116: No survivors

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The tension on the design floor was slowly dissolving into laughter and teasing.

Suddenly, Song Ziyan's sharp voice cut through the noise.

"Lin Yue... are you thinking of backing out?"

Before Lin Yue could respond, Song Ziyan gasped loudly, drawing all attention.

Her voice carried across the office floor, instantly capturing everyone's attention.

Whispers and chuckles followed. Some leaned closer, intrigued.

She placed a perfectly manicured hand over her mouth, pointing at Lin Yue with the other.

"Wait—don't tell me you lied to us?" She cried out in mock horror.

A wave of murmurs rose.

"Didn't she say she'd host us?"

"Yeah, we were all looking forward to it."

"Did she really cancel?"

"But she promised."

"I was so curious to see her place..."

"Yeah," another added. "I canceled my plans for tomorrow already."

Lin Yue rose slowly from her seat. She was wearing simple sneakers, her petite frame a direct contrast to Song Ziyan's long-legged, model-like build boosted even higher by her heels.

The height difference was obvious—Song Ziyan towered over her—but when Lin Yue lifted her head, her quiet, deep gaze locked onto hers.

Song Ziyan, caught in that gaze, involuntarily stepped back.

Her breath hitched. What is that look?

Why did that gaze feel so suffocating? So... heavy?

Lin Yue turned to the group and said calmly, "I'll send you all the address later."

The tension dissolved instantly. Cheers broke out around the room.

"Don't give us instant noodles!"

"Hope you cook better than you draw!" one teased.

"She already made the best sketch in the country, and now we're expecting the best food."

Lin Yue gave a shy smile. "No pressure, then."

Du Liyao chimed in, "Anything is fine."

Ma Zhen added, "Even just water?"

Everyone laughed, the team camaraderie brightening the atmosphere.

Lin Yue smiled gently, her soft dimples deepening.

Song Ziyan clenched her fists.

Why does everyone like her? What's so special about that porcelain face? Her blood simmered with frustration.

She turned, returning to her desk, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

But then something clicked in her mind.

Wait...

Wait a minute...

Her brows furrowed slightly as a thought flickered through her head—something she hadn't paid attention to before.

She had seen it more than once, but it never quite registered until now.

Why does Lin Yue always look at the CEO like that?

That look—so quiet, yet heavy. Like every glance carried the weight of a story untold.

A look that shimmered with restrained ache… and longing.

Song Ziyan tilted her head, watching Lin Yue from the corner of her eyes, locking onto Lin Yue's delicate figure as the girl smiled and chatted with Du Liyao and Ma Zhen.

That smile. So gentle.

So perfect. Too perfect.

Her lips slowly curled into a smile as the pieces clicked into place.

Oh?

So our little miss perfect has feelings for the CEO?

A very, very big crush, huh?

But then her smile dimmed, replaced by caution.

Lin Yue wasn't dumb.

In fact, she was terrifyingly composed. Confronting her directly might make her look bitter or jealous.

No... this woman's clever. Too clever. If I go at her without proof, it'll only backfire.

She tilted her head slightly, watching as Lin Yue laughed quietly at something Du Liyao said.

She tapped her manicured nail lightly against her desk, lips curving further.

Let's see how long you can keep pretending, Lin Yue.

Feeling the thrill of discovery, Song Ziyan finally relaxed into her chair, her mind already spinning with plans.

Her next mission was clear—

Expose Lin Yue.

—

Ding—

The elevator doors opened. Zhang Qian and Qin Ke stepped out, files in hand.

Zhang Qian clapped lightly to get their attention. "Alright everyone, here's the overtime schedule."

Groans spread through the room.

She handed out printed schedules. "I know tomorrow is a weekend but you'll have to come; from seven to two in the afternoon. Then next week, we go seven to nine in the evening. We have only a few days before the bidding. The sketch may be done, but the presentation and models aren't."

"Workhorse mode activated," Ma Zhen muttered.

But no one complained seriously.

Despite the heavy hours, everyone nodded seriously and in understanding.

—

Soon after, the office began emptying out.

As the floor cleared out, colleagues waved at Lin Yue.

"Get your kitchen ready!"

"We want your secret recipes!"

