[...Even though they were the client, she confidently took control of the situation.]

A few days later, Zhou Leqi received a call from Yan Lin. He informed her that Yuantai Law Firm had indeed failed to secure Runyuan’s project. Huacan Law Firm had officially taken over. Not long after, a notification appeared in Zhou Leqi’s work group chat stating that representatives from Huacan Law Firm and Junsheng Accounting Firm would visit SWD later that afternoon to assist with IPO-related investigations.

Though this outcome was somewhat disappointing, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, and Zhou Leqi accepted it relatively well. Yan Lin, however, worried that she might feel let down, reassured her on the phone: “I’ll try to look into the old case files recently. I haven’t forgotten about this. You don’t need to feel too much pressure.”

Reliable, and deeply touching.

Zhou Leqi knew how difficult this decision must be for Yan Lin. Revisiting the Haoting case was akin to reopening an old wound—painful, almost cruel.

“Thank you, Yan Lin,” she said, guilt evident in her voice. “...I’m really sorry.”

There was silence on the other end of the line before Yan Lin’s usual steady voice replied, “No need...”

“...I’m just seeking the truth.”

Once the new phase of the project began, Zhou Leqi became exceptionally busy.

Of course, it wasn’t just her—everyone was swamped. The lawyers from Huacan were already reviewing all legal records involving Runyuan dating back to the 1990s, while Junsheng’s accountants were combing through the company’s financial statements and assisting the client in restructuring equity distribution and organizational adjustments. As the coordinating party, the investment bankers were responsible for communication between multiple parties while also reviewing materials and drafting reports. They were so busy their feet barely touched the ground.

And what was the most frustrating thing?

—Dealing with an uncooperative client.

If the difficulty level of handling Pierno Italia had been 1, then Runyuan’s was a solid 10. This company was incredibly challenging. Their early accounts were so poorly recorded they were driving the accountants insane, and their recent financial statements and business explanations were deliberately withheld, no matter how much persuasion was attempted.

Alvin, who was usually so patient, started losing his temper during late-night calls with the client, venting his frustration in the work group chat with sarcastic memes. It was clear he was thoroughly exasperated.

Daisy, on the other hand, maintained a relaxed attitude but harbored ulterior motives. During one internal SWD meeting, she suggested, “Isn’t Mr. Hou the one calling the shots at Runyuan? Why don’t we bypass Zhang Hao and communicate directly with Mr. Hou?”

Her true intentions were obvious.

Pei Qiming had also heard about the difficulties in advancing the Runyuan project, so he made time to attend a small meeting with the project team. When Daisy mentioned Hou Zihao, Pei Qiming instinctively glanced at Zhou Leqi sitting across the table. Seeing her bowed head, he couldn’t quite pinpoint his feelings.

After a brief silence, he said, “Runyuan is a relatively traditional family business. I heard they have objections to the equity redistribution and organizational restructuring plans?”

“Yes,” Alvin replied, visibly stressed. “Junsheng’s people are on the verge of collapse. They keep coming to us to negotiate with the client.”

Pei Qiming nodded, equally pessimistic. After some thought, he asked, “Can you handle the communication yourselves, or do I need to step in?”

Alvin, Daisy, and Zhou Leqi exchanged glances, unwilling to appear incompetent in front of Pei Qiming. Reluctantly, Alvin said, “Let us try first. If we encounter trouble, we’ll ask for your help.”

Pei Qiming nodded in agreement, casting another meaningful glance at Zhou Leqi. With deliberate ambiguity, he said, “Do your best, but don’t make things too hard on yourself.”

The first to visit Runyuan were Alvin and Daisy. Zhou Leqi didn’t go, for two reasons: First, such communication didn’t require the entire team to show up; two people were sufficient. Second, Zhou Leqi herself didn’t want to see Hou Zihao. She also feared that seeing her might make him even less cooperative.

Unfortunately, Alvin and Daisy returned empty-handed. Upon returning, Daisy was visibly furious, complaining that Mr. Hou from Runyuan was unreasonable. Others in the office joked that her failure to charm him had left her embarrassed and angry.

“Lucky, did you know Mr. Hou before?” Daisy stormed over to Zhou Leqi’s desk and demanded, “He asked if you’d switched teams.”

Zhou Leqi raised an eyebrow, thinking how persistent he was. After a moment of silence, she replied, “We were high school classmates, but we’re not close anymore.”

It was technically true.

Daisy grew even angrier, accusing her: “Why didn’t you tell us about this earlier? Did you think it was funny to send me and Alvin to Runyuan on a wild goose chase?”

Zhou Leqi frowned, ready to respond, but Alvin intervened, fearing a confrontation. After calming Daisy down, he said, “Lucky, our communication with Mr. Hou didn’t yield results. Maybe you should give it a try? Asking President Pei directly might make our team look too...”

...too incompetent.

