**GENE**
The warehouse meeting started at 7 AM sharp.
Gene arrived at 6:45, standing in rain that fell warm and wrong, soaking through his jacket. The Zhao family compound sprawled across three city blocks—art deco buildings retrofitted with holographic security, walls embedded with tech that probably cost more than his parents' house. Guards in suits that looked vintage but moved like they contained body armor checked his credentials twice.
Wei met him at the entrance. "You look nervous."
"I'm not."
"Liar." Wei gestured for him to follow. "Meeting's in the east warehouse. Sit in the back. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't stare at anything too long."
"Why would I—"
"You'll see."
They walked through corridors that bent wrong, spatial manipulation making the building bigger on the inside than outside. Gene's stomach lurched at each turn. Windows showed the warehouse floor below—shipping containers stacked forty feet high, workers moving with practiced efficiency, cargo that glowed faintly with dimensional residue.
The conference room occupied the entire top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Huangpu River, except it wasn't quite the Huangpu—the water flowed in two directions simultaneously, ships from different dimensions passing through each other like ghosts.
Fifteen people were already seated. Gene recognized some from previous meetings—merchant lords, boundary watchers, a woman who controlled information flow across six territories. They glanced at him, dismissed him, returned to their conversations.
Gene found a seat in the back corner. Pulled out his tablet. Tried to look like furniture.
The conversations flowed in three languages simultaneously. Shipping rates. Boundary instability in Territory Nine. Political tensions in worlds Gene had never heard of. He took notes, watching body language more than listening to words.
At 7:03, the door opened.
Every conversation stopped.
She walked in like she owned not just the room but the air inside it.
Zhao Xian.
Gene had seen her once before, briefly, at a merchant association dinner where he'd been standing by the wall holding Chen Lao's coat. But that had been across a crowded room, a glimpse of someone moving through power like water.
This was different.
She wore a qipao that looked like it cost more than Gene's entire wardrobe—dark blue silk with embroidery that seemed to shift patterns when she moved, traditional cut but made from fabric that caught light in impossible ways. Her hair was pulled back severely, showing a face that could have been carved from jade. She was maybe thirty, maybe younger—Gene couldn't tell. Some people existed outside normal age brackets.
But it was how she moved that made Gene's breath catch. Not graceful—grace implied trying. She just moved, and the room rearranged itself around her.
"Gentlemen. Ladies." Her voice cut through the silence, accented but impossible to place. "Shall we begin?"
She didn't sit at the head of the table. Didn't need to. She took a seat in the middle and somehow that became the head.
"Territory Seven situation first," she said. "Li, your report?"
A man three seats down started talking. Gene forced himself to focus on the content, not on the way Zhao Xian listened—completely still, eyes moving between speakers, absorbing information like a computer processing data.
The meeting covered shipping rates, territorial disputes, boundary instability that was affecting three major trade routes. Gene took notes mechanically. This was standard stuff, nothing he hadn't seen before.
Then someone mentioned a problem with Earth-origin cargo.
"The regulations changed," a merchant named Zhou explained. "Earth customs is flagging anything with dimensional residue. We're losing two out of every five shipments to inspection delays."
"How much is this costing us?" Zhao Xian's voice was perfectly calm.
"Seven million RMB last quarter. Projected twelve million this quarter."
"Solutions?"
Silence.
Gene's hand moved before his brain caught up. He was writing calculations, cross-referencing them with what he knew about Earth customs procedures, the ways American companies dealt with regulatory inspection, the loopholes that—
"You. In the back."
Gene looked up.
Zhao Xian was looking directly at him.
Every eye in the room turned. Gene felt his throat close.
"You're Chen Lao's American." Not a question. Her eyes were dark, sharp, missing nothing. "You have something to say?"
Gene's mouth went dry. This was the moment Chen Lao had warned him about—speak up too soon and you look like an idiot. Stay silent and you're useless furniture forever.
"I might have an idea," Gene heard himself say. His voice came out steadier than it should. "About the Earth customs issue."
"Stand up."
Gene stood. His legs felt like water. Fifteen pairs of eyes watched him like predators assessing prey.
"Earth customs flags dimensional residue because their detection equipment registers it as potential contraband," Gene said. "But there's a certification process. If the shipper pre-declares the residue and provides dimensional transit documentation, it gets flagged for inspection but not seizure."
"We tried that," Zhou said dismissively. "It didn't work."
"Because you probably filed it under the wrong regulatory category." Gene pulled up his tablet, surprised his hands weren't shaking. "Earth's customs system has separate pathways for scientific materials, commercial goods, and hazardous materials. Dimensional residue gets categorized differently depending on which pathway you use. If you file under scientific research materials with proper dimensional transit certification, the inspection time drops from forty-eight hours to six."
Silence.
"How do you know this?" Zhao Xian's voice was carefully neutral.
"I'm from Earth. UC Irvine. I worked summers for my dad's import company. We dealt with customs regulations constantly." Gene met her eyes. Mistake. Her gaze was like staring into deep water—you couldn't see the bottom. "The regulatory system is a mess, but once you understand the pathways, you can optimize routing."
"Show me."
Gene's brain short-circuited. "I'm sorry?"
"Show me. Come here."
The room was maybe thirty feet long. Walking to where Zhao Xian sat felt like walking to an execution. Gene moved between chairs, hyperaware of everyone watching, until he stood beside her.
She smelled like tea and something expensive he couldn't identify.
"Pull up the Earth customs database," she said.
Gene's hands were definitely shaking now. He opened his tablet, pulled up the documentation. Showed her the regulatory pathways, the certification requirements, the way material classifications affected processing time.
