The air in the secret service corridor of the Ye Estate was damp and smelled of ancient stone and ozone. Behind the mahogany-clad luxury of the upper floors lay a labyrinth of concrete and steel, a skeletal structure designed to protect the family from everything but the enemy already inside. Ye Wanwan moved through the darkness like a literal ghost, her boots making less sound than the settling dust. Beside her, Lu Zhentian was a towering presence of controlled violence. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket, his white silk shirt unbuttoned halfway to allow his "High-Heat" metabolism to vent, his skin glowing with a faint, feverish radiance in the gloom.
"The thermal sensors start at the next bulkhead," Wanwan whispered, her voice a chill vibration in the air. She stopped, her hand reaching back to press against Zhentian's chest to halt him. The moment her frozen palm touched his burning skin, a hiss of steam seemed to rise from the contact. Her "Cold-Blood" syndrome was reaching a critical point; the sub-basement had been rigged by the Shadow Syndicate to drop to sub-zero temperatures, a calculated move to paralyze the girl they knew was sensitive to the cold.
Zhentian grabbed her hand, weaving his fingers through hers, his heat pouring into her like a physical elixir. "They're using liquid nitrogen in the vents," he growled, his golden eyes scanning the ceiling. "They aren't just trying to blow the house; they're trying to turn you into a statue before the timer hits zero. Stay against me, Wanwan. Don't you dare pull away." Wanwan didn't argue. Her body was shivering, her joints stiffening as the artificial winter intensified. She leaned into his side, her head resting against his shoulder as they breached the final door.
The sub-basement was a cavernous room filled with the manor's primary support pillars. In the center, attached to the main gas line, was a device that hummed with a low, rhythmic pulse. It was the "Trojan" bomb, its digital face glowing with a neon red countdown: 00:12:44. Surrounding the device were six figures dressed in advanced thermographic suits, their goggles glowing green in the dark. They were the Shadow Syndicate's "Ice-Wraiths," assassins trained to fight in absolute zero environments.
"So, the country girl brought a bodyguard," the lead assassin rasped, his voice distorted by a respirator. He raised a high-pressure harpoon gun. "Master Lu, you should have stayed in your warm bed. Now you'll die in the frost with your little bride."
Zhentian didn't respond with words. He simply pushed Wanwan behind a concrete pillar and stepped into the center of the room. The heat radiating from him was so intense that the frost on the floor began to melt into a thick mist. "You have ten seconds to tell me who gave Aurora the detonator code," Zhentian said, his voice dropping into a register of pure, unadulterated malice. "After that, I'm going to use your own liquid nitrogen to shatter your bones."
The assassins attacked simultaneously. Zhentian moved with the speed of a predator, his fists striking like hammers, the sheer heat of his impact cauterizing the air. But the cold was the true enemy. Wanwan watched from the shadows, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could see Zhentian was being slowed by the sheer volume of the cooling gas. She reached into her rucksack, her fingers numb, and pulled out her Silver Needle Silk.
I am a God of Medicine, she told herself, her obsidian eyes turning sharp as diamonds. I do not freeze. I crystallize.
She leaped from the shadows, the silver wires whistling through the freezing mist. She didn't engage in a brawl; she targeted the joints of their suits. With a flick of her wrist, a needle pierced the lead assassin's respirator, causing the pressurized cooling gas to leak internally. The man screamed as he was frozen from the inside out by his own weapon. Wanwan moved like a dancer on a wire, her needles finding the pressure points even through the thick suits. Every time she felt her heart slowing, she would dart back toward Zhentian, her body absorbing the radiant heat he threw off like a star.
In three minutes, the "Ice-Wraiths" were nothing but frozen husks on the floor. Zhentian stood over the last one, his boot on the man's chest, his shirt drenched in sweat despite the sub-zero air. He looked at the bomb: 00:02:10. "Wanwan! The detonator!"
Wanwan knelt before the device. Her hands were shaking violently now, her temperature dropping into the danger zone. She looked at the complex web of wires—a "Spider's Nest" circuit. One wrong cut and the Ye family would be buried under ten tons of rubble. "I... I can't see the colors," she whispered, her vision blurring as the cold hit her brain. "Zhentian... I'm going under."
Zhentian didn't hesitate. He sat down behind her, pulling her back into his lap, wrapping his massive arms around her and pressing his chest firmly against her spine. He tucked his head into the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her ear. "Look again," he commanded, his voice a shameless, loving anchor. "Use my heat. My blood is your blood right now. You are Ye Wanwan. You are a God. Now, cut the damn wire."
The surge of heat from Zhentian was like a jolt of adrenaline. Wanwan's vision cleared. She saw the hidden secondary line—the one Aurora's father had hidden behind the blue casing. She didn't use a knife. She used a single silver needle to short-circuit the motherboard at the precise micro-second of the pulse.
The hum died. The red numbers flickered and went dark. 00:00:01.
The silence that followed was absolute. Wanwan collapsed back against Zhentian's chest, her body finally beginning to warm as the heaters in the room automatically reset. Zhentian didn't let go. He held her there, in the dark, his heart drumming a frantic, triumphant rhythm against her back. He turned her around in his arms, his golden eyes searching her pale face. "You did it, little Phoenix," he whispered, his thumb brushing a stray flake of frost from her eyelash.
Wanwan looked at the man who had burned himself out just to keep her warm. For the first time, she didn't see a "shameless beast." She saw a man who would stand at the gates of hell and hold the door open for her. She reached up, her cold fingers touching his burning cheek. "You're still an idiot, Zhentian," she whispered.
Zhentian grinned, leaning down until their foreheads touched. "Maybe. But I'm an idiot who just saved your family. I think that's worth at least one real kiss, don't you?"
Before Wanwan could protest, a frantic shouting echoed from the stairs. Her five brothers, followed by her parents, burst into the basement, having been alerted by the security bypass. They stopped dead, seeing the frozen assassins, the disarmed bomb, and their sister sitting in the lap of a shirtless, glowing Lu Zhentian.
"WANWAN!" Ye Mo roared, his protective instincts overriding his terror. "Lu Zhentian, get your hands off her! What the hell happened down here?"
Zhentian didn't move. He simply tightened his grip on Wanwan, looking at the brothers with a smug, shameless pride. "We were just checking the plumbing," Zhentian said. "And by the way, Mo... I think it's time we discussed the wedding date. Your sister is very high-maintenance in the cold."