The effect was instantaneous and breathtaking.
Henry Lin’s eyes widened in profound astonishment. He set his silver fork down with a sharp clink, his mouth slightly open. Beside him, the two younger executives sat up straight, their expressions shifting from bored detachment to utter disbelief.
Naomi continued without pausing, her tone warm, respectful, and authoritative. "In ancient tradition, it is said that a true partnership is built upon the foundation of mutual respect, humility, and honorable character. A man who uses his wealth merely as a whip to humble those who serve him possesses no true substance, regardless of how many towers he claims to own. I urge you to consider whether a man who treats his own countrymen with such casual cruelty can ever be trusted as a faithful guardian of your investments."
The dining room remained in dead silence. None of the American patrons understood the words, but the flawless cadence, the exquisite tone, and the visible shock on the faces of the Chinese businessmen made the reality undeniable. Naomi was not just fluent; she was master command personified.
Henry Lin slowly rose from his chair. He looked at Naomi, his eyes shining with deep respect. He folded his hands together and bowed his head slightly—a gesture of high honor reserved for esteemed peers.
"Your Mandarin is not merely fluent, young lady," Henry Lin said in English, his voice clear and ringing through the quiet room. "It is beautiful. It carries the heart of a scholar."
Victor Hale sat frozen in his chair, his mouth hanging open, his face flushing a deep, mottled red. The confidence that had filled him moments before had utterly shattered. He looked around the room, realizing that every eye was fixed on him—not with admiration, but with disgust.