Night — Feng's Room
The room was dark, lit only by the layered glow of Feng's displays.
Outside, Longhai's skyline pulsed softly—traffic thinning, lights stretching like veins across glass and steel. Inside, the air was still.
Feng sat at his desk, posture relaxed, attention sharp.
On the primary screen were several profiles.
Not résumés.
Not recruitment files.
Behavioral maps.
Each profile had survived thousands of eliminations—filtered through stress modeling, ethical deviation curves, long-term compliance probability, and failure-response prediction. Arachne had been ruthless.
These weren't people chosen lightly.
They were people whose limits, instincts, and direction aligned exactly with what he was building.
He started with the scarred veteran.
Once elite. Once feared. Now isolated—mind fractured by survival guilt, body marked by torture and scars that never fully healed.
Feng didn't linger on his combat record. That was loud, obvious, already written in blood.
What held his attention was a quieter metric.
Despite everything—divorce, lossing custody of his daughter, the way civilians flinch when they look at him—the man still logged into the veteran-restricted service network every night.
Not to look for work.
Not expecting orders.
Just to check.
As if some part of him was still waiting for the system to tell him he was needed.
Feng initiated contact.
No offers.
No expectations.
Just a message crafted to land exactly where it needed to.
Acknowledgment without pity.
He sent it and moved on.
---
The next display shifted.
Five men.
A unit that had once moved as one.
Discharged. Dispersed. Forced back into civilian lives that never quite fit.
Individually, their trajectories looked unremarkable—underemployment, financial strain, stalled momentum.
But when Arachne overlaid their behavioral models, the pattern sharpened.
Their stress responses synchronized.
Their risk thresholds aligned.
Their decision-making curves still moved as one.
That convergence meant only one thing.
They weren't just former comrades.
They were still operating—mentally—as a unit.
Feng contacted them together.
Brief. Neutral. Professional.
An opening—nothing more.
---
The third profile belonged to the underground fighter.
An orphan. Untrained, but dangerously perceptive. Movement data showed instinctive correction mid-battle—adaptation without conscious thought.
Talent shaped by necessity.
Every fight he took paid for another month the orphanage stayed open.
Feng made contact.
No praise.
No promises.
Just an option placed where it couldn't be ignored.
---
The last profile lingered longer.
A thug.
Or rather—someone wearing the label.
A stabilizer inside chaos. Someone who had turned a rot-infested operation into something functional, clean, and profitable—while earning enemies above and below him.
Exploited. Surrounded. Disposable.
Prediction curves showed rising risk.
Feng reached out carefully.
Not to pull him out yet.
Just to let him know someone had noticed.
---
When the last message was sent, Feng leaned back slightly.
No responses came. He wasn't expected any anytime soon.
Just as Li Feng was about to close the profiles and skim through the dark web for anything ofinterest—
"Boss," Arachne spoke, her voice even,
"the MOIRAI Program has detected a market opportunity. Estimated return range: thirty to fifty times the initial investment."
Feng's fingers paused on the desk.
"…Already?"
He hadn't expected that.
MOIRAI hadn't been built for speed. It was meant to be patient — watching patterns form, waiting for something rare and asymmetric enough to matter.
The MOIRAI Program was a predictive module Feng had integrated into Arachne for market behavior analysis. In theory, Arachne could use it to generate profit repeatedly.
In reality, doing that would be reckless.
The cleaner the wins, the faster attention followed.
That was why Feng had set a hard rule from the start.
Only notify him if the projected return exceeded twenty times.
One decisive move.
One clean exit.
No patterns. No noise.
"This was faster than I expected," Feng said quietly.
He leaned back slightly.
"Arachne," Feng said, tone even. "Give me. Quick Report on my current liquid assets. Full breakdown."
The response came instantly.
"Confirmed. Current liquid assets are as follows:
— Silent Hands one-time licensing fee (70%): $2,800,000.
— Prior independent cybersecurity contracts and operations: $700,000.
— Blackhawk holdings: $0 (no liquid payout yet. Dividends are distributed quarterly).
— Total available liquid capital: $3,500,000."
Feng nodded slowly.
He trusted MOIRAI. After all, it was his own creation, programmed with level 2 skills.
But prudence mattered more than confidence. 0.001% probability is still a probability.
He tapped the desk once.
"Set aside $1.2 million. That stays untouched. Use the remaining $2.3 million for the investment."
He added calmly, firmly:
"One entry. One exit."
"Understood, Boss," Arachne replied. "Executing within low-visibility parameters."
The room fell quiet again.
Feng looked at the darkened window, his reflection faint in the glass.
Utilizing the MOIRAI Program in this manner once, was enough.
This method wasn't meant to be leaned on repeatedly. Just a single, decisive step.
Not greed. Not accumulation.
A foundation.
Enough capital to secure what would come next.
MOIRAI didn't need to sing this song again.
For now, this was sufficient.
---
Next Morning
Morning broke with Blue Horizon's logo lighting up screens across Longhai.
At exactly nine, the company's official channels went live.
No flashy countdowns.
No dramatic music.
Just a clean title card:
[Blue Horizon — System Updates & Product Deep Dive]
Within minutes, tech forums, investor chats, and consumer groups stirred.
The announcement wasn't framed as new products.
It was framed as evolution.
Four existing devices.
