Mo Jue leaned against the polished marble wall outside the boardroom, his arms crossed with the casual elegance of a man who had watched empires crumble. He didn't pace. He didn't check his watch. To a being who had meditated for three hundred years in a single sitting, an hour in a hallway was less than a heartbeat.
The heavy mahogany doors swung open with a muffled thud. A parade of executives filed out, their faces drawn and pale, whispering in hushed, terrified tones. At the rear of the procession was Song Ruo.
She was a sharp contrast to the chaotic neon of the city outside. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, her hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight it looked painful, she radiated a cold, pressurized competence. But as her eyes landed on Mo Jue, her composure cracked. A vein in her temple throbbed visibly.
She didn't speak. She simply jerked her head toward the end of the hall and marched into her corner office.
Mo Jue followed, his cardboard box tucked under one arm like a king's regalia. As he sat across from her, he observed the storm clouds in her eyes.
Is she suffering from a Qi-blockage of the heart? he mused, his violet eyes scanning her vitals with the detachment of a physician. Her spirit is frayed. Perhaps a romantic entanglement gone sour? Or the lunar cycle affecting her temperament? In his world, women of power were often volatile due to the intensity of their cultivation. He looked at her with a flicker of genuine pity. To live as a mortal and be this stressed seemed a truly miserable existence.
Song Ruo, meanwhile, was fighting the urge to throw her gold-plated fountain pen at his head.
She was the "Ice Queen" of the Song family. While her brothers spent their inheritance on racing cars and mistresses, she had clawed her way to the top of Horizon Tech. She slept four hours a night and lived on espresso and ambition. And now, her father—the man she respected most—had forced her to hire this... this drifter.
She looked at the man before her. He looked bored. No, worse than bored—he looked as if he was humoring her simply by existing in the same room.
"Li Tian," she began, her voice a low, dangerous hum. "I've read your file. A mid-level analyst with a history of 'performance issues' and a recent... dramatic exit from your last firm. My father says you are a man of 'extraordinary potential.' Personally, I see a man who couldn't find his way to the office without the help of a vagrant."
Mo Jue raised an eyebrow. "The vagrant was surprisingly enlightened. Do not underestimate the hidden masters of your streets."
"Listen to me," Ruo snapped, leaning over her desk. "I don't care what debt my father thinks he owes you. In this company, I am the law. I was going to place you in Logistics, but you seem to have the drive of a sedated sloth. You have no goals, no fire, no desire for a future. Why are you even here?"
Mo Jue leaned forward, his aura shifting. For a brief second, the temperature in the office dropped. The air grew heavy, and Song Ruo felt a primal instinct to run, as if she were a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk.
"My 'future' is not something your mind could comprehend, Song Ruo," he said, his voice dropping to a resonant, ancient bass. "I am here because your father made a request, and I have need of his resources. Treat me as a consultant of the... unconventional. Give me a quiet corner, a computer, and stay out of my way. In return, I will ensure your little 'empire' doesn't collapse under the weight of your brothers' incompetence."
Ruo froze. The sheer arrogance of the statement should have made her laugh, but the look in his eyes—abyssal and ancient—stopped the breath in her throat.
While the tension simmered in the penthouse, several floors below, Wang Meili was tucking her phone into her handbag. Her face was flushed with a dark, triumphant heat.
"It's done," she whispered to herself.
She had just finished a call with Brother Qiang of the Black Vulture Syndicate. The deal was simple: the thugs would 'escort' Li Tian from the building after work, recover the 'stolen' funds (which would actually be his organs), and then they would pay a visit to the apartment where Xiao Ni lived alone.
Meili checked her reflection in her compact mirror, smoothing her hair. She felt no guilt. In her world, if you didn't crush the weak, you became the floor they walked on.
"You should have stayed on that balcony, Li Tian," she hissed, her eyes glinting. "Now, I'm going to make sure you wish you had hit the pavement harder."