The top floor of the Building Arc lay suspended in a silence so complete it felt engineered, as if even sound had been optimized out of the space. The low hum of high-end servers flowed beneath the stillness like a restrained heartbeat, steady and cold. Qin He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the city sprawled far below him in fractured light, his reflection faintly overlapping with the skyline. The tablet in his hand glowed softly, displaying the last line of a call log he very rarely allowed to end in failure. His brows were tightly knit, not in panic, but in calculation. The rejection had been clean. Immediate. Almost dismissive. That, more than anything else, irritated him.
He lifted the secure line again, fingers precise, posture immaculate. When the call connected, his voice carried no trace of frustration. Only control.
"Miss, we've encountered a minor setback," Qin He reported calmly. "I contacted Sister Wen, lead manager for Tang Yuze, regarding the ambassador role for the Immortal Mythfall live stream. The rejection was immediate. Yuze is on a closed set filming the final climax of his movie. He hasn't slept in thirty-six hours, and their schedule is completely sealed."
There was a pause on the other end of the line—not hesitation, but thought.
Meilin reclined in the sunlit conservatory of the Tang estate, where glass walls captured the afternoon light and fractured it into warm prisms across polished marble floors. Outside, winter flowers swayed faintly in a climate-controlled breeze. Her fingers moved absently through the snow-white fur of Zimei, her Samoyed, whose tail thumped lazily against the floor in contentment. The dog rolled onto its back, paws flailing as it yapped softly, tugging playfully at the hem of Meilin's silk robe.
"They rejected it because they think it's just another startup," Meilin said at last, her tone cool and unruffled. Her gaze remained on Zimei, who had begun chasing its own tail with wholehearted enthusiasm. "Don't worry, Qin He. I'll handle my brother. Keep the contract ready for signing."
Qin He straightened imperceptibly, relief masked beneath professionalism. "Understood, Miss."
The line went dead.
Miles away, the atmosphere could not have been more different.
Artificial fog rolled thickly across a sprawling, high-budget film set, catching the harsh glare of overhead lights and transforming them into halos of white heat. Towering camera cranes loomed like mechanical beasts, their arms swinging with lethal precision. Crew members shouted over one another, cables snaked across the ground, and the air smelled of dust, sweat, and metal.
Tang Yuze stepped out of frame as the director called cut. His period costume was torn at the shoulder, darkened with stage blood, the fabric heavy against his skin. Dirt smudged his cheekbones, streaked across his jaw, yet even in exhaustion, his sharp features carried an almost unreal elegance—as if fatigue itself dared not diminish him.
"Cut! Excellent, Yuze! Take twenty!" the director shouted, voice hoarse with triumph.
Yuze collapsed into his chair, the strength draining out of him all at once. He leaned forward briefly, elbows on knees, then fell back, releasing a long, ragged breath that felt like it scraped the inside of his lungs. Sister Wen appeared instantly at his side, as efficient as ever, pressing a bottle of alkaline water into his hand and holding out a tablet already loaded with his updated schedule.
"Yuze," she said briskly, lowering her voice but not her urgency. "That investment firm—Lin Capital—called again about the gaming live stream. I rejected it. After this film wraps, you still have three commercial shoots. You don't have the energy for some startup game."
Yuze grunted in response, eyes closed, knuckles whitening around the bottle. "Good," he muttered. "I just want to sleep for a week."
As if summoned by the thought, his personal phone vibrated in his pocket. Not the work phone. Not the studio line. The one reserved strictly for family.
He frowned, then softened as the caller ID came into view.
He answered.
"Brother Yuze," a sweet voice came through, gentle yet unmistakably commanding.
"Meilin," Yuze rasped, leaning back with a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. "Let me guess. You're not calling to ask whether I've eaten."
"They rejected it, didn't they?" Meilin replied smoothly, as if she had been watching the scene unfold in real time.
Yuze chuckled dryly. "Only when you need something do you sound this obedient. What happened to the Ice Queen who ignored me at breakfast?"
"I didn't ignore you," she said lightly. "You left before I finished my tea. You didn't come home tonight either. Are you sleeping at the studio again?"
"Shooting ran through the night," Yuze sighed, rubbing his face. "Probably the trailer. Now—what does Tang Meilin want?"
"There's an offer on Sister Wen's desk," Meilin said, her tone sharpening just a fraction. "A live stream for Immortal Mythfall. I need you to accept it, Brother."
Yuze paused. He cracked one eye open and glanced sideways at Sister Wen. She was already shaking her head furiously, eyes wide, silently mouthing no, no, absolutely not.
"The gaming stream?" he asked slowly. "Meilin, why do you even care about a video game?"
"It's part of Lin Capital's digital strategy," Meilin replied without hesitation. "And you're the only one with enough traffic to make it explode globally on night one."
The fog machines hissed louder in the background. Somewhere, a prop sword clattered to the ground. Yuze rubbed his temples, exhaustion settling deeper into his bones, heavy and unforgiving. He wanted to refuse. He wanted sleep. But Meilin rarely asked. And when she did, it was never without reason.
"Sister Wen," he said suddenly, opening his eyes fully, "what's my schedule the day after tomorrow?"
She stiffened. "We wrap the final scenes by noon, but you're supposed to rest, then—"
"Cancel the afternoon nap," Yuze interrupted calmly. He turned back to the phone. "Alright, Meilin. I'll do it. I'll come straight from the set to the studio. But you owe me dinner. Not that health food—I want the chef's braised pork."
Meilin laughed, bright and effortless, the sound carrying warmth even through the line. "Deal. I'll have the kitchen prepare everything. Work hard, Brother. I'll see you soon."
The call ended.
Sister Wen stared at him in disbelief. "You're insane."
Yuze closed his eyes again, a faint smile lingering. "Probably."
Back at the Tang estate, the conservatory had grown quieter as the sun dipped lower, light turning amber and soft. Zimei had curled up at Meilin's feet, breathing slow and even, utterly unbothered by human schemes. Meilin lowered her phone and tapped it lightly against her chin, her expression darkening—not with malice, but with intent. Every piece was moving into place. Capital. Traffic. Timing. Even exhaustion could be leveraged if handled correctly.
She looked out through the glass, beyond the manicured gardens, beyond the walls that kept the world at bay.
The board was set.
And the game was about to begin.