Four system-level upgrades.
One clear message: this wasn't a cosmetic patch.
---
First was the VisionCam Lite.
A short demo clip showed a modest living room—nothing staged. A child darted across the frame under dimmed lights and half-drawn curtains. The camera tracked cleanly. No jitter. No false alerts.
The presenter didn't oversell it.
"CamOS v2.0 restructures the motion pipeline," she said calmly.
"Fewer redundant scans. Unified edge and brightness filtering. Predictive behavior modeling for everyday environments."
Tech bloggers paused their typing.
That last line mattered.
---
Then came the WorkPad M10.
Side-by-side footage followed—old OS versus the new HorizonOS v3.2.0.
Same hardware.
Different response.
Apps opened without micro-stutter. Multitasking didn't choke. The UI felt… lighter.
"This isn't about raw speed," the presenter said.
"It's about scheduling efficiency and cache prediction."
A productivity reviewer posted mid-stream:
["This feels like a hardware refresh without new hardware."]
---
The HorizonHub Core came next.
This one drew the professionals.
A simulated smart-home environment ran multiple routines at once—lights, climate, security, media—no delays stacking, no priority conflicts.
"Node priority logic has been rebuilt," the deep dive explained.
"Conflict resolution is now predictive, not reactive."
In backend developer circles, the tone shifted.
This wasn't consumer fluff.
This was architecture.
---
Finally, the HorizonBand S2.
The most understated—and quietly impressive.
Gesture controls flowed naturally. Sensor graphs showed adaptive sampling windows tightening and loosening in real time.
"For a budget device," one analyst muttered on a livestream,
"this is… excessive."
In a good way.
---
By the time the announcement concluded, Blue Horizon released detailed blog posts—one per product.
No marketing buzzwords.
No exaggerated claims.
Just diagrams. Benchmarks. Clear explanations.
The reaction came fast.
Netizens flooded comment sections.
["Did they change the firmware team?
This doesn't look like incremental updates.
Why does this feel… deliberate?"]
Professionals were quieter—but sharper.
A systems engineer posted anonymously:
["Someone rebuilt their core logic. This isn't a patch cycle. It's a rewrite mindset."]
Another added:
["And rewrites don't happen under pressure unless someone very confident is driving them."]
---
By noon, Blue Horizon trended—not for hype, but for credibility.
Still, one question lingered everywhere:
["Can they actually launch?"]
The products looked ready.
The market, however, had heard the rumors.
Supplier tension.
Logistics slowdowns.
Quiet pressure.
Blue Horizon had shown its hand.
Now everyone was waiting to see—
whether that hand would get to move.
---
The announcement reached the Li family quickly.
Not as news.
As noise.
---
Li Guowei — Li Finance Corporation, Executive Office
Li Guowei stood by the window of his office, the city stretching out below, clear and unhurried. A muted screen behind him replayed Blue Horizon's announcement highlights—polished visuals, calm presenters, confident language.
He didn't bother watching it all.
"Upgrades," he said mildly, turning away. "On paper."
His assistant hesitated. "The market response—"
"Is curiosity," Guowei interrupted. "Not commitment."
He adjusted his cufflinks, expression untroubled.
"Announcements don't move products. Supply chains do. Distribution does. Timing does."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"And none of those are in their hands right now."
---
Li Guotao — Li Pharmaceuticals, Guotao's study
Li Guotao skimmed a technical breakdown on his tablet, brows lifting despite himself.
"…hm."
He leaned back in his chair.
"I'll admit it," he muttered. "If those benchmarks are real, it's a solid refinement."
He set the tablet down.
"But refinement wouldn't save them."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"They still need components. They still need shipping slots. They still need partners willing to take risks."
He gave a short, dismissive laugh.
"Let them show off. It just makes the fall more visible."
---
Li Guifen — Li Media & Entertainment, Lounge Office
Li Guifen paused a video mid-play, manicured finger resting on the screen.
"The optics are good," she admitted, swirling the wine in her glass. "Very good."
She tapped the table once.
"But optics don't survive delays."
Her assistant looked up. "Public sentiment is cautiously optimistic."
"Exactly," Guifen said smoothly. "Cautious."
She smiled.
"Optimism evaporates the moment expectations aren't met."
---
Li Zhonghai — Patriarch's Study
The patriarch listened to a summary report in silence.
No screen. No tablet.
Just words.
When it ended, Li Zhonghai nodded once.
"So they're still pretending they have room to maneuver," he said evenly.
The aide didn't respond.
Li Zhonghai reached for his tea.
"Let's see just how long they can hold up."
---
Meanwhile, Li Han—the second son of Guotao—had a slightly different reaction.
He watched the same announcement again.
Then again.
The numbers looked clean. The timelines were confident.
Too confident.
He told himself it was just posturing. Everyone did this before a launch.
Still, he couldn't help but feel uneasy.
He exhaled slowly.
'You're overthinking,' he told himself.
'The seniors know what they are doing.' They always do.
This was how the Li Group crushed companies—quietly, patiently, without ever stepping into the light.
There was no reason to think this time would be different.
Yet the unease lingered.
Not fear.
Just a small, stubborn feeling that things were not going as smoothly as the family thinks.
---
Hello, Author here!
Thanks for reading — I hope you enjoyed today's chapter.
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