Zhou Leqi wasn’t concerned about Pei Qiming’s opinion. She doubted communication between Pei Qiming and Hou Zihao would be particularly effective either. Her main concern was that Hou Zihao might still be targeting her, deliberately obstructing the due diligence process to force her out of the project.

After careful consideration, Zhou Leqi decided to visit Runyuan.

Their office wasn’t far from the CBD. Real estate developers who had struck it rich were always extravagant—the entire building belonged to them. They leased out part of it and occupied the top floors themselves.

When she arrived, Hou Zihao was still in a meeting, so she waited in the reception room. About half an hour later, he returned, visibly surprised and frowning when he saw her.

“Why are you here?” he asked hurriedly.

Zhou Leqi stood up from the sofa in the reception room and replied, “To discuss the transfer of documents.”

Polite, considerate, distant, formal.

His professionalism stung her, forcing him to rein in his personal emotions. After a moment, he said, “Let’s talk outside. I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“No need,” she declined. “You must be busy, and I have a lot of work to do. Let’s talk here.”

...Even though she was the client, she confidently took control of the situation.

He sighed inwardly, wondering if she had always treated clients like this. But he couldn’t argue with her, so he relented: “Your colleagues have already come. I told them some things weren’t documented in writing, and others involved trade secrets that couldn’t be disclosed.”

She didn’t speak, only smiled at him.

Clearly, she didn’t believe him.

He sighed again, unsure why he couldn’t bring himself to be truly harsh with her. After a pause, he offered a rare sincere remark: “Do you know I’ve only been at Runyuan for a few days? Do you think I can just retrieve the documents you’re asking for?”

Yuan Jianxin was a highly cautious person. While he elevated Hou Zihao publicly, he was very guarded about granting authority. After all, as a newcomer, how could Hou Zihao possibly have free rein?

This softened Zhou Leqi slightly.

Yes… she could imagine how difficult his current situation was. If her earlier suspicions were correct, he might even be facing some kind of danger.

“I won’t make things hard for you,” her tone softened slightly, though she remained polite. “Give me the complete details of all large transactions since 2010. I’ll handle the rest with the company. A win-win.”

“Since 2010?” he frowned.

She nodded expressionlessly, silently pressuring him.

He fell into deep thought, likely considering the feasibility of fulfilling this request. Eventually, something seemed to occur to him, and his deep eyes dimmed faintly.

“Wait for my message,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

He was always a man of his word. In fact, aside from his abrupt departure seven years ago, he had never broken a promise to her.

Two days later, a new batch of archival materials arrived at SWD’s office. Alvin, naturally relieved to have salvaged his reputation in front of Pei Qiming, treated Zhou Leqi kindly, praising her exceptional work abilities. Daisy, on the other hand, was more sardonic, seemingly implying that Zhou Leqi relied on non-professional means to achieve her goals.

Zhou Leqi paid no heed to these external voices. She devoted all her energy to reviewing the mountain of documents, which collectively reached over a person’s height.

Her purpose in requesting materials from 2010 onward was simple. Her focus remained on seven years ago. If her hypothesis was correct—that shadows of Runyuan lurked behind the Haoting case seven years ago—then this would inevitably involve the flow of funds. Runyuan needed money to hire people, and these concealed funds were likely hidden within these sloppy yet cleverly disguised fake accounts.

She embarked on an extremely tedious and fundamental task.

Every day, she reviewed the materials, categorized them, took notes, and cross-referenced the background of each transaction through multiple channels. She even meticulously calculated the profits and losses of every specific project Runyuan undertook—not by year or quarter, but transaction by transaction.

Such an enormous workload required unimaginable time. She practically lived in the office, leaving only around one or two in the morning and arriving early the next day. Both Alvin and Daisy were stunned by her relentless work ethic. Office gossip whispered that Lucky was ambitious, aiming to impress Jason with this deal for a promotion.

Zhou Leqi paid no mind to any of this. Her mind was consumed with transaction details and heaps of data. After a week of painstaking statistics, she finally identified several suspicious fund flows. One particular investment loss from late 2013 caught her attention.

An investment loss... Runyuan had started in real estate and later expanded into services. Yet this investment was in manufacturing. How could manufacturing—an industry notorious for low profitability—be a hot investment in 2013? Big players were investing in internet and renewable energy, not mechanical manufacturing.

And it was a staggering 3 million yuan investment.

If this amount was problematic...

Zhou Leqi narrowed her eyes and immediately launched a new wave of investigation.

She had many classmates from Tsinghua, some working in investment banking like her, others in banks. Through these private connections, she uncovered clues of unusual fund movements. The supposed investment funds were eventually split into multiple transfers, routed through various accounts, all ultimately pointing to City A.

The place where everything began, and perhaps where it would end.

She had to return and investigate further.

...Because behind these accounts, she discovered the name of a familiar face.