"Hey... what are you even doing?"

Mo Zitong clutched the pillow that had smacked her head, her sigh like a thin gust, then glanced at Tang Coco—and froze like ice on glass.

Tang Coco knelt on the bed, long dress half-fitted, most of a smooth shoulder bare like moonlight slipping past silk, temptation like warm incense.

"Uh... figures. You and that teacher... you did it, right? You’re totally starved for it." Her tease flicked like a cat’s tail.

Mo Zitong looked at her like spotting a bug under a lamp, disgust rippling like oil on water.

"Hey! Don’t talk nonsense! Nothing happened. I’m just changing," Tang snapped, words crisp as a slapped fan.

"I don’t buy it," Mo said, doubt settling like mist.

"Don’t believe me? Fine. I’ll stop changing. I’m not going," Tang huffed, flopping onto the bed like a tossed feather.

"Alright, alright—my little princess, I believe you, okay?" Mo cooed, voice soft as velvet drape.

"Hmph." The sound landed like a pebble.

"By the way, your body okay?" Concern rose like a hand over a candle.

"I’m fine," Tang answered, calm as still water.

"Why did you do that yesterday?" The question beat like a drum.

"Huh? Do what?" Her brows lifted like a bird’s wing.

"Don’t think I missed it. You took that punch on purpose," Mo said, gaze sharp as a needle.

Tang stared at her, surprise pricking like frost; she didn’t need to explain, so she slid the topic aside like a fan closing. "Are we going or not?"

"Going, going... how’d you wake up with full-on princess syndrome?" Mo muttered, helplessness sagging like a wet banner.

She watched Tang step down, slip on shoes, smooth the dress, ready to leave—movements light as willow leaves.

"You’re going out like that?" Mo’s doubt showed like a wrinkle.

"What else?" Tang glanced down at her white dress; the hem kissed her calves, gauze soft as drifting cloud brushing skin.

"No makeup? Not even comb your hair?" The questions fell like beads.

"No need. Let it fall loose." She touched her long hair at the nape, strands spilling like dark river.

"Must be nice to be pretty and reckless..." Jealousy bit like green vine.

——————————

A black Porsche wove through Yanjing’s streets like a fast fish in a stone river; for the first time, Tang Coco strolled the capital of Huaguo with lazy eyes.

"Shouldn’t you be telling me something?" Her tone tapped like a knuckle on wood.

"Mm, you were watching the city so intently, I didn’t want to bother you," Mo said, her smile smooth as tea steam.

Tang rolled her eyes, the look a quick knife.

"Well... here’s the deal. We’re going to my place. Because of what I stirred up abroad, my parents worry someone’ll target the company," Mo said, words pacing like a wary cat.

"They want me to apologize. I told them to wait at home," she went on, breath steady as a metronome. "You just need to be strong. Bring out your Abnormal aura. Don’t keep playing the submissive one."

Me, submissive? Tang’s heart snorted like a stallion. Dear readers, do I look like the submissive one?

"Fine, got it. Just acting like a badass, right? Anyone can do that," Tang said, casual as a flicked sleeve.

"Really? I don’t think you can," Mo teased, doubt nibbling like a mouse.

"Hmph. Watch me," Tang said, confidence bright as a lantern.

Mo Zitong’s home was far from Yanjing University; the city stretched wide like a sea. After forty minutes, they reached the Mo family compound.

Seeing the standalone luxury villa, Tang felt the family’s wealth pile like carved jade; she’d forgotten to ask Meng Xiaoxiao about the Mos. Would a house like this really force their daughter to apologize over a few shareholders pulling out?

Carrying that thorn of doubt, Tang stepped into the courtyard, footsteps soft as rain.

"We’re here," Mo said, door click light as a bead.

A middle-aged woman in a nanny’s uniform jogged over, apron fluttering like a small flag. "Miss, you finally came. Sir and Madam are anxious."

"I know. Go prep tea," Mo said, voice even as a ruler.

"Let’s go in." She took Tang’s hand, warmth steady as a lantern fire, and they entered the villa.

The instant they reached the living room, a middle-aged male voice snapped like a stiff branch. "Zitong, you exceeded the agreed time."

"I know. But who doesn’t have emergencies?" Mo shot back, stubbornness set like a stone.

"Hmph! Punctuality is fundamental!" her father barked, anger rising like heat shimmer.

