Chapter 4
Deng Mei-ling moved with calm precision through the halls of her Shenzhen mansion, issuing instructions to staff, adjusting decorations, and overseeing preparations for the grand social event she had announced, a lavish party meant to officially introduce her mysterious cousin, Wěi Dà Zhou, to the upper echelon of China's elite. The news had spread quickly across major outlets and society circles within hours; whispers of a reclusive, eccentric relative with striking features and impeccable manners circulated everywhere, stirring curiosity and envy alike.
Deng Mei-ling's office had been swallowed in a soft amber glow , the kind of warm, expensive light that made even stress look elegant. Yet she moved through it like an overworked general marching across a battlefield, pacing between her polished mahogany desk and the floor-to-ceiling windows that exposed the city skyline. Her heels clicked sharply across the marble, her clipped breaths fogging the glass as she turned on Magnus with the controlled intensity of someone who had spent the last forty-eight hours fighting fires only she could see.
"Magnus, you need a digital identity," she insisted, voice tight but resolute. "People with your… presence attract questions. Too many questions. And questions invite investigation." She gestured broadly to her laptop screen , dozens of tabs open, each representing a vulnerability. "I need a complete online trail for you. Photos of your trips. Occasional selfies. A few luxury items. Maybe some poetic captions so you look introspective. Something believable for a wealthy young man your age."
Magnus stood at the center of the room, calm and impossibly still, as if he had been carved out of serenity itself. His head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering in his silver-dark eyes."So humans gravitate toward these shallow things?" he murmured, the faintest smile playing at his lips. "Curated lives? Polished illusions? False reflections of themselves?"
Mei-ling pressed her fingers to her temples, exhaling sharply through her nose."It's not about shallow," she corrected, stepping closer, her frustration edged with concern. "It's about survival. My money can do many things , bribe officials, smooth over rough history, even bury inconvenient truths , but creating the digital footprint of an eighteen-year-old out of thin air?" She shook her head helplessly. "Impossible. People leave trails, Magnus. Digital smudges. Data residue. You have none."
He flowed toward her without sound, his presence soothing the air. His hand lifted gently, resting on her shoulder with a warmth she felt down to her ribs. "My little beautiful jade," he said softly, almost fondly, "it is perfectly fine."
Then, as if answering a question only he could hear, he simply said:"There. It's done."
Mei-ling froze. She blinked once. Twice. Her brain stalled."Huh? Wait , it's done? Already?"
Magnus blinked back at her, tone mild."Of course. It was simple."
"SIMPLE?" she sputtered, whipping around to her computer. "Magnus, that was too fast—no, that was inhumanly fast."
He shrugged one shoulder, the gesture almost boyishly apologetic."I am… apathetic and somewhat detached toward the things directly before me," he admitted, voice drifting like a low tide. "This is why I avoid altering reality too much. When I create, I gain no insight from it. No spark of understanding. No… surprise." His gaze softened. "But for this—"He gestured to the air, a ripple of invisible power rolling through the room like a silent heartbeat. "For you, I will make an exception."
And then it appeared , not with a flash, not with theatrics, but with eerie quiet precision.
On her screen, new tabs began opening one by one, as if the internet itself was inhaling his existence:
• A social media timeline going back seven years , Magnus smiling faintly in front of European cathedrals, mountain cliffs in Tibet, Manila street markets, under neon skies in Tokyo.• Photos taken with different phones, different filters, different lighting styles, each flawlessly mimicking the evolving fashion of young adults growing up with cameras.• Digital bank transactions , flights purchased, hotel bookings, subscriptions canceled and renewed.• Online shopping history , clothes, gadgets, novelty items, books.• Paper trails , a hospital birth record, an elementary school enrollment list, ID scans, tax forms, certificates.• WiFi logs and geolocation footprints spanning airports, cafés, university campuses.• Emails exchanged with fabricated classmates, teachers, doctors, bank officers.• Metadata. Timestamps. Hardware signatures. Device IDs.
It wasn't just a digital identity.
It was an entire life.
A history with depth, flaws, inconsistencies , human inconsistencies , the kind that even the most advanced forensic scraping would believe.
Mei-ling sank slowly into her chair, one hand covering her mouth as she scrolled through the impossible records."Magnus… this is…" Her voice cracked. "It's perfect. Too perfect."
He looked almost embarrassed."I only anchored it to the world," he said simply. "The rest arranged itself."
The room remained silent for several long seconds , the kind that stretch between disbelief and acceptance.
And for the first time since she had met him… Mei-ling understood just how unfathomable Magnus truly was.
Yet behind the curtains of opulence, Magnus, Wěi Dà Zhou, watched the preparations with quiet amusement rather than anticipation. He could, if he wished, bend every guest in that mansion to his will with a single thought, reshape their perception, rewrite their desires, even stop the entire party mid-motion as if reality were nothing more than soft clay under his fingertips. But such things felt trivial now, childish even. Manipulating the world to suit him had no meaning; watching how events unfolded naturally, observing how choices shaped outcomes, that had become far more fascinating.
He stood near the tall window, the lights of Shenzhen sprawling below like a glowing constellation trapped on earth. Luxury meant little to him; comfort, wealth, extravagance, none of these things ever resonated. What mattered was the lineage behind Mei-ling's clan, a family whose centuries-old history brushed close to forces he had once known.
That legacy, not their money or influence, was why he stayed. And though he hardly admitted it aloud, he also found a quiet fondness for his current appearance, an elegant fusion of Asian and Arabian features, a harmony of sharp lines and warm tones that humans seemed to find captivating. Magnolia-brown skin, storm-calm eyes, the subtle curl of his hair, an unintended blend he had chosen on a whim, never expecting it would draw so much attention. Alexa, in particular, had been adorably flustered by his looks at first; he remembered the nervous way her eyes darted away, the soft hesitation in her voice whenever he leaned a little too close.
