America, Los Angeles.
Early morning.
In an executive suite at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel at the foot of Beverly Hills.
The curtains were gradually soaked through by the morning light.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass lay Los Angeles's sky, so clear it was almost transparent.
"Thump, thump, thump."
The treadmill ran at a steady rhythm.
Wen Ruan jogged, keeping her breathing even.
Her long hair was tied high, revealing her toned shoulders and back.
Beneath her sports bra, the lines of her abs appeared and disappeared with each breath and step. Her chest was full, her waist astonishingly slim, and her hips and legs rounded and firm. Mature and voluptuous, she also radiated an intensely vibrant vitality.
Thirty minutes later, her workout ended.
Wen Ruan gradually slowed down, stepped off the treadmill, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Facing the bright Los Angeles sky, she caught her breath for a while before beginning to stretch.
Leg stretches, shoulder rotations, hip openers, back stretches.
Her movements were precise and fluid.
She had been in Los Angeles for nearly a week now.
Ever since she landed, her schedule had barely stopped.
During the day, she met with teams, lawyers, and the seller's advisors. At night, she reviewed documents, held transoceanic conference calls, revised the acquisition framework, and checked contract clauses. She was so exhausted she was practically falling apart.
Even so, she had never skipped her daily workouts.
There was no helping it. In one month, on March 24, she would turn thirty.
Officially entering her thirties.
Things like one's figure and appearance had never been a given.
If she wanted to maintain them, she had to be disciplined.
After stretching, Wen Ruan let down her hair and could not help looking herself over in the mirror.
The corner of her mouth lifted