The afternoon air was thick with tension, a heavy silence settling over the villa as the sun dipped slightly in the sky, casting long shadows across the stone courtyard. Inside Lin Wei's private study-an elegant room adorned with books, calligraphy scrolls, and a faint scent of sandalwood-his most trusted informants stood in grim silence.
They had come bearing news, but not the kind Lin Wei ever wanted to hear.
A notorious name had resurfaced in the city's underbelly: Zhao Feng-a ruthless gang boss with a reputation for brutality and ambition. Unlike others who whispered Lin Wei's name with fear and reverence, Zhao Feng had made a critical mistake.
He had threatened Xia.
Xia-the fiery, sharp-tongued woman whose laughter lit up the villa and whose loyalty to Lin Wei was as fierce as her spirit. Zhao Feng had believed her to be nothing more than a vulnerable woman, unaware of who her husband truly was. He had mistaken Lin Wei's quiet life for weakness... his silence for submission.
Zhao Feng believed Lin Wei was a simple man-an ordinary husband, perhaps once connected to power but now faded and irrelevant. He saw a man unworthy of fear, and an opportunity to assert dominance in a city he thought was ripe for the taking.
But Zhao Feng's arrogance would cost him.
As the words of the message were spoken aloud, Lin Wei's eyes darkened. There was no outburst, no dramatic shift in posture. His expression remained calm-eerily so. But the room itself seemed to grow colder, the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.
His teacup, still half-full, sat untouched. Time slowed. His fingers rested lightly against the wood of the table, but the air around him crackled with unseen energy.
Beneath the composed exterior, a fierce storm was rising.
The Shadow of the Underworld had never truly left the throne-he had only stepped into the light for a while. And now, someone had dared to pull him back into the dark.