By the next morning, the whole apartment felt like it had been holding its breath all night.
The city outside was still asleep — fog curling around the high-rises, Huangpu River a streak of silver. But inside, the air was sharp, almost electric, like whatever chaos the press conference had unleashed was still lingering in the walls.
I stepped out of my room, hair a mess, wearing the oversized shirt I stole from Jinyu's laundry basket. He glanced up from the island counter, already on his second coffee.
"You're awake," he said.
"Barely," I croaked. "It feels like yesterday ran me over with a forklift."
"It ran all of us over," he replied, sliding my mug toward me. "Drink."
I took it with both hands. "Any updates?"
His jaw tightened. "Too many."
Ah.
So it was that kind of morning.
While I sipped the coffee (burning my tongue, naturally), he summarized the situation like some kind of grim report:
"Overnight coverage tripled. A dozen Western outlets are questioning our numbers. Three have requested full testing records. Two want an independent investigation."
"Love that for us," I muttered.
"And…" He hesitated. Rare. "Eternal Spring made a move."
My brows shot up. "What kind of move?"
"They announced a new product line," he said flatly. "One with… similarities."
"…similarities."
Translation: someone leaked our formula again, and someone used it.
My stomach twisted.
"Oh my god," I whispered. "So Yixuan didn't just leak during the conference — he's still leaking now."
He didn't confirm it.
He didn't have to.
The silence was confirmation.
We didn't even get a moment to breathe.
Rui Ming spammed the group chat:
[8:12 AM] Emergency meeting. Board wants us in ASAP.
[8:14 AM] Also bring coffee. Everyone looks like corpses.
So much for taking one peaceful morning to recover.
Jinyu grabbed his coat. "We need to be there in twenty."
"Why?" I asked as I stuffed my documents into my bag. "Damage control?"
"More than that." His tone sharpened. "Someone's accelerating the sabotage."
"Meaning…"
"Meaning pace of leaks is increasing."
Oh good.
Just what my anxiety wanted to hear.
When we walked into the building, it felt like stepping into a pressure cooker.
Everyone was moving fast, talking fast, breathing fast.
Board members pacing.
Legal team pale.
PR squad typing at 150 words per minute.
Someone rushed past carrying three laptops like they were bombs.
"You'd think we're preparing for doomsday," I muttered.
"We might be," Jinyu said.
Comforting.
Inside the main conference room, Rui Ming had already plastered the wall with timelines, leak patterns, and timestamps from the press conference incident.
She didn't even greet us, just jabbed a finger at the screen.
"Look at this," She said.
A graph showed spike patterns of unauthorized outbound file access.
Steady for months.
Then yesterday: a vertical jump.
"It's not random anymore," Rui Ming said.
"Someone is escalating on purpose."
"Who had access at those times?" Jinyu asked.
"The list is… short." Rui Ming clicked again.
A list popped up: five names.
One of them: YIXUAN.
I swallowed. "Do we—do we confront him?"
"No," Jinyu said. "Not yet." His tone was low, dangerous. "A snake gets most dangerous when cornered."
After the meeting, I stepped out to breathe, or tried to. The elevator lobby was blissfully empty.
Until—
A familiar voice said, "Rough morning?"
I whipped around.
Yixuan.
Hands in pockets.
Tie perfect.
Expression mild, but eyes way too sharp.
"Oh," I said, trying to sound casual. "You're early."
"I always am," he replied smoothly.
There was something off about the way he said it.
A fraction too polished.
He sounded a bit too… satisfied.
Like he was watching a chessboard unfold exactly how he planned.
He stepped closer, not too close, but close enough to make my heartbeat spike.
"Heard the board is panicking," he said lightly. "Shame. You all worked so hard."
I froze.
That tone—
That tone was wrong.
"So hard for what?" I asked quietly.
His smile brightened, but his eyes didn't.
"For everything to fall apart anyway."
Then he walked into the elevator.
The doors slid shut.
And I realized my hands were shaking.
By the time we got home, even the city lights felt exhausting.
I collapsed on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you think the leak escalated because of the press conference?" I asked.
"No," Jinyu said from the kitchen. "I think it escalated because whoever's behind it is getting nervous."
"Whoever," I repeated quietly.
He didn't correct me, but he didn't say a name either.
Before I could say more,
my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Just a link.
A cold shiver crawled up my spine.
"Not again," I whispered.
I tapped it.
A video opened.
It was grainy, like CCTV footage ripped from an old monitor.
The hallway at Xuhuang. Today.
There was me; walking alone, distracted, clutching files, which was quite visible because of the distance.
