Chapter 13 — A Sweetness Forgotten

The official meeting took place a week later, in the meeting room on the twentieth floor of Bách Khang Group's headquarters - a completely different space from the cozy small room behind the "Ngọt Xưa" restaurant, with glass walls overlooking the entire city, a polished walnut conference table, and a team of well-groomed staff surrounding it.

Diệp Chi arrived on time, bringing Doãn Tường Vy - now the operations manager of "Ngọt Xưa" - and a carefully prepared brand introduction file. She wore a simple but neat beige suit, her hair tied in a bun, and the calm demeanor of someone used to standing in front of important negotiations.

"Ms. Diệp Chi, please sit down." Thế Khôi stood up to greet the guests, his voice following office etiquette standards, although his eyes still lingered on her for another second before returning to the necessary professionalism.

"Thank you." Diệp Chi sat down, placed the file on the table, and quickly glanced over the team on the other side of the meeting table— all young, confident faces, with formal training from prestigious universities.

The meeting began with the presentation of the "Coi Quarter" project from Bách Khang - a professional presentation with full data, perspective drawings, and implementation plans for each phase. Thế Khôi presented with the confidence of someone who has spent many years preparing for this passionate project, his voice was warm and coherent, completely different from the seventeen-year-old student awkwardly holding a dishwashing sponge.

"We invite Ngọt Xưa to join as one of the anchor brands of the neighborhood, with a priority frontage location, and a profit sharing policy at a fixed rate instead of traditional rent, helping to reduce initial financial risks for partners." Thế Khôi presented, pointing to the project perspective map displayed on the large screen.

Diệp Chi listened attentively, occasionally taking notes in the notebook Thế Khôi had brought, her face remaining neutral and unpredictable. When the presentation ended, she asked the first question, her sharp voice not holding back.

"I have a question," she said, looking straight at Thế Khôi. "This profit sharing model sounds attractive, but does it actually mean that Ngọt Xưa will have to disclose all internal business data to the group? And if revenue does not meet expectations in the early stages, who will be responsible for covering operating costs?"

The sharp question caused several members of the Bách Khang team to exchange glances, not expecting this young partner to have such a deep understanding of complex financial terms.

"Very good question," Thế Khôi replied, not at all confused, even visibly satisfied. "Regarding public data disclosure, we only require periodic revenue reports to calculate profit sharing, and do not interfere with the internal operating structure. Regarding early-stage risks, we have a policy to support general marketing costs for the entire neighborhood in the first six months, helping to reduce pressure on new partners."

"Is six months enough?" Diệp Chi continued asking, not giving in. "A new neighborhood takes time to build a customer base, especially with a traditional dining model like ours, which relies more on word of mouth than heavy advertising."

"We can further negotiate the duration of support, depending on the actual assessment after the first three months of implementation," Thế Khôi replied, his voice still steady, but in his heart there was a feeling that was both strange and familiar - the feeling of being able to argue fairly with a completely different Diệp Chi, no longer the excellent Chemistry student who sat next to him that year, but a brave businesswoman who knew how to protect her own rights and those working under her.

"As for the family recipe," Diệp Chi continued, her voice becoming more and more certain, "I want to make it clear from the beginning — all Ngọt Xưa recipes are my private property, not the project's common property. If the cooperation ends for any reason, I have the right to take the entire recipe and brand away without any further obligations."

"Agree." Thế Khôi nodded immediately, without hesitation. "That's the same general principle we apply to all partners in the project — intellectual property always belongs to its creator." Another member of the Bách Khang team, a middle-aged woman in charge of legal affairs, added a few provisions about the notice period before terminating the contract, about the responsibility for maintaining the premises, and about periodic business performance assessment milestones. Diệp Chi carefully recorded each clause, occasionally criticizing points she considered unreasonable, making the meeting sometimes become tense like a real battle of wits, not simply a one-sided project introduction.

"Mrs. Diệp Chi is such a sharp negotiator," a young employee in Bách Khang's team whispered to the colleague next to him, small enough for no one to notice, but enough to reach the ears of Thế Khôi sitting nearby. "It's not average."

Thế Khôi smiled slightly at that comment, a strange pride rose in his heart, even though he knew he had no right to be proud of the achievements of someone who had been away from his life for twelve years. But looking at Diệp Chi sitting there, confidently defending every clause that would benefit those who were trusting in following him, he couldn't help but feel like he was witnessing the fruition of the promise she had made years ago - wanting to stand on equal footing, not having to accept favors from anyone.

The meeting lasted nearly two hours, revolving around a series of detailed terms — contract term, intellectual property rights to the formula, termination policy, the right to expand branches in neighboring areas. Diệp Chi negotiated each term carefully, never letting personal emotions interfere with business decisions, although occasionally her eyes still unconsciously stopped Ôn Thế Khôi's face for a moment before returning to focus on the documents.

"We need time to consider more carefully before making a final decision," Diệp Chi said, when the meeting was almost over, her voice calm but decisive. "This is a big decision, affecting the entire brand that I have built over the past six years. I cannot rush it."

"Of course." Thế Khôi nodded, respecting that decision. "We will wait for your response for as long as you need."

When everyone stood up to prepare to leave the meeting room, Thế Khôi approached Diệp Chi, his voice lowered, no longer maintaining the formality of the office. "Diệp Chi, after this meeting, can we talk privately for a bit?"

Diệp Chi paused, glanced around the meeting room, saw Tường Vy packing up documents, and Bách Khang's team was also leaving. "I don't think this is the right time."

"So when is it appropriate?" Thế Khôi asked, his voice a bit earnest, revealing his professional shell. "It's been twelve years, Diệp Chi. I think we at least owe each other a proper conversation, outside the scope of work."

Diệp Chi looked at him, clearly feeling the tension in her heart - part of her wanted to sit back, listen, relieve twelve years of unanswered questions; Another part was scared, afraid that if she just opened her heart a little, the old wounds that she thought were healed would bleed again, and she would once again face the risk of losing herself because of a disproportionate emotional position.

"Let me think," she said, then turned and walked out of the meeting room with Tường Vy, not looking back, even though each step was heavy as if dragging along a past that had never really been let go.

Thế Khôi stood watching her back disappear behind the glass door, one hand clasped tightly on the armrest, a feeling of both familiarity and strangeness filled his heart - the feeling of a person who has just found something he lost, but realizes the distance between finding it and keeping it, sometimes even farther than twelve years of separation.

Bích Ngọc walked over, tidied up the remaining documents on the table, and glanced at her boss who was standing unusually still. "Mr. Khoi, did today's meeting go well? This partner seems to be much more difficult than the previous ones."

"YES," Thế Khôi replied, his voice still a bit bewildered. "Difficult, but worth the effort."

He returned to his desk, looked out the large glass window where he could see the whole city stretching out below, and wondered, among the millions of people living, working, and making a living among those densely packed buildings, how many people had to travel a long way for up to twelve years just to return to the exact starting point, where an incomplete relationship was forced to be abandoned midway.