The morning sun over the cliffs of Jiangcheng was a pale, weak thing, struggling to penetrate the thick, tinted glass of the Obsidian Manor. Elena woke with a start, her muscles aching with a deep, bone-weary fatigue. The Qi transfer from the night before had left her feeling like a hollowed-out reed.
She sat up, expecting to be alone in her opulent suite, but the shadow by the window moved.
Alexander stood there, fully dressed in a midnight-blue suit that made him look like a piece of the midnight sky brought into the light. The frost on his skin was gone, replaced by a healthy, though still intimidating, glow. He held a tablet in one hand and a cup of steaming tea in the other.
"The tea is Lapsang Souchong mixed with dried ginger and red dates," Alexander said, his voice smoother than it had been since she met him. He walked over and set the cup on her nightstand. "Mrs. Gable said you requested the pantry list. I took the liberty of having the kitchen prepare this based on your father's old manuscripts."
Elena looked at the tea, then at him. "You read my father's manuscripts?"
"I own them," Alexander reminded her, though the edge in his voice was softer. "Along with the debt of the person who sold them to me. Drink. We have a long day."
Elena took a sip. The warmth spread through her chest, kickstarting her stagnant Qi. She felt the "Phoenix" within her—the spark of spiritual energy in her lower abdomen—flicker back to life. "What kind of day? If you're looking for another 'treatment,' I need at least six hours of meditation to recover."
"Not a treatment," Alexander said, turning the tablet toward her. On the screen was a digital invitation, embossed with gold filigree and the logo of the International Med-Tech Union. "A war. Tonight is the annual 'Healers' Gala.' It's the most prestigious event in the medical world. And this year, the guest of honor is Victoria Lin."
The name hit Elena like a physical blow. Her grip tightened on the delicate porcelain cup.
Victoria. Her half-sister. The woman who had played the role of the "perfect daughter" while secretly funneling their father's research to the Blackwood Group's rivals. The woman who had stood by and smiled as Elena and her mother were cast out into the streets.
"She's being awarded the 'Pioneer of the Century' prize," Alexander continued, his eyes watching Elena's reaction with clinical precision. "For a new drug called Phoenix-Restore. It's a neuro-regenerative serum that claims to cure deep-tissue comas."
"That's my father's formula!" Elena burst out, her voice trembling with indignation. "He spent twenty years perfecting the herbal extraction process. Victoria couldn't even identify a ginseng root from a parsnip back then! She stole it. She must have stolen the final volume of the manuscripts before the house was seized."
"I know," Alexander said calmly. He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm now—frighteningly warm. "That's why you're going tonight. As my wife. I want to see her face when she realizes the 'nobody' she stepped on is now the woman holding the leash of the man who owns her laboratory."
Elena looked at him, realizing the depth of Alexander's ruthlessness. He wasn't just using her to heal his body; he was using her as a weapon to destabilize his corporate enemies. Victoria's success was backed by a rival conglomerate, the Vane Medical Group. By bringing Elena, Alexander was effectively declaring war on their stock prices.
"I have nothing to wear," Elena said, her pride flickering. "And I don't know how to play the 'trophy wife.'"
Alexander leaned down, his face inches from hers. The scent of sandalwood and something magnetic—something primal—enveloped her. "You won't be a trophy, Elena. You'll be a ghost. And as for the clothes..."
He snapped his fingers.
The double doors of the suite swung open. A fleet of stylists and assistants marched in, pushing racks of gowns that shimmered like captured starlight. At the front was a woman carrying a velvet box.
"This," Alexander said, opening the box to reveal a necklace of raw, uncut rubies set in blackened silver, "is called the Heart of the Orient. It was said to belong to an empress who practiced the forbidden arts. It looks like blood on snow. It will suit you."
For the next four hours, Elena was subjected to a transformation. Her skin, pale from months of malnutrition and stress, was buffed with silk and treated with rare oils. Her hair, which she usually kept in a messy knot, was styled into an intricate "Phoenix Tail" braid, woven with threads of real gold.
When she finally stood before the full-length mirror, she didn't recognize herself.
The gown was a deep, translucent crimson, made of a fabric that seemed to change color as she moved—from the red of a sunset to the black of a bruised plum. It was modest yet scandalous, clinging to her curves like a second skin while the high collar mimicked the traditional qipao of her ancestors.
She looked powerful. She looked dangerous.
"Master Alexander is waiting in the foyer," Mrs. Gable said from the doorway. The housekeeper's tone had shifted from overt hostility to a sort of stunned, reluctant respect. "And Miss Lin... I had the tea you mentioned. The pain in my side... it's gone."
Elena turned, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. "I told you, Mrs. Gable. I don't deal in spells. I deal in the truth."
Descending the grand staircase, Elena saw Alexander waiting. He looked up, and for the first time, she saw a crack in his icy composure. His pupils dilated, and he stood perfectly still as she approached.
"You look..." he started, then stopped, clearing his throat. "Acceptable."
"Acceptable?" Elena raised an eyebrow, her confidence returning. "Mr. Blackwood, your 'Cold Poison' must be affecting your eyesight. I look like a revolution."
Alexander gave a rare, genuine chuckle—a low, husky sound that sent a shiver down Elena's spine. He offered his arm. "Then let us go and start a riot, Mrs. Blackwood."
The drive to the Grand Jiangcheng Hotel was silent, but the tension was no longer about life and death—it was about the impending collision. As the limo pulled up to the red carpet, a swarm of paparazzi descended. The flashes were blinding.
"Remember," Alexander whispered as the door opened, his hand moving to the small of her back, a possessive, grounding weight. "You are a Lin. You are the daughter of the Phoenix. Don't let these scavengers see anything but your fire."
Elena stepped out into the light. The cameras went into a frenzy.
"Who is she?" "Is that Blackwood's secret bride?" "Wait... she looks like—no, it can't be!"
They moved through the lobby and into the grand ballroom. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the underlying rot of corporate ego. At the far end of the room, on a raised dais, stood Victoria Lin.
Victoria was dressed in pure white, looking like an angel of mercy. She was surrounded by cameras, holding a vial of the Phoenix-Restore serum as if it were the Holy Grail. She was laughing, her hand resting on the arm of Dr. Julian Vane, the man who had helped dismantle Elena's father's reputation.
Victoria caught sight of Alexander and her smile widened. She began to walk toward them, her eyes bright with triumph.
"Alexander! I was so worried you wouldn't make it," Victoria said, her voice a practiced, melodic lilt. She didn't even look at Elena at first. "I heard your grandfather had a... scare. I have a sample of the new serum right here; it's perfect for—"
She stopped. Her gaze finally landed on the woman at Alexander's side.
The color drained from Victoria's face so fast it was as if Elena had struck her. The vial in her hand trembled. "Elena? Is that... no. You're supposed to be—"
"Dead? Disgraced? Working in a kitchen?" Elena stepped forward, her heels clicking like the ticking of a countdown. She didn't offer her hand. Instead, she leaned in, her voice a cold, sharp blade. "Hello, sister. I see you're still wearing white. It's a shame—it's so hard to get bloodstains out of silk."
Victoria's eyes darted to Alexander, looking for help, for a sign that this was a joke. But Alexander simply stood there, his expression a mask of bored arrogance.
"You remember my wife, don't you, Victoria?" Alexander asked, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of the surrounding guests. "Though I suppose the last time you saw her, you were too busy stealing her father's life's work to say goodbye."
The room went silent. The "Initial Face-Slapping" had begun, and the world was watching.