But In the far corner,almost in the camera's blind spot, half in shadow, a figure stood near the stairwell.
Unmoving.
Head turned toward me.
But the camera quality was too low, it appeared as just a silhouette.
No face.
No details.
Just… presence.
Watching me the entire time.
My breath hitched.
Just as I appeared to exit frame, the figure stepped forward, one slow step, before the video cut out abruptly.
Another message appeared:
"You should've stayed quiet."
My stomach dropped.
Behind me, Jinyu's voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold:
"Jiaxin. Show me."
I handed him the phone with shaking hands.
He watched the clip once, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
"…Can you tell who that is?" I asked, voice small.
"No," he said immediately. "The footage is too damaged. It could be anyone."
"Anyone from inside."
His gaze flicked to me, steady, grounding, but edged with calculation.
"That's what they want you to think," he said. "Fear creates judgment. We're not making accusations without evidence."
"So we don't know who sent it?"
"No," he said, locking the phone. "But we do know one thing."
"What?"
"They're trying to rattle you."
His tone dropped lower. Dangerous. "And they're getting bolder."
I swallowed hard. "What do we do now?"
He didn't hesitate.
"We watch them back."
He stood, already switching into strategist mode, part-general, part-scientist, part-protector, all sharp focus.
"And Jiaxin?"
"Yeah?"
He looked at me then, eyes darker than usual, protective in a way that made my chest tighten.
"You're not facing this alone. Not again."
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, that blurred silhouette from the video hovered in the back of my brain; watching me, waiting, like a shadow that finally learned my name.
By morning, I looked like someone who had fought a God and lost.
I shuffled into the living room expecting Jinyu to be dissecting security footage alone, but he wasn't alone.
He didn't even look away from the TV.
"You're up," he said. "Good. Watch this."
On-screen, the CCTV Finance logo glowed in the corner.
And sitting in the studio, back impossibly straight, suit immaculate, expression colder than a marble statue;
Wu Zhaoyuan.
The caption under his name read:
WU ZHAOYUAN — CEO, ETERNAL SPRING
My eyes snapped open fully.
"Oh sh*t."
Jinyu didn't comment. He didn't need to.
The interview had already begun.
Reporter:
"Mr. Wu, there are circulating rumors that Eternal Spring may have gained from YSHT's sanctions. Some online speculate cooperation with Western regulators. Your response?"
Zhaoyuan held still for three seconds — the kind of stillness that was scarier than anger.
Then he said, very calmly:
"Those rumors are nonsense."
The reporter blinked. "Nonsense?"
"Yes."
Zhaoyuan leaned forward slightly. "Because Eternal Spring was sabotaged as well."
The studio air shifted. The reporter sat straighter.
Reporter:
"Sabotaged… how?"
Zhaoyuan's jaw tightened, not PR tight.
Actual tight.
"Three breaches into our R&D servers in the last month. Someone tampered with old archives, copied outdated formula sheets, manipulated timestamps. They tried to manufacture a story that would pit our companies against each other."
He tapped the desk once, a controlled, lethal gesture.
"Whoever did it wants Asia's top two biotech beauty houses to destroy each other so they don't have to."
My breath stopped.
Jinyu's expression didn't change, but something in the air around him did.
A cold, razor-sharp focus.
Reporter:
"So you deny any involvement in the attacks on YSHT?"
Zhaoyuan's laugh was short and scathing.
"If I wanted to take down Xuhuang, I would do it with innovation, not cheap tricks."
Oof.
That was definitely aimed at someone.
Probably everyone.
He continued:
"Let me be clear: Eternal Spring has not released any new anti-aging formulas this year. Any 'leaked similarities' spreading online are fabricated."
Reporter:
"Fabricated by Western groups?"
Zhaoyuan didn't blink.
"We're not naming anyone prematurely. But both our companies were targeted. Someone is orchestrating a coordinated campaign."
He turned to the camera.
And damn, the man had infinite aura.
"To whoever is hiding behind screens and middlemen," he said, voice low and controlled, "your cloak is slipping. And you will be found."
The broadcast ended.
Dead silence filled the apartment.
I exhaled shakily.
"So Eternal Spring isn't our enemy."
"No," Jinyu said quietly. "They're another target."
"And Zhaoyuan… he sounded angry."
"He should be," Jinyu replied. "Someone wants a war between our companies. He's refusing to play."
The notification bar on my phone exploded:
#WuZhaoyuanLIVE trending
#AsiaBeautyAlliance
#FindTheRealSaboteur
The entire internet was flipping.
