Xueling trudged back toward the Feng manor, her steps slow, her limbs pleasantly heavy. The streetlights flickered awake one by one, casting long gold streaks over the quiet streets. It was Sunday evening, and exhaustion clung to her like a second skin.
She had spent the entire day at the base.
Lin Zhaoran had been remarkably efficient — almost unnervingly so. By dawn, he had personally handed her the keys to a decommissioned R&D facility once used by Lingyun Capital for a failed robotics project. It sat on the outskirts of Jinhai's tech district, half-forgotten, half-guarded, its existence buried under layers of paperwork.
Inside, it was perfect.
The structure stretched wide and low, all reinforced steel and soundproofed glass. The floor was dense composite, strong enough to absorb impact. The central lab — now her training hall — had a twenty-meter open space where drones once hovered and prototypes once tested. High above, mechanical arms hung dormant from their rails, their chrome surfaces catching the faint light.
A control booth lined one wall, complete with terminals and data screens that she quickly rewired to monitor the base's security feeds and analyze her movements in real time.
It had taken her most of the morning to replace the decaying lighting grid with motion-sensitive LEDs, adjust the humidity control, and repurpose a few robotics arms into automated sparring dummies. She even programmed one to move unpredictably — an opponent that learned as it fought.
By noon, she'd begun her own regimen.
The first strikes had been clumsy. Her body — this body — was strong but untempered. The years of softness, of stillness, protested each movement. But once she found her rhythm, something ancient stirred awake inside her.
The snap of her kicks, the pivot of her weight, the reflexive shift of balance — it all came rushing back, effortless and instinctive, as though her body remembered what her mind had long buried.
In her past life, she had trained to survive — brutal, relentless, in a world where she had nothing but her own hands. Every strike back then had been for money or self-preservation. Now, it was different. Every strike now was for control.
The sweat, the ache, the rhythmic burn in her muscles — it felt right. Like coming home.
By the time she powered down the facility, her clothes were drenched and her breathing even. She left the lights dimmed, the air still humming faintly with static energy.
Locking the heavy door behind her, she paused for a moment and looked back.The base gleamed faintly under the emergency lights — silent, waiting, loyal.
Her fortress.
By the time Xueling reached the Feng manor, the sky had deepened into indigo. The courtyard lanterns were already lit, casting a warm glow over the manicured hedges and marble walkway. From inside came the low hum of conversation, laughter, and clinking glass — sounds that set her teeth on edge.
She paused at the door. Visitors.
When she stepped inside, the atmosphere hit her like perfume — thick, artificial, cloying. The Gu family was there.
Father Gu sat in the main seat of honor, a glass of red wine in hand, his laughter carrying easily across the room. Beside him, Gu Mocheng was conversing politely with Father Feng, his posture controlled, his gaze sharp even in stillness — as if nothing in the room escaped his notice.
Across the room, Xueyao sat tucked beside Mother Feng, dressed in soft peach silk that made her glow under the chandelier. Her laugh tinkled like glass."Oh, Mother, you're exaggerating," she said with practiced modesty. "My birthday party is only a small event. Of course we can postpone it if something more important comes up. Anything for our family."
Mother Feng beamed. "Our Yaoyao is too good! And no, your birthday is not a small event! We'll make sure the entire city's elite attends. We've already booked the Ocean Pearl Hotel's west ballroom. The Gu family is helping us invite their contacts — the press, investors, even the education board!"
Father Gu nodded approvingly. "But the upcoming Crimson Pavilion Gala is even more important," he said smoothly. "Elites from the capital will attend. We must make a strong impression."
"I understand, Gu shushu," Xueyao replied, lowering her lashes demurely. "I won't let you down."
It was then that Mother Feng's eyes flicked toward the doorway."Ah, Xueling," she said, her voice thinning. "You're back. Did you at least have the sense to study today?"
Xueling stepped in quietly, slipping off her shoes. "Yes."
Her composure made Mother Feng bristle, as it always did. "Good. Then go upstairs. We're discussing important matters. You don't need to be here."
Gu Mocheng looked up at that, his gaze briefly meeting Xueling's. There was something in his expression — curiosity, perhaps even guilt, as though he couldn't quite reconcile the quiet, self-possessed girl before him with the one who had once trailed after him, wide-eyed and adoring.
Xueling barely glanced back. "Hmm," she murmured — neither agreement nor defiance — and walked toward the stairs, her footsteps light and even.
Mother Feng's glare followed her all the way up.
"Ignore her," Father Feng said quickly, clearing his throat. "Brother Gu, about the elites from the capital — will thatperson also be there?"
Gu Shuangsheng lowered his voice. "Yes. The Mo family heir himself. Keep that to yourselves. And watch your step. One misstep against him, and we can forget all our ambitions — robotics expo or otherwise." His gaze flicked sharply toward Xueyao.
"Yes, yes," Father Feng said eagerly. "We'll make sure to impress."
Upstairs, the sound of conversation faded into a dull hum.
The Mo family heir? The Crimson Pavilion Gala?