A week passed, and Magnus never once missed meeting Alexa after her shift ended. Not a single day. Rain or smog, crowded streets or quiet nights, he was always there — standing outside the restaurant where she worked, leaning against the wall beneath the flickering sign, waiting with the kind of calm certainty that made Alexa feel like the world wasn't so chaotic after all. Their routine became a soft, steady rhythm in her life: the two of them walking side by side to the modest little diner three blocks away, sharing food neither too cheap nor too expensive, laughing quietly about small things, talking about movies, stray cats, strange customers, anything that made the world feel less heavy. But Magnus , for all his restraint, for all his promises to take things slow — always found a way to make each meeting feel special without ever crossing her boundaries. It was never grand gestures, but subtle, deliberate moments crafted with almost artistic precision.
One of those moments was the phone trick.
On evenings when Alexa seemed more curious than usual — her eyes lingering on him just a little longer, her fingers brushing the edge of her glass while her thoughts tangled into questions she never asked — Magnus would place his phone on the dining table between them. Casually. Naturally. Like any normal young man who had nothing to hide. The phone, with its slightly cracked edges and the faint shimmer of a repaired life within it, would lie there unlocked, unguarded. No password. No pattern lock. No barrier. Just open access, as if inviting trust.
And like any human being with a curious heart and a mind full of quiet worries, Alexa would feel the pull of that small, glowing rectangle. She would try not to look. She would try even harder not to wonder.Does he talk to other girls?Does he live alone?Does he keep secrets?Who… is he really?
Magnus saw all of it — the flickers of conflict in her eyes, the way she bit her lower lip, the silent debate raging inside her between desire for honesty and fear of crossing a line. And just when her curiosity reached its softest, most vulnerable peak, Magnus would tilt his head slightly, as if he sensed an incoming message. Then, perfectly timed — almost too perfectly — his phone would light up on its own with a soft vibration, displaying a harmless generated message: a reminder he programmed, a notification from a fake app, or some fabricated social media feed designed to give Alexa permission to look without guilt.
He would always say the same gentle line, voice smooth and unbothered."Oh , sorry. Let me check that."
And he would pick up the phone with no rush, no defensiveness, letting the screen remain visible to her. A life she was allowed to peek at. A normal, believable, human life.
Alexa would exhale… relieved.Not because she found something , but because she didn't.Because Magnus looked exactly how he treated her: honest, open, uncomplicated.A man with nothing to hide.A man who trusted her.
And she, in turn, began to trust him more.
That very day, moment and time, in a location thousands of miles, at Shenzhen , the party was scheduled to begin in a few hours , Magnus walked Alexa home just as he always did, strolling through the soft glow of the city's evening lights. But something was different tonight, something warmer in the way she moved beside him.
She walked closer than usual, her shoulder brushing his arm every few steps, and instead of letting her hands stay tucked in her coat pockets, she let them swing freely, grazing his fingers with a shy, almost accidental intimacy. She leaned into him when she laughed, her eyes softer, her smile easier. And Magnus, who had grown familiar with the subtle language of her insecurities, felt himself pause internally , not in fear, but in a moment of rare uncertainty. He wondered, silently, if any of this was the result of his own subtle gestures back at the diner. Had he been too careful? Too accommodating? Too attentive? He despised the idea that anything he did could be perceived as manipulation, even if he was incapable of ever meaning harm. The doubt was small, but it was there, gnawing like a quiet echo.
He hated it.
He hated the way the thought made him question his choices, as if he were a flawed creature capable of emotional missteps. For someone like him — someone who could bend time, reshape reality, erase outcomes with a mere whim — such human worries felt strangely heavy, uncomfortably grounding. But as he continued walking, watching Alexa tuck her hair behind her ear and steal tiny glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking, Magnus realized something new. Something he had never truly understood before. This… is normal. This is what humans feel. This was why they hesitate, why they overthink every action and every word, why they worry about appearing too distant or too interested, too cold or too eager. Humans question themselves because they do not control time. They cannot see outcomes before they unfold. They live completely blind to the future — and yet they keep feeling, keep trying, keep reaching out.
For the first time, Magnus understood what it meant to live with limited control. And so, instead of resenting the doubt, he allowed it to exist. He let the uncertainty settle into his mind like a new color he had never been able to perceive. Perhaps, he thought, this was what being mortal felt like: caring so much about someone that you questioned yourself, even when you didn't need to. Alexa's warmth wasn't because he manipulated anything. It was because she chose to trust him, step by step, day by day. And as she looked up at him with that small, quiet smile — the one she only reserved for moments she felt safe , Magnus finally understood why humans cherish these fragile connections. He was no longer observing the complexity of mortal life from the outside. He was beginning to experience it.
And strangely… it felt meaningful.
As Magnus stepped away, his long stride taking him toward the quiet streets where his place waited, a soft rustle of movement caught his attention. Alexa emerged from the apartment stairs, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of the landing lights. Before he could fully turn to respond, her hand reached out, gently catching his arm, holding him in place with a surprising firmness. Magnus paused, the faintest arch of an eyebrow betraying curiosity, as she leaned up and pressed her lips to his in a brief, warm kiss.
When Magnus finally stepped back , reluctantly, gently , the world around them seemed to soften, as if the very air understood something meaningful had just passed between them. Alexa's breath trembled against his, her lips still tingling from the kiss she had dared to give, and he had returned with a depth that startled them both. She lingered for a heartbeat longer, her forehead resting lightly against his chest, savoring the warmth radiating from him. The night felt impossibly still.
Magnus lifted a hand, brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear with a tenderness so precise it felt almost reverent. And then he whispered her name — soft, low, as if he were tasting the sound of it for the first time. Alexa felt the shiver ripple through her, her chest tightening with something too new, too overwhelming to name. When he finally pulled away, it was slow, like he didn't want to break whatever fragile thread connected them. His fingers slipped from hers last, leaving behind a warmth she knew she would feel for hours. And then, with one final look — something between a promise and an apology , Magnus turned and disappeared around the corner, the echo of his footsteps fading into the quiet glow of the street.
