The morning after the shipyard incident was deceptively bright. Sunlight poured into the Lian estate, but inside his private study, the atmosphere was absolute zero. Lian sat before his screens, the black leather of his gloves creaking as his fingers moved with rhythmic, lethal efficiency.
He hadn't slept. He didn't need to. The "King" within him thrived on the cold clarity that followed a threat.
"Search completed," the AI voice of his private server whispered. "The assassins were contracted by Goliath Logistics, a subsidiary of the Han Group."
Lian's lips curled into a thin, predatory line. The Han Group—a rival conglomerate that had been nipping at the Lian family's heels for years. They thought they could use the chaos of an illegal race to remove a rising threat like Jin-Ho and perhaps catch Lian in the crossfire.
"You chose the wrong ghost to haunt," Lian murmured.
He didn't pick up a gun this time. He picked up his phone. In the modern era, a bullet could kill a man, but a keystroke could kill a legacy.
For the next four hours, Lian dismantled the Han Group's financial infrastructure. He leaked evidence of their illegal waste dumping to the Ministry of Environment, simultaneously triggered a massive sell-off of their stock through his offshore accounts at Aether International, and blacklisted their shipping vessels from every port he now controlled through Lian Logistics.
By noon, the Han Group's CEO was being escorted out of his office in handcuffs, and their market value had plummeted by 40%. It was a silent, bloodless massacre.
The Siege of GiftsJust as the final "Sell" order was executed, a commotion erupted downstairs.
"Young Master Lian! Please... there's no more room!" the head butler, Mr. Song—who was back on light duty after Lian saved his life—called out from the hallway.
Lian opened his door, his face a mask of irritation. The hallway was unrecognizable. It was filled with baskets of rare, white lilies, boxes of the world's most expensive dark chocolate, and—most absurdly—a life-sized, handcrafted jade fox statue sitting right in front of his door.
A delivery man handed him a final card. It was gold-embossed and smelled of Jin-Ho's signature scent.
"To my savior: Since you won't let me touch your hand, I thought I'd touch your life with a few 'minor' tokens of appreciation. P.S. The fox is for your garden. It has a camera in the eyes so I can make sure you're eating your vegetables. Just kidding. (Or am I?) — JH"
Lian crumpled the card, his face flushing with a rare heat that wasn't panic—it was pure, unadulterated fury. "Get this... this shrine out of my sight," he commanded.
"But sir," Mr. Song stammered, "Mr. Jin-Ho also sent a team of professional chefs. They are currently in the kitchen preparing a ten-course 'Thank You' lunch for the entire family."
Lian marched downstairs. His family was already in the dining room, looking bewildered. Even his father, Feng, was staring at a bowl of truffle soup as if it might explode.
"Lian! What is the meaning of this?" Feng asked, though he didn't look entirely displeased as he tasted the soup. "Mr. Jin-Ho is certainly... enthusiastic."
"He is a nuisance," Lian snapped.
Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open, and instead of a chef, Jin-Ho walked out wearing a ruffled apron over his designer suit, carrying a tray of medicinal tea.
"Ah, Lian-ah! You're just in time," Jin-Ho chirped, his fox-like eyes crinkling with mischief. "I heard you were busy 'reorganizing' the Han Group this morning. You must be exhausted. I brewed this specifically for your nerves. It's a traditional recipe—valerian root and honey."
He walked straight toward Lian. The family watched in stunned silence as the most powerful man in the tech industry approached their "untouchable" son like a doting housewife.
Lian backed up until his heels hit the bottom step of the stairs. "Stay back, Jin-Ho. I told you—"
"I know, I know. No touching," Jin-Ho said, stopping just at the edge of the boundary. He set the tea down on a pedestal. He looked at Lian, his gaze dropping for a second to the boy's trembling hands. The humor in his eyes softened into something more profound—a look of genuine, grounded empathy.
"You did a good thing this morning, Lian," Jin-Ho whispered, his voice too low for the family to hear. "But don't let the revenge turn your blood to ice. I'm here to keep you warm, remember?"
Lian stared at him. He wanted to scream, to push him away, to retreat back into his grey, lonely fortress. But the scent of the tea was calming, and the sight of this powerful man wearing a ruffled apron just to annoy a smile out of him was... ridiculous.
For the first time in two lifetimes, Lian felt the corners of his mouth twitch. It wasn't a smile, not yet, but it was the end of the frost.
"If you ever put a jade fox in my hallway again," Lian said, his voice regaining its cold edge but lacking its usual bite, "I will personally ensure your 'Aether' backdoors are permanently locked."
Jin-Ho grinned, a bright, victorious light. "So you like the fox? I knew it!"
Lian turned and walked back upstairs, his heart thumping in a way that had nothing to do with his illness. He was still alone in this world, still a ghost in a boy's body. But as he looked back at the "Cunning Fox" laughing with his brothers, he realized the darkness wasn't so everlasting after all.