"You better make spicy chicken!" someone shouted.

"Let's see how artists cook!" another added.

Lin Yue laughed lightly, waving as she promised, "I'll make something good."

The team flowed toward the elevator in waves of laughter.

But one figure stayed behind.

—

She waited quietly, lingering by her desk until the last shadow slipped out.

Then, cautiously, she retreated to a corner of the floor, pulling her phone from her jacket pocket.

She looked around. Empty. Silent.

She dialed, heart pounding.

The call connected after two rings.

A low male voice answered. "Report."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "It looks like Liang Conglomerate will win the bid. The sketch... it's stunning."

The man on the other end was silent for a beat. Then, "How stunning?"

"I sent it to you."

Another pause.

Then came a soft whistle through the line.

"Beautiful," the voice said, tinged with restrained admiration. "Who drew it?"

The girl hesitated. "A new recruit. Her name's Lin Yue. I overheard from Zhang Qian and Qin Ke just now that she's close to Master Fu and Master Lu."

Silence again.

Then...

"Lin Yue?" the man echoed.

A beat. A chuckle.

Then a full, cold laugh burst through the receiver.

"Lin Yue... Yue... Yue... It's her. It has to be her. Hah! Finally."

Wanru flinched at the sound.

"She's the one I've been looking for," the man whispered, almost to himself. "What a twist... You've done well."

Then the line went dead.

The girl stared at the phone, tears pricking her eyes.

She pressed her lips together and whispered, "My son... Mommy didn't mean to hurt anyone. I just want you back..."

---

At the Su Private Hospital, a doctor stood beside the pristine white bed, his voice calm but firm.

"No stress. No excitement. Keep his diet clean. And most importantly—no shocks."

Su Zhenghao nodded. "Got it."

Su Meilin stood quietly beside her grandfather, holding his arm. Her fingers curled slightly.

Something gnawed at her.

Eric's words. William's smirk.

A gift for the old man... But which old man?

Su Zhenghao's phone buzzed.

"I'll go get the car. Meilin, follow the doctor and get the prescriptions."

She nodded and left with the doctor.

—

Old Master Su sat alone on the bed, his fingers curling loosely over his cane as his thoughts wandered.

The room was quiet, sterile with the usual scent of antiseptic.

He could still hear his young bodyguard's voice from that day.

"... the Obsidian Fangs are back... "

Impossible... he told himself for the hundredth time.

His throat tightened.

Yes, the organization had survived in name, but the soul of it—the old blood—had perished in the explosion years ago.

The new generation? They were just ambitious thugs playing pretend.

They didn't know the real secrets. Didn't know him.

Only the elders knew what bound him to that name.

And they were all supposed to be dead.

He saw them die. That explosion... There were no survivors.

He remembered fire. Explosions. A mountain of bodies. He had seen them perish—hadn't he?

Still, his chest tightened.

—

A knock.

His eyes snapped open. "Come in," he said gruffly.

The door creaked open and a young nurse entered with a small, neatly wrapped black box in her hands.

"Sir, someone dropped this off for you at the front desk. They didn't leave a name."

The nurse blinked innocently.

His hands trembled as he took the box, the polished surface gleaming under the warm lights. It felt heavier than it looked.

Almost too heavy.

Something felt wrong.

He untied the ribbon slowly, his breath catching. The moment the lid lifted—

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A mechanical sound.

A sound he hadn't heard in decades echoed in the quiet room, growing louder by the second.

Steady. Sinister.

His eyes widened.

His heart dropped.

"A bomb—"

The thought sliced through his mind like a knife.

"A bomb! It's a bomb!" he croaked in panic.

He screamed and hurled the box across the room with all the strength he could muster.

It crashed against the wall and tumbled to the floor, still ticking ominously.

His breathing grew erratic. Pain lanced through his chest.

He clutched his shirt over his heart.

"Ugh—ah—!"

"Sir?!" the nurse cried, rushing toward him. "Sir, what's wrong?!"

"C-Call... the doctor—" he gasped, his voice rasping in pain. His body curled forward as the world around him began to blur.

The nurse spun toward the emergency button and slammed it.

"Doctor! Doctor!" she shouted into the hallway, her voice desperate.

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