Alexa stood frozen for a breath, then two, then three, before she finally stumbled into her apartment like someone who had forgotten how to walk. The moment she closed the door behind her, her legs failed her completely, and she slid down the wall, her hands clutched desperately to her chest. Her heart was pounding so wildly it felt as if it were trying to break free. She wasn't inexperienced , she'd kissed men before, even dated a few , but never, never had anything felt like this. That kiss… it wasn't just passion; it was something that reached into her core, something that pulled at hidden parts of her she didn't know existed. The heat in his hands, the gentle pressure of his lips, the way he had responded , not hungry, not careless, but with a warmth so deep and deliberate it felt like he was learning her.
Her cheeks burned as she covered them with both palms, letting out a breathless, trembling laugh. Her whole body felt light, almost weightless, like she was floating or caught in a dream she didn't want to wake up from. And then came the thought — reckless, unfiltered, dangerous. For the first time in years, she had actually wanted more. Not because she was lonely. Not because she craved validation. But because being in his arms, being kissed by him, felt like safety and fire all at once. It made her want to pull him closer, break past the walls she promised to keep up, and give into something she had sworn never to rush.
She buried her face in her knees, whispering to herself, trying to steady the storm he left inside her. She had dignity, boundaries, lines she vowed not to cross without certainty… yet one moment with Magnus had nearly undone all of them. Her body still hummed with the memory of his lips, as if the kiss had marked some invisible place inside her. And she realized — for the first time with terrifying clarity , she wanted him, not just the comfort of companionship or the sweetness of affection, but the man himself. All of him. She wanted to trust him with the parts of herself she had guarded fiercely.
A risk. A temptation. A door she wasn't sure she was ready to open… but for him, she might.And that truth alone left her breathless, trembling, and undeniably alive.
Magnus returned to Deng Mei-ling's private suite as if stepping out of two different worlds , the quiet, electric moment he'd just shared with Alexa, and the glittering storm of responsibility awaiting him. The heavy carved doors whispered shut behind him, and he forced his breath to steady, smoothing his expression back into something neutral. But Mei-ling's observant eyes caught the faint flush still lingering on his face, the small tremor of something unusually human in his posture.
Magnus returned to Deng Mei-ling's private suite as if stepping out of two different worlds , the quiet, electric moment he'd just shared with Alexa, and the glittering storm of responsibility awaiting him. The heavy carved doors whispered shut behind him, and he forced his breath to steady, smoothing his expression back into something neutral. But Mei-ling's observant eyes caught the faint flush still lingering on his face, the small tremor of something unusually human in his posture.
""greetings Chuàngshǐ rén " she said lightly, though her gaze sharpened with curiosity.
" is Everything alright?"
Magnus hesitated , half a second too long for someone like him , then nodded. "Yes. Just needed a moment." His voice was calm, but beneath the practiced surface, an unfamiliar sensation fluttered in his chest. His heart was still beating fast, as if refusing to return to its usual quiet rhythm. He cleared his throat and forced his focus toward the stack of documents she had prepared: background profiles, family histories, carefully constructed academic records, all the material needed to anchor "Wěi dà Zhou" firmly into society.
the ghost of Alexa's kiss still lingering on his lips. He straightened his posture, letting the warmth in his chest settle into something steady, something he could hide behind for now. This party mattered. Building a normal life mattered. For the first time in centuries, he wanted roots, a place to stand, a role that didn't involve celestial power or ancient history. This identity , this carefully crafted human persona , might be the key. And that thought alone helped him regain focus.
Still, the memory of her touch didn't leave him. It hovered like a quiet ember under his ribs, reminding him he wasn't as detached as he believed.
Outside the mansion gates, sleek black cars began to arrive in waves, each carrying business magnates, government officials, celebrities, heirs, heiresses, China's most powerful faces, all eager to catch a glimpse of the enigmatic cousin whose name had flooded social media with speculation. They expected a young man hiding from the public eye, perhaps overly shy or deeply eccentric, a figure wrapped in mystique and wealthy pedigree.
None of them could imagine the truth: that the man they were so desperate to meet was not shaped by privilege at all, but by the quiet thrill of watching unpredictable possibilities unfold. As Mei-ling walked toward him, elegant in silk and confidence, she paused at his side and studied him with a mixture of pride and curiosity. Magnus merely offered a slight smile—calm, unreadable, timeless, already wondering how the night would play out, and how many different endings might emerge from the simple act of introducing himself to the world.
The moment Magnus stepped into the grand ballroom, the atmosphere shifted as if someone had adjusted the gravity itself. Conversations dipped, laughter softened, and dozens of elegantly dressed heads turned at once. Towering above most of the crowd, his presence alone commanded attention, not aggressively, but with a calm, unintentional magnetism that pulled eyes toward him. His mixed heritage drew even more fascination: the sculpted sharpness of Asian lineage blended seamlessly with the warm, striking undertones of Arabian descent, giving him an aura both exotic and aristocratic. Whispers flowed like ripples across the room. "That's him."
"The Zhou cousin."
"He looks nothing like the rest of them , how is he real?" And the women, young debutantes, seasoned businesswomen, widows adorned in diamonds, watched him with barely concealed hunger in their eyes, like elegant predators circling a rare, magnificent creature. Magnus felt the attention, acknowledged it with a gentle smile, and let it pass over him like a breeze, indifferent yet courteous.
Deng Mei-ling glided beside him, proud and poised. "Cousin," she murmured, "I think half the room forgot how to breathe." Magnus chuckled softly. "Then I suppose I should start talking before they suffocate." She gave him a light nudge. "Behave." He did not promise he would.
