**GENE**
Zhao Mingwei sat behind a desk that belonged in a museum.
Not because it was old—though the rosewood probably was—but because every surface held objects that felt significant. A jade seal. An antique compass that showed directions in dimensions Gene couldn't name. A photograph of a younger Zhao Mingwei shaking hands with someone who looked important.
The man himself was maybe sixty, though age worked differently here. Silver hair, sharp eyes, wearing a Western suit that probably cost more than Gene's education. He looked at Gene the way a chess player looks at an opening move.
"Sit," Zhao Mingwei said. His English carried no accent. Perfect, precise, deliberate.
Gene sat in the chair across from him. The leather was too soft, designed to make you sink, make you feel small. He sat forward instead, feet flat on the floor, maintaining posture.
Zhao Mingwei noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Tea?" The older man poured without waiting for an answer. The pot moved itself—minor tech, but smoothly integrated. "Chen Lao speaks highly of you. Says you survived dock work and haven't quit boundary navigation training despite vomiting twice."
"Three times," Gene corrected before he could stop himself.
Something flickered in Zhao Mingwei's eyes. Amusement? Test passed? Impossible to tell.
"My daughter tells me you saved us nine million RMB with Earth customs documentation." Zhao Mingwei slid the tea across the desk. "That's significant money. Why didn't you mention this knowledge earlier?"
"No one asked about Earth customs protocols. They asked about shipping routes and territorial politics. I answered the questions actually being asked."
"Most people try to show value whenever possible. Make themselves indispensable."
"Most people get ignored because they're trying too hard to be impressive instead of being useful."
Zhao Mingwei leaned back, fingers steepled. The office was perfectly quiet. No traffic sounds, no voices. Whatever soundproofing this room had was probably military-grade.
"Tell me about your father's business."
Gene blinked at the sudden shift. "Import-export. Mid-level. California-based, mostly Asian goods. He's good at what he does but he's not ambitious. He wants steady income, not empire."
"And you? Do you want steady income or empire?"
The honest answer was dangerous. The strategic answer was obvious. Gene gambled on honesty again.
"I want to matter. Whether that's empire-sized or not, I don't know yet."
"Why New Shanghai? Why not build something in your own world?"
"Because Earth doesn't have dimensional boundaries. Doesn't have trade routes across realities. The game there is smaller." Gene met the older man's eyes. "I don't want to be the best player in a small game. I'd rather be decent at a game that actually matters."
"Ambitious."
"Realistic. I'm twenty-two. No family name. No wealth. No connections beyond what I build myself. In Earth's version of this game, I'd spend twenty years clawing up a ladder that guys with better last names climb in five. Here? The ladder's harder but the competition actually has to prove themselves."
Zhao Mingwei was silent for a long moment. Gene couldn't read his expression.
"My daughter gave you her card."
Gene's heart rate spiked. "Yes."
"She doesn't do that often. Usually only when someone has value she wants to acquire." Zhao Mingwei sipped his tea. "What value do you think you have that interests her?"
The question was a trap. Claim too much value, you're arrogant. Claim too little, you're weak. And underneath it all—the unspoken question about whether Gene was interested in Zhao Xian as a person or as access.
"I know things about Earth that she doesn't," Gene said carefully. "Commercial systems, regulatory frameworks, cultural patterns. The Zhao family has been in New Shanghai for four generations. That's incredible power and knowledge here. But it also means blind spots about where most of your goods ultimately come from."
"And you think filling in those blind spots is worth my daughter's attention?"
"I think it's worth business consideration. What's worth her personal attention isn't for me to decide."
Zhao Mingwei's expression shifted—barely, just a micro-expression around the eyes. Approval? Gene wasn't sure.
"Smart answer." The older man set down his cup. "Let me tell you what I see when I look at you, Mr. Eu. I see a young man who's desperate to prove himself. Who burned bridges in Taipei chasing opportunities that vanished. Who came here with nothing and is willing to endure physical hell to maybe—maybe—become relevant."
Each word landed like a punch. Gene kept his face neutral.
"I see someone smart enough to wait, patient enough to learn, and hungry enough to be useful. But I also see someone who could easily mistake professional interest for personal connection. Someone who might confuse my daughter's strategic networking with something else entirely."
Gene's throat went dry.
"So let me be clear," Zhao Mingwei continued, voice perfectly calm. "The Zhao family trades in value. Information, goods, services. You currently have value as someone who understands Earth systems. That value gets you meetings, gets you my daughter's contact information, gets you opportunities to prove yourself further."
He leaned forward.
"But if you ever—*ever*—mistake business consideration for personal interest, if you ever try to leverage professional access into something it's not, you won't just lose those opportunities. You'll lose the ability to work in New Shanghai entirely. Are we clear?"
Gene forced himself to breathe. "Crystal clear."
"Good." Zhao Mingwei leaned back, the moment of intensity passing. "Now. Tell me about Amazon's logistics system and how it might apply to cross-dimensional shipping."
The conversation shifted to business. Gene explained distribution networks, predictive inventory systems, last-mile delivery optimization. Zhao Mingwei listened, asked sharp questions, occasionally made notes on a tablet that materialized from his desk.
An hour passed. Maybe more. Time felt slippery in this office.
Finally, Zhao Mingwei stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Eu."
Gene stood as well, understanding he'd been dismissed. "Thank you for meeting with me."