Zhao Xian studied the screen. Her face revealed nothing.
"This could save us eight million RMB annually," she said finally.
Gene's heart hammered. "Probably more. Once you optimize the pathway, you can route all Earth-origin cargo through it."
She looked up at him. This close, Gene could see gold flecks in her dark eyes.
"What's your name?"
"Gene Eu."
"I know that. What do people call you?"
"Gene."
"Gene." She said it like she was testing how it felt. "Do you always wait six months to share valuable information?"
"I just learned about the Territory Seven issue today."
"But you've known about Earth customs pathways since you arrived."
Gene felt his face heat. "No one asked."
Something flickered in her expression—amusement, maybe, or respect. Hard to tell.
"You've been watching meetings for three months. Taking notes. Sitting quietly." Zhao Xian turned back to the room. "Zhou, implement his suggestion. Gene, I want full documentation on Earth regulatory optimization by end of week."
"I—yes."
"Good. Sit down."
Gene returned to his corner on legs that barely worked. The meeting continued. Trade routes, shipping schedules, boundary maintenance contracts. Gene couldn't focus on any of it.
Because Zhao Xian had looked at him like he existed.
Not like furniture. Not like Chen Lao's pet project. Like someone who might actually be useful.
When the meeting ended two hours later, Gene gathered his things quickly, trying to slip out before anyone could ask questions about the American kid who'd spoken up.
"Gene Eu."
He turned.
Zhao Xian stood three feet away. Up close, she was shorter than he'd expected—maybe five-six in heels. But she carried herself like she was seven feet tall.
"You sat in seven meetings before today," she said. "Why speak up now?"
Honest answer or strategic answer? Gene gambled on honest.
"Because I actually knew something useful. The other meetings, I was still learning."
"Chen Lao's training you in boundary navigation?"
"He's deciding whether to train me. Right now I'm still proving I won't quit."
"Will you?"
"No."
"Why not? New Shanghai chews up Americans. The ones who survive usually wish they'd quit."
Gene met her eyes. Mistake number two—looking directly at her felt like touching a live wire.
"Because I don't have anywhere better to be."
Something in her expression shifted. Not quite a smile. Something sharper.
"That's the most honest thing anyone's said to me in months." She pulled a card from somewhere—Gene didn't see where she'd been keeping it. The card was made from metal that felt warm to the touch. "If you survive Chen Lao's training, call me. I could use someone who actually answers questions instead of telling me what they think I want to hear."
She walked away before Gene could respond.
He stood there holding the card, watching her disappear into the crowd of merchants and deal-makers, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive tea and something that might have been jasmine.
Wei appeared at his elbow. "Well. That was interesting."
"What just happened?"
"She noticed you." Wei's expression was unreadable. "Whether that's good or bad, we'll find out."
Gene looked at the card. It had her name in English and Chinese, a phone number, and nothing else. No title. No company name. Like she didn't need to explain who she was.
"Wei," Gene said quietly. "How many people has she given cards to?"
"In the last five years? Maybe twenty."
"How many called her?"
"All of them."
"How many did she actually work with?"
Wei smiled, sharp and knowing. "Three."
-----
**ZHAO XIAN**
Back in her office—rosewood desk, windows overlooking three different versions of the river, technology invisible but everywhere—Zhao Xian reviewed the Earth customs documentation Gene Eu had shown her.
He was right. The pathway optimization could save millions.
More interesting: he'd known this for months and said nothing until he had context for when it mattered.
Most people with useful information showed it off immediately. Look at me, I know things, validate me. Gene Eu had sat quietly, watched, learned, and only spoke when the information was actually relevant.
Smart or scared? Zhao Xian couldn't tell yet.
Her assistant appeared in the doorway. "Your father wants to know about the meeting."
"Tell him we have a solution for the Earth customs issue. I'll send documentation by tonight."
"And the American?"
"What about him?"
"Your father saw you give him your card."
Zhao Xian smiled slightly. "Tell my father I'm collecting useful people. He'll understand."
After her assistant left, Zhao Xian turned back to the documentation. Gene Eu's notes were thorough, detailed, organized in a way that suggested actual competence rather than trying to impress.
She pulled up his file—what little Chen Lao had shared. Twenty-two years old. UC Irvine. Father's some mid-level businessman in California. Came to Taipei first, burned some bridges, ended up here. Six months in New Shanghai, three on the docks, three observing.
Nothing exceptional. Nothing that explained why Chen Lao thought he was worth training.
But that moment in the meeting—when he'd stood up despite obvious terror and provided actually useful information instead of empty flattery—that was interesting.
Most people she gave cards to called within a week, desperate to capitalize on access before she forgot about them.
Zhao Xian wondered how long Gene Eu would wait.
And whether he'd actually become someone worth her time, or just another ambitious climber who mistook one conversation for destiny.
She set his file aside and returned to work.
But three hours later, when she was reviewing boundary flux reports, she caught herself wondering what he was doing right now.
Probably celebrating. Probably telling everyone about how Zhao Xian gave him her card. Probably already planning his next move up the ladder.
That's what they all did.
Zhao Xian pushed the thought away and focused on the reports.
She didn't have time for curiosity about ambitious Americans who probably wouldn't last another six months.
Even if he had been honest in a way that felt almost dangerous.
Even if his hands had been shaking when he showed her the documentation.
Even if something about the way he'd said "I don't have anywhere better to be" had felt uncomfortably familiar.
Zhao Xian closed her eyes briefly.
Then got back to work.
Because that's what people who survived in New Shanghai did.
They worked.
And they didn't get distracted by boys who looked at them like they held answers to questions no one else was asking.