The next night, 8:10 p.m.—the hour rang like a drumbeat under a moon-dark sky.

Nana Toki kept pace with Qingyu Si, the two of them drawn to the Yuehong Grand Hotel like moths to a lit pavilion.

She stepped out of Uncle Chen’s car, and Qingyu flashed like a fallen star, snaring every gaze the way dawn snuffs candles.

Her gown was inky blue, deep as a lake at dusk—noble, sensual; porcelain-smooth skin looked soft enough to stir at a breath.

With a face cool and otherworldly, like frost on orchid petals, Qingyu moved like a blue butterfly dancing through a bed of flowers.

Women or men, however dazzling, dimmed in front of her like lanterns at sunrise.

Whispers rustled around them, reeds in a night breeze, guessing whose treasured daughter this unnamed girl might be.

After Qingyu stepped down, Nana briskly showed both their IDs to the tuxedoed greeters at the hotel doors, like laying talismans on a gate.

Cleared, mistress and maid crossed the threshold into a Hongmen banquet, a silken feast with steel hidden underneath.

Inside, opulence piled up like a tide of gold; rich dishes steamed, champagne glowed, and the buzz of voices beat like wings.

The display announced the Qin clan’s rule of money, a heavy seal stamped on every plate and glass.

Qingyu had to meet several shareholders from the Si Family’s main house, so she drifted off, a swan parting from her cygnet’s wake.

Nana, fearing hands would strike from the shadows, stayed within five meters, by a table of glassware that waved like a crystal reedbed.

Playing part-time bodyguard, she stood sentry, eyes sweeping the hall like a hawk riding a thermal.

“Shutong An?”

A startled voice came from behind, a pebble tossed into her still pool. Nana turned, guard-quick.

There stood the tigress, Zixia Chen, staring as if she’d seen a ghost. “How did you get in here?” Her words snapped like a twig.

Weren’t servants clearly banned from the floor? Why was this maid under these chandelier lights?

“Sorry, I invested one yuan in my lady’s company,” Nana said, bold as a cat on a wall. “Smallest shareholder has a ticket too.”

Zixia Chen: “...”

What kind of crazy duo were this master and maid—a kite and the wind, both wild?

“And you—how’d you get in?” Nana’s look slid over her like a curious brushstroke. Zixia was usually crisp as a blade.

Tonight the policewoman wore wine-red silk, clinging like ivy, drawing out a figure as clean-cut as a bow.

Even if she tucked herself in a corner like a shadow, allure rose off her like heat, pulling eyes the way flame pulls moths.

“Nothing much. My dad told me to come sit, meet your young lady, and broaden my horizons,” Zixia said, voice casual as drifting smoke.

She did not add he’d nudged her in to maybe spot a match, a parent’s hope tucked like a note in a sleeve.

Her father, forged by the military, feared she’d hit twenty-three, twenty-four and stay single, a ‘leftover’ in the city’s harsh slang.

He leveraged favors, like ropes over a well, to lower her into this pool of silk and masks, calling it a mission.

Nana saw her faintly exasperated look and sighed at the age: morals sliding like wet tiles, money making even ghosts push the mill.

The joys of the rich are clouds you can’t imagine, drifting over hills you’ll never climb.

“You two need to be careful tonight.”

Zixia dropped her voice, a warning bell muffled in velvet. “Plenty of fakes slipped in. I planted some people, but we’re outnumbered. Go easy.”

“Got it.”

Nana nodded, obedient as a hound at heel, though the sheer number of guests pricked at her like sleet.

How could one X City hold so many rich men? This wasn’t some Asia-Pacific tycoons’ meet-and-greet.

If the Qin clan really knew this many power-brokers, why root in X City? They’d have gone to the X Capital to play local warlord.

Even so, there wasn’t much Nana could do. The invitations were stamped by Huaiyue Qin’s side; spotting fakes would take second sight.

If her people could catch them at a glance, it would be a ghost story indeed.

Truth be told, Nana didn’t lose sleep over Huaiyue Qin’s crew. That wasn’t the thorn in her paw.

What worried her was the rest—the dark fish under the surface, not just Qin’s net.

It was nearly 8:03, the start time closing like a vise. No kidnappers, not even a ripple. Had they bungled the hour?

She muttered it under her breath, and right then, Qingyu returned from circling shareholders, like a swan gliding back to the bank.

“What are you doing here?”