Neither of those things had happened in her last life.
Xueling sat on the edge of her bed, her mind turning rapidly. Of course she had heard of the Mo family heir — the shadowy power behind the capital's financial and military circles. Mo Shenyu. The ceiling of power, one of the four key families. She'd never crossed paths with him, but a few months before her death, he'd gone almost completely silent — no public appearances, no sightings.
And as for the Crimson Pavilion Gala… she almost smiled.
The Fengs and Gus really had no idea what they were bragging about.
For decades, that glittering gala had been timed exactly to coincide with the Dragon Gate Underground Championship — the night when high society and its underworld overlapped under the same chandeliers. The rich upstairs placed bets with champagne in hand; the fighters below bled for their fortunes.
The entire city's fate could shift that night — a single match, a single victor, changing alliances and power balances in one brutal spectacle.
She had witnessed it in her past life — the glittering bloodbath beneath the chandeliers of the Crimson Pavilion. Her victories back then had translated into power for the Feng family, alliances that fed their ambitions while she was reduced to a nameless weapon.
But this time, things would be different.
This year, she would step into the arena for herself.
Her fingers flexed slightly, still sore from the day's training. The air in her room was cool and quiet. She turned on her laptop. The familiar hum of the machine steadied her pulse — training was muscle, but this was mind.
Like clockwork, she opened the Olympiad interface, solved a new set of math and science problems in record time, and submitted her solutions. Then, almost automatically, she checked her Helios Tech inbox.
But the sender's name wasn't Assistant Liang this time.
From: [email protected]: Regarding Your Cybershield Update
Her eyes narrowed. That name. Impossible? No — improbable. But the Mo family controlled dozens of holdings under different shells. If he had wanted to reach her, this would be the perfect cover.
She clicked.
Message:Miss XL,
I reviewed your most recent Cybershield iteration. Its adaptive feedback loop is unlike anything we've implemented. You have an instinct for anticipating intrusion patterns — rare, even among senior engineers.
There are a few strategic enhancements I'd like to discuss personally.
If you're amenable, I'd prefer a direct correspondence channel.
— M. ShenyuChief Executive, Helios Tech.
Xueling's pulse stuttered once before evening out. He reached out himself.
To most people, a message like this would be pure opportunity — the CEO of Helios Tech expressing interest. But to her, it was too convenient. The Cybershield project was solid; it didn't warrant personal attention from a man of his rank. Not unless…
Her mind flicked back to the Dragon Gate, to Haicheng, to a rain-soaked night she could barely remember. The one where she had dragged a half-dead stranger through chaos and gunfire, leaving him at a hospital before vanishing.
Could it be?
No — it was too soon to assume. But every instinct screamed that this wasn't coincidence.
Reply Draft:
Mr. Mo,
I appreciate your feedback. I prefer to keep our correspondence through this secure channel for now. Please outline the enhancements you have in mind.
— XL
She sent it before she could overthink.
The cursor blinked on the screen, steady and calm. Yet she could almost feel another presence on the other end — patient, precise, waiting.
A small smile touched her lips. "So," she murmured softly, "you're looking for me too."
Then she closed the laptop, the faint hum of its fan fading into silence. Tomorrow, she would train again. Tomorrow, the pieces would begin to move.
In the penthouse office Asst. Liang had hurried to find, the city lights shimmered through the floor-to-ceiling windows like scattered stars. Mo Shenyu sat alone, jacket draped over the armrest, collar open, the faint glow of his monitor painting his profile in silver.
A soft ding announced her reply.
He read it once, then again, a low breath escaping him — something close to a laugh."What a cautious little kitten!"
Assistant Liang, who had been hovering nervously by the door, stiffened. "Sir?"
"Nothing." Mo Shenyu waved a hand, eyes never leaving the screen. "Just thinking."
He leaned back, fingers steepled. The name XL had suddenly shot to prominence both in the darkweb and in the underground circles. Even within Helios Tech's upper echelons XL was revered — the anonymous consultant whose work bordered on genius. But despite the viral videos, despite the Chen family's targeting of her, he had no direct, conclusive evidence that she was that girl. He would have to hold her, touch her, smell her, to know if its her for sure, but like everything related to her, he operated purely on instinct. The beast in him took over, a primal feeling and it told him that this was her.
He opened a new message window. His fingers paused above the keyboard, then began to move.
To: XLSubject: Follow-up on Adaptive Protocols
Your caution is commendable. I understand the need for boundaries — brilliance often prefers solitude.
Still, collaboration tends to sharpen what isolation tempers. If you're open to it, I'd like to schedule a secure remote session tomorrow at 21:00. No exposure, no formalities.
You'll find me a respectful partner — I don't pry where I'm not invited.
— M. Shenyu
He read it over once, a faint smile playing at his lips, then pressed send.
The message flew off into the digital void.
For a while, he sat there in silence, watching the reflection of the city ripple against the glass. In that reflection, his own eyes seemed darker, steadier — the eyes of a man who had finally caught a scent he'd been chasing for a year.