Chapter Nine

In a five-star hotel within the Financial High-Tech Zone, the grand banquet hall on the second floor was the venue for Fengying Fund's monthly celebration dinner. The event was held to honor the top eight new employees and the Fund Manager of the Month. The banquet was splendidly decorated, exuding luxury and elegance. Most of the women arrived in evening gowns, breaking from their usual professional attire, while the men attended in tailored suits. The dinner tables were laden with a variety of wines and a buffet of Western cuisine. Under the glow of crystal chandeliers, the guests' wealth and refinement were on full display, lending the scene an air of opulent brilliance.

Xian Xiaoya was the center of attention. Her attire was not overly elaborate: a simple, elegant dress on top, paired with straight, wide-legged pants instead of a skirt, and finished with genuine French leather heels, accentuating her tall and slender figure.

Soon, the awards ceremony would commence. Xian Xiaoya was the clear favorite, as there was only one top performance award—and tonight, it was almost certain to go to her.

As applause erupted, Chairman Li slowly ascended the stage. Standing at the podium, he raised his champagne glass and delivered a congratulatory speech to all present.

He began, “We all remember how, last month, the company faced severe market volatility and enormous risks. Yet, thanks to everyone’s efforts, we overcame the crisis one challenge at a time. What makes me especially proud is Xiaoya, our outstanding Fund Manager of the Month. By her own efforts, she achieved the company’s best returns in nearly three years! Such remarkable results are plain for all to see. Now, let’s welcome her to the stage with a round of applause.” With that, he finished his champagne, and the applause swelled.

Xian Xiaoya walked gracefully to the stage, accepted her award, and addressed the crowd. “Thank you all. This is not just my work alone. I am deeply grateful to every member of my team, and to the cooperation we received from other groups. This is not just my success; these results were created together. Thank you, and thank you to the company as well!” Her words were met with renewed applause.

Many cameras were trained on her, and flashes went off incessantly. The cheers from below moved her deeply, the moment rich with ceremony. She raised her trophy high, took the champagne offered by the chairman, and downed it in one go. She was radiant, though somewhat dazed and carried away by the sense of triumph.

As the crowd dispersed, the banquet continued, with guests mingling and toasting each other. Xian Xiaoya, holding her trophy, was surrounded by colleagues, chatting and posing for photos, the atmosphere warm and lively.

After some time, she excused herself, heading alone to the buffet table for some food. Behind her, someone approached quietly. He picked up a glass of champagne from the long table, turning slightly toward her—it was Jason.

The excitement and pride she’d just felt vanished in an instant. She forced a smile. “Hi, Jason.”

Jason, cold and sardonic, replied with a mirthless smile, “You’re looking well these days.”

“Am I? How can you tell?” she asked, uncertain of his intentions.

“With luck like yours, who wouldn’t look well?” His implication was clear: her success was mere luck.

Though Xian Xiaoya bristled, she always felt a vague sense of guilt around Jason, for reasons she couldn’t explain. “It was everyone’s hard work—certainly not only my own.”

He sneered, “How modest, Manager Xian. But stop putting on a show in front of everyone—it’s too fake. No matter what you do, it won’t cover up your incompetence. I’m telling you, you’re just lucky. Or do you think it’s real ability?”

She sensed his hostility, but kept smiling. “What are you trying to say?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“I really don’t,” her smile faltering.

He leaned in, lowering his voice, “Stop lying to yourself. You know perfectly well this award was never meant for you.” He glared at her, sending a chill down her spine. He drained his champagne and slammed the glass down on the table, shoving past her as he left.

Was it jealousy, or pettiness? It seemed neither. It was as if something precious had been stolen from him—his hatred for Xian Xiaoya was palpable, and his words carried a strange force, shaking her to her core. That phrase—“this award was never meant for you”—made her shudder all over. Her hands trembled, nearly dropping the trophy, her legs weak, her whole being hollowed out…

She watched his retreating figure. Why did she feel so guilty? Hadn’t she earned this through her own efforts? Why the hesitation?

Her hand shook as she wiped some cream off the trophy—she’d accidentally smudged it on the cake at the table. But as she wiped, something odd happened: the inscription on the trophy began to blur. Anxiously, she rubbed harder, but the more she wiped, the more the lettering vanished. Her name, which had been engraved, was now gone. In disbelief, she rushed to the restroom, washed the trophy under the tap, and dried it with paper towels. To her shock, the name on the trophy had changed to Jason’s. Terrified, she dropped the trophy, which clattered to the floor—

Two weeks later, Xiao Ai was at the hospital for her third follow-up with Dr. Zhao. The previous visit had been for her leg; this time, the focus was on her healing arm. Dr. Zhao unwrapped the bandages slowly, revealing skin so flawless it looked newly grown—no sign of the severe injury remained. Indeed, the wound had healed perfectly.

Dr. Zhao could hardly contain her excitement, marveling again at the wonder of it all. Her demeanor was less that of a rational doctor than a seer witnessing a supernatural event—always muttering about miraculous powers bestowed upon an extraordinary girl.

“A miracle! Truly a miracle!” she exclaimed, unable to hide her awe.

Just days ago, the wound had still been weeping blood, and now it was as if it had never existed. No wonder she found it miraculous.

“This is nothing short of divine intervention!” she kept repeating.

Xiao Ai, still unsure, asked, “Was this really a wound? It never hurt—could it have been real?”

Dr. Zhao replied, “It was a serious injury. How could it not be real? Now that it’s healed, isn’t that wonderful news?”

“Healed? Wonderful news?”

“Yes, completely healed, not a flaw left. Isn’t that something to celebrate?” Dr. Zhao said, still elated.

“So… next time I come, will the other scars be healed too? Will I be able to remove the bandages?” By this logic, that should be the progression, Xiao Ai thought.

“In order, yes, that’s how it should go,” Dr. Zhao replied, though her answer was more about sequence than medical treatment, leaving Xiao Ai even more confused.

Though Dr. Zhao was a bit odd and their interactions had been few, Xiao Ai couldn’t deny the warmth and care she received from her. Beyond the doctor-patient relationship, there seemed to be another, deeper connection—unexplainable, yet palpable.

“Why do I never feel pain? And my wounds heal on their own, without any treatment. Why is that?” From the moment she woke, she’d felt no pain despite her strange injuries.

Dr. Zhao replied, “That’s what makes you so extraordinary! You are the most remarkable patient I’ve ever seen.” Her tone was always like this, as if she were a devout believer in miracles.

Xiao Ai looked at her, momentarily at a loss for words. She recalled Dr. Ai, whose behavior was equally unusual—one like a mystic, the other a prophet. Both were strange, with mysterious and irrational actions.

But then, wasn’t she the same? With such serious injuries, she felt nothing. Even delicious food had no taste. She couldn’t help but wonder—who was she, really?

“You may not be entirely human, child! Perhaps you’ve been granted a new life from above. From the moment you crawled out of that car, that was your rebirth!” Dr. Zhao’s expression grew solemn as she spoke.

“Rebirth…” Xiao Ai found the phrase profound, repeating it silently in her heart.

Dr. Zhao gazed at her intently and nodded with great seriousness.