"My daughter will be in contact regarding next steps. We may have consulting work that fits your skill set." Zhao Mingwei extended his hand. Gene shook it—the older man's grip was firm, assessing. "One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Chen Lao's boundary navigation training. Don't quit. The family needs people who can sense dimensional boundaries. If you survive the full training, there will be opportunities."
It wasn't quite an offer. But it was close.
"I won't quit," Gene said.
"We'll see."
-----
**ZHAO XIAN**
Zhao Xian was pretending to work in her office three floors down when Gene left.
She'd been pretending to work for the past hour and seventeen minutes. Actually, she'd been listening to the muffled sounds of conversation through floors and walls that shouldn't carry sound but did if you knew where the old ventilation shafts ran.
Not that she could hear actual words. Just the rhythm of conversation. Her father's measured cadence. Gene's responses—hesitant at first, then more confident.
When footsteps echoed in the hallway, Zhao Xian forced herself to look at her laptop screen. Purchase orders. Shipping manifests. The boring administrative work that kept a merchant empire actually functioning.
Gene appeared in her doorway.
He looked wrung out—not physically, but emotionally. Like he'd run a marathon that was mostly held inside his own head.
"How did it go?" Zhao Xian asked, keeping her voice neutral.
"I think I passed. Maybe. I'm not actually sure." Gene ran a hand through his hair. "Your father is terrifying."
"Yes."
"He basically told me not to confuse business with personal interest."
Zhao Xian's chest tightened. "That sounds like him."
"Was that…" Gene hesitated. "Was that about you? Or just general advice?"
This was the moment. She could play it safe, keep it professional, maintain the careful distance that protected her heart and her family's interests.
Or she could be honest.
"Probably both," Zhao Xian heard herself say. "My father's protective. Too many people have tried to use me as access to family resources."
"I'm not doing that."
"I know." The words came out softer than she intended. "That's why I wanted this meeting to go well."
Gene stared at her. "Wait. You wanted—"
"I told my father not to destroy you. To actually give you a chance." Zhao Xian stood, walking to her office window. The view showed the river—or three versions of it, flowing in impossible directions. "I don't do that often."
Silence.
Then Gene's voice, quiet: "Why did you do it for me?"
Zhao Xian kept looking at the river. If she looked at him, she'd say too much.
"Because you sat in meetings for three months before speaking. Because you drink bad coffee as fuel. Because when I asked why you came to New Shanghai, you said you didn't have anywhere better to be." She swallowed. "Because you're honest in a way that feels dangerous."
"Dangerous how?"
"Dangerous like I might actually care whether you succeed."
The admission hung in the air between them.
Zhao Xian finally turned. Gene stood in her doorway, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Surprise? Understanding? Something else?
"Your father told me to keep things professional," Gene said slowly.
"He tells everyone that."
"Should I listen?"
Zhao Xian's heart hammered. This was where she should say yes. Where she should maintain boundaries, keep it safe, protect herself.
"I don't know," she said instead. "I've never been good at not listening to my father."
"But?"
"But I gave you my card three months ago hoping you'd call. And you didn't. And that was…" She paused, choosing words carefully. "Interesting."
Gene stepped into her office. Not close, not threatening. Just present.
"I didn't call because I wasn't ready yet. Because I wanted to be someone worth your time first, not just someone desperate for access."
"And now?"
"Now I still don't know if I'm worth your time. But I'm closer than I was."
Zhao Xian felt something in her chest crack open. This boy—this ambitious American who'd survived docks and dimensional sickness and her father's interrogation—was standing in her office saying exactly the right things in exactly the wrong way.
"Gene," she said quietly. "This is complicated."
"I know."
"My family, my position, the fact that you're still in training, the power dynamics, all of it."
"I know."
"So maybe we should keep it professional. Like my father said."
Gene nodded. "Yeah. Probably."
Neither of them moved.
"Or," Zhao Xian heard herself say, "we could have dinner. Somewhere neutral. Just conversation. See what happens when we're not in meetings or offices or surrounded by family politics."
Gene's expression shifted—surprise giving way to something that looked like hope.
"Is that allowed?"
"I don't know. I've never done it before."
"Never had dinner with someone your father warned you about?"
"Never wanted to badly enough to risk finding out."
The honesty was reckless. Zhao Xian knew it even as the words left her mouth. But Gene was looking at her like she'd just solved an equation he'd been trying to figure out for months.
"Tomorrow night?" Gene asked. "There's a noodle place near the docks. Terrible ambiance, excellent soup."
Zhao Xian laughed—actually laughed. "You want to take me to a dock workers' restaurant?"
"I want to take you somewhere real. Not fancy. Not strategic. Just… real."
And somehow, that was exactly right.
"Okay," Zhao Xian said. "Tomorrow night. Seven PM. Text me the address."
Gene smiled—a real smile, not the professional mask he wore in meetings. "I will."
He left before either of them could second-guess the decision.
Zhao Xian sat back down at her desk, staring at purchase orders she couldn't focus on, her heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with business.
This was a mistake.
This was definitely a mistake.
But maybe—just maybe—it was the kind of mistake worth making.
Her phone buzzed. Her father: *He survived. Interesting choice.*
Zhao Xian typed back: *Agreed.*
Then added, before she could stop herself: *I'm having dinner with him tomorrow.*
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Finally: *Be careful. The interesting ones are always the most dangerous.*
Zhao Xian smiled.
*I know.*