A circle of prominent businessmen approached first, three CEOs, two diplomats, and a Silicon Valley investor whose Mandarin was painfully stiff. "Mr. Zhou," the diplomat greeted, eyes widening as Magnus responded in perfect, formal Mandarin, "It's an honor. Thank you for hosting such a remarkable gathering." Another man switched to Arabic upon hearing of Magnus's heritage, testing him, but Magnus shifted fluidly into a warm, fluent dialect that left the older gentleman blinking in delighted shock.
"Ya ibnī, anta tatakallamuha biṭalāqa.""You flatter me," Magnus replied with a slight bow.
Before the group recovered, a French ambassador joined the circle, offering a polite greeting. Magnus answered in elegant, Parisian French, leaving several international guests staring at him as though witnessing a magic trick in slow motion. Mei-ling, trying (and failing) not to grin, whispered,
"You're showing off."
He leaned closer, voice low and teasing. "You invited the world. It would be rude to not greet them properly."
"You know," she sighed dramatically, "sometimes I forget you're impossible on purpose."
Meanwhile, a cluster of society women gathered near the edge of the room, whispering like a flock of jeweled birds. "He's so tall…""Is that natural or did he train for it?"
"Those eyes my God, look at them." "I heard he's shy."
"He doesn't look shy; he looks like he knows all our weaknesses."
One bolder woman stepped forward, extending a manicured hand. "Mr. Zhou… welcome home. "Magnus took her hand politely but gently, his voice smooth. "Thank you. Though I'm afraid I'm still learning what 'home' means in the context of all this."
She laughed, charmed.
"You say that like you haven't just become the highlight of the entire evening."
"I assure you," he answered lightly, "the chefs deserve more praise than I do."
The room melted around him in waves of conversation, Korean, German, Hindi, Russian, each shift answered by Magnus with seamless fluency, leaving guests more astonished with every passing minute. A Russian general murmured something under his breath, testing him with a slang-laced comment, and Magnus responded in native-level Russian so effortlessly that the general choked on his drink, sputtering,
"Ты шутишь…""I rarely joke," Magnus replied with a faint, polite smile.
Throughout it all, Magnus maintained the perfect balance: approachable yet distant, polite yet unreadable, charming yet not inviting. He gave everyone enough to admire, nothing to grasp. A master of presence, yet always with an invisible wall that kept the truth locked away. As the night deepened and admiration intensified, Mei-ling watched him with a soft exhale of relief. "You survived the first wave," she teased. Magnus scanned the room, the lights glinting in his eyes. "Survived?" he echoed. "I thought this was the entertainment."
"And here I thought you preferred small, quiet evenings."
"I do," he said, and she caught the subtle warmth in his tone, warmth meant for someone else entirely.
Because no matter how fiercely the room adored him, no matter how many languages he spoke or how many influential hands he shook, a part of him remained elsewhere… lingering on the thought of a girl in a small, dim apartment, her smile shy but genuine, her hand fitting perfectly into his hours earlier.
And that thought, Alexa was the one thing tonight he could not control, resist, or ignore.
The ballroom glittered like a jeweled ocean, each chandelier dripping with crystal teardrops that scattered light in sweeping arcs across polished marble floors. Silk gowns shimmered like flowing water, and men in tailored suits moved with deliberate elegance, each step measured, each gesture calculated. The scent of jasmine and sandalwood drifted through the air, blending with the warmth of wine and the soft murmur of classical string instruments playing on a raised platform.
Magnus moved through this world as if it were painted for him, yet he remained distinctly apart from it, a figure of impossible composure navigating a sea of curiosity and admiration. Everywhere he turned, faces tilted toward him, eyes lingering a moment too long, whispers blooming like small storms in his wake.
He shook hands with a Hong Kong real estate tycoon who spoke excitedly about urban expansion, then exchanged polite words with a European banker who complimented his mixed heritage, marveling aloud how genetics could create such striking symmetry. Magnus smiled, head tilted slightly in acknowledgement, his voice smooth and steady, but there was always a quiet distance in his gaze, something the crowd could sense but not interpret.
His calm, unhurried speech made him appear unshakeable, untouched by the frantic energy of high society. It intrigued them, even unsettled a few, because men who looked that perfect usually carried some trace of insecurity or ego. Magnus had neither. He had something far more rare: detachment without coldness, confidence without arrogance.
That composure made him irresistible prey for the bold. One woman, beautiful, diamond-draped, and far too aware of her allure, slipped out from the glittering crowd like a panther stepping into the clearing. Her name, whispered by a passing waiter, was Madame Liu, a wealthy widow whose reputation for pursuing exotic lovers was well-known among the social elite.
She glided up to Magnus, her perfume thick and floral, her dress cut in a way that demanded attention. "Mr. Zhou," she purred, letting her hand brush too intentionally against his sleeve, "you have been the talk of every corner tonight. I simply had to meet the man causing so many hearts to race."
Magnus dipped his head politely. "You're gracious, Madame Liu. I hope the excitement hasn't become too tiring for the guests."
"Oh, not at all," she replied, moving closer, too close, her voice warm like poured honey. "Some of us enjoy a little… stimulation. Especially from someone as intriguing as you." Her fingers subtly grazed his forearm again, eyes locking onto his with predatory focus.
Across the room, a few guests exchanged glances, some amused, others irritated, and at least one envious. A foreign journalist watched with narrowed eyes, analyzing Magnus as if searching for cracks in the perfect image.
A tech magnate whispered to his partner, "No background, no digital footprint before Mei-ling announced him… strange, don't you think?" Another nodded, suspicion sharpening. "Too polished. Too fluent. Too everything." They began quietly comparing notes, trying to find what didn't add up.
But every question they whispered had already been accounted for. Deng Mei-ling had anticipated this exact spiral of curiosity and prepared a meticulously crafted dossier for Magnus , a script of answers, a history woven with care and precision. A childhood split between private overseas tutors and travel.
