The black feather sat on the dojo floor like a hole in reality. Lian stared at it, his mind instantly shifting from the warmth of the sparring match back into the freezing calculations of a master of toxins.
'The pizza was delivered by our internal security team,' Lian thought, his eyes darting to the box. 'If the feather is inside, it means the perimeter hasn't just been breached—it's been compromised from within.'
Lian turned to his brothers, his voice now a low, chilling frequency that made even Hao-Ran's blood run cold. "Hao-Ran, lock down the estate. No one enters, and more importantly, no one leaves. Ji-Min, go to the security room. I want a 48-hour playback of every staff movement in the West Wing. Look for micro-stutters in the loop; the Viper knows how to ghost a camera."
"Lian, what's happening?" Hao-Ran asked, his hand hovering over his phone.
"There is a mole in this house," Lian said, picking up the feather with a pair of tweezers he pulled from his belt. "And if I don't find them in the next hour, we're all dead before dessert."
The Symptom HuntLian didn't just look for suspicious behavior; he looked for biological tells. As the CEO, he summoned the entire household staff—thirty-two people—to the grand hall under the guise of an "emergency health screening."
He stood at the head of the hall, his gloved hands behind his back. Beside him, Jin-Ho had dropped his playful persona, standing like a silent, lethal shadow. Lian wasn't looking at their faces; he was looking at their pupils, their sweat patterns, and the way they held their breath.
'Shao-Hui's disciples always carry the "Mark of the Breath",' Lian remembered. 'A faint, blue tint under the fingernails from long-term exposure to the Viper's basic antidote.'
He walked down the line of maids, chefs, and guards. His presence was suffocating. He stopped in front of Marie, a maid who had served the family for ten years.
"Open your hands," Lian commanded.
"Young Master?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Hands. Now."
She extended them. Her nails were manicured, pink and perfect. Lian moved on. He reached the end of the line: Chef Sato, the man who had been with the Lians since before the kidnapping.
Lian didn't ask him to show his hands. He leaned in, sniffing the air around the chef. Beneath the scent of truffle and saffron, there was a sharp, metallic tang.
"The pizza you sent to the dojo," Lian said softly. "The dough was hand-stretched, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Young Master," Sato replied, his eyes downcast.
"Then why," Lian's voice turned into a razor, "do you smell like Crotalus Durissus venom? It's a paralyzing agent. It doesn't belong in a kitchen."
Sato's eyes snapped up. In a blur of motion, he pulled a ceramic needle from his chef's hat. But Lian was faster. He didn't use a weapon; he used a medical strike. He jammed two fingers into the nerve cluster at Sato's elbow, causing the man's arm to go dead instantly.
The Truth in the BloodJin-Ho tackled the chef before he could reach for a second weapon, pinning him to the marble floor. Lian knelt beside the man, but he didn't look angry. He looked clinical.
"You aren't a disciple," Lian said, pulling back Sato's eyelid. The pupil was blown wide, a sign of forced indoctrination through drugs. "You're a puppet. He's been dosing your morning coffee with a suggestive neurotoxin for months, hasn't he?"
Lian stood up and turned to Jin-Ho. "He's not the spy. He's the delivery system. The real spy is someone who can access the kitchen's vents and the security monitors simultaneously."
Suddenly, the lights in the grand hall flickered and died.
"Lian!" Jin-Ho shouted, reaching through the dark to find him.
"I'm here," Lian's voice came from the shadows, steady and calm. He had already pulled his thermal goggles from his kit. "Ji-Min, report!"
Ji-Min's voice crackled over the estate's intercom. "Lian! Someone just bypassed the main server! They're in the West Wing infirmary—where Father is sleeping!"
Lian didn't wait. He sprinted through the darkness, his feet knowing every inch of the mansion. The Haphephobia was gone, drowned out by a cold, surgical rage. Someone was in his home, touching his family, poisoning his air.
He reached the infirmary doors. They were hissed shut. Inside, a figure was standing over his father's bed, holding a syringe filled with a thick, black liquid.
Lian didn't call out. He threw a surgical scalpel with the precision of a master marksman. It sliced through the figure's shoulder, forcing them to drop the syringe.
The figure turned. It was the "New Nurse" his mother had hired just yesterday—a woman with eyes that were far too old for her face.
"You," Lian hissed.
The woman smiled, and for a second, her face seemed to shimmer. "The student has grown claws. But can you save the father while the brothers burn?"
She pointed to the window. In the distance, the West Wing—the location of the Aether servers and where Hao-Ran was currently stationed—erupted in a silent, green flame.
Lian froze. The "Extreme Loneliness" of his past threatened to swallow him. His father or his brother. The empire or the blood.
"Lian! Go to the wing!" Jin-Ho's voice roared as he burst into the room. "I've got the nurse! I've got your father! Go!"
Lian looked at Jin-Ho. The "Cunning Fox" was bleeding from a cut on his head, but his eyes were steady. He was the only person in the world Lian could trust with this choice.
"Don't let her touch him," Lian commanded.
"On my life," Jin-Ho promised.
Lian leapt through the open window, sliding down the trellis and sprinting toward the green fire. He wasn't just a CEO or a doctor anymore. He was a King going to war.