Li Cheng's name was trending again.
Every major business channel replayed the same headline in different fonts and tones—
Youngest Billionaire Breaks Another Record.
Trendsta's New Jewelry Line Hits Highest Sales in Three Months.
Li Cheng: The Golden Hand of Asia's Luxury Market.
From clothing to footwear, from accessories to high-end lifestyle brands—his empire had spread across Asia like a carefully controlled virus. Whatever Li Cheng touched turned into profit. Whatever he invested in became the next big thing.
Inside the top floor of TrendstaCorporation, the man himself sat in silence, far removed from the noise of the outside world.
Li Cheng carried a kind of cold beauty that made people hesitate before approaching him—sharp, masculine bone structure softened just enough to feel unreal. His high brow and angular jaw gave him a commanding presence, while his deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes watched the world with quiet cynicism.
He rarely smiled; his lips, defined by a subtle cupid's bow, rested in an expression of effortless indifference that felt more intimidating than any scowl. Dark hair fell to his shoulders in loose waves, half tied back to keep his face exposed, as if he never bothered hiding who he was.
He had the physique of someone who naturally dominated every room—broad shoulders tapering into a lean waist, tall, long-limbed, posture relaxed yet unmistakably in control. A tailored black suit framed his body perfectly, worn over a white shirt left casually unbuttoned, blurring the line between corporate authority and quiet rebellion.
Silver chains rested against his collarbone, a long earring swayed from one ear, a subtle lip piercing glinted under the lights. One wrist bore a heavy luxury watch, the other stacked with dark beads—metal and shadow, wealth and defiance, all coexisting in the man called Li Cheng.
His office was designed to command the moment one stepped inside. A massive L-shaped executive desk of dark wood and matte black dominated the space, positioned before a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a sprawling metropolitan skyline.
Natural light flooded in, reflecting off polished stone floors and chrome accents, softening the otherwise monochrome palette of charcoal, black, and deep espresso tones. Behind the desk stood a built-in shelving wall, meticulously arranged with leather-bound files and minimal décor—everything precise, controlled, and purposeful.
On the opposite side, another matching shelf stretched across the wall, lined with more than seventy awards earned within just three years—silent proof of his unmatched rise. A high-backed black leather chair sat behind the desk, facing sleek chrome guest chairs and a low lounge area meant for negotiations rather than comfort.
Near the shelves, a discreet door led to his private resting room, fully equipped for long nights and sleepless work—because even his moments of rest were planned, measured, and never truly separate from power.
He was still immersed in the file he was reading when the door opened without much ceremony.
BaiXian walked in with the quiet confidence of a professional manager—tall, lean, and effortlessly composed. His face was bright and symmetrical, framed by neatly styled jet-black hair parted to the side, a soft fringe falling lightly over his forehead. Gentle dark eyes scanned the room with an alert, polite calm that made him seem approachable.
Dressed in a perfectly fitted navy suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark silk tie knotted with precision, Bai Xian embodied quiet luxury. A small gold pin rested on his lapel, the only hint of personal identity amid his immaculate professionalism.
With one of his hand casually tucked into pocket and other carrying a stack of files, he placed them on the desk.
"You're everywhere again. My phone hasn't stopped ringing since morning."
Li Cheng didn't look up. He was still reading a document, eyes focused, fingers lightly tapping the edge of the paper.
"What are you reading so carefully?" Bai Xian asked, genuinely curious, leaning over.
Li Cheng finally moved, closing the file slowly. "Another contract."
Bai Xian blinked. "From the Min family?" He leaned forward, surprised. "Now what do they want from you?"
"Sit down, first." Li Cheng took a sip of his coffee, unhurried. "They want to hold an art exhibition at the Beijing Art Gallery. Fourteenth of next month."
Bai Xian's expression darkened instantly as he settled on the opposite chair. He slammed his palm lightly against the desk. "They've got some nerve. That date and venue were already booked by that mysterious artist, weren't they? The one who exhibits there every year."
Li Cheng raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh? Is that so? Why have we never seen him on camera then?"
"He hates publicity," Bai Xian replied without thinking. "Nobody's really seen his face properly. He always wears a cap and mask, bangs covering his eyes too. But… he looks quite handsome overall."
Li Cheng finally looked up at him.
Uninterested.
"You seem to know him well," he said calmly. "Have you taken a liking?"
Bai Xian nearly choked. "W-what? Don't say nonsense! If Xingxing hears this, he'll bury me alive."
Li Cheng laughed softly, the sound brief and rare. "Relax. I was joking."
He picked up the file again, flipping through the pages.
"So," Bai Xian asked, regaining his composure, "what have you decided? You're not seriously planning to sign with the Min family, right?"
"I will."
Bai Xian froze. "Are you serious?!"
"Mnn... Min family holds the strongest foothold in the domestic art investment market," Li Cheng replied calmly. "They control half the private galleries, three auction houses, and most of the underground collectors. Partnering with them will make expansion easier."
"But what about that artist?" Bai Xian frowned. "SM, right? He's been using that gallery for years. Plus he had booked the venue already!"
Li Cheng's fingers paused for half a second.
Then he continued flipping the pages.
"That's not my concern. And about the venue, that can be negotiated with the owner."
Bai Xian stared at him. "You're just going to push him out?"
"I'm not pushing anyone." Li Cheng's voice was steady, emotionless. "Business is about resources, not sentiments. If the Min family can bring me faster returns, then their request holds more value than a nameless artist who refuses to even show his face."
