Mo Estate — Chairman's Private Study
The scent of aged tobacco and sandalwood lingered in the still air of the study, curling like invisible tendrils around the thick silence. The only sound was the faint ticking of the antique wall clock, and the occasional crackle of ember from the fireplace.
Behind the massive desk, Chairman Mo sat like a mountain — immovable, shadowed, and suffocating in his authority.
Across from him stood Mo Ziqian, posture impeccable, hands clasped behind his back, eyes cool and distant.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
Chairman Mo studied his son, taking a slow drag from his Equistic cigar. The smoke clouded his vision for a second, but not his mind.
"The girl, Shen Fuyue…" he began, his voice slow, deliberate. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about the… incident, would you?"
His tone was casual — too casual. But every word was a knife, testing for a reaction.
Mo Ziqian met his father's gaze without hesitation. His face was like carved jade — flawless, unreadable, and ice-cold. The firelight reflected off his sharp features, but there was no warmth in him.
He neither denied nor confirmed.
No protest. No justification.
Only silence.
A silence that spoke volumes.
Chairman Mo narrowed his eyes. His expression tightened — not with amusement, but with the weight of uncertainty. He recognized the poise, the discipline, the cold silence.
It was like staring into a mirror from decades ago.
Ziqian was his son, after all.
Polished. Controlled. Dangerous.
Just like him.
And that was both the source of his pride… and the thorn in his side.
Because behind that perfect exterior, he could never tell what the boy was truly thinking.
Especially now — when the Mo family's future was more fragile than ever.
Especially now — when the whispers of an illegitimate child had begun to circle like vultures in the halls of the old aristocracy.
Chairman Mo exhaled, a thin stream of smoke rising into the chandelier's golden light.
"As long as it doesn't damage the Mo Corporation's image," he said slowly, voice turning low and final, "I'll turn a blind eye. Do what you must."
Mo Ziqian dipped his head with the precision of a trained heir.
"Understood. I won't let you down."
But the words were hollow. As practiced as any courtly bow. They didn't contain a shred of warmth or loyalty.
Only the cold, unshakable conviction of someone who had learned long ago that love and approval were weapons in this house.
Chairman Mo waved a hand, dismissing him.
Ziqian turned and left without a word, his footsteps silent against the marble floor. Not once did he glance back.
The door clicked shut.
Silence fell again — but this time, it was brief.
A knock.
"Come in."
Secretary Han Jue stepped in, sharp in his tailored grey suit, a man who had served the Mo patriarch for over two decades. He bowed slightly, then placed a file on the desk.
"Chairman. The report."
Chairman Mo opened the folder lazily at first — until his eyes caught the contents.
And then the change was immediate.
His gaze darkened. His fingers curled over the page like claws.
"Dispose of it," Chairman Mo said coldly. "No copies. No loose ends. No one is to find out about this."
He looked up at Han Jue, his eyes steel-hard.
"If this ever comes to light, it won't just be a scandal. It will unmake us — everything we've built, everything we stand for."
Han Jue gave a crisp nod.
But just as he turned to leave, Chairman Mo added, almost too quietly:
"And Han… you know what else must be done."
The secretary froze — only for a heartbeat.
Then, with a barely perceptible breath, he nodded again. "Yes, Chairman."
The file disappeared into his coat like it had never existed.
Chairman Mo leaned back slowly, the leather chair groaning beneath him. His gaze settled on the flickering fire, its light warping across his face like something restless, something unclean.
He had always believed control was everything.
But this truth — this truth was something far more dangerous.
Something that refused to be controlled.
***
Lianhua Hospital — VIP Room, Evening
The rain had started again.
Soft at first, like whispers against the window, then harder — violent, as if the sky itself had grown furious with grief.
Inside the hospital room, Shen Fuyue lay unmoving beneath crisp white sheets, her face pale, eyes blank, skin almost translucent under the dim bedside light. Machines beeped with the rhythm of a life not truly lived — a ghost of the girl she once was.
Shen Yuhuan sat at her side, fingers trembling as she wiped at her niece's lifeless hands with a warm towel. She had done it ten times today. Maybe more. As if routine could somehow bring her back.
But Shen Fuyue didn't blink.
Didn't react.
Didn't even flinch.
She was here… and yet not.
Ever since that night — that monstrous, soul-shattering night — Shen Fuyue hadn't spoken a single word. Her body remained, but everything else inside had been ripped apart, left bleeding in the dark.
Her nails dug into her palms as she stared at Fuyue's pale face, lips dry and eyes dull, unseeing.
She had seen this kind of silence before — the kind that meant someone was still breathing, but not really living.
It was unbearable.
Her lips trembled.
She had already received the final blow hours ago.
Shen Weimin, her older half-brother, the only person in the Shen family who had ever treated her like family — like blood — was not coming back.
Vegetative state. Irreversible.
The words from the doctor echoed in her head like a slow, mocking chant.
But there was no time to grieve.
Because the jackals were already circling.
Shen Hanxing had moved.
With the swiftness and precision of a vulture smelling blood, the Shen family's eldest son — heir to the main corporation, ruthless beyond imagination — had declared Shen Fuyue disowned. Publicly. Legally. Brutally.
No press release. No apology. Just a cold, stamped document.
Stripped of name, title, and protection.
And that was just the beginning.
The empire Shen Weimin had painstakingly built — the Qinglan Group, a rising star poised to rival even the Shen Corporation in a decade — was collapsing.
All the wolves that once wagged their tails for Shen Weimin were now tearing the foundation apart. Investors pulling out. Board members defecting. Projects frozen. Suppliers demanding overdue payments. And now, Shen Hanxing had begun making his move to swallow what remained — not out of necessity, but out of greed.
It wasn't enough for Shen Hanxing to win. He wanted Shen Weimin erased — obliterated.
And with Shen Weimin out of the picture… there was no one left to stop him.
Except her.
Shen Yuhuan stood abruptly, her chair screeching faintly against the floor. Her heart pounded with helpless rage. She was no titan of business, no public figure, no legitimate child. The world didn't recognize her. Her surname meant nothing.
But she had been raised watching wolves. And she'd learned how to survive them.
And now, she had to protect what little was left of her brother… and her niece, who had already lost everything.
There was still one person who could make a difference.
And the worst part was, he hadn't come.
The one man who could have pulled her back.