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“People don’t set passwords they can’t remember, especially not just a string of numbers. There must be some meaning behind it,” he reasoned.

“If this safe really belongs to some other Lin Xian who just shares my name, I’ll never crack the code in my lifetime.”

Yawning widely, Lin Xian struggled with the fatigue from countless sleepless nights. Barely managing to sit up straight, he felt a wave of drowsiness crash over him. His eyelids grew heavy.

“I should get some sleep,” he mumbled to himself. “I’ll think about it more at work tomorrow.”

The next morning, Lin Xian arrived at work on time. The office was abuzz, the atmosphere reminiscent of a New Year celebration. Following the successful launch of the Rhine brand, all sectors of MX Company had seen explosive growth, resulting in pay raises for everyone. This sparked a festive spirit, almost like a golden age had begun.

These days, work was light, and everyone looked forward to the celebratory banquet at the Victoria Club on Saturday night. The Victoria Club, one of the top three venues in Donghai City, was entirely booked by Zhao Ying Jun. All employees connected with the Rhine project were invited to this grand event. The buzz was well-deserved.

The presales of the Rhine moisturizing cream alone had helped MX Company surpass its sales targets for the first quarter of 2023 before the New Year had even arrived. They had already achieved their sales goals for the next year’s first quarter, a tremendous feat.

Lin Xian, now dubbed the “Father of the Rhine Cat,” briefly became an internet sensation. But such fame was fleeting. In the shadow of the adorable Rhine Cat mascot, Lin Xian’s identity was of little consequence—much like the unknown designer of Hello Kitty.

Upon reaching his floor, Lin Xian pressed the elevator button for the 20th floor. The logistics department had just finished setting up his new office. When the doors slid open, he found the 20th floor much quieter than the bustling 17th floor. This floor was reserved mainly for those reporting directly to the vice presidents.

Stepping into his office, Lin Xian admired the upscale furnishings and layout. He was particularly pleased with the expanded space and additional features in the reception area, such as a tea machine, a small tea table, and various potted plants. The resting area even boasted a bed with a high-end mattress, still wrapped in plastic and emitting a faint formaldehyde scent.

“Better air this place out a bit,” Lin Xian thought.

He fully opened the window in the resting room, then closed the door behind him and settled into his new leather chair.

“Nice.”

The soft leather chair was far more comfortable than his old ergonomic one. As he reclined, it made him feel instantly drowsy—perfect for a quick nap.

After playing around with his new office gadgets, Lin Xian sat up straight, twirling a pen as he pondered over the previous night’s dream. Sometimes he wondered if he was making things more complicated than they needed to be.

If that safe wasn’t his and CC was merely a figment of his imagination—a split personality—then maybe none of this was his concern. Maybe he was just an outsider stirring the pot.

Still, one clue nagged at him, and he couldn’t shake it off: “I’ve definitely heard CC’s voice somewhere before, and she has heard my voice in her memories too. Could it really just be a coincidence?”

It was hard for Lin Xian to convince himself. If only one of them had recognized the voice, perhaps it could be dismissed as chance. But since both had the same reaction, it seemed too significant to ignore.

At least CC could describe the middle-aged, bearded man who sounded like him in detail. But Lin Xian had no memory of where or when he might have heard CC’s voice.

“Where did I hear CC’s voice…”

Lin Xian closed his eyes, twirling a pencil in thought. He remembered the last scene from his recent dream: CC smiling at him unexpectedly.

He had never expected this cold and detached female assassin to smile. Yet when she did, her smile was surprisingly sweet, her eyes curving into crescent moons and revealing two charming dimples.

The pencil in Lin Xian’s hand ceased its twirling. Almost instinctively, he began to sketch on a blank sheet of A4 paper. The rhythmic scratching of pencil on paper filled the quiet room.

He sketched the outline of her face first—sharp jawline, small oval face, strands of hair by her ears, long eyelashes, upturned corners of her mouth, eyes shaped like crescent moons brimming with laughter, faintly visible dimples. The details on the paper became more refined as CC’s smiling face gradually emerged.

As Lin Xian sketched, he marveled at his undiminished skill. Back in high school, he had been an art student, one of the top sketchers in his province. Whether it was innate talent or the result of relentless practice, he had spent countless nights honing his skills, even dreaming of places to practice drawing.

The pencil continued to scratch the paper until Lin Xian’s drawing was complete. The girl on the paper had her hair neatly tied back, eyes like crescent moons complemented by a teardrop-shaped mole. Her small face and infectious smile rendered her lively and endearing. The sketch was so detailed it could rival a black-and-white photograph, perhaps even more three-dimensional.

Suddenly, the office door banged open.

“Lin Xian, deliver this invitation to Professor Xu Yun,” said Zhao Ying Jun as she entered without knocking.

Lin Xian looked up, startled. It was typical of Zhao Ying Jun—she was one of the few who dared enter offices unannounced.

“Oh, okay,” Lin Xian replied, standing to take the red invitation. Zhao Ying Jun glanced at the sketch on the desk and nodded.

“Nice drawing,” she commented.

“Thanks,” Lin Xian responded, a bit puzzled.

“It looks just like her,” Zhao Ying Jun added, almost as an afterthought.

Lin Xian stepped back, bewildered.

“You know who I drew?”

Zhao Ying Jun looked up, a hint of surprise in her tone.

“Are you joking, Lin Xian? Everyone in the Donghai business circle knows who she is,” she continued, pointing at the smiling girl on the paper. “Isn’t that Chu Shan He’s daughter…”

“Chu An Qing?” Lin Xian finished, his voice tinged with astonishment.