He signed the document without hesitation.
The pen scratched cleanly across the paper.
Decision made.
Bai Xian watched him for a moment, then sighed. "Sometimes I forget you're human."
Li Cheng didn't respond.
"Alright, it's time to attend the meeting with Mr. Park. He's waiting in his car downstairs. I'll meet him first." Bai Xian stood up.
"Hm… make sure that old man doesn't get a chance to complain about anything."
"Don't worry. I know how to handle these bastards."
With that, Bai Xian exited the office, the door closing behind him and sealing away any trace of life from outside.
Beyond the glass wall, the city stretched endlessly—bright, loud, alive. Inside the office, everything was silent, controlled, untouched by noise.
Li Cheng leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the distant skyline.
He had everything now.
Money. Power. Influence. Control.
The past was supposed to be buried. He shouldn't drown himself in those memories, and yet every time he was alone—resting, away from work even for a moment—the name Shen Linsi haunted his mind. It made his blood boil, his thoughts spiral into dark fantasies of dragging that man back into his arms, keeping him trapped in the center of his palm forever.
And he knew—terrifyingly well—that he could do it.
Easily.
Yet he hadn't.
For three damn years, he had fought his own obsession, restrained his desire, refused to hurt the man who had already broken him once.
All for someone who would never spare him even a single glance.
Shutting those thoughts away, the tall man buried himself in paperwork once again, skimming through pages and signing them when needed.
Far from the city lights, ShenLinsi lived quietly with his six-year-old daughter in a small remote village called Changan. Nestled within grasslands and surrounded by green mountains, deep valleys, and winding rocky paths, the village felt like a world untouched by haste.
Though not large, Changan was lively in its own way—close enough to the city market to stay connected, yet peaceful enough to remain simple. It had several local schools, farmlands, livestock, and small household industries that sustained daily life.
One side of the village was bordered by a dense forest, rich with rivers, waterfalls, herbs, shrubs, and abundant vegetation. The villagers relied on farming, dairy, poultry, and small-scale production, living closely with animals and nature. A local hospital and a few clinics served the people, mostly run by retired doctors or those who chose to settle there after earning their degrees.
Life in Changan was modest but warm, and the people were known for their friendliness and quiet kindness.
Shen Linsi taught at BloomingHigh, one of the most prestigious schools in the village. He was distant yet warm-hearted, strict yet fair—a teacher admired by students and trusted by parents. Though he rarely spoke about his past, everyone agreed on one thing: Shen Linsi was not just a good teacher, but a man who carried both dignity and gentleness in equal measure.
It was just another day for Shen Linsi. After finishing his evening tutoring classes for the high school students, he glanced at the time on his worn-out wristwatch.
It was already eight in the evening.
He packed his belongings into his old sling bag and stepped out of the school, heading toward home—only a few streets away. The sky had darkened, the village lights beginning to flicker on one by one as the air grew cooler.
He had barely taken a few steps when a young voice called out to him.
"Sir—!"
Shen Linsi turned around to see a student running toward him.
The student who had called him was younger, shorter, his school bag still hanging loosely on one shoulder. His face was flushed, eyes shining with a nervous kind of admiration that Shen Linsi recognized all too well.
"S-Sir… I…" The boy clenched his fists before streching out his hands holding an envelope, "I like you." he said nervously with head bowed.
The words came out rushed and trembling, as if he feared they might disappear if not spoken quickly enough.
Shen Linsi froze.
For a brief second, the world felt eerily still.
Then he sighed softly, "This isn't something you should say so lightly," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "You're too young to understand what love really is. Right now, what you feel is just admiration, confusion, maybe dependency."
The boy's expression faltered but he waited for his teacher to finish,
"You should focus on your studies and your future first," Shen Linsi continued gently. "When you grow up, when your feelings become stable and you truly understand yourself, only then should you think about relationships. Don't mistake emotions for something they are not."
"I'm sorry, sir," the boy could only whispered this much, forgetting all sorts of persuading patterns he had thought. His teary eyes lowered in shame.
Shen Linsi nodded once. "Don't do this again. Go back."
And with that, he turned and walked away.
His heart was beating faster than it should have been, eyes warm and almost moist as he remembered a certain someone.
As he moved down the quiet street, a name surfaced in his mind uninvited—Li Cheng.
The memory struck like a dull ache, warm and painful all at once.
But he quickly shook his head, forcing the thought away as if it were a disease he had long cured.
The lights from his neighbor's house were still on as he closed the distance.
"Good evening, Teacher Shen," the elderly woman greeted with a smile. "She's been waiting for you."
Before he could reply, a small figure came running out like a little furball.
"Papa!"
Shen Linsi bent down just in time to catch her in his arms, lifting her easily as she wrapped her tiny hands around his neck.
"Did you miss me?" he asked, gently poking her cheek.
"You're late!" she pouted. "I was bored. Auntie said you work too much."
He laughed softly. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."
She began listing her small complaints—about homework, about dinner, about how the cat next door ignored her—while he listened with quiet amusement, responding to every word as if it were the most important thing in the world.
They walked into the small apartment together, the lights warm and dim.
It wasn't big. It wasn't luxurious.
But the moment he stepped inside with her in his arms, it became home.
And Shen Linsi, unaware of the chains slowly closing around his future, smiled—believing, for now, that he had escaped the past for good.
.
.
.
To be continued...