By the time Li Feng woke up the next morning, Longhai City had already spent an entire day talking about Silent Hands.
While he and Li Xue were navigating their school day in quiet routines the day before—fielding whispers, polite greetings, curious glances—the rest of the city had moved much faster, reacting in places the siblings didn't walk and among people they never saw.
And now, as sunlight crept through the window and his phone buzzed with an unusual number of unread notifications, the scale of yesterday's ripples finally reached him.
Overnight, several local Longhai news outlets had published short features on the Expo's results, each carrying the same names:
Li Xue.
Li Feng.
Silent Hands.
Clips and photos taken by students had circulated through community forums and youth networks—sometimes with shaky excitement, other times with amateur analysis that completely missed the underlying tech. But the effect was the same:
Everyone had formed an opinion before the siblings even realized the attention they were getting.
Teachers, parents, hobbyist coders, even a few district-level education officials had passed around the Expo footage throughout the previous day. A surprising number of them had tagged or forwarded the posts to Longhai No.1 High's public inbox, prompting a small crisis among the admin staff who weren't sure how to respond yet.
Even the school principal—normally composed—had reportedly held an informal meeting last night with the headteachers about potential district-level recommendations.
Meanwhile, student forums and chat groups outside their immediate classrooms had erupted in speculation:
"Who coded it?"
"Was it a teacher behind the scenes?"
"Is it true the judges returned twice?"
"Check the accuracy in this clip, holy hell."
Most didn't realize the siblings weren't reading any of it.
Yesterday, the siblings were too busy living it.
Which was why, on this morning—two days after the Expo—the wider city's response finally collided with their world.
Li Feng's phone received a quiet barrage of new notifications from unknown numbers:
messages from student journalists, inquiries from youth tech clubs, and even a handful of "friendly greetings" from classmates he hadn't spoken to once in three years.
Li Xue's voice chat app showed dozens of new friend requests—mostly from students in other classes wanting to "cheer her on," "ask about Silent Hands," or "maybe see the gloves once if you're not busy."
None of this had reached them during school yesterday.
But it had all been happening in the background.
Only now, in the early calm of morning, did Li Feng truly see how large the wave had grown.
Silent Hands wasn't just circulating within their school anymore.
It was circulating within the city.
And neither of them had needed to lift a finger.
Li Feng closed the notification window without a second glance.
But the world outside their small morning routine had undeniably shifted.
Silent Hands was no longer just a highschool project whispered within school hallways.
It was becoming something larger—something the entire city was beginning to recognize.
---
While Longhai City buzzed with excitement outside, the Li estate moved with a different kind of energy entirely.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Not even hurried.
But deliberate.
Calculated.
The kind of quiet shifting that only powerful families mastered —
the kind that meant the knives were being sharpened, not swung.
---
FIRST BRANCH — Li Guowei's Study
Li Guowei's office was neat, clinical, and ruthless in the way only a veteran corporate strategist's workspace could be.
He stood at his desk, reviewing Silent Hands footage again on a large monitor — not to admire it, but to dissect it.
Behind him, Li Yichen waited with a digital folder opened on his tablet.
"The structure is impressive," Li Yichen said. "But the siblings' claims of developing it alone will be difficult to verify or disprove."
Guowei didn't look away from the screen.
"That's irrelevant."
He tapped the table.
"What matters is this:
Silent Hands is too clean, too promising, to leave in their hands."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Prepare preliminary documents for a Youth Technical Guidance Initiative. Keep it vague. Something R&D can use to absorb student projects with 'potential.'"
"Understood." Li Yichen nodded.
"And begin internal evaluation on intellectual property inheritance pathways," Guowei continued.
"If Silent Hands was developed using school facilities, we can argue shared ownership. If not—"
"We create the legal precedent."
Guowei allowed himself a cold, thin smile.
"The Patriarch wants leverage without risk. We'll give him that."
---
THIRD BRANCH — Li Pharmaceuticals Sub-Office
In his study, Li Guotao leaned over a series of medical classification manuals, marking sections with clinical precision.
"Silent Hands qualifies as an assistive communication device," he said calmly to his assistant.
"Which places it under the potential category of Class II Rehabilitation Aids."
Not a lie.
Not the whole truth either.
The key was this:
If Silent Hands could be positioned as something that should undergo medical oversight,
then the only branch capable of "proper management" would be his.
"Prepare an evaluation draft," Guotao continued.
"Not a full classification application. Just enough documentation to argue our branch is the appropriate guardian."
Downstairs, Li Cheng made quiet calls to two rehabilitation centers.
Not contracts.
Not agreements.
Just "inquiring for professional opinions"
about emerging assistive technologies in youth innovation—
a perfectly harmless question to anyone who didn't understand what he was setting up.
Collecting these opinions served one purpose:
Later, when the Patriarch reviewed proposals, Guotao could claim:
"Experts in the medical field agree: Silent Hands requires regulated oversight."
A regulatory chokehold.
Completely realistic.
Completely legal.
Completely suffocating.
Meanwhile, at the far corner of the room, Li Han sat in silence, teeth clenched.
No one asked for his opinion.
No one cared to hear it.
But the jealousy boiling in him was enough to burn through steel.
He kept his mouth shut.
He had to.