Wealth inherited through discreet family accounts. Education from institutions that no longer existed, transcripts conveniently lost in the fires of early 2000s administrative incidents.
Even his philanthropic ventures, small enough to be believable, large enough to silence further digging. Every angle was sealed. Mei-ling's staff had memorized the same details in case anyone attempted cross-verification. Their loyalty ensured consistency; their fear of disappointing Mei-ling ensured perfection.
Magnus handled each probing question with practiced ease, giving just enough truth to appear sincere but never enough to be truly known. When someone asked how he amassed personal wealth, he used the scripted line:
"My family made long-term investment decisions when I was young. I simply manage what was left behind."
When an ambassador commented on the lack of public records of his early years, Magnus calmly answered,
"My parents valued privacy. They kept me out of the public eye. "When a businessman pressed about his assets, Magnus smiled. "They're mostly handled by legal advisers. I'm not particularly attached to numbers."
Every response slid into place exactly as Mei-ling had designed, smooth, believable, and untraceable.
Yet the longer he stayed, the more the room seemed to close in. Madame Liu's touch lingering on his sleeve, the swirling perfume, the bright lights, the rising chatter, none of it brought discomfort, but it drained him. Human interaction on this scale felt like wading through thick air; it required patience, attention, and a level of emotional performance he wasn't naturally built for. Finally, after another round of laughter and routine greetings, he excused himself with polite composure and walked toward one of the open-air terraces at the far side of the ballroom.
The moment he stepped outside, cool night air washed over him, quiet and relieving. The sounds of the party dimmed behind the glass, replaced by the soft hum of Shenzhen's skyline. The city lights flickered beneath him like scattered constellations, and for the first time that evening, his shoulders loosened. He took a slow breath, a human gesture, learned but pleasant.
Then, instinctively, his hand reached into his coat pocket. His phone lit up the second he touched it, and without overthinking, he opened the message window and typed:
Magnus: Are you still awake? He paused… then added, I wanted to check on you. He stared at the text for a moment, a faint softness forming in his eyes, something no one inside the party would ever see.
And then he pressed send.
The night outside the terrace was calm, a gentle contrast to the glittering storm of conversation and ambition within the ballroom. Shenzhen's skyline stretched across the horizon like a constellation pulled close to Earth, towers of glass and steel rising into the sky, each window glowing like a captured star.
A soft breeze brushed against Magnus's hair, lifting faint traces of floral perfume that drifted from the open doors behind him. The marble beneath his feet was cool, the railing smooth beneath his hands. For a moment, he looked every bit the elegant mystery the world now whispered about: a tall, striking man with an unreadable calm, standing at the edge of a city that never truly slept. His phone dimmed in his hand as he waited for Alexa's reply, a faint warmth lingering in his expression, barely visible, but undeniably there.
Then a shadow moved across the terrace entrance.
The soft click of leather soles against stone announced someone approaching, the footsteps slow, deliberate, too measured to be casual. Magnus didn't turn immediately; he could feel the shift in atmosphere, the weight of attention tightening like a thin invisible string. When he finally looked to his right, a man stepped into the dim terrace lights, slender, impeccably dressed, with a sharp jawline and eyes that glimmered with something far colder than curiosity.
It was Ambassador Jonathan Hale, a well-known American diplomat whose smile rarely reached his eyes. Tonight, it didn't even attempt to.
"Mr. Zhou," Hale said smoothly, the words dipped in politeness but lacking warmth.
"Quite the party. Your cousin certainly knows how to gather the right people."
Magnus returned the courtesy with a nod. "She enjoys hosting. It's… important for her connections."
"Important for yours too," Hale added, stepping closer, not threateningly, but with that quiet confidence of a man used to slipping past boundaries unnoticed. His gaze flicked over Magnus, assessing, weighing, peeling back layers that didn't exist.
"You're the talk of every room tonight. And yet… you're hard to place."
There it was, the first reveal of motive. A seed planted with casual tone, disguised as conversation.
Hale leaned his elbow against the terrace railing, looking out at the city with feigned admiration. "Shenzhen looks beautiful from up here. But beauty often hides the machinery beneath. Systems, networks, old alliances… new power players." He turned his head slowly toward Magnus. "People like you."
Magnus let a beat of silence fall between them, not out of uncertainty but because silence often said more than anything else. Hale continued, mistaking it for hesitation.
The terrace lights cast a warm, honey-colored glow across the stone floor, turning the air into a quiet, shimmering veil between Magnus and Hale. Below them, the party continued like a distant tide , laughter rising and falling, champagne glasses clinking, conversations weaving together in the lush Shenzhen night. But up here, on the secluded terrace balcony where the world felt narrower and the air carried a sharper edge, the atmosphere shifted into something far more dangerous.
Hale stood only a short distance away, dressed immaculately in a dark suit that fit him like a second skin. His posture was deceptively calm, shoulders loose, hands resting lightly in his pockets, but his eyes told a different story , sharp, calculating, lined with the kind of scrutiny that could flay a man open without ever touching him. As he spoke, the faint city breeze pushed against his perfectly combed hair, tugging at the corner of his tie. The man radiated authority, the kind that came not from position alone, but from years of knowing where the real power lived and how easily secrets could unravel a life.
"You arrived very suddenly," Hale repeated, his voice smooth, every word polished to a quiet precision. "Public records… financial trails… personal history… all formatted, aligned, processed like they'd always been there. But they weren't." He gave a small, humorless laugh , not loud, but the kind that held a razor edge. "My staff isn't incompetent. They're not blind. They see anomalies. They notice holes. And your background?" He tapped a finger against the stone railing. "Too clean. Too synchronized. Too perfect. As if a ghost decided to stop drifting and suddenly register as a living man."
Magnus remained still, shoulders relaxed, eyes soft, expression serene. His calmness did not reassure Hale — if anything, it deepened his suspicion. Magnus watched him with the gentleness of someone listening rather than defending, and that alone made Hale tilt his head, intrigued and wary.
