Chapter 15 — No Resentment, No Forgiveness

Recognition is reserved only for those who truly possess the merit to command it. Once the meeting had finally adjourned, Dao stood waiting for me in the lobby, two cups of coffee held firmly in her hands. She shoved one into my grasp as I approached.

Nhuoc Tinh, you are officially a member of the executive board now. How does it feel?

I took a slow sip of the coffee, my expression composed, and replied, It feels the same as always. There is still so much work to be done.

Dao rolled her eyes in exasperation. Can you not muster even a shred of excitement?

I offered a soft, dismissive smile. Even if I were excited, would the work not still be waiting for me all the same? I adjusted my grip on the cup. Let us go. We still have the project presentation to deliver this afternoon.

We walked together toward the parking garage, passing through the grand atrium of the building. Right in the center hung a series of portraits featuring the most influential figures in the industry for the year. My own photo was placed in the third position. In the image, I wore a crisp suit, my hair cut short, my expression calm and steady as I looked directly into the lens. Dao tilted her head to study the portrait, then turned to look at me, teasing with a smile, Nhuoc Tinh, would you like to take a photograph with yourself?

I burst into a quiet laugh. There is no need. I see myself every single day. It is hardly a rare sight.

Dao chuckled, pulling my arm as we stepped outside. As soon as we cleared the building, the warm sunlight descended upon us, settling onto my shoulders. It felt heavy, yet comforting, as if something in my life had finally settled into its rightful place. Without intending to, I found myself reflecting on a late autumn morning two years ago. The sun had not yet risen, and I had dragged my suitcase downstairs in the dark. The streetlights were still flickering, and the entire residential complex was draped in a profound, heavy silence. I had shoved the luggage into the trunk, climbed into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. I switched off the GPS and set every message from Chu Minh Hien to do-not-disturb mode. At that moment, I had no idea where the road ahead would lead. I only knew that I needed a period of stillness. I wanted to gaze at the open sky and let all the stifling resentment buried deep in my chest finally breathe.

Looking back now, those eight days were never an act of running away; they were the start of a new journey. I had gone to see the snow-capped mountains, gazed upon a sky thick with stars, and stood atop the Zheduo mountain pass, letting the bone-chilling wind pierce right through me. It was there that I realized a fundamental truth: those who force you to suffer humiliation are never truly worth that suffering. What you must do is not seek revenge, nor shed tears, nor stand still waiting for the other party to return and offer an apology. What you must do is travel so far beyond them that even when they crane their necks to look upward, they no longer know where you stand. I have finally done it.

The car pulled slowly out of the parking lot. The navigation system chimed, announcing the destination: the client’s office for this afternoon’s presentation. The distance was twelve kilometers. Sitting in the passenger seat, Dao scrolled through her phone and remarked, Nhuoc Tinh, word has spread that our firm secured the project to organize the Arts Festival next month. The whole industry is buzzing about it. They are saying our company is on the verge of entering the international market.

I smiled faintly. Yes, we are preparing for it.

Dao hesitated for a moment. And there is something else. You know, back in the day, quite a few people whispered behind your back, claiming you only reached this position because Director Ngo was pulling strings for you. But now? No one dares to say a word.

I watched the road stretching out before us, my voice steady. Even if they did, it would not matter. Time will prove everything. And the wait will not be long.

Dao put her phone away, tilted her head toward me, and asked softly, Nhuoc Tinh, do you still remember that marriage registration paper?

I drove for another stretch before answering slowly. I still remember it. But that is all it is now—a memory. It holds nothing more.

Dao breathed a sigh of relief. Then that is good.

Ahead, the traffic light turned green. I pressed gently on the accelerator, and the car rolled quietly forward, moving toward the future.