Chapter 15 — A Sweetness Forgotten

The private meeting took place at a quiet cafe located between "Ngọt Xưa" and Bách Khang headquarters, a neutral location that both agreed on - not either party's office, without pressure from the other person's familiar space.

Diệp Chi arrived first, chose a table in a quiet corner, ordered a cup of hot tea, her hands shaking slightly as she picked up the tea cup. She had prepared in her mind what she wanted to say, the conditions that needed to be clarified, but when she saw the familiar figure of Thế Khôi walking through the glass door, all that careful preparation seemed to disappear in an instant.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting." Thế Khôi sat down opposite, not wearing a suit like the previous meetings, just wearing a simple shirt, perhaps deliberately creating a closer feeling for this private meeting. "I arrived earlier than expected, but waited outside because I didn't want you to feel pressured when you saw I was already seated."

That small detail made Diệp Chi slightly stunned - still thoughtful and delicate in the smallest things, just like the student who brought chicken porridge for her to study late at night last year.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice still maintaining the necessary calmness. "I want to get straight to the point. I'm worried that if Ngọt Xưa cooperates with Bách Khang, public opinion will think I'm being favored because of our personal relationship, not because of the brand's true capabilities." Thế Khôi nodded, not showing any surprise at that concern. "I understand that. And I've been thinking about it since before you said it."

"So do you have any solution?"

"Have." Thế Khôi opened the briefcase he brought with him, took out another file, and placed it on the table. "From today, I will withdraw from the role of directly negotiating with Ngọt Xưa. All subsequent steps — appraisal, negotiation of terms, signing — will be undertaken by another specialized group in the department, completely independent, under the supervision of an appraisal council of three people who have no personal relationship with any party."

Diệp Chi looked at him, surprised by this decision. "Are you willing to give up your role in the project that you proposed and dedicated yourself to building?"

"I'm not giving up on the project." Thế Khôi shook his head, his voice firm. "I still hold the role of general director, but as for Ngọt Xưa's profile, I will stand outside the entire specific evaluation and decision process. All appraisals will be based entirely on business data, brand potential, and the same objective criteria as with the other twenty brands on the list. If Ngọt Xưa qualifies, the council will approve it independently with my opinion. If not, no matter how much I want it, it won't work. can intervene."

Diệp Chi was silent for a moment, carefully considering this proposal. It was truly a fair, transparent solution that completely eliminated the possibility of suspicion of bias — but at the same time, it also meant that Thế Khôi was actively stepping back, creating distance from her at work, something she wasn't sure if she should be happy or sad about.

"Why did you do that?" She asked, sounding genuinely curious. "You can easily use your position to promote cooperation, no one dares to oppose you."

"Just because I can do it, I shouldn't do it." Thế Khôi looked at her with undisguised sincerity in his eyes. "Diệp Chi, if I use my power to help you get this contract, I will make the very thing you fear the most come true. I don't want to do that. I want Ngọt Xưa to be chosen because it is worthy, not because of who I am."

That statement touched something deep in Diệp Chi's heart - the feeling of being respected as a true equal partner, not a relationship that needs protection or favor. That was exactly what she had wanted for the past twelve years, ever since the night the seventeen-year-old student stood tall and defended her in front of his lavish friends.

"Thank you," she said, her voice softening considerably compared to the beginning of the meeting. "That means more to me than you think."

"One more thing," Thế Khôi added, his voice had a rare hesitation. "I have also proposed to publicize the appraisal process on the project's transparent internal information page, so that anyone interested can follow the objective evaluation criteria. If there are any posts that continue to make baseless inferences, at least we have clear evidence to refute."

Diệp Chi looked at him, unable to hide her surprise. "You know about that post?"

"Bích Ngọc let me know." Thế Khôi nodded, his face showing a bit of unconcealed anger. "I apologize for that. Perhaps it was negligence on our part to reveal the meeting photos."

"It's not your fault." Diệp Chi shook her head. "That's something I have to learn to face, whether I like it or not, when deciding to enter into a large partnership like this."

"There's one more thing I'm curious about," Diệp Chi added, her voice much less tense than at the beginning of the meeting. "The idea of this Coi Quarter project, why did you choose to preserve the local brand, instead of doing like most other corporations - clearing, building new, renting at high prices?"

Thế Khôi pondered for a moment before answering, his eyes looking far away out the glass window. "Perhaps because I once witnessed a neighborhood disappear completely overnight, not because of planning clearance, but because of a debt no one could foresee. I don't want to contribute to the eradication of anything more valuable, just for immediate profit."

Diệp Chi was silent, immediately understanding what he was talking about. She lowered her eyes, looked at the cup of tea in her hand, feeling a surge of emotion.

"I didn't know it would affect you so much," she said quietly.

"The impact is more than you think," Thế Khôi replied, his voice low. "For many years, every time I had to decide on a real estate project, I always asked myself, if it were Leaf Alley, would I want it to be treated like this? That's why I persistently persuaded the board of directors to accept this different model, even though at first no one believed it would be feasible."

The two sat silently for a while, sipping tea, letting the initial tension gradually subside, giving way to a fragile but more genuine comfort.

"Hey Diệp Chi," Thế Khôi spoke after a while, his voice became softer, no longer business-like. "I know we should just talk about work today. But I still want to ask something, even though it might not be the right time."

"Ask," she replied, her heart beating slightly faster.

“The past twelve years, have you been okay?” He asked, his eyes earnest. "I don't need you to go into detail, just need to know... if you're okay."

Diệp Chi looked at him, clearly feeling that simple question contained many years of worry, many years of wondering that he never had a chance to answer.

"It's not always okay," she replied honestly, her voice trembling slightly. "But I survived. And I thought, finally, I'm okay." Thế Khôi nodded, a smile of relief, mixed with sadness, flashed across his lips. "That's enough. At least for now," he said, his voice completely relieved, as if he had just released a burden he had been carrying for more than a decade.

The meeting ended without any further promises or clear confirmations of feelings, but when Diệp Chi walked out of the coffee shop, her heart felt much more relieved than when she entered - not because all the problems had been completely resolved, but because for the first time in twelve years, she felt that she was standing before Thế Khôi not as a poor girl in debt, nor as a victim of circumstances, but as a mature woman, with the right to choose, to have The right to negotiate and the right to decide one's own future.

On the way home, she walked slowly through a few streets, letting the cool afternoon breeze blow through her hair, her mind still lingering on the story about Lá Me alley that Thế Khôi had just told. She never thought that during the twelve years she tried to forget that painful memory, somewhere else, at the same time, another person was carrying that same memory as a guiding light for the most important decisions in her career.

She stopped at an intersection, waited for the red light, looked at the bustling flow of people passing by, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to smile with relief, not forced, not defensive — a smile that truly came from the bottom of her heart, as if a part of her heart that had been frozen for twelve years had just begun to melt again.