The atmosphere within the Ye Medical Research Institute had shifted from a state of open rebellion to one of terrified reverence. The digital board, still glowing with Ye Wanwan's corrected formula, had become a shrine. Researchers who had previously scoffed at her "countryside" origins now walked on their tiptoes, afraid that the sound of their footsteps might disturb the terrifyingly sharp mind of the woman now occupying the Director's office. Inside that office, Wanwan sat behind a sleek, minimalist desk, surrounded by stacks of ancient medical texts and holographic data streams. She was the Cold Moon, a woman who could map the human nervous system with her eyes closed, but today she was merely a scientist obsessed with a singular goal: finding a permanent cure for the "Cold-Blood Syndrome" that threatened to freeze her from the inside out.
She was so deeply immersed in a complex cross-analysis of neuro-receptors that she didn't hear the door slide open. She didn't notice the shadows lengthening as the afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon. Her focus was a laser, cutting through layers of data, until a sudden, overwhelming wave of heat broke her concentration. It wasn't the building's climate control; it was a living, breathing presence.
"It's 2:00 PM, Wanwan. Your glucose levels are dropping, and your skin is turning that translucent shade of blue again," a deep, authoritative voice vibrated through the quiet room.
Wanwan blinked, her obsidian eyes slowly refocusing. Lu Zhentian was standing over her, his suit jacket discarded and his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. He wasn't holding a contract or a phone; he was holding a thermal lunch box that smelled of ginger-infused chicken and steamed greens.
"I'm busy, Master Lu," Wanwan said, her voice raspy from hours of silence. She reached for her tablet, but a large, warm hand clamped down over hers, pinning it to the desk. The heat from his palm surged into her cold fingers, making her breath hitch.
"The research isn't going anywhere. You, however, look like you're about to faint," Zhentian said, his eyes darkening with a mixture of annoyance and a strangely tender possessiveness. He didn't wait for her permission. He pulled a chair directly next to her—ignoring the "Professional Distance" she tried to maintain—and began opening the containers. "Eat. Or I'll start deleting these files one by one until you do."
Wanwan looked at the "Human Furnace" beside her. Any other man would have been thrown out by security, but Zhentian had already "donated" a new wing to the institute this morning just to ensure he had a permanent keycard. She realized that arguing with him was more exhausting than simply complying. She picked up the chopsticks, her movements stiff. To her surprise, the food was exactly the temperature her body needed—warm enough to stabilize her blood, but not so hot that it triggered a sweat.
"Why are you still here, Zhentian?" she asked quietly, after a few bites. "Don't you have an empire to run?"
"My empire is doing fine," Zhentian said, leaning back and watching her eat with a shameless, hungry intensity. "But my fiancée is a workaholic who treats her body like a disposable machine. If I'm not here to watch you, who will make sure you don't turn into a literal ice sculpture?"
Wanwan didn't answer, but the silence between them was no longer sharp. It was a strange, heavy truce. For the rest of the afternoon, Zhentian didn't pester her. He simply sat on the leather sofa in her office, working on his own laptop, his presence acting as a silent, radiating heater that kept the "Cold-Blood" attacks at bay.
When the clock struck 6:00 PM, Wanwan finally closed the last holographic window. Her eyes were weary, but her spine remained straight. Zhentian stood up instantly, as if he were synced to her movements. "Time to go home, Doctor. Your parents have been calling my phone every twenty minutes because you won't answer yours."
The drive back to the Ye Estate was quiet. Wanwan watched the city lights blur past the window, feeling a rare sense of mental fatigue. When they stepped through the front doors, they were immediately met with the warmth of the Ye household. The smell of a lavish home-cooked dinner filled the foyer, and Lin Shuyin rushed forward, her face lit up with joy.
"Wanwan! You're back! And Zhentian, thank you for bringing her home safely," Shuyin said, pulling them both toward the dining room.
The five Ye brothers were already seated, looking like a row of disgruntled bodyguards. However, as Wanwan sat down, their hostility shifted into a competitive display of affection. Ye Mo moved the finest cuts of meat onto her plate, while Ye Chen talked about the new playlist he had curated just for her. They were naive and didn't understand the shadows following their sister, but their love was an unconditional shield.
As the meal progressed, Ye Shijun cleared his throat, his expression becoming serious yet excited. "Wanwan, dear, there is a very important event tomorrow night. The 'Century Charity Auction' at the Imperial Hall. It's the biggest social event of the year."
Lin Shuyin reached out and squeezed Wanwan's hand. "We want you to come with us, darling. Not just to show you off, but because... well, there is a specific item being put up for bid. Your grandmother's 'Phoenix Heart' necklace. It was lost during the chaos twenty years ago, and we've finally tracked it down. We want to buy it back for you. It's your birthright."
Wanwan's eyes flickered. She knew that necklace. It wasn't just jewelry; her intelligence reports suggested it contained a hidden compartment with a micro-map of the secret mountain base where she had been trained. If it fell into the wrong hands—like the rival family Aurora secretly served—the Phoenix Council's secrets would be exposed.
"I'll go," Wanwan said, her voice calm but determined.
"Great!" Shuyin clapped her hands. "You must leave the institute early tomorrow. We need to get you fitted for a gown that will make the Capital tremble."
"No need for a fitting," Lu Zhentian interjected from the end of the table, his golden eyes locking onto Wanwan's. He leaned forward, a dark, arrogant smirk playing on his lips. "I've already commissioned a dress. And Wanwan... don't worry about the bidding. If you want that necklace, it's already yours. Even if I have to buy the entire auction hall to give it to you."
The five brothers groaned in unison, but Wanwan simply looked at Zhentian. The game was moving to a bigger stage. Tomorrow night, the "Lethal God" would have to play the role of a socialite, while the "Asura" prepared to burn his wealth just to keep her in his sight.