The Symphony of Scars

CHAPTER 2: THE RULES OF THE NAMELESS

Six o’clock in the morning. City S was still half-asleep, wrapped in a thick blanket of early-morning mist. The Shen Corporation Tower stood tall and imposing like a steel giant, silently watching the world stir to life.

Le Ha Chi stood in front of the CEO’s office door. She was not wearing the gray suit from yesterday. Today, she had chosen a high-end white silk blouse with an elegant high collar, paired with a navy pencil skirt. She knew that in Shen Ze Yan’s world without faces, clothing and silhouette were the only language he used to recognize people.

The automatic door slid open. Shen Ze Yan was already there. Instead of sitting at his desk, he stood by the manual coffee grinder. The harsh, dry sound of coffee beans being crushed shattered the terrifying silence of the room.

“Thirty seconds late,” Ze Yan said without turning around.

Ha Chi glanced at her watch. “Your watch is thirty seconds fast by standard time, Mr. Shen. That’s how you create pressure for yourself, but I prioritize absolute accuracy.”

Ze Yan froze. He turned around, his unfocused eyes sweeping across the bright patch where she stood. In his vision, she was a sharp “white-and-navy block” today. He slid a thick stack of documents toward her. It was the list of fifty shareholders and partners who would attend the grand opening of the Gene Regeneration Research Center that afternoon.

“Within four hours, memorize everything: names, titles, distinctive voices, hobbies, and especially… the physical imperfections their faces cannot hide. You said you’re my eyes? Then prove it.”

Ha Chi did not use ordinary memorization methods. She sat down in the corner of the sofa, opened her laptop, and with her extraordinary logical thinking and automation ability, she began categorizing the data. She didn’t remember faces—she remembered algorithms.

Her notes read:

Mr. Wang: Breath smells of cigar, diamond ring on the left ring finger constantly twists when anxious.

Mrs. Li: Sharp, rapid click of high heels on the floor, strong lily perfume.

Ze Yan observed her from a distance. He saw that this young woman showed no sign of panic. She worked with intense focus, her fingers flying across the keyboard so fast they produced a sound like electronic music.

For the first time, he felt that the presence of another person in this room did not irritate him. On the contrary, the faint green-tea scent drifting from her seemed to soothe his chronic headaches—the result of his nervous system constantly straining to process blurred visual data.

That afternoon, at the Life Technology Research Center. Camera flashes exploded nonstop. For Ze Yan, this was pure t*****e. Each burst of light felt like a needle stabbing his retina, turning his already hazy world into complete chaos.

He walked along the red carpet, elegant and arrogant. Ha Chi followed half a step behind him, the tiny earpiece in his ear already connected to her device.

“Ten o’clock to your left—Mr. Tran from Asia Pharmaceutical Group. He recently had knee replacement surgery; his gait leans slightly to the right,” Ha Chi’s voice sounded steady and calm in his ear.

Ze Yan smiled—a perfect social smile—and extended his hand at exactly the right moment as the man approached. “Good to see you, Mr. Tran. How has your health been lately? I hear the southern project is progressing very well.”

Mr. Tran was stunned. Shen Ze Yan was famous for being cold and never bothering with small details, yet today he had recognized him instantly in this chaotic crowd.

And so it continued. Ha Chi became the perfect “operating system,” guiding him through the labyrinth of complex relationships without a single misstep. Ze Yan felt a freedom he had never known in the past twelve years. He was no longer a blind man in broad daylight—he was truly in control of the game.

However, the sweetness of this initial success was soon doused with a bucket of cold water. In the VIP area, Shen Zheng—Ze Yan’s uncle and the man who had always coveted the CEO seat—suddenly appeared.

Shen Zheng was an old fox. He had always been suspicious of his nephew’s condition. He deliberately removed the distinctive lapel pin that Ha Chi had noted for Ze Yan and altered his tone when greeting him.

“Ze Yan, look who’s here,” Shen Zheng said, his voice distorted through a medical mask under the pretext of “having a cold.”

In Ze Yan’s earpiece, Ha Chi fell silent for a split second. She sensed the danger. The visual signal had changed, and the audio signal was fake. Ze Yan froze. He had no idea who was standing in front of him. His eyes began to flicker—a sign of panic that Shen Zheng was waiting to exploit.

At that critical moment, Ha Chi took one step forward, pretending to adjust Ze Yan’s suit jacket. She lightly touched his hand—a deliberate, calming gesture—then spoke clearly:

“Mr. Shen, Vice Chairman Shen Zheng is truly considerate. Even while ill, he still came to congratulate us. Vice Chairman, Mr. Shen was just mentioning the premium tea gift you sent last month. He has always wanted to thank you in person.”

Ze Yan instantly regained his composure. “That’s right, Second Uncle. Your health is the most important thing. Don’t overwork yourself for the company.”

Shen Zheng narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze sweeping over Ha Chi. He realized this young woman was not simple.

The ceremony ended. On the ride back to the villa, the silence inside the car was so complete that the sound of rain tapping against the window could be heard clearly. Ze Yan loosened his tie, leaned his head back against the seat, and let out a long breath.

“You did better than I expected today,” he said, eyes still closed.

“It’s my job,” Ha Chi replied, her fingers still busy rearranging the schedule on her laptop.

Suddenly, Ze Yan opened his eyes and leaned toward her. The distance between them shrank in an instant. Ha Chi could see his long eyelashes and the deep exhaustion etched at the bottom of his eyes.

“Why are you helping me? Just for the money?”

Ha Chi stopped typing. She looked into his eyes that could not see her clearly. A complex emotion surged in her chest—half sympathy for a lonely genius, half the cold detachment of someone carrying out a secret mission.

“You don’t need to know why. You only need to know that as long as I’m standing here, you will never have to face the darkness alone.”

Ze Yan stared at her for a long time. Even though he could only see a pure white block of color, for the first time he felt the urge to “touch” the soul behind that color. He raised his hand, intending to touch her face, but stopped midway and withdrew it.

“Don’t betray me, Le Ha Chi. The price of betrayal in my world… is death.”

Ha Chi smiled—a faint, sorrowful smile hidden in the darkness of the car. “Shen Ze Yan, we have been on opposite sides of the battlefield since twelve years ago.”