Qingyu’s first glance slid to Zixia by Nana’s side; pretty brows drew together like a stroke of ink, then her gaze came back, cool as dew.

“Come with me to meet Huaiyue Qin.”

“Meet her?” Nana blinked, then snapped to. Qin had sent the invite. As guests, they had to show face.

Even Qin wouldn’t toss herself into a fire, Nana thought. She nodded, quick as a match catching. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

They parted from Zixia. A short walk, two shadows through a forest of suits, and they found tonight’s hostess in a small cluster.

Huaiyue Qin wore a long white dress, ripe and soft as a summer peach, sweetness rippling where eyes could fall.

Her moves were poised and learned, a scholar’s brush in a dancer’s hand; less a boardroom blade, more a born noble’s daughter.

“Qingyu… Shutong’s here too?”

The man in the suit at her side was the Protagonist Lord, Yiwei Yang—the one scarce seen these days, now burnished like a coin.

He wasn’t handsome, but he wore the suit’s gravitas like armor. At one-seventy-eight, he stood by Huaiyue like a picture-perfect pair.

Huaiyue caught his murmur and turned, gaze drawn like a tide to the two approaching figures. A lovely smile bloomed on her face.

“This sister must be the heiress from the Si Family’s main house.”

She bit down on “Si Family’s main house,” each word a bead clicked on a string, as if afraid any ear might miss Qingyu’s pedigree.

As expected.

At her words, the hall’s chatter ebbed a few marks, like wind dropping. Eyes tilted toward Huaiyue and Qingyu, two moons over one pool.

The whispers that followed were soft but clear, a creek you could drink from even as it tried to hide.

“That’s the Si girl… stunning.”

“Miss Qin’s no slouch either.”

“I heard the Si Family runs black trades in the dark. That woman won’t be easy pickings…”

Praise and poison mixed like sweet and bitter tea, but caution outweighed bravado; fear rippled wider than envy.

In X City’s black market, the Si Family’s hand all but blotted out the sun. If you’d held office, you’d likely borrowed that hand for dirt.

Qingyu let the voices break against her like small waves on stone. Shorter than Huaiyue, she still met her gaze with equal steel.

“President Qin, you didn’t throw all this together just to see my face, did you?”

Arms folded, a cool smile curved her lips, crescent-sharp. “If so, you think far too highly of me.”

She hated wasting hours on irritating faces and fussy chores; better to go home and curl up with her maid, soft and sure as rain.

“Moonmoon, Qingyu, don’t fight. It’s rare for both families to gather. Let’s talk nicely tonight.”

Yiwei Yang stood between them, trying to smooth water with a leaf, not knowing he was only stirring mud.

“Mr. Yang, as I recall, you’re my lady’s bodyguard,” Nana said, head lowered like a bow drawn low, mouth tipping into a mischief-lit smile.

“Why’ve you been orbiting Miss Qin these days? I don’t think our master wrote that in your letter.”

“And I heard someone plans to kidnap my lady at the Qin banquet tonight. You guarding Qin, not Si—does that add up?”

“Mr. Yang, what do you think?”

Her words dropped like stones in a still pond. The hall went quiet, looks slipping to Huaiyue and Nana, curious as foxes.

A Si bodyguard at the Qin side, and a kidnapping at a Qin banquet, with the Si heiress the target—no matter how you tilted it, it gleamed wrong.

“This…”

Yiwei Yang’s mouth worked, but Nana’s net had cinched him, a fish caught between river and basket.

His System had assigned him to guard Qingyu tonight, orders iron as shackles, but to admit it would splash mud on the Qin clan.

It would make Huaiyue lose face, right here under the chandeliers.

“This servant talks in such amusing ways,” Huaiyue said, smiling like a blade sheathed in silk, her eyes cold as a winter brook.

“We received that intel too. I’ve already coordinated with the nearest precinct. The guard net is tight. Not even a mosquito can get in.”

Nana flicked a look to Zixia Chen across the room. Zixia nodded once, a lantern signal: Huaiyue wasn’t lying.

Nana drew breath to speak again—when a thunderous boom cracked the ceiling’s calm like lightning splitting an old pine.

The crystal chandelier above Huaiyue Qin and Qingyu Si shattered on cue, raining shards like icy petals.

Around the Yuehong Hotel, the hidden currents surged at last, dark water boiling up from under the bright, still surface.