"But," Hale continued, letting the word linger like smoke, "many wealthy families bury truths. They erase histories, rewrite them, shape their own narratives." His lips curved into a thin, slicing smile.
"And that woman , your dear cousin . is very, very good at burying inconvenient things. That much, I know." His eyes glinted with a dangerous kind of admiration. "But even so… you…" He gestured vaguely, as though searching for the right word. "You feel different. Like a shadow that suddenly decided to cast a body."
Magnus's voice, when he finally spoke, was calm and unthreatening.
"What is it you really want to know?"
Ambassador Hale's smile sharpened like a blade reflecting moonlight. The night breeze swept between them, stirring the drapes behind the glass doors and casting shifting patterns across the terrace floor.
"Simple," he said quietly. "Men like you , men who appear out of thin air wearing tailored backgrounds, curated wealth, and a face that turns heads? They're either incredibly useful…" His gaze narrowed, pupils tightening. "Or incredibly dangerous. And I make it my business to know which."
He stepped closer, not aggressively, but with the measured confidence of a man accustomed to reading lies in people's faces.
"As a government official," Hale continued, voice softening into something more conversational, "we tend to be nervous. It's our job. Our responsibility to track threats before they take shape. Your arrival , the speed, the neatness , it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up."
The wind stirred again, brushing a loose strand of Magnus's hair across his forehead. He didn't brush it away. He simply stood there, the kind of stillness that wasn't defensive , but deliberate.
Hale noticed.
He didn't blink.
He didn't step back.
He observed Magnus the way a predator studies something unfamiliar , not yet attacking, not yet convinced, but unwilling to look away. His body angled slightly, weight settled on his back foot, the practiced stance of a man ready to react if something shifted wrong.
And yet, beneath the suspicion, another layer pulsed quietly: curiosity. The curiosity of someone who knew he was standing in front of something significant , whether it was a goldmine or a monster, he had not yet decided.
But Magnus didn't flinch. He simply met Hale's stare with calm so absolute it was unnerving, as if nothing in Hale's arsenal, his knowledge, his suspicion, his political weight, could shake that centered stillness.
"I'm neither useful nor dangerous to you, Ambassador," Magnus replied in a tone smooth as still water. "I'm simply here for my family."
Hale smiled again, this time slow, knowing. "Everyone at this level is here for something."
Magnus tilted his head slightly. "Not everyone stands at the same level."
Something in his voice, quiet, controlled, made Hale straighten subtly, suddenly aware he might have stepped closer to a cliff edge than he realized. He adjusted his cufflinks, masking the shift with a laugh.
"Well," Hale said lightly, "I hope you don't mind if I keep an eye on you. Purely professional interest, of course."
Magnus offered a courteous nod. "I expect nothing less from a man in your position."
Hale inclined his head, then stepped backward toward the ballroom door. But unlike others who left with polite dismissal, Hale's eyes lingered on Magnus for one last moment, sharp, calculating, a silent promise that this conversation was far from over.
He disappeared inside, swallowed by light and music.
Magnus turned back toward the city, his expression unchanged, but there was a subtle shift in the air around him, like a quiet ripple moving across still water. He lifted his phone again, and in the reflection of the screen, the faint glow of his eyes softened once more when he saw her latest message appear.
Ambassador Hale's phone vibrated sharply in his pocket, slicing through the tense quiet like a blade brushing against glass. His jaw tightened—an instinctive flicker of annoyance—before he schooled his expression back into neutrality.
"Excuse me," he murmured, already turning away as he answered the call, his voice dropping into a low, taut whisper of political urgency. The kind that promised surveillance, secrets, and consequences.
Magnus watched him go, the faint hum of the party swelling back around him—soft jazz, clinking glasses, murmured conversations blooming like restless petals. But before he could retreat to the quieter corner Deng Mei-ling had arranged for him, movement brushed the edge of his awareness.
Two young women—glossy, luminous, and unmistakably predatory in their refinement—glided toward him with purpose.
Not the type drawn by affection.Not curiosity, either.But opportunity.
Claudia Yuen
The first was tall, with sleek raven hair sculpted into an elegant twist, every strand positioned with calculating perfection. Claudia moved with the crisp authority of someone raised inside old wealth—where smiles were weapons and charm was simply diplomacy wrapped in silk. Her perfume, a sharp white-floral with a metallic undertone, hit like a signature meant to linger.
"Mr. Magnus Li," she purred, offering a hand decorated with diamonds that glittered like frost. "I've been dying to meet my dear Mei-ling's… cousin."
Her pause was gentle, but her eyes were razor-edged, dissecting him with every blink.
Seraphine Liang
Beside her, Seraphine was shorter, softer in appearance but far more dangerous in intent. She had the kind of gentle beauty people trusted instantly—round doe-like eyes, a sweet rose-petal smile, soft pastel silk draped over her shoulders, but her gaze flicked with a shrewd appraisal that reminded Magnus of merchant queens from distant galaxies.
"Mei-ling never introduces family," she said with a delicate laugh. "So naturally, we're curious. Very curious."
They stood before him like twin strategies, Claudia's cold ambition and Seraphine's warm manipulation, both trying to box him into the kind of human politics he had only begun to understand.
Magnus offered a gentle, polite smile. The kind that revealed nothing, yet eased tension like a soft wind across still waters.
"Mei-ling is very private," he said. "I'm simply grateful she invited me."
Claudia stepped a fraction closer, enough to invade his space while pretending not to.
"You know… families like ours tend to look out for each other," she murmured. "Connections matter. Reputation matters more."
Seraphine tilted her head, voice sweet as tea yet threaded with unmistakable intention.
"And someone like you, handsome, composed, mysteriously well-established—well…" Her lashes fluttered. "You'll draw a lot of attention tonight. It would be wise to align with the right people."