Her mother smoothed the air like a silk cloth, then looked to Tang. "Alright, this is..."

"Oh, she’s the one I—" Mo began.

Tang stepped forward with a sunny smile, like opening a window. "Uncle, Auntie, hello. I’m Tang Coco, Zitong’s classmate."

"Oh, sit, sit. Such a pretty child," the mother said, kindness warm as soup.

The father heard "classmate" and his face cooled like iron. "A student? Zitong, the person you mentioned is still a student? What can a student do?"

"Dad!" Mo flared, temper sparking like flint, but Tang gently squeezed her hand, touch calm as a tide.

"Uncle, with the Mo family’s estate this large, you’re clearly successful. You shouldn’t judge ability by age alone," Tang said, words clean as a blade.

"Zitong..." Mo stared, surprised like first snow; on Tang she suddenly felt a strong, commanding aura, pressure like a mountain’s shadow.

"Oh? Then tell me what you can do," the father said, interest glinting like metal.

"My abilities could fill a day and still spill over," Tang said, disdain light as smoke. "Let’s cut to the chase. I hate dithering. Name the conditions that would satisfy you—so you’ll respect your daughter’s wishes."

"Heh. Interesting," he chuckled, eyes narrowing like shutters.

"Fine! Those things she did—she should’ve told you. A foreign clan bought forty percent of Mo Group, equal to our holdings. These days, they’re buying the remaining twenty percent of scattered shares," he said, numbers clicking like beads.

"They set terms: if Zitong won’t apologize and marry in, they’ll take sixty percent and rip control from the Mo family," he finished, words cold as iron filings.

"So, if you want to help her, you know what to do," he said, gaze pressing like a thumb.

"Mo family this big, and you still can’t match that clan?" Tang asked, eyebrow lifting like a leaf.

"You understand nothing! That clan has an Abnormal backing them!" the father snapped, emotion surging like a storm; the mother tugged his sleeve, trying to fold the topic away like a map.

"It’s fine. I know Abnormals exist," Tang said, shrug careless as drifting smoke.

"Hmph, you know a lot," he muttered, suspicion thin as wire. "So what’s your plan?"

"A plan? I’ve got one," Tang said, smile sharp as a hook. "But I have a condition."

"What condition?" His voice thudded like a drum.

"Since you, as her father, don’t cherish your daughter, my condition is—give her to me," Tang said, mouth curving like a crescent.

"What!?" Mo Zitong cried, shocked like a struck bell. "Keke... you..."

"Her future marriage will be decided by me. You won’t interfere," Tang said, tone flat as a seal.

"Do you have that kind of leverage?" the father asked, stare cold as winter moonlight.

"Not sure... would you value this?" Tang reached behind her like drawing a dagger and brought out a black card, edge glinting like lacquer.

"What’s this?" he asked, taking the card from the coffee table, eyes scanning it like a jeweler.

"This is... a V-card from Chenghua International?" he murmured, surprise rising like steam.

"What!? Is that real?" the mother leaned in, curiosity bright as sparks.

"Real or not, there’s a phone number. Call and ask," Tang said, ease smooth as flowing water.

"You check," the father said, handing the card to his wife, gesture clipped as a blade.

Mo tugged Tang’s sleeve, whisper pressing like a secret. "Where’d you get that? Is it real?"

"Of course it’s real. I just... picked it up," Tang replied, mischief dancing like fireflies.

"It’s connected, but they ask for the cardholder’s name," the mother said into the phone, voice hushed like a temple hall.

"Tang Coco," Tang answered, name dropping like a stone into a pond.

The mother repeated it, and her face shifted into widening shock, expression blooming like a sudden flower. "What!?"

She gasped, answered twice, then hung up, hands careful as if holding porcelain. "Oh—thank you."

She carried the card back like a delicate tray. "It’s real. This card number was personally... given by the chairman of Chenghua International to her daughter," she said, words trembling like fine strings.

"You’re the heiress of Chenghua International?" the father asked, disbelief pale as ash.

Tang hadn’t expected the phone to spill that far; she breathed once, then nodded, calm as a lacquer screen. "Yes."

"So, Uncle Mo, do you accept my condition?" Tang’s smile tilted like a fox’s ear. "Mo family can buy up those shares at high price. Chenghua will stand behind you."

