Morning sunlight slid across the steel-and-glass towers of Liangcheng, gilding their edges with deceptive calm.
Inside Luminar's headquarters, the mood was anything but calm.
Gu Ze Yan stood in front of the long windows of his office, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other scrolling a market report. The numbers dipped a little lower each time he refreshed.
Seven percent.
By the time he reached the end of the chart, the curve looked like a red wound.
Behind him, Chen Rui's voice carried a strange mix of flippant and nervous. "Boss, we're starring in today's financial drama. Anonymous forums say Luminar's cooking its books. Some even claim Atlas is built on smoke."
He balanced two coffees in one hand, like props for comic relief. His grin was crooked, but his eyes weren't laughing.
Ze Yan set his phone down slowly. "Who started it?"
Chen Rui shrugged. "Anonymous account with too much funding behind it. Not a random troll—it's seeded in at least ten investment chat groups. Well-coordinated."
Before Ze Yan could reply, the door pushed open again. Shen Qiao entered with clipped steps, folders under one arm, her voice brisk. "The board is restless. Two members called before nine a.m. demanding a statement. One suggested postponing the demo. Investors are already whispering about pulling funds."
She dropped the folder on the table with a sharp thud. "If we don't get ahead of this, the damage won't stop at rumors."
---
The boardroom filled fast.
Senior directors' faces flickered across the big screen, some in suits from home offices, others dialing in from airports.
One elderly board member's voice quivered with restrained frustration. "Gu, you must address this. Rumors move faster than truth. If perception hardens, even flawless data won't save us."
Another chimed in, sharper. "Investors hate uncertainty. You must reassure them—immediately."
Whispers overlapped. "Optics, credibility, accountability—"
Ze Yan sat at the head of the table, sleeve cuffs folded neatly, expression calm as stone. He let the noise swell, then lifted his hand. Silence fell, reluctant but obeying.
"If they want to test Luminar's foundation," he said evenly, "let them. We don't build on sand."
His voice carried across the room, steady enough to quiet the panic—but even in his eyes, Shen Qiao saw the calculation. He knew perception could bleed a company faster than numbers.
---
By mid-morning, Luminar's stock had dropped another two points.
Reporters began circling, their questions disguised as polite inquiries: "We've heard concerns about transparency. Would Luminar care to comment?"
Chen Rui leaned against the wall outside the war room, phone buzzing nonstop. He muttered under his breath, "We're officially the villain in today's soap opera."
Inside, Shen Qiao was already drafting contingency statements, legal counsel on the line. Her sharp gaze flicked toward Ze Yan. "We need direction. Silence will be read as guilt."
Ze Yan's jaw tightened. "Silence buys time. Panic destroys it."
---
Across the city, Jiang Yi Rong sat in her villa's garden, a porcelain cup in hand.
Her assistant read updates from a tablet: "The anonymous fund seeded the posts across multiple groups. Stock is down nearly nine percent. Rumor tags trending in private investor circles."
Yi Rong's expression didn't shift. She stirred her tea once, slow. "Markets are creatures of fear. Fear is easy to feed."
She leaned back, sunlight catching the curve of her cheek. "And when fear grows, boardrooms tremble. Even the strongest men stumble when their own people start to doubt."
Her smile was cool, detached. To her, this wasn't chaos. It was music.
---
At Jiù Mèng Xuān, the quiet hum of a brush against aged paper filled the air.
Lin Qing Yun sat at her work table, carefully lifting a thin brush over a faded manuscript. The stillness of old ink steadied her hands, even as her phone buzzed.
A message from Yi Lan lit the screen:
Jiejie, Luminar's in trouble… everyone's saying fraud. Are you okay? Is Mr. Gu okay?
Qing Yun's brush paused mid-air. She read the words once, twice, then set the phone down.
Her gaze lingered on the manuscript before her, its surface worn but intact. Rumors, she thought, were like stains—they didn't appear unless someone spilled them.
This wasn't chance. Someone had poured carefully.
She pressed her lips together, not in panic but in thought, and bent back over the paper.
---
By afternoon, the boardroom tension sharpened to a knife's edge.
Directors demanded scapegoats, someone to "show accountability." A junior partner murmured that maybe suspending an executive would appease the storm.
Ze Yan listened, silent.
Finally, he spoke. "No."
The word landed like a gavel. Heads turned.
"We don't chase shadows. We don't sacrifice people for rumors. Let them howl. Luminar stands on proof, not panic."
His tone was steady, but Chen Rui, watching from the corner, caught the tightness in his fist beneath the table.
For the first time in years, Gu Ze Yan looked ambushed.
---
That night, Yi Rong closed her laptop with a soft click.
On the screen, Luminar's ticker line still bled red.
Her assistant hovered, nervous. "Should we push harder tomorrow?"
Yi Rong swirled the last of her wine, eyes gleaming. "No. The first push is enough. Cracks spread on their own."
Her reflection in the glass was flawless, composed, triumphant.
---
Back at Luminar, the office was nearly empty.
Ze Yan stood alone in the boardroom, city lights cutting his figure into reflection and shadow. The ticker screen glowed faintly behind him, bleeding red.
He folded his arms, calm on the surface, but his reflection in the glass split across the pane.
The storm had begun. And storms never stayed small.