The tempo of the traditional waltz reached a sweeping crescendo, the orchestra's strings vibrating through the floorboards of the grand ballroom. It was the moment of the secondary exchange. Around Qixian, couples transitioned with practiced and precision, hands slipping from waists and catching new partners in a fluid blur of silk and wool.
Qixian's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, but his face remained a mask of detached, aristocratic calm. He was currently paired with an innocent looking girl, heavily perfumed heiress who was too busy scanning the crowd for her acquaintances to pay attention to his footwork. Capitalizing on the grand, sweeping turn of the waltz, Qixian guided her toward the western perimeter of the floor, right where the shadows of the massive velvet draperies bled into the dim light.
With a flexible shift of his weight, Qixian executed a flawless reverse turn. As a massive wave of shifting dancers surged between them and the center of the room, he neatly stepped backward, detaching his hand from the heiress's grasp with the grace of a gentleman. Before the woman could even realize her partner had vanished, Qixian slipped into the heavy folds of the midnight-blue curtains, dissolving into the darkness of the peripheral corridor.
He kept his back pressed against the wall, his breathing shallow as he looked back through a narrow gap in the drapes. He immediately sought out the silver mask. Yichen was on the opposite side of the ballroom, his towering figure easily visible above the crowd. The Enigma had just finished a turn with his partner, his sharp eyes cutting through the sea of guests with an intense focus. Yichen's gaze swept across the exact area Qixian had occupied just seconds prior, tracking the crowd like a hawk hunting a prey. Qixian held his breath, pulling himself further into the shadows. Yichen's eyes lingered on the space, narrowing in brief suspicion, before another elite family stepped into his line of sight, blocking his view. Qixian let out a long, silent breath. He had escaped his sightline completely.
Safe from the immediate threat of discovery, Qixian retreated deeper into the quiet alcove, his fingers instantly diving into his tuxedo pocket to retrieve his phone. His skin felt unnaturally cold. The silence of the corridor was deafening compared to the booming orchestra inside.
Buzz.
The vibration was so sudden it made him flinch. His eyes darted to the screen. A text from Sihan.
Qixian's thumb swiped the screen with trembling urgency.
Sihan: Haoran is at the hospital. He's getting treated right now. It's not critical, so don't panic. Your older brother's men reached the clinic, but the guards me and Yichen had sent held them off long enough for me to get there. He was exposed to way too much volatile, mixed Alpha pheromones during the scuffle, which triggered a minor shock to his system. But I got him out on time. He's safe, Qixian. I'm with him.
The words blurred before Qixian's eyes. A violent wave of relief crashed over him, so intense that his knees briefly buckled, forcing him to brace his hand against a decorative marble ledge. Haoran was alive. Sihan had saved him. But the mention of the mixed Alpha pheromones—the invisible, suffocating weapons used to suppress weaker tiers—made Qixian's blood boil with a lethal, quiet fury. Jin Rou had actually dared to send thuggish Alphas to poison his brother's air.
Holding the phone tightly, Qixian looked back through the curtain gap, his eyes scanning the perimeter until they landed on the far corner of the ballroom.
There stood Yichen.
The Enigma was no longer dancing. He was standing alone in the shadows, staring down at his own glowing phone screen. Even from across the vast distance of the hall, Qixian could see the terrifying transformation in Yichen's posture. The man's body was rigid as iron, his shoulders squared, and his jaw set so tightly that the muscles in his cheek visibly corded behind the edge of his silver mask. His right hand was clenched into a massive, trembling fist at his side, his knuckles turning stark white under the pressure.
Qixian didn't need to guess. With that expression of suppressed rage, Qixian knew instantly—Yichen had just received the same news from Sihan. The Enigma knew that someone had attacked Haoran. He knew his best friend had been targeted. The air around Yichen seemed to warp with a faint, oppressive darkness, a silent testament to the fury raging within him.
Chime.
Another text broke Qixian's focus. He looked down. It was Yanlan.
Yanlan: Chengli is secure and stable. We are heading to the medical facility now. Before we left, I managed to extract a confession from the lead guard at the factory. I'm attaching the video file here. You might need it, Qixian.
