The Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire Droptail slid into the university courtyard like a blade through silence.
Conversation died mid-sentence.
Phones paused halfway up.
Whispers froze in mouths.
The car itself was a statement — obscene luxury, impossible presence — and when the door opened, it wasn't relief anyone felt.
It was fear.
Ling stepped out slowly.
No sunglasses.
No hurry.
Hair tied back tight.
Brown jacket sharp against black, shoulders squared like armor.
She sat on the hood of the car, one boot planted on the ground, fingers resting casually near the emblem — as if the chaos around her bored her.
Students stared.
Some looked away.
Some filmed until their hands shook too much to hold steady.
She tilted her head, eyes scanning the crowd.
"Interesting," Ling said calmly. "Everyone's very alive today."
No one laughed.
She lifted her phone, tapped once.
"Jian."
Her voice was soft. Deadly.
"Yes."
"All. Auditorium. Now."
Within minutes, security herded students like cattle. Professors followed, pale, whispering. The auditorium filled — fast, tense, suffocating.
Ling walked in last.
She didn't go to the stage.
She walked down the center aisle, heels echoing, eyes dragging across faces one by one. When she reached the front, she turned — finally facing them.
Silence swallowed the room whole.
Ling smiled.
Not warmth.
Not humor.
The kind of smile predators wear before deciding whether the kill is worth it.
She rested her hands behind her back.
"Do you all want to die?" she asked pleasantly.
Gasps rippled.
Someone laughed nervously.
Ling's head snapped toward the sound.
The laugh died instantly.
"I'm not joking," she continued, voice even. "I'm asking because the way you're behaving suggests a death wish."
She paced slowly.
"Drunk. Drugs. Headlines," Ling said, ticking each word off on her fingers. "You read one article and suddenly you're journalists. Judges. Moral authorities."
She stopped.
"Let me be very clear."
Her eyes hardened.
"What I do with my body, my nights, my pain — is none of your business."
A professor shifted.
Ling turned her gaze on him immediately.
"And you," she said softly, "will not breathe loudly again without permission."
The man froze.
Ling looked back at the students.
"Anyone who filmed."
A pause.
"Anyone who shared."
Another pause.
"Anyone who spoke."
She smiled again.
"I know who you are."
Phones vibrated simultaneously.
Panic surged.
"You have two options," Ling said. "Delete everything. Apologize silently. Or continue."
She leaned forward slightly.
"And if you continue," she said, voice dropping, "I will personally ensure your scholarships vanish, your families' businesses collapse, and your names become academic poison."
She straightened.
"I don't need to touch you," Ling said. "I own the ground you're sitting on."
A girl burst into tears.
Ling ignored her.
"This university exists because my family allows it," Ling continued. "And I am done allowing disrespect."
She glanced toward the exit.
"One more thing."
The room held its breath.
"If I ever hear my name paired with gossip again," Ling said quietly, "you won't need headlines."
She smiled — slow, deliberate.
"You'll need lawyers."
She turned and walked out.
No applause.
No sound.
Just terror.
Outside, Jian and Rowen waited.
Rowen swallowed. "Are you—"
Ling cut him off.
"I'm fine," she said flatly.
Mira came running.
Hair perfectly done. Dress chosen carefully — soft colors, familiar perfume. Eliza's words still ringing in her ears: Now is your chance. She's alone.
She believed it.
She thought betrayal had emptied Ling.
That grief had made space.
Ling didn't even look at her.
The Rolls-Royce was still there, parked like a throne. Ling sat on the hood again — one knee bent, elbow resting lazily, gaze scanning the crowd as if choosing meat.
Mira stopped a few steps away.
"Ling…" she said softly. "I heard everything. I was worried."
Ling's eyes slid to her — slow, sharp.
"You should be," Ling replied.
Mira smiled nervously. "I know you're hurting. After what Rhea did… I just thought—"
Ling cut her off with a raised finger.
"Say her name again," Ling said calmly, "and I'll forget Mom asked me to tolerate you."
Mira froze.
Ling turned her attention away like Mira had already expired.
She lifted her phone.
"Jian."
"Yes, Ling."
"Lock the exits."
Students panicked instantly.
"No one leaves," Ling continued. "Anyone who moves without permission — drag them back."
Her gaze swept the courtyard again.
"You," she said, pointing at a boy trying to blend into the crowd.
"You laughed."
"You recorded."
"You shared."
"You commented."
Each finger landed like a verdict.
The boy shook his head. "N-no, I swear—"
Ling tilted her head. "Lie better."
She slid off the hood slowly, boots hitting the ground with deliberate weight.
"Line up," she ordered. "All of you."
No one moved.
Ling smiled.
Rowen stepped forward, voice cold. "You heard her."
Chaos erupted. Students scrambled, shoving each other, trying to hide behind taller bodies, ducking heads. Jian physically pulled two boys out by their collars and shoved them forward.
They lined up — shaking, terrified.
Mira watched, horrified.
"Ling… this is too much," Mira whispered. "They already apologized."
Ling finally faced her fully.
"Who asked you to speak?" Ling said quietly.
Mira flinched. "I just— I care about you."
Ling stepped closer until they were inches apart.
"You don't care," Ling said flatly. "You orbit."
Mira's eyes filled with tears. "I stayed. I didn't betray you."
Ling leaned in slightly.
"You orchestrated an elevator," she said softly. "You pushed a girl toward death."
Mira gasped. "I—I didn't mean—"
Ling's voice dropped.
"Meaning is irrelevant."
She stepped back and turned toward the line again.
"You want entertainment?" Ling asked the students. "You wanted a show?"
Silence.
She walked slowly down the line, stopping in front of each person.
"You," she said to one. "Kneel."
The girl collapsed instantly.
"You," Ling said to another boy. "Hold her phone up. Read what you posted."
His hands shook as he read aloud, voice breaking.
Ling listened without blinking.
When he finished, she nodded once.
"Good," she said. "Now apologize. To the ground."
He did.
Mira whispered, "Ling, please…"
Ling turned sharply.
"Do not beg for them," Ling snapped. "You don't have the moral weight."
She faced the line again.
"This is ragging," Ling said calmly. "The kind you can't report."
She paced.
"You wanted power?"
"You wanted attention?"
"You wanted my name in your mouths?"
She stopped.
"Open them wider."
Tears streamed. Bodies shook. Pride evaporated.
Ling's voice lowered, lethal.
"You don't get to talk about my pain," she said.
"You don't get to joke about my fall."
"And you never get to mistake my silence for mercy."
She turned back toward her car.
"Thirty minutes," she said over her shoulder. "When I return, I want regret — not excuses."
She sat back on the hood, crossing her arms.
Mira stood frozen, realizing something too late.
Rhea hadn't broken Ling.
She had unleashed her.
And there was no space beside Ling Kwong anymore —
only distance, obedience, or destruction.