A week had passed, yet the House of Yu still had no word of Yuchuge. Detectives did find traces outside her bedroom balcony—a footprint here, a bent tree branch there.
From these clues, they concluded Yuchuge had likely been taken by an agile woman. But with only fragmented physical descriptions, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
The desperate House of Yu even obtained the guest list from that night’s banquet, determined to interrogate every attendee.
One woman caught their attention.
“This is Mu Shuanghua. A professional boxer. Her physique matches the suspect’s profile.”
The butler reported to Madam Yu, adding carefully, “A security guard mentioned seeing her leave early that night, returning to her car.”
Madam Yu glared at Mu Shuanghua’s photo on the screen. The sharper the features, the more they grated on her. She slammed her palm on the table. “Bring her to me! I’ll see what audacity a mere boxer has, attending our House’s banquet!”
Seeing her fury, the butler lowered his voice. “She was... brought by Miss Piao of the Piao family. Acting rashly might—”
He trailed off. Such matters were beyond his station. Madam Yu froze briefly, then flushed with anger at her own hesitation. *What was she afraid of? When had the House of Yu ever cowered?*
“Drag her here! I doubt the Piao family would sever ties over a boxer!”
The butler bowed slightly, retreating to arrange the task. But as he briefed the team leader, he murmured, “Be polite. Say we need her assistance with an investigation. Avoid force if possible.”
The leader nodded. As a dozen men drove off in a convoy, the butler couldn’t help but sigh. This overstepped his role. Madam Yu would surely berate him later.
After thirty years serving the House, he knew better than to reason with a woman blinded by her own status. *If the young mistress never returns... perhaps it’s for the best.*
*The sea is wide for fish to leap; mountains high for birds to fly. Maybe she eloped for love?*
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Impossible, of course.”
Turning back toward the mansion, he found the irony bitter: only since Yuchuge’s disappearance had this villa felt alive.
---
Unaware she’d been swept into this storm, Mu Shuanghua sat ringside, eyes hollow as she stared at the training match. Her phone was clenched tight in her fist.
A suffocating pressure radiated from her, thickening the air in the entire arena. It had been days like this.
The two trainees sparring in the ring trembled under her gaze. One wrong punch, and she might draft them as her sparring partners. What awaited them? Just glance at the seniors still getting treated in the infirmary...
Mu Shuanghua noticed none of their fear. Her mind churned with one thought: *Why hasn’t she replied?*
Since parting in the parking lot, she’d sent over a hundred messages. Mu Yue Ran had answered barely a handful—and never mentioned that promised meal.
*Is she avoiding me? But... why?*
*I won’t devour her. Just a chance to be friends. To understand her. Is that too much to ask?*
Gloom deepened in Mu Shuanghua’s eyes. Her emotions were a calm sea before the storm—waiting for a single gust to unleash the waves.
Piao Lele, who’d known Mu Shuanghua for years, saw her skipping training and watching silently from the sidelines. *Bad sign.* If she joined practice now, someone would get hurt.
Piao Lele edged closer, sitting beside her. “What’s wrong? You seem upset.”
Mu Shuanghua nodded, grinding out between clenched teeth: “Someone stood me up.”
Piao Lele paled. *Who dares stand up Mu Shuanghua?* Unless... *Is it a love interest?* But she couldn’t recall any man close to her. Only...
*Muyueran.* Her late brother.
Piao Lele’s heart ached. After their contact dwindled two years ago, Mu Shuanghua had thrown herself into brutal training. Hospital stays followed every major match.
Yet no matter how badly she was injured, her beloved brother never visited. He never would again.
Piao Lele had come to the club partly to secure new investors, but mostly to coax Mu Shuanghua out of her spiral. The banquet was meant to relax her—yet it had only made things worse.
Before she could speak, the club’s door flew open with a violent kick. The crash echoed through the arena. Everyone froze, turning toward the entrance.
A man in a black suit and sunglasses strode in, flanked by a dozen others. He stood legs apart, hands clasped behind his back, scanning the room like a cheap extra from *The Matrix*—but with far more arrogance than Hugo Weaving ever showed.
“Who here is Mu Shuanghua?” he barked. “My mistress requests your presence.”
The head coach stepped forward, eyes narrowing at the hostile group. “That doesn’t look like a request.”
“And who,” he added coldly, “is your mistress? At least state your name when barging in.”
The man barely glanced at him. “We’re from the House of Yu. Mu Shuanghua will assist us with an investigation.”
“Investigation into what?”
“You aren’t qualified to ask.”
The coach’s fist tightened. Behind his back, he flashed an *OK* sign. Instantly, amateur fighters not in professional matches rose from the crowd, cracking knuckles as they encircled the black-clad intruders.
