The morning sun struggled to penetrate the thick, velvet curtains of the Phoenix Pavilion, but Ye Wanwan had been awake for hours. She didn't need an alarm; her internal clock was tuned to the rhythmic precision of a soldier. She sat on the floor in the center of the room, her legs crossed, her breathing so shallow it was almost non-existent. In her mind, she was mapping the estate—identifying the blind spots of every security camera, calculating the structural integrity of the walls, and memorizing the heartbeat patterns of every person in the house. The luxury surrounding her—the $20,000 silk rugs, the gold-encrusted vanity, and the priceless Ming vases—meant nothing. To her, this wasn't a home; it was a mission site.
A soft, hesitant knock at the door broke the silence. Wanwan's eyes snapped open, the obsidian depths clear and cold. She stood up in one fluid motion, her boots making no sound. "Enter," she said, her voice like a cool breeze. The door opened to reveal her five elder brothers, a line of the Capital's most eligible bachelors, each looking like they had stepped off a magazine cover. At the front was Ye Mo, the eldest and the ruthless CEO of the Ye Group, followed by Ye Jun, a world-renowned surgeon; Ye Feng, a genius tech mogul; Ye Yan, a top-tier martial arts champion; and finally, Ye Chen, a famous idol and musical prodigy. They were all staring at her with a mix of guilt, curiosity, and a deep-seated desire to protect the sister they had failed for two decades. However, behind that affection was a layer of skepticism. They had heard she was a simple herbalist from the countryside, and they wanted to know if she could truly handle the shark-infested waters of the Capital's high society.
"Wanwan," Ye Mo began, his voice deep and authoritative yet laced with an uncharacteristic softness. "The recognition banquet is in two days. It's a tradition in our family to showcase our skills to the elders. We don't expect you to be a master, but we wanted to see where you stand. If you're lacking, we can hire the best tutors in the world to coach you before the guests arrive." Ye Chen, the idol, stepped forward with a violin case. "I've heard you might not have had a chance to learn music in the village. If you want, I can teach you a simple piece. It will stop the gossips from calling you uncultured." Wanwan looked at the violin, then back at her brothers. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. "I'm busy," she said, turning toward the window. The brothers exchanged looks. To them, it looked like she was being defensive or perhaps embarrassed. They didn't realize that in her world, "music" was used as a psychological weapon to shatter an enemy's resolve, and her "tutors" were legends whose names were whispered in fear.
"Sister, don't be stubborn," Ye Yan, the martial artist, interjected. "The Capital is dangerous. People will try to bully you. Let's go to the training hall. If you can even land a single touch on me, I'll give you whatever you want." Wanwan sighed, a sound of genuine boredom. She knew that if she didn't show them something, they would never leave her alone. "Fine," she whispered. "One touch." They led her to the estate's private training hall, a massive glass structure filled with state-of-the-art equipment. Aurora followed them, lingering at the back, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She had secretly messaged a contact to ensure the equipment was "malfunctioning," hoping to see Wanwan break a limb. Ye Yan stepped onto the mat, his muscles rippling. "Come on, Wanwan. Don't be afraid. I'll go easy—" Before he could finish the sentence, Wanwan moved.
She didn't run; she vanished. To the brothers, it looked like a blur of black cloth. Before Ye Yan could even raise his guard, he felt a terrifying chill at the base of his skull. Wanwan was standing behind him, her index finger pressed lightly against his carotid artery. The air around them dropped in temperature, and a wave of primal fear washed over the martial arts champion. He couldn't move; it was as if his entire nervous system had been paralyzed by a single touch. "Touch established," Wanwan said, stepping back into her bored stance. "Can I go now?" The brothers were paralyzed in shock. Ye Yan staggered, his face pale. He was a black belt, a national champion, and a girl from the countryside had just "killed" him in less than a second.
Before they could recover, a servant entered the hall, carrying a large, exquisitely wrapped box made of rare sandalwood. "Miss Wanwan, a delivery for you," the servant said, bowing deeply. The brothers frowned. "Who is it from?" Ye Mo demanded, his protective instincts flaring. The servant looked nervous. "There was no card, Master Mo. Only a seal on the wax." Wanwan stepped forward and looked at the seal—a stylized golden dragon coiling around a sword. Her eyes narrowed. She recognized that symbol from her intelligence files. It was the personal crest of the Lu family's patriarch. She opened the box, and the room was suddenly filled with the scent of ancient jasmine and ozone. Inside lay a dress—a masterpiece of charcoal-black silk embroidered with silver needles that seemed to shimmer like moonlight. Beside it was a vial of deep blue liquid and a note written in a handwriting that was both elegant and violent: For the girl whose blood is as cold as mine. Wear this, and I might consider not burning the banquet hall down just to see you glow.
"Lu Zhentian," Ye Mo hissed, his face darkening with rage. "Why is that lunatic sending gifts to my sister? He's the most dangerous man in the country! Wanwan, stay away from him. He's a beast who has no heart." Wanwan looked at the dress, her fingers brushing the silk. She felt the heat radiating from the fabric—a residual energy left by the man who had sent it. It was the same heat she had felt from the library observer. She didn't feel afraid; she felt a strange, magnetic pull that irritated her clinical mind. Lu Zhentian, she thought. The man who thinks he can play chess with a God. She looked at her brothers, who were all shouting at once about the dangers of the Lu family. "I like the color," Wanwan said, cutting through their noise. She picked up the box and walked toward the door, leaving her five stunned brothers in her wake.
Meanwhile, in the top floor of the Lu Corporation, Lu Zhentian sat in his frozen office, watching the hidden feed from the Ye training hall. He had seen her move—the perfect execution of a Dim Mak strike. His blood was boiling, the heat in his chest reaching a fever pitch. He had searched for her for years, not knowing her name, only remembering the cold gaze of a girl he had seen once in a war-torn region. Now, she was here. "Master Lu," his assistant reported, "the Ye family is trying to return the gift. They say their sister is not for sale." Zhentian leaned back, a dark, shameless grin spreading across his face as he watched Wanwan on the screen. She was currently staring directly into the hidden camera, as if she knew he was there. "Let them try," Zhentian whispered, his voice a possessive growl. "They think they are protecting her from me. They don't realize I'm the only one who can keep her alive when her soul starts to freeze. Prepare the announcement for the banquet. I'm tired of being a spectator."