The Symphony of Scars

The city of S in the rainy season always carried a somber, bone-chilling stillness. Glass skyscrapers pierced the heavy gray clouds, reflecting the dazzling neon glow of the frantic traffic below. On the 88th floor of Thẩm Corporation Tower — known as the “pinnacle of power” in the biomedical world — the air itself seemed to thicken and freeze. Today was the final round of interviews to select a secretary for the young, enigmatic CEO: Thẩm Trạch Ngôn. Thẩm Trạch Ngôn sat behind a sleek black sandalwood desk. His eyes were deep and bottomless, like an endless lake, yet a closer look revealed an unsettling emptiness — a gaze that focused on nothing. In Trạch Ngôn’s eyes, the world was an oil painting smeared with water. Everything around him appeared only as shapes: the desk was a rigid rectangle, the window a dull gray patch of light, and people… people were nothing more than faceless mannequins. He could make out their hair, their clothes, their silhouettes, but the moment his eyes reached their faces, everything blurred and dissolved as if wiped away by an invisible hand. “Severe prosopagnosia — face blindness.” The medical record from the year he turned eighteen had become a life sentence. He could not remember his mother’s face, did not know his father’s, and certainly could not distinguish the countless women who tried to seduce him with their beauty. To him, they were merely “objects” that produced sound. “Next,” his voice rang out, low and ice-cold. The heavy wooden door swung open. A light breeze slipped in, carrying the pure, fresh scent of green tea mingled with the dampness of rain. Trạch Ngôn frowned slightly. It was a scent untouched by chemical additives. Lê Hạ Chi stepped inside. Her heart pounded, yet her footsteps were steady and sure. She wore a simple light-gray business suit, her hair neatly tied back, makeup minimal. Inside her bag lay an old, frayed photograph — an image of her father and a teenage boy from the accident twelve years ago. She was not here for money or the prestige of the CEO’s secretary position. She had come for one reason only: to uncover the truth for the father the world had cast aside. “Hello, CEO Thẩm. I’m Lê Hạ Chi.” Trạch Ngôn did not look up. He flipped through her resume. In his eyes, she was merely a slender gray silhouette. But her voice was different from the previous candidates — those who had forced their tones to sound sweet or mechanically professional. Hers was clear, naturally resonant, and remarkably… calm. “Why are you applying?” Trạch Ngôn asked, his long fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. Hạ Chi looked straight into his “soulless” eyes. She had studied Thẩm Trạch Ngôn thoroughly through the confidential medical files she had gathered. She knew he could not see her. “Because I can be your eyes,” Hạ Chi answered calmly. The rhythmic tapping stopped. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Trạch Ngôn lifted his head. Though he could not see her clearly, he felt her gaze piercing straight through his cold mask. “What did you just say?” “CEO Thẩm, in the last five minutes you’ve reviewed three reports without pausing at a single chart. When I walked in, you didn’t look me in the eye to assess me — you relied only on sound. All your previous secretaries were fired within a month because they never understood why you seemed so ‘arrogant’ that you wouldn’t bother remembering the faces of key partners. But I’m different…” Hạ Chi took one step closer. Her voice dropped, yet it carried undeniable power. “I know you’re not arrogant. You’re simply… unable to see them.” Trạch Ngôn shot to his feet. At 1.88 meters tall, he loomed over the petite woman, radiating an invisible pressure. He moved closer until Hạ Chi could smell the faint cedarwood scent on his vest. He leaned down, his long fingers suddenly gripping her chin, forcing her face toward his. Of course, in his eyes her face remained a blurry white void, but he wanted to feel her tremble — like prey. “Are you betting your life on blackmailing me?” His voice hissed between clenched teeth. Hạ Chi did not flinch. She felt the warmth of his large hand — and the faint, almost imperceptible tremor in it. She realized this powerful man was afraid. He feared his secret being exposed. He feared his weakness being laid bare before the ruthless business world. “I’m not blackmailing you,” she said. “I want a position that proves one thing: A king does not need to see the faces of his subjects. He only needs one trustworthy commander to move the chess pieces.” Trạch Ngôn stared into the empty space where her eyes should have been. For the first time in more than a decade, a flicker of genuine curiosity stirred within him. This girl was not afraid of him. She was like a wild w**d — small, yet her roots dug deep into the earth, impossibly resilient. He released her chin, turned, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. He gazed down at the rain-soaked city below. “Tomorrow, 6 a.m. If you’re even one second late, or if you disappoint me even once, losing the job will be the least of your worries.” Hạ Chi smiled faintly — a smile Trạch Ngôn could not see, but one he heard in the gentle steadiness of her breathing. “Understood, CEO Thẩm.” As Hạ Chi left Thẩm Corporation Tower, the rain grew heavier. She stood beneath the overhang, watching the crowds hurry past. Every face carried an identity, a story. But Thẩm Trạch Ngôn lived in a world of nameless shadows. She took out her phone and stared at the photo of her late father. “Dad, I’ve made it inside. I will make them restore your honor.” On the 88th floor, Thẩm Trạch Ngôn remained standing by the window. He raised the hand that had touched Hạ Chi’s chin and slowly inhaled the lingering trace of green tea on his fingertips. For the first time in his life, he felt an intense, burning desire to know… what this girl’s face truly looked like. Would it be as pure as her scent, or would it conceal a darkness he had yet to anticipate? That night, neither of them slept. One began learning to see the world through a different pair of eyes. The other stepped into the tiger’s den with a heart already covered in scars. The symphony of pain had just played its first notes.