Beneath the text was a video file. Qixian tapped it, his thumb shielding the screen's glare. The video opened to show the dark, concrete north basement of the old garment factory. One of Jin Rou's high-tier mercenary guards was on his knees, his face bloodied, trembling violently under the weight of Yanlan's lingering Alpha pressure.
Qixian paused the video, his expression hardening. His eyes, usually a calm chestnut brown, began to simmer with a dangerous, unstable energy. The weapon was in his hands.
He didn't waste another second. Slipping out of the corridor, Qixian bypassed the main ballroom entirely and navigated the backstage paths toward the technical control booth overlooking the grand stage. He pushed the heavy door open, stepping inside the room filled with glowing monitors, audio mixers, and the main projection controls.
The screen operator, a middle-aged technician wearing headphones, spun around in surprise. "Hey! Guests aren't allowed in the technical booth—"
"Connect my phone to the main projection system," Qixian commanded, his voice cold, flat, and entirely devoid of warmth. He stepped forward, letting the video file queue on the interface. "When I am on stage, wait for my signal. The moment I drop my hand, play this video on every single screen in the grand ballroom."
The operator blinked, his face tightening in refusal as he looked at Qixian's elegant suit. "Look, kid, I don't care who you are. The Zhou family paid for this schedule. I can't just alter the media playback without authorization from the Old Master or the Madam—"
Qixian didn't let him finish. He stepped into the operator's personal space, his posture radiating a terrifying, absolute authority. He tilted his face downward, and in the dim light of the control room, Qixian's eyes forcefully flared, glowing a sharp, luminous, and dangerous light red—the unmistakable, blinding mark of an S-tier Omega pushed to the absolute brink of survival. The raw, concentrated pheromonal intent, sharp as a razor blade, sliced through the air.
The operator's breath hitched. His knees buckled instantly, and he stumbled backward against the audio console, his hands scrambling for purchase as he stared up at Qixian in sheer, unadulterated terror. The sheer force of that crimson glow left him breathless, his chest heaving as he stammered, "I—I understand! Yes, sir! I'll do it... I'll play it exactly when you give the signal!"
"Good," Qixian whispered, the red glow fading back into the shadows of his eyes. "Don't mess it up."
He turned on his heel and walked down the steps toward the side wings of the grand stage.
Just as he reached the heavy velvet curtains bordering the podium, the orchestra's music ceased entirely. The room fell into a grand, expectant silence.
The main microphone activated, and Qixian's mother stepped forward, her elegant dress glittering under the spotlights. She held a glass of champagne, her face twisted into a radiant, thoroughly victorious smile as she looked out at the high-society crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests," her voice echoed beautifully over the premium speakers. "Thank you all for enjoying the gala prepared by the Zhou family tonight. We have had many triumphs, but tonight, we are also here to heal. My youngest son, has returned to us after a brief period of personal reflection. He has traveled far, but tonight, he wishes to personally stand before you all to clear up the unfortunate, baseless rumors that have plagued our family name recently. Please, welcome my son, Zhou Qixian."
The crowd erupted into polite, thunderous applause.
Qixian stepped out from the curtains. He forced his lips to curve upward, plastering a fake, brilliant, and perfectly practiced smile onto his face as he walked toward the center of the stage. The spotlights hit him, blindingly bright, casting his silhouette against the massive digital screens behind him.
But before he reached the podium, his eyes instinctively drifted toward the far corner of the room.
Yichen was standing there. The moment Qixian's name had been announced, the Enigma had frozen completely in his tracks. As Qixian stepped into the light, Yichen's dark eyes widened behind his silver mask, his chest rising and falling in rapid shock. The realization hit the Enigma like a physical blow—the mysterious Alpha medical assistant from the small-town clinic, the partner he had marked in the throes of his surge, was none other than the second son of the Zhou family. The very rival he had known of, the fiancé he was supposed to meet. Yichen stared at him, utterly paralyzed, his gaze locked onto Qixian's face with an intensity that could burn through steel.
Qixian felt a sharp, agonizing twist in his chest. His heart screamed at him to run to Yichen, to explain, to apologize. But he forced his eyes away, tearing his gaze from the Enigma with a brutal, internal wrenching. He couldn't look at him. Not for what he was about to say.