A gentle, diplomatic threat wrapped in velvet.
Magnus felt it clearly.
He had battled cosmic tyrants, ended civilizations, crushed stars with his bare hands, and yet, in this moment, the maneuvering of mortal social circles felt strangely intricate. Subtle. Almost artistic.
And he found himself… respecting it.
He let a heartbeat pass. One. Two. Just long enough for both women to wonder whether their charm worked.
Then Magnus lowered his gaze slightly, soft, respectful, grounding, and said:
"I appreciate your concern. Truly. But I am here as Mei-ling's guest. And she is the only 'right' person I intend to align with this evening."
It was gentle.It was polite.And it was absolute.
Claudia blinked, her lips parting in a small, startled breath—not rejection, but the realization that she couldn't push him the way she pushed lesser men.
Seraphine's smile wavered for a split second, then returned—smaller, wiser, touched by unexpected admiration.
Both women stepped back, not defeated, but intrigued.
Magnus didn't reject them with force.He declined them with grace.
Not dominance.Not flirtation.But the subtle grounding presence of someone who knew exactly who he chose to stand beside.
And that, more than anything, unsettled them.
From across the room, Deng Mei-ling watched the interaction with an unreadable expression.
Because for the first time…Magnus handled human intrigue like someone who belonged.
Deng Mei-ling had been watching the exchange from across the room with the poised stillness of a woman who survived boardrooms far more vicious than battlefields and learned to read people with the accuracy of a surgeon. The moment Claudia and Seraphine stepped back—subdued, intrigued, and just a touch unsettled—Mei-ling's lips curved. Not in triumph.In recognition.
Magnus had handled them like someone who understood the game.
She glided toward him, the soft shimmer of her champagne-gold dress catching the chandelier light like running water. Every step precise. Every breath measured. And yet—when she reached him—her expression softened, warmth slipping through the cool armor she wore so naturally in public.
"You managed that beautifully," she said in a low voice meant only for him, her eyes lifting to meet his. "Most men either fall for their bait or flinch under their pressure. You did neither."
Magnus tilted his head, offering a faint smile. "I simply answered honestly."
"Honesty," she murmured, "is the rarest weapon in rooms like this."
For a moment, they stood close enough that Magnus could feel her heartbeat—calm, steady, guarded, yet still carrying a protective rhythm he had come to associate with her. Mei-ling glanced subtly in the direction Claudia and Seraphine retreated to—already whispering to each other, recalibrating their failed approach, and then back at Magnus.
"You're adapting quickly," she added. "Faster than I expected."
There was no accusation.No suspicion.Just quiet admiration—and a flicker of something softer. Something human.
Before Magnus could respond, the soft murmur of the party shifted. A ripple of motion near the back doors. Conversations paused. Heads turned. The subtle social current in the room shifted direction.
Jonathan Hale was leaving.
Not excusing himself politely.Not slipping out quietly.Leaving with urgency.
His normally composed stride was tight with purpose, his jaw locked, expression storm-dark as he spoke rapidly into his phone. A few diplomats looked confused. Others, alarmed. Whatever he had learned on that call did not belong at a celebration.
Mei-ling's brow creased—so subtly most would miss it, but Magnus noticed instantly.
"That's not like him," she whispered.
Her eyes tracked Hale until the doors closed behind him.
Something was wrong.
Something big.
Magnus could feel it in the air—a tremor, faint but spreading, like the first shift of gravity before a catastrophe.
Mei-ling inhaled slowly, then turned slightly, signaling with a graceful tilt of her hand.
Her secretary was already standing behind her
Secretary Lin Qiao was young mid-twenties shorter than Mei-ling but sharp as a needle wrapped in satin. Her hair was tied in a smooth bun, her posture crisp, her suit tailored with quiet precision. Though her face held a polite, almost gentle expression, her eyes were observant, calculating every detail with a rapidity that marked her as far from ordinary.
She had been Mei-ling's secretary for three years, but whispers said she once interned in an intelligence-adjacent department before transferring into diplomatic administration. Those who underestimated her rarely did so twice.
"Director Deng," Lin Qiao said softly, leaning in just enough to speak privately, "Ambassador Hale appeared distressed. His departure wasn't scheduled."
"I noticed," Mei-ling replied. "What did you observe?"
Lin didn't hesitate."I caught a fragment of his call before he stepped outside. Keywords: 'confirmation,' 'lunar site, His tone suggested urgency of the highest classification."
Magnus felt the world still.
Mei-ling's breath hitched, just once. A tiny fracture in her usually unbreakable composure.
"He's leaving the city," Lin added. "He requested a driver immediately. Destination unknown, he didn't tell the staff."
Mei-ling glanced at Magnus, her eyes deepening with concern she could not yet name.
"There's more. Hale canceled his meetings for the next two weeks."
Mei-ling froze.
For someone like Jonathan Hale, a former intelligence agent, a diplomat known for precision and discipline, canceling two weeks of commitments was equivalent to sounding an alarm.
A silent one.A discreet one.But an alarm nonetheless.
Magnus felt a slow tightening in his chest. A pull. As if the universe itself whispered a warning he had already sensed:
The moment Mei-ling whispered those words, Magnus's attention drifted upward, not subtly but with an ancient stillness that did not belong to the man he pretended to be. The grand hall, the music, the murmuring elites, all of it faded like dust sinking in slow motion. Only the moon remained, suspended beyond the glass walls like a cold silver coin pressed against the night sky.
Something shifted on its surface.Something faint, but undeniable, a disturbance that no human instrument could fully capture, but Magnus felt it brush against his awareness like a rude tap on the shoulder.
"Their persistence is still irritating," he murmured, eyes narrowing with a disappointment so casual it bordered on boredom. "Relentless nature. No sense of boundaries."
Mei-ling stiffened. "Magnus… are they your enemies?"
