The city was already warm with early autumn, yet inside Luminar's headquarters, the air was cold as steel. In the war room, monitors cast a pale glow over tense faces.
Shen Qiao placed a report on the table, his tone clipped.
"Here. Transaction logs. It's not random."
Gu Ze Yan didn't speak. He leaned forward, eyes scanning the document, fingers tightening around the edge until the paper crumpled. Every line traced toward something foul—a betrayal hidden beneath numbers.
The resigning engineer, someone Ze Yan had trusted for years, had received deposits in a foreign account. At first glance, they looked ordinary, a contractor's payments, scattered and deliberate. But Shen Qiao's analysis revealed the funnel: a shell company, layers deep, tied back to Zhao Han Sheng.
Ze Yan's breath slowed. The fury, however, rushed through him like fire in dry grass. His stepbrother again.
—-
That evening, the engineer came to Luminar one last time to collect personal belongings. Ze Yan was waiting in his office.
The man froze at the sight of him.
"President Gu…"
"Don't," Ze Yan's voice was low, dangerous. He stepped closer, like a predator cornering prey. "How much did he pay you to bleed my company?"
The engineer's lips trembled, but he tried to mask it with defiance. "I don't know what you mean—"
Before he could finish, Ze Yan slammed a stack of documents on the desk. Emails, logs, bank records. Undeniable.
"You think I wouldn't find out?" Ze Yan's voice broke through the room like ice cracking on a river. His hand balled into a fist. He was one heartbeat away from dragging the man out and destroying him in front of everyone.
But then—
"Ze Yan."
The voice was quiet, but it cut through the fury.
Lin Qing Yun stood at the doorway, her figure calm against the fluorescent light. She had followed when she sensed his storm. Now she walked closer, her gaze steady on him, not the betrayer.
"If you lose control," she said softly, "then you'll be the one who truly falls into their trap."
Her words landed like water on fire, not extinguishing but cooling enough to hold back the blaze.
The engineer looked between them nervously, sweat beading at his temples.
Ze Yan's chest heaved. His fist loosened, the rage retreating to somewhere deeper, darker. He turned his back to the traitor, shoulders rigid.
"Get out," he said, voice flat.
The man fled, leaving only silence.
Qing Yun touched Ze Yan's arm gently. "Don't waste yourself on him. If you burn now, they win twice."
Ze Yan turned to her, and in his eyes, fury warred with restraint. "If not for you, I would have—"
"I know," she said, her voice a whisper of warmth. "But sometimes holding the blade steady hurts more than swinging it. Trust me."
—-
Instead of rash revenge, they worked through the night. Shen Qiao compiled everything:
Emails showing private correspondence between the engineer and Zhao Han Sheng's associate.
Bank transfers hidden under project "consulting fees."
Surveillance logs that proved unauthorized access into Luminar's most sensitive code.
Qing Yun, though not a technician, stayed beside them. She brewed tea, she reminded exhausted engineers to rest, she laid quiet encouragement like bricks under a collapsing wall.
When morning light spilled over the blinds, their case was airtight.
"This isn't accusation," Shen Qiao said, rubbing his tired eyes. "This is fact."
Ze Yan stared at the evidence one last time. His face was carved of stone, but Qing Yun saw the flicker beneath it—the hurt of betrayal.
She laid her hand over his. "You'll win. Because you're right."
—-
Zhao Corporation's boardroom was a theater of power: a long mahogany table, gleaming under chandeliers, walls adorned with oil paintings of ancestors who believed themselves eternal.
Zhao Ming Liang presided at the head, dignified as ever, though the lines on his forehead were etched deeper with the weight of rumors. Around him, directors whispered like restless birds, eyes darting toward Ze Yan with suspicion.
"Luminar's AI is unreliable."
"Too much risk."
"Perhaps the young president moved too fast."
Ze Yan entered with Shen Qiao and Qing Yun behind him. His stepbrother, Zhao Han Sheng, lounged near the far end, lips curled with satisfaction, as if waiting to see Ze Yan bleed publicly.
The meeting opened with formalities, numbers, projections. Then Zhao Ming Liang leaned forward.
"Ze Yan. About the demo failure. The board requires an explanation."
The room quieted. All eyes turned to him.
Ze Yan stood, tall and composed, his presence filling the room even before he spoke. His voice was calm, deliberate.
"There was sabotage."
Gasps rippled. A few directors exchanged skeptical glances. Zhao Han Sheng smirked.
Ze Yan gestured. Shen Qiao dimmed the lights and projected the evidence.
Email chains.
Bank transfers.
Screenshots of unauthorized code access.
Step by step, like a surgeon revealing a tumor, Ze Yan cut through every layer until the cancer was bare.
The traitor's name glared on the screen. Then—the final blade—proof that the shell company funneling the money tied back to Zhao Han Sheng.
Whispers erupted into chaos.
One director slammed a palm on the table. "Impossible!"
Another leaned forward, eyes sharp. "This is clear manipulation!"
But the evidence was iron. Too clean, too undeniable.
Zhao Ming Liang's face darkened, fury barely restrained.
Zhao Han Sheng pushed back his chair, face twisting. "These are fabricated! Do you believe him over your own blood?"
Ze Yan's gaze locked on him, cold and cutting. "Yes. Because unlike you, I don't sell blood for money."
The board fell silent.
In the stillness, Ze Yan placed his final words on the table like a gavel:
"This is the price of underestimating me."
Qing Yun, seated quietly behind him, felt her chest tighten. She had seen him furious, she had seen him broken, but here—he was radiant in defiance. Yet she knew: this battle was only one spark in a larger war.
The boardroom was chaos, directors murmuring, Zhao Ming Liang's fist clenched, Zhao Han Sheng seething.
And in the heart of it, Ze Yan stood unshaken—his hand brushing lightly against Qing Yun's when he returned to his seat, his silent promise anchoring them both.