But inside, hatred grew with every breath.
---
FOURTH BRANCH — Li Media Headquarters
Unlike the clinical quiet of the other branches, Li Media's office was alive with the subtle hum of screens, keyboards, and background chatter.
Li Guifen sat with perfect posture, scrolling through trending posts about the Expo. Her painted lips lifted slightly.
"It's already spreading nicely," she said. "But the narrative is incorrect."
Han Rui leaned against the table beside her.
"Incorrect… or inconvenient?"
Guifen gave a small smile.
"Same thing."
Han Zhiyuan, holding a cup of coffee, set a folder beside her.
"This is the draft. A formal PR statement framing Silent Hands as a 'Li Group youth initiative.' It removes the siblings as primary creators and emphasizes family support."
Guifen skimmed through it.
"Mm. Acceptable. And subtle enough that the public won't question it."
Han Rui added:
"I've already pushed a few soft posts through student influencers. Nothing aggressive — just hints.
'The Li family's guidance really shows in their youth.'
'So proud our city's most powerful family nurtures such talent.'
That sort of thing."
Guifen nodded.
"This is the first step. If we control the narrative early… then later transitions will be natural."
She took a sip of tea, eyes glinting.
"Let the Second Branch celebrate for now. The public is easy to guide."
---
No declarations were made.
No one moved openly.
Instead, calls were placed quietly.
Drafts were written discreetly.
Small preparations were set into motion behind closed doors.
Three branches, three different strategies, all converging on the same objective:
Strip Silent Hands from its creators.
Every branch prepared to move the moment the Patriarch allowed it.
The second day after the Expo…
The Li estate was already shifting.
The storm hadn't begun.
But it was already forming.
---
Li Guohua
The morning sun had barely risen when Li Guohua stepped into the modest office building that housed his quietly-built company.
No security entourage.
No assistants trailing behind.
No corporate fanfare like the other branches of the Li family.
Just him.
A man who had learned to build things quietly—because anything loud or dazzling would be stolen by his own family before it had a chance to grow.
His employees greeted him with warm respect.
"Good morning, Director Li."
"Morning, sir."
He nodded back kindly, not with the cold authority of the First Branch, but with genuine warmth.
Still, everyone noticed something different today.
Li Guohua's expression, normally calm and gentle, carried a sharper edge beneath the surface. Not anger. Not panic.
Resolve.
He headed straight into the small conference room connected to his workspace.
"Call in Legal and R&D," he instructed his secretary.
"And tell them this is confidential."
Within minutes, three employees entered — people who trusted him, people who had followed him despite the quiet nature of his company.
They took their seats, expecting a normal briefing.
Li Guohua surprised them.
"I'll be direct," he said, voice low but steady. "A youth innovation project developed by my children has attracted corporate and family interest."
The legal officer raised a brow. "A school project… is this serious?"
"Serious enough that the Li Group will attempt to strip it from them within the week."
Their postures shifted immediately.
Guohua placed a thin folder on the table.
Inside were early sketches of Silent Hands he'd seen the night before — rough diagrams, notes, a few screenshots.
"This," he said, "is what my children built."
His employees stared quietly.
Empathy softening into responsibility.
"And I need our company," Guohua continued, "to move first."
He turned to Legal.
"We're drafting a collaborative innovation agreement for my daughter, Li Xue. The company will reach out to her this afternoon — formally, properly — to propose cooperation on developing Silent Hands."
Legal nodded slowly.
"That places the project's developmental framework under our jurisdiction, not the Li Group's."
"Exactly."
Then Guohua added something that made them stop.
"The core technology will be patented under my son's and my daughter's names."
Not his.
Not the company's.
Not the Li Family's.
The children's.
The lawyer blinked.
"Director Li… do you understand how much leverage this gives them—and how much trouble it could cause you?"
"Yes," Guohua said, without hesitation.
"But it's theirs."
His voice didn't waver.
"And I won't let anyone take it from them."
His employees exchanged looks — not doubt, but respect.
Next, Guohua turned to his R&D lead.
"I need an independent review of the technical feasibility. Something formal. Something that can't be dismissed as amateur work."
The R&D lead nodded immediately.
"I'll have a report drafted today."
Another file slid onto the table — handwritten notes from last night.
"And prepare a confidentiality chain," Guohua added softly.
"No leaks. No early filings. The Li Group cannot hear of this before our contract reaches Xue'er."
The room went completely still.
The youngest employee swallowed.
"Director Li… if the Li Group discovers you're moving behind their back—"
Guohua exhaled slowly.
"…Then I'll deal with it."
He stood straighter.
"But they will not touch my children's work before I put legal protection around them."
It wasn't anger.
It wasn't rebellion.
It was a father's quiet, immovable oath.
The team bowed their heads slightly — understanding the weight, and accepting it.
"We'll begin immediately."
"Good," Guohua said softly. "Thank you."
As the meeting dispersed, he lingered alone for a moment, his hands resting on the folder labeled:
Silent Hands — Preliminary Protection Measures
He traced the edge lightly.
"…I won't let them take what's yours," he whispered, almost too softly to hear.
Then he left the room.
Work to protect his children had begun.
Quietly.
Legally.
And with the full weight of a father who had spent too long letting others control his fate.
---
Hello, Author here,
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