And for the first time since everything imploded—
it felt like the storm wasn't just on top of us anymore.
It was shifting.
Toward the real danger.
The one still hiding inside both Xuhuang and Eternal Spring's walls.
The moment the interview cut, my phone lit up with messages from half the company.
But before I could answer, Rui Ming walked into the room.
No knocking. No hesitation.
Just pure Big Sister Energy entering the battlefield.
Her tablet was tucked under one arm, her blazer perfectly pressed, her hair pinned up in that terrifyingly neat way that meant she either slept two hours or achieved enlightenment.
"Good," she said, "you're both awake. We have a problem."
She tapped her screen, and the files projected onto Jinyu's TV.
Unauthorized access logs.
Email reroutes.
Weird metadata anomalies.
And one line highlighted in red.
Outbound File Interaction — 03:21 AM Device Serial: ES-475-Xuan
My stomach dropped.
"That… looks like—"
"Yes," she said. "It's Yixuan's device."
A pause.
Then she added calmly, like she was announcing a weather report:
"And I'm going to confirm it before anyone confronts him. I need to meet someone who can give me more eyes on Eternal Spring's server architecture."
I blinked. "Who?"
She looked away.
Very slightly.
Almost shyly.
(Which meant it absolutely had to be a man.)
"Wu Zhaoyuan," she said eventually.
When Rui Ming arrived, the restaurant was half-empty — a quiet rooftop overlooking the sycamore-lined streets.
Zhaoyuan was already there, sitting by the window, posture sharp, suit even sharper.
He stood when he saw her.
Of course he did.
The man had the manners of a 1920s aristocrat and the emotional range of a teaspoon.
"You're late," he said.
Rui Ming checked her watch.
"I'm three minutes early."
His jaw tightened. "Exactly."
(Smooth.)
They sat.
The waiter came over, and without consulting each other:
"Longjing tea, hot," they said in unison.
They froze.
The waiter blinked.
Zhaoyuan cleared his throat. "We have similar… taste."
Rui Ming sipped water to avoid smiling. "Professional alignment breeds efficiency, Mr Wu."
But her eyes were softer than usual.
Zhaoyuan slid a flash drive across the table.
"My team isolated the fake 'formula leak' circulating online. Whoever manipulated it accessed both our systems."
"So they want us to destroy each other," Rui Ming said.
"Exactly."
She tapped her nail lightly on the table. "Your IT logs?"
He tensed, almost imperceptibly.
"I don't give internal audits to outside companies."
"That's fine," she said, calm as ever. "I don't need the whole thing."
He looked confused. And mildly offended.
She continued, voice low and controlled:
"I just need you to trust me."
Zhaoyuan's expression flickered.*
Just once.*
Then he passed her a second card, security clearance far beyond what any CEO should casually hand out.
"Don't make me regret this," he murmured.
Rui Ming gave a small, elegant bow of her head. "You won't."
She slid the flash drive into her personal tablet, the rooftop restaurant's warm lamplight reflecting off the glass screen as lines of code began to pour down like digital rain.
Rui Ming's eyes sharpened, the calm, razor-edged kind of focus she was famous for.
Across from her, Wu Zhaoyuan watched without a word, elbows on the table, expression unreadable but intent.
Then—
"There," she murmured.
Her fingertip paused over a blip in the metadata.
Insignificant to anyone else.
Unmistakable to her.
A routing pattern.
Repeating.
Too consistent.
Too clean.
She zoomed in, isolating the signature.
Zhaoyuan leaned slightly closer, but didn't interrupt.
The name appeared:
Wang Yixuan Chief Strategy Officer Workstation: West Wing, 30th Floor
Rui Ming didn't look triumphant.
No smile.
No gasp.
Just a steady, terrifying calm.
"Now," she said softly, "we have something admissible."
Zhaoyuan exhaled through his nose; one short, controlled breath, the cold-CEO version of holy shit.
He spoke low, voice edged with steel.
"That's your mole."
Rui Ming closed her tablet, snapped the magnetic cover shut, and met his gaze head-on.
"That's our mole."
A beat of silence passed; taut, electric.
Neither looked away.
And just for a moment, the entire city around them, the skyline, the music, the waitstaff, felt like background noise to the tension threading between them.
She strode in like a general returning from war.
"He's not clean," she said.
Jinyu straightened. "Yixuan?"
Rui Ming nodded once. "We have enough to justify a full internal investigation."
"Confront him?" I asked.
"No," she said.
Her voice was a blade wrapped in silk.
"We watch him."
And then:
"We wait for him to slip."
Jinyu's jaw tightened.
"He already has."