The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the top floor of Xu Corporation bathed in golden afternoon light. Han Jiayan stepped out, his reflection fractured across the sleek glass panels, a kaleidoscope of someone still trying to understand where he belonged. But beneath his composed stride and tailored suit, his heart remained a battlefield.
He wasn't afraid. But he wasn't fearless either.
He'd learned one thing after standing across from Qin Liang—intent mattered more than power. And Jiayan's intent had just begun to sharpen.
Xinyue was waiting inside the CEO's office, not at her desk but by the towering windows overlooking the skyline. She didn't look up as he entered, and that said more than words could. Her back was straight, her arms crossed, the tension in her shoulder blades drawn like bowstrings.
Jiayan closed the door behind him. "You asked for me?"
"Yes," she said, turning. Her gaze was clear but unreadable, like a still lake hiding its depth.
"You made quite the impression on the board," she said coolly.
Jiayan offered a half-smile. "They didn't throw chairs. I take that as a win."
Her lips twitched, almost a smile—but it vanished just as fast.
"We have an issue," she said, stepping away from the window and handing him a thick file. "The subcontractor attached to the Qin-influenced logistics deal is a shell company. No tax ID, no corporate registry."
Jiayan flipped through the file. "Money laundering?"
"Or bribery. Possibly worse. They've used this ghost contractor to reroute assets. It's how they're bleeding our profits—quietly."
"And we just noticed?"
"I noticed. Three weeks ago. I needed proof."
She circled to her desk and tapped her screen. An internal memo pulled up, timestamped a month ago. "I've been tracking this personally. But now we need a name to go with the paper trail."
Jiayan's fingers hovered over the file. "You want me to dig?"
"No," she said slowly. "I want you to bait."
He looked up. "Excuse me?"
"They'll be watching you now. Qin Liang underestimated you once. He won't do it again. That makes you valuable—and vulnerable. If you talk to the right middlemen, drop the right words, you'll trigger movement. And when they move, we'll follow."
Jiayan leaned back against the desk. "Using me as bait. That's... very on-brand."
"Are you saying no?"
"I'm saying you owe me dinner if I get stabbed."
This time, she laughed. Quiet, quick, but it left a warmth in the room that hadn't been there moments before.
She handed him a burner phone. "This has a direct line to Feng Shanshan's analyst. You'll pretend to be interested in outsourcing to new logistics chains. They'll take the bait. They always do."
Jiayan pocketed the phone. "And what about us?"
Her expression shifted—warmer, but hesitant. "Us is not part of the plan."
"But it is part of the risk," he said softly.
She didn't answer.
Outside, the wind howled faintly against the skyscraper walls. Inside, silence thickened between them like velvet.
Later that night, Zhao Yelin was waiting on the rooftop terrace of her family's private art museum. She wore an oversized hoodie, sneakers, and a frown.
"You agreed to be bait?" she asked, sipping from her canned beer.
Jiayan nodded, dropping onto the bench beside her. "She needed someone. And I can handle myself."
"She needs a whole security team, not a self-sacrificing idiot with nice hair."
He gave her a sidelong glance. "You think I have nice hair?"
"Don't get cocky. You've been brooding all week. It's exhausting."
He chuckled, then grew quiet. "Do you think I'm just her pawn?"
Yelin's jaw tightened. "I think she doesn't know what to do with someone who doesn't play by her rules. That terrifies her."
"Good."
"What?"
"Maybe fear will keep her honest."
The wind swept across the rooftop. Yelin glanced sideways at him.
"If she breaks you," she said softly, "I won't forgive her."
Jiayan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Elsewhere, beneath the golden chandeliers of an exclusive underground lounge, Tang Weilan leaned over a crystal ashtray, flicking a cigarette she never intended to light.
Feng Shanshan swirled her wine lazily. "You're thinking about him again."
"I'm thinking about what happens if he doesn't come out of this alive."
Shanshan's smile faltered.
Weilan's eyes narrowed. "If she gets him killed... this won't end with grief. It'll end with war."
Across the city, deep in a surveillance suite lit only by monitors, that same image of Jiayan speaking with Xinyue played again and again. The woman in the jade cheongsam watched him—zoomed in, slowed down, frame by frame.
She didn't blink. She didn't smile.
"Activate the dormant contract," she said calmly. "Let the first ghost step out of the dark."
"But—he's just a civil placeholder, not a—"
"Not anymore."
She turned away.
"The queen thinks she's moving pawns," she whispered. "Let her see what happens when the board flips."
In the distance, thunder rolled. No storm. Just the quiet warning of something ancient, stirring.
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