He let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, though it carried the weariness of a creature older than stars.
"No," he said calmly. "They're more of a nuisance than a threat. Imagine a mosquito trying to intimidate a lion."
He lifted his hand, fingers spreading with a slow, fluid elegance, no bright light, no thunder, no spectacle. Just a small, almost lazy gesture, like a man brushing dust from his sleeve.
"Wait," he added, as though listening to something only he could hear.
The air in the room shifted.A tremor, not physical, but perceptual, passed through the world like the faint pluck of a cosmic string. Even Mei-ling felt it, her breath catching as her heartbeat stumbled.
Then Magnus flicked his fingers as if swatting away a bothersome insect.
"There," he said gently. "It's gone."
Mei-ling blinked, unsure if she misheard. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"
Magnus looked down at her, expression warm yet impossibly detached, as though he were trying to simplify a concept far too large for human language.
"I moved the object to another satellite," he explained. "A twin of your moon. Same orbit. Same appearance. A replica of these galaxy , so I placed it there a long time ago,"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
The chandeliers above them glittered in a constellation of gold and crystal, but everything suddenly felt colder, like the room had shifted from the glow of a celebration to the awareness of something vast and incomprehensible.
"Magnus…" Mei-ling whispered, voice trembling despite her control. "You rearranged… celestial bodies… as if they were furniture."
He tilted his head slightly, thoughtful."Not rearranged. Redirected. It's fine. It won't bother this planet anymore."
A shiver ran down her spine.
For years she had considered herself unshakeable, trained by politics, discipline, and a family name heavy enough to sculpt nations. But this… this was beyond anything she or the world was prepared to understand.
And yet Magnus stood there, calm and serene, as if he had merely folded a napkin.
Mei-ling swallowed again, the reality settling like a weight in her chest."Something like that… it could change everything," she murmured. "If the world learned what truly happened out there, what you did, what you can do…"
Magnus lowered his gaze to her, and for a fleeting moment, there was a softness there. A quiet ache. Something human.
"It won't," he said gently. "Because no one will find what I moved. And no instrument on this planet can detect what I misplaced ."
"But Hale" she began.
Magnus's eyes cooled, darkening."Hale now thinks the object vanished. He'll assume it was an error, debris, or a malfunction in their readings. The world will forget in a month. Their minds… always seek explanations that comfort them."
Mei-ling exhaled shakily, the edges of her composure cracking."And you…? Does this not worry you at all?"
His reply was quiet, almost sad.
"If I allow myself to worry," he said, "I cease to be what I am. And right now… I am trying to understand what it means to be human. To stay in a single moment without changing it."
Her eyes softened, fear mixing with compassion, awe with a strange growing protectiveness.
And beneath the noise and glamour of the party, beneath the shifting tides of politics and curiosity, she saw him clearly for the first time:
A being who could move worlds…yet was trying, earnestly, to live in one.
When the final notes of the string quartet dissolved and the enormous chandeliers dimmed into a softer glow, the party began to unravel like the tail end of a dream. Luxury cars rolled down the driveway of the Deng estate, engines humming, headlights slicing through the manicured gardens as guests drifted into the night murmuring in hushed, excited voices about the enigma they had all come to witness.
Wěi dà Zhou, Magnus Zhou, had been the storm at the center of the evening, drawing eyes, questions, desires, calculations… and then vanished like smoke without offering so much as a polite farewell.
Deng Mei-ling's family lingered in the foyer, confused murmurs drifting between them like restless ghosts. They had spent a fortune, wine from cellars older than dynasties, food prepared by chefs who only served royalty, decorations imported from Paris and Kyoto, musicians who earned more in a night than most did in a year. Power was present in the room, real power: politicians, moguls, tycoons, foreign aristocrats.
And yet the centerpiece of it all, the cousin no one had met, the man whispered to be eccentric, shy, brilliant, wealthy, dangerous, perfect, had simply walked out.
No explanations.No polite goodnights.Not even a shadow lingering in the corridor.
Mei-ling remained graceful, calm, and untouchable as ever, dismissing questions with perfectly crafted smiles and vague comments. Her family, trained to obey hierarchy more than curiosity, did not press harder. But in their eyes, she saw it, the spark of fear and wonder, the suspicion that tonight they had hosted someone far beyond their understanding.
When the last guest departed and the mansion doors finally closed, Mei-ling's shoulders relaxed just slightly. She whispered something to Lin, her secretary, before heading upstairs, but inside her chest, she still felt the echo of what Magnus had done. The moon had shifted. Reality had bent. And he had left as if none of it mattered.
But Magnus…Magnus had somewhere else he needed to be.
While the Deng estate fell into its elegant, mirrored stillness, he stepped through the cool curtain of night with the ease of a man returning to a place far more important than palaces or influence.
He didn't walk through airports.He didn't summon storms or ride on cosmic winds.He simply moved, the world folding around him like silk.
And in the next quiet heartbeat, he was home.
Not in China.Not in the lavish mansion he had been offered.But back in the small, bustling city where Alexa Davenport lived, the place that smelled of bus exhaust, street food, warm sidewalks, and real life.
He appeared on the familiar street corner just as a late-night bus rumbled by, lights flickering across his face. The cracked pavement, the faint neon signs, distant chatter from a small convenience store, none of it belonged to the gilded world of the party.
But it belonged to her.And that made it enough.
Magnus breathed in slowly, not because he needed air, but because it grounded him. The echo of her kiss was still there, imprinted like warmth pressed into his skin, making his chest feel strangely heavy, strangely alive.
In the silence of the night, Magnus let himself whisper the truth he would never say out loud:
"I missed her."
Not as a cosmic being misses a star.But as a man misses the person who makes the world feel less quiet.
And with that quiet admission, he began to walk toward the street where Alexa Davenport lived—toward the tiny apartment with the flickering hallway lights and thin walls.
Toward the only place he had gone that felt real.