Mo's Perspective
The charity gala in London was a sea of tuxedos and gowns, a ritual of the global elite. Mo moved through it like a ghost, his presence acknowledged with respectful nods, but few dared to approach him. He was here to announce a new billion-dollar initiative for global vaccine distribution—another calculated move that would, in time, funnel multiplied capital back into his empire.
As he gave his brief, impassive speech from the podium, his eyes scanned the crowd. And then he saw her.
Not Ye Xia. Another ghost from a different life.
Seated at a table near the back was a woman in her seventies, her back ramrod straight, her eyes the same piercing black as his own. His grandmother, Matriarch Mo. The woman who had discovered his "gift" as a child and had since viewed him not as a grandson, but as the family's ultimate financial weapon.
He had spent his adolescence being paraded at events like this, a prodigy who could "sense" profitable charitable ventures. The family's wealth had grown tenfold under his indirect guidance. But the cost had been his soul. He had never had a childhood, only a perpetual balance sheet of human suffering and ROI.
After his speech, she cornered him by the champagne fountain.
"You've been distracted, grandson," she said, her voice like dry leaves rustling. "Your focus has been split. The board has noticed."
"My focus is where it needs to be, Grandmother," Mo replied, his tone neutral.
"Is it?" She fixed him with her hawk-like gaze. "Rumors have reached us. A girl. From China. A nobody with sudden wealth and a talent for destruction. They say you have taken an interest."
Mo said nothing. His grandmother's network was extensive.
"The Mo family does not involve itself with unstable elements," she continued. "Our power comes from stability, from being the invisible hand that guides the world's compassion. This girl is a firecracker. She will burn brightly and burn out, or she will attract the wrong kind of attention. Either way, she is a risk. You will sever all contact."
It was an order, not a request.
Mo looked at his grandmother, this ancient, formidable woman who had built a cage of duty and expectation around him. For the first time in years, he felt a spark of rebellion.
"My investments are my own concern," he said, his voice dangerously soft.
Matriarch Mo's eyes widened infinitesimally. He had never directly defied her before.
"Do not forget where your loyalty lies, boy," she hissed. "The system you possess is a family asset. It belongs to the Mo lineage. You are merely its current custodian."
"Perhaps," Mo said, turning away. "Or perhaps it is time for the asset to choose its own path."
He walked away, leaving her standing alone, a statue of icy fury. The schism within the Mo family had just been declared. And Ye Xia, unknowingly, was the cause.
His phone buzzed. A message from his head of security.
[We have identified a potential source for Ye Xia's capital. The patterns of expenditure are consistent with a high-frequency trading algorithm designed to lose money. It is bizarre, but it is a pattern. However, the initial seed capital remains untraceable. It is as if it materialized from nowhere.]
Mo smiled faintly. A money-losing algorithm. It was the opposite of his Benevolence Engine. It was fascinating.
He typed a reply. [Continue analysis. And increase protective surveillance on Miss Ye. My grandmother may decide to… mitigate the risk I represent.]
The game was no longer just about Ye Xia. It was about his own freedom. And in that moment, he knew that the vengeful heiress was the key to breaking the chains he had worn his entire life.