The Chicago Museum of Art was transformed into a glittering fortress of high society. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen stars over a crowd of billionaires, politicians, and socialites. At the center of the storm was Seraphina Rose, draped in her silver gown, looking like a goddess—and right beside her, leaning against a marble pillar with a look of profound boredom, was Chen Feng.
He was still wearing the "I ❤️ Chicago" hat. He had refused to change, though Seraphina had managed to drape a bespoke tuxedo jacket over his shoulders. To the onlookers, he looked like a bizarre eccentric; to Chen Feng, he was just a man waiting for the appetizers.
"Boss, check the feed," Gary whispered, appearing from behind a tray of champagne. He held up a smartphone.
The headline "Seraphina's Secret Sovereign: Who is the Man in the Hat?" was trending globally. The paparazzi shots from the department store had gone viral in minutes.
In Asia: Su Meiling was reportedly seen crushing a crystal glass in her boardroom.
In the Lin Household: Lin Xuerui had already authorized the flight plan for her supersonic jet, her face a mask of absolute zero.
In the Dorms: Lin Xia sat on her bed, her phone glowing in the dark. She stared at the image of the famous actress touching Chen Feng's arm. Her heart, already fragile from their parting kiss, felt a sharp, stinging pang of insecurity.
"They're coming, Boss," Gary cackled. "The 'Big Four' are currently crossing the Pacific at Mach 2.5."
"Let them come," Chen Feng muttered, his eyes suddenly sharpening. "They'll be the least of my problems tonight."
The air in the gala suddenly grew heavy, as if the oxygen had been replaced by lead. The biological resonance that had been itching at Chen Feng's brain for days reached a fever pitch.
The grand skylight of the museum shattered.
A figure descended through the rain of glass, landing in the center of the dance floor. It was the Bio-Human Lamb. Up close, the resemblance to a younger, more "perfected" version of Chen Feng was haunting. It possessed the same bone structure, but its eyes were vacant, glowing with a synthetic violet light that mirrored the Sovereign's own.
The guests screamed, scattering toward the exits. Seraphina froze, her hand clutched at her throat. The Lamb didn't care about the crowd; it locked onto Chen Feng, its mouth opening to emit a sound that wasn't a voice, but a high-frequency vibration that cracked the nearby marble statues.
The Lamb lunged. It moved with the speed of a lightning strike, its hand clawing the air, seeking to reclaim the "source" DNA from the man who stood before it.
Chen Feng didn't even drop his cocktail shrimp.
"A mirror is only useful if it reflects something worth seeing," Chen Feng said, his voice cutting through the high-frequency screech.
As the Lamb reached within an inch of his throat, Chen Feng simply raised his hand and flicked his middle finger against the creature's forehead.
It wasn't a punch. It was a dismissal. A microscopic ripple of Absolute Void energy passed from Chen Feng's fingertip into the Lamb's artificial nervous system.
The effect was instantaneous. The Lamb didn't fly back; it simply ceased to be. The bio-engineered cells, the stolen DNA, and the synthetic marrow disintegrated into fine, silver ash that drifted to the floor like tinsel. The creature hadn't even lasted a single move.
The silence that followed was absolute. Somewhere in a hidden laboratory in the Midwest, monitors flatlined and researchers stared in horror at empty vats.
Chen Feng stood amidst the settling ash, his violet eyes glowing with a terrifying, ancient intensity. He looked directly into a hidden security camera mounted on the wall.
"To whoever grew this trash," Chen Feng said, his voice echoing through the ballroom and the remote speakers of the lab. "Consider this your only warning. I am not a 'prime donor.' I am the end of the line. If you send another mirror, I won't just break the glass—I'll come for the house it's hanging in."
He turned back to Seraphina, who was staring at him with a mixture of terror and awe. The "I ❤️ Chicago" hat was slightly tilted.
"Is the buffet still open?" he asked, his voice returning to its usual lazy drawl. "I never got my deep-dish."