The golden rays of the winter sun pierced through the frost-covered windows of the Ye Estate, casting long, elegant shadows across the breakfast table. The air was thick with the scent of freshly brewed Blue Mountain coffee and the high-tension silence of a family on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Lin Shuyin and Ye Shijun sat at the head of the table, their faces glowing with a warmth that hadn't been seen in twenty years. To them, the sight of their family gathered together was a miracle, but to the five Ye brothers, the scene before them was a living nightmare. Sitting in the most comfortable chair, draped in a silk robe that was far too expensive for a "guest," was Lu Zhentian. He was shamelessly peeling an orange, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had lived in this house his entire life.
"Master Lu," Ye Mo said, his voice a low, vibrating growl as he gripped his silver spoon so hard it began to bend. "I believe your 'medical emergency' has passed. My assistant has already booked a specialist to see you at the Lu Corporation. There is no longer a need for you to occupy our guest wing or our breakfast table." Zhentian didn't even look up. He popped a slice of orange into his mouth and leaned back, his eyes fixed on the empty seat next to him. "Actually, Ye Mo, my heart rate spiked three times last night. If it weren't for the 'constant monitoring' of your sister, I might not have survived until dawn. Your father understands the gravity of the situation, don't you, Uncle Ye?" Shijun nodded earnestly, patting Zhentian's shoulder. "Of course, Zhentian. Health comes first. Wanwan, dear, you must be extra attentive to him today."
Ye Wanwan entered the room at that exact moment. She was dressed in a crisp, sharp-collared white shirt and tailored black trousers, her hair pulled back into a high, lethal ponytail. She looked less like a daughter and more like a commander heading into battle. Her face was as pale and expressionless as ever, but her obsidian eyes flickered toward the garden for a split second—remembering the three bodies her "underlings" had cleared away before the sun rose. She sat down next to Zhentian, and the moment she did, the "human furnace" beside her leaned in, the heat from his shoulder radiating through her clothes. "Good morning, Doctor," Zhentian whispered, his voice a shameless, lovesick purr that made the five brothers simultaneously drop their cutlery. "I slept like a baby knowing you were only a wall away. My pulse is a bit high this morning... want to feel it?"
Wanwan didn't look at him. She reached out, grabbed his wrist with a cold, firm grip, and held it for exactly three seconds. "It's high because you're talking too much," she said, dropping his hand like a piece of trash. "Eat your breakfast and be quiet. I have work to do." Aurora, sitting across from them, felt a vein in her forehead throb. She had spent the entire night trembling, waiting for the news of Wanwan's death, only to see her walk in looking more radiant than ever. How are they still alive? she screamed in her mind. The Shadow Syndicate never fails! She forced a gentle, trembling smile onto her face. "Sister, Mom told me you're heading to the Ye Research Institute today. Are you sure? The doctors there are all PhDs from the world's top universities. They might be... a bit difficult if you can't speak their technical language. Maybe I should go with you to translate?"
"I don't need a translator for science, Aurora," Wanwan said, her gaze shifting to the fake heiress. The look was so cold it felt like a physical slap. "I suggest you stay home and work on your own pulse. You look... agitated." Shijun clapped his hands together, oblivious to the undercurrents. "That's my girl! Today, Wanwan officially takes over as the Honorary Director of the Medical Wing. It's time the world knows the Ye family has a genius in the house."
Two hours later, the Ye Medical Research Institute was in a state of quiet mutiny. In the main laboratory, a group of elderly, white-coated scientists stood in a circle, their arms crossed. "This is an insult!" shouted Dr. Han, the Chief Researcher. "I have spent forty years studying neurotoxins, and the Chairman wants me to report to a girl who grew up picking weeds in a village? I won't do it! If she steps foot in this lab, I'll resign!" The other doctors murmured in agreement. They had prepared a "test"—a complex, corrupted chemical formula on the main digital board that had been unsolvable for three years. They planned to ask her to "correct" it to humiliate her.
The automatic doors slid open. Wanwan walked in, her white lab coat billowing behind her like a cape. Behind her, Lu Zhentian followed like a dark shadow, his presence alone making the room feel ten degrees hotter and twice as small. He didn't say a word; he simply leaned against the doorframe, his golden eyes fixed on Wanwan with an arrogant pride. Wanwan didn't look at the doctors. She didn't offer a greeting. She walked straight to the digital board, her eyes scanning the "unsolvable" formula for exactly five seconds.
"Who wrote this?" Wanwan asked, her voice echoing in the silent lab. Dr. Han stepped forward, a smug grin on his face. "That is the Ye-Formula for neural regeneration, Miss Ye. It has been the focus of this institute for a decade. Perhaps it's too 'complicated' for your countryside herbs?" Wanwan picked up the digital stylus. "It's not complicated. It's wrong. The molecular weight of the catalyst in line four is off by 0.003, causing a recursive loop in the protein synthesis." Before anyone could blink, her hand moved across the screen in a blur of motion. She rewrote the entire central sequence, her logic so fast and clean it looked like art.
The grin on Dr. Han's face died. He stepped closer, his glasses sliding down his nose. The other researchers crowded around, their breath hitching. "That... that's impossible. If we use this sequence, the success rate would be..."
"Ninety-eight percent," Wanwan finished, putting the stylus down. "The other two percent is human error. Which, looking at this room, seems to be your primary export."
The silence was absolute. Dr. Han fell to his knees, staring at the board as if he were looking at a god. "You... you are 'The Alchemist'? The anonymous author of the 'Silver Needle' papers from five years ago?" Wanwan didn't answer. She turned to the head of security who was standing nearby. "Clean the lab. I don't like dust. And tell Dr. Han he's demoted to junior assistant until he learns the basic laws of catalysts."
As she turned to leave, she bumped right into Lu Zhentian's chest. He didn't move an inch. He looked down at her, his eyes burning with a passion that was almost terrifying. He didn't care about the formula or the doctors. "Ninety-eight percent?" Zhentian whispered, his hand coming up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. "Those are good odds, Wanwan. But I like my odds better. I'm one hundred percent sure you're the most dangerous thing in this city, and I'm one hundred percent sure I'm never letting you go." Wanwan looked at him, her pulse finally giving a small, traitorous jump. "You're in my way, Master Lu."
"I'm always going to be in your way," Zhentian promised, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "Get used to it."