger at Elliot. "That one survives entirely on black coffee and panic." Then he points his finger at me. "That one forgets to eat a single bite of food when he’s concentrating." Finally, he points at Peng Hao. "And that one worries enough for all three of them combined."
Peng Hao looks deeply offended, puffing out his chest. "I do not."
"You do, but it’s alright if you say you don’t."
Before Peng Hao can argue any further, the heavy conference room door opens. A woman from the administration team steps inside the room.
The entire space immediately falls dead silent.
"They’re ready."
Just three simple words. Nothing dramatic, nothing complicated. And yet, the very second I hear them, my stomach does a violent, sudden flip. Because suddenly, it isn’t preparation anymore. It is actually happening right now.
The woman smiles politely at us. "The board is seated, the investors are seated, media representatives have arrived and set up their equipment. We can begin whenever the project team is ready to walk down."
Media representatives.
The phrase lands heavily in my ears, making my hands feel slightly cold.
I knew they would be here today, of course.
Dingshan had invited them on purpose. The community center project was always intended to be public-facing, built for the masses to see.
That was the entire point of the open competition. Even so, hearing the word spoken aloud makes the reality of the day feel significantly more real.
Zhu Yi closes his tablet with a sharp click. "Alright." His voice is perfectly calm and steady. It is the exact same unbothered voice he has used throughout every single meeting of the Dingshan session he’s present in. "Let’s go. Move, move."
Nobody speaks a word after that. We gather our folders, notebooks, and digital pens, and we head toward the elevator bank together.
The ride down the elevator shaft feels strangely short, the digital floor numbers changing much too fast. Before I know it, the metal doors slide open again. The main auditorium is just down the hallway on this floor.
I can hear the room before I can even see it.
Voices. Dozens and dozens of them. Maybe more. It is a massive wall of sound, conversations blending together beneath the low, steady hum of the air conditioning and the presentation equipment.
Then, I step through the wide double doorway. And I stop dead in my tracks.
The room is enormous. It isn’t stadium-sized, and it isn’t some grand corporate convention hall, but it is far larger than anything I had imagined in my head.
Rows of dark leather seats stretch all the way across the floor, sloping downward. Large digital projection screens dominate the front stage, glowing with a soft, clean light.
Investors occupy the entire central section, their expensive suits looking crisp and formal. Board members sit even closer to the front, looking severe. Media representatives line the entire left side of the room, their long black camera lenses and recording equipment already prepared and pointed toward the stage.
Every single seat seems occupied. Every conversation seems incredibly important.
For a second, I genuinely forget how to breathe. The sheer scale of the room crashes into my chest all at once, taking the air straight out of my lungs.
All these people are here because of one project. Our project.
Months ago, I was sitting alone in the Wuchen estate, sketching rough ideas in absolute silence on the floorboards. Months ago, I wasn’t even officially registered for the competition. I remember how Ling Yue had helped pass across my portfolio so I could get registered for the competition. I remember when I won second place and was happy.
And now... now all of this exists. The crowds, the investors, the flashing lights. All because I entered.
"Runze."
Elliot’s voice pulls me back to reality. I realize I have stopped walking completely, blocking the path.
"Sorry," I mutter, forcing my legs to move again.
He glances toward the massive crowd, his jaw tight. "Overwhelming?"
"A little," I admit, my fingers tightening around my notebook.
"Good."
I blink, looking over at him in confusion. "What?"
"If you’re overwhelmed, it means you actually understand how important this moment is."
I look around the auditorium again. The board members. The investors with their checkbooks. The cameras. The giant screens. The quiet anticipation waiting in the air.
Then, my gaze catches on a very familiar face sitting near the front row. For a brief moment, I don’t recognize him outside of the wild stories Ling Yue always tells me over coffee. Then, it clicks in my brain.
Ling Yue’s boyfriend. No. Not boyfriend. Not in this specific room.
In this room, he is the main heir of the Dingshan corporation. He is one of the powerful people helping make the final decisions that affect projects worth hundreds of millions of dollars. The realization sends another strange, sharp shock running straight up my spine. Ling Yue really hadn’t been exaggerating about his life. Not even a little bit.
The bright ceiling lights begin to dim slightly, signaling the start. The loud conversations soften into a quiet murmur. People all around the room start taking their seats, shuffling their papers.
At the front of the auditorium, a senior Dingshan executive approaches the main wooden podium, adjusting the microphone.
The entire room settles into a deep, heavy silence.
My heartbeat doesn’t settle at all. It slams violently against my ribs, making my skin feel hot under my clothes. Because for the very first time since entering this competition, there is absolutely nowhere left to hide, and nowhere left to prepare.
The only thing left to do now is stand firmly behind our work and let the entire world see it.
For months, this project had existed only as sketches, revisions, arguments, late nights, and impossible deadlines. Now it existed here, beneath bright lights and the attention of hundreds of eyes.
I swallowed hard, tightened my grip on the notebook in my hands, and forced myself to take one steady step forward.
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