One Week Later
The week hadn't been a quiet one for the Second Branch.
From the moment Feng returned from his meeting with Wen Yuning, the villa had slipped into a different rhythm—calls taken behind closed doors, tablets lighting up well past midnight, voices kept low even within their own walls.
Guohua barely remembered the last time he'd slept a full night.
The first contact from the Wen Research Institute came sooner than expected. Not with fanfare, not with courtesy—but with intent. A secure conference request. A narrow time window. No intermediaries.
It set the tone for everything that followed.
Once the door opened, the pace accelerated.
Non-disclosure agreements arrived first, layered and meticulous, locking down scope before substance. Then came technical discussions—carefully framed, never reckless—where Feng's methodology was referenced but never exposed. Not yet.
Blue Horizon's legal team was pulled in, moving in sequence: legal review, strategic alignment, then operational planning.
Meetings stacked on top of meetings.
Guohua watched as the partnership took shape with striking efficiency.
Decisions that would normally take weeks were resolved in days. Questions were asked once, answered cleanly, and never repeated.
By midweek, the shape of it became clear.
This wasn't a simple licensing deal. And it wasn't a loose collaboration.
The Wen Research Institute wanted structure.
A joint research framework. Clear IP boundaries. Defined access layers. And formal recognition of Feng as a direct technical consultant.
Ownership of the IP remained with its inventors (Feng & Xue), and Blue Horizon retained exclusive commercial rights and authority over any third-party access.
No gray areas. No quiet concessions.
Xue was everywhere that week—reviewing documents, coordinating schedules, sitting in on calls that ran long past dinner. She didn't complain once, even when her eyes were rimmed with fatigue.
By the time the final meeting arrived, it felt less like a negotiation and more like a confirmation of something already decided.
The signatures were digital. Clean. Final.
No ceremony. No applause.
Just the soft chime of secured documents locking into place.
When it was done, Guohua remained seated for a long moment, tablet dark in his hands.
A week ago, Blue Horizon had been under pressure—isolated, constrained, watched.
Now?
They weren't just standing anymore.
They had an anchor.
And soon, once this partnership stepped into the light, everyone else would realize it too.
---
Saturday Afternoon — Second Branch Villa
The living room was quiet in the way only lazy afternoons could be.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, softened by sheer curtains, pooling across the carpet in warm patches. The television played low and steady—an old movie, nothing intense, something familiar enough that missing a line or two didn't matter.
Feng sat on the couch, relaxed.
Li Xue leaned against his shoulder, knees tucked slightly to the side, a bowl of snacks resting between them. She wasn't half-watching out of distraction—she was genuinely at ease, eyes following the screen, posture loose in a way that hadn't been possible all week.
It was the first real break either of them had taken in days.
Guohua stood a short distance away, seemingly reading something on his tablet while occasionally glancing up at them.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
The past week had been relentless—meetings, documents, negotiations that stretched late into the night. Xue had been at his side through most of it, sharp and focused, learning faster than he'd ever expected.
Seeing her like this—just sitting, just resting—was reassuring.
They were growing quickly.
Too quickly, he felt.
But moments like this reminded him they were still kids.
The movie continued, dialogue low and unhurried.
Then—
Feng felt a light vibration against his pocket.
He glanced down, slipped the phone out, and checked the screen.
A single message from Arachne.
[Boss. The veteran needs help. Urgently.]
Nothing else.
No emphasis. No explanation.
Feng's expression changed—not sharply, not outwardly. Just a quiet narrowing of focus.
Xue felt it immediately.
She looked up at him. "Something wrong?"
Feng slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"No—nothing's wrong," Feng said gently, catching her look and offering an apologetic smile. "Something just came up."
There was no urgency in his voice, no tension—but it was clear he wouldn't be staying.
Xue watched him for a moment, reading what he wasn't saying.
She let out a small sigh, equal parts disappointment and understanding, then bumped his arm lightly with hers.
"Okay," she said. "But don't take too long. Today's supposed to be a rest day."
He smiled, a little softer this time. "I'll try."
Feng stood and headed toward the stairs, leaving Xue and Guohua in the living room.
Guohua watched him go, his smile fading Here's a cleaner, more natural refinement that keeps the warmth and quiet humor:
---
Guohua watched him go, the smile on his face softening—not into worry, but into quiet resignation.
He let out a small sigh.
"…That boy really doesn't know how to take a break."
Shaking his head, he reached for his phone and scrolled absently, stopping on a familiar PDF saved among his documents.
[GENIUSES ARE CHILDREN TOO: How to Take Care of Your Genius Child]
Guohua stared at the title for a second longer than usual.
Then, with a helpless chuckle, he opened it.
Upstairs, Feng's footsteps were steady, deliberate.
Whatever had just surfaced,
it would be dealt with properly.
---
Li Feng's Room
Feng entered his room and closed the door quietly behind him.
