The Last Loyalist

The boardroom, high in the eastern wing of the Nine Dragons' clandestine Shanghai tower, was swathed in shadow. Frosted glass hid the skyline's neon blaze, muting the world beyond. The only light came from the silver glow of embedded ceiling LEDs and the cold blue flicker of Zhi Fang’s tablet.

Across the table, Shen Ai sat like a statue carved in obsidian—still, unreadable, lethal.

The air was thick, suffocating. Not with heat, but with implication. Trust, once their shared currency, now felt like a poisoned relic.

Zhi Fang's low, accusatory. “You diverted the Shanghai shipment. Why?”

His voice was smooth, but his hands trembled beneath the table, concealed by the screen.

Shen Ai coolly, eyes narrowed. “The order came from you. Or so the system claims.”

Her gaze didn’t flinch. She knew better than to blink under suspicion. A misstep in this room was not just political—it was fatal.