The father wavered, thoughts fluttering like banners; Chenghua International’s strength loomed like a mountain.

"But... the other side has Abnormals... we..." he started, voice thin as thread.

"Heh—Abnormals..." Tang’s laugh cut like a knife. She raised her right hand and snapped.

Snap—

Whoosh—

In a blink, two Mechs unfolded into the living room like iron titans from fog—heavy-frame monsters with swollen missile bays and laser cannons, dominance pouring off them like heat from black rock.

"Now, what does the Mo family still fear? Or you, personally?" Tang asked, lips curving like a blade.

"...No more," the father said, breath collapsing like a punctured bellows; he hadn’t expected to lose so cleanly.

"My condition?" Tang’s voice was silk over steel.

"I agree," he replied, words dropping like stamps.

"Heh. Good." Satisfaction glowed like amber.

"This card—take it as a gift. Chenghua holds face in Huaguo. With it, Mo affairs will move smoother," she said, tone easy as summer wind.

"Alright," he answered, relief settling like dust.

"I won’t disturb Uncle and Aunt. I’ve got school matters. I’m still a student; gotta head back," Tang said, farewell light as a bird.

The couple heard the thin blade of sarcasm in her tone and lowered their heads like withered reeds.

"You’re not driving me back?" Tang turned, voice playful as a flick.

"Oh... oh..." Mo blinked, mind still swirling like leaves.

——————————

On the road back to Yanjing University, the Porsche hummed quiet as a cat, cabin wrapped in soft shadow.

"Say it out loud. Quit stealing glances," Tang said, teasing like wind at your ear. "I’m worried you’ll crash. I’m not ready to die young."

"Was that really you just now?" Mo asked, disbelief trembling like a string.

"Duh. Who else?" Tang’s reply was dry as bone.

"Impossible. How could you be that... that... commanding?" Mo whispered, awe pooling like ink.

"What, did I seduce you?" Tang smirked, mischief bright as a spark. "Don’t forget—your future’s mine to decide. Make me mad, and I’ll marry you off to whoever."

"You!" Mo sputtered, temper popping like popcorn.

"Hehe~" Tang’s laugh rang like silver bells.

"You’re Chenghua’s little princess, and you didn’t tell me," Mo accused, pout soft as plum blossom.

"You never asked," Tang said, shrugging like a drifting cloud.

"You said you were Ye Yiyi’s distant cousin. So you were both lying," Mo grumbled, complaint small as drizzle.

"Sigh... blame the fools for believing it," Tang said, her voice drifting like smoke through bamboo.

“Yo, still feeling smug?”

“When I get back to Ninghai, I’ll spill this, like uncaging a flock of sparrows.”

“Picture it.”

“A face like flawless porcelain; a temper like spring breeze or winter steel.”

“A world-class company at home, shining like a lantern behind silk.”

“Tsk, tsk.”

“Every tycoon in Ninghai—no, all Huaguo—will flock to find you, like moths to a lantern, little heiress.”

Mo Zitong went quiet, like a lake without ripples.

“Alright, you’re sharper than a blade...”

Tang Coco muttered, her words drifting like smoke.

“Hmph.”

Mo Zitong let out a proud hum, like a sparrow puffing its feathers.

Then her cheeks flushed, like dawn tinting cold clouds.

“Um... thank you... for helping me with this; it was a hand in the storm.”

“Save it; words are wind, and I didn’t help for a thank-you.”

She bit back more words, like a bird holding a note.

“Um... about what you said at my place... those words still ring, like a bell in a courtyard.”

Mo Zitong still clung to it—her marriage would be hers to decide, like a lock keeping its own key.

But Tang Coco cut her off, sudden and serious, like a blade snapping a silk thread.

“Later; put school on hold, like pausing a zither mid-note.”

“Is there a place nearby that’s empty as a dried riverbed?”

“Huh?”

Mo Zitong looked over, puzzled; then she saw that rare serious look on Tang Coco, like storm clouds stacking.

A prickle ran through her, like a needle under skin before rain.

“Let me think... oh, right. Up ahead, turn right; there’s an abandoned factory, bones of steel and rust.”

“Go there,” she said, her voice like iron.

“Okay,” Mo Zitong answered, quick as a plucked string.

At once, the black Porsche surged toward the abandoned factory, like an ink stroke across wet paper.

Behind, a black Buick van followed, its shadow stitched to theirs.