The lights came on automatically as he crossed to his desk. His workstation powered up in stages — monitors waking, encrypted channels opening, maps and data layers slotting into place.
Only once everything was active did he speak.
"Arachne."
Her voice filled the room, clear and unfiltered.
"The veteran's daughter was abducted approximately forty-two minutes ago," Arachne said. "His ex-wife just called him—she believes he's responsible. He's currently searching the city frantically on his own."
A brief pause.
"I've already traced the situation," she continued. "It's a confirmed kidnapping. Coordinated, but small-scale. Not a syndicate."
Feng's fingers stilled on the desk.
He already knew the man's story.
Once elite.
One of the few who came back when his unit didn't.
Captured. Tortured. Weeks enduring unspeakable cruelty.
What kept him alive wasn't hope of rescue.
It was the image of home.
Of his wife.
Of his daughter.
That belief had carried him through everything.
And then he'd returned early.
Too early.
The betrayal he met had shattered something fundamental. And the rage that followed wasn't deliberate. It exploded. And his daughter had been there to witness all of it.
A towering man covered in scars.
Eyes too sharp. Voice too loud.
A stranger screaming in her home.
When he reached for her — trying to calm her — she recoiled in terror, fell, scraped herself trying so desperately to get away.
"Monster," she had called him.
That word had destroyed him more completely than torture ever could.
Divorce followed. Custody lost. The courts saw only the child's fear — not context.
And so he became a man with nowhere to belong.
"Arachne," Feng said quietly. "Where is she?"
"Eastern industrial district," Arachne replied.
"Abandoned logistics warehouse, subsection C. Five confirmed individuals inside. Two acting as perimeter watchers. Three internal. No professional-grade security, but coordinated."
Feng's eyes sharpened.
Local criminals.
Serious enough to plan.
Not skilled enough to hide for long.
"He's close, isn't he?" Feng asked.
"Yes, relatively." Arachne said. "But he's unaware. Probability of the girl being relatively out of reach in an hour exceeds sixty percent."
Fend nodded.
"Open a line."
---
The call connected on the second ring.
"Li Feng?" The veteran's voice was rough, strained. "I don't have time for—"
"I know where she is," Feng interrupted.
Silence.
"…What?"
"She's alive," Feng said evenly. "Scared. But unharmed."
A breath broke on the other end — sharp, unguarded.
"Tell me where," the veteran said.
"I will," Feng replied. "But you don't move without me coordinating."
A pause.
Then, quiet and controlled:
"…Alright."
---
The warehouse blueprint filled Feng's screen.
"Two on watch outside," he said. "One by the south loading bay. One on the rooftop."
The veteran adjusted position without comment.
"Inside," Feng continued, "three. One armed with a knife. One with a handgun — low experience. Third is controlling the child."
The veteran's breathing steadied.
"Stand by," Feng said. "Your daughter needs to be isolated before you move. Let's not risk turning this into a hostage situation."
And when the moment came—when she was alone—
he moved.
Feng guided him through it, step by step.
Timing gaps.
Blind spots.
Moments when attention drifted.
The first perimeter watcher went down cleanly.
The second never saw him.
Inside, chaos threatened — raised voices, movement.
"Wait," Feng said sharply. "Now."
The veteran moved.
One man down.
Another disarmed.
The third tried to flee.
He didn't make it.
"Clear," the veteran said.
Feng exhaled.
"Go."
---
The door burst open.
A scream echoed inside the warehouse — raw, terrified.
Then—
"Dad?"
Everything stopped.
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then she ran.
She slammed into him, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried into his jacket like she didn't trust the world to keep him there.
He caught her instantly — dropping to one knee, holding her with a strength that shook.
She was crying too hard to speak.
So was he.
Her fingers clenched tighter, small and desperate.
"Don't go," she whispered.
His breath broke.
"I'm here," he said hoarsely. "I've got you."
She nodded against his chest, as if that was enough.
And for now—
it was.
---
Later, police lights washed over the warehouse walls in muted red and blue.
The veteran sat on the curb, his back against cold concrete, his daughter bundled inside his coat. She slept with her head tucked beneath his chin, breath steady, fingers still knotted into the fabric as if afraid the night might take her back.
He didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He just stayed there, one arm around her, the other resting protectively at her back.
From the live feed, Feng watched in silence.
When he finally sent a message, it wasn't an instruction.
It was a confirmation.
[It's over.]
The reply came a short while later.
[Yes. Thank you.]
In his room, Feng leaned back, eyes closing for a brief moment.
This hadn't been a recruitment.
Or leverage.
Or a debt to be collected.
Some fractures can't be healed by orders or systems.
Sometimes, a man needs to be allowed to stand where he once fell—
and leave with what he thought he'd lost forever.
Tonight, one scarred soldier did.
---
Hello, Author here!
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