The rain-slicked road blurred beneath the tires as Muchen drove with a focus that was borderline lethal. The professor persona had been shoved into the backseat; right now, he was the CEO, a man used to managing things outside of his teaching persona.
But even with his high-end security and automated systems, he'd forgotten one thing in his haze of desire: his own subordinates.
"Sir," a crisp, feminine voice crackled through the car's Bluetooth. "The central hub detected your manual override of the Section 4 alarm. I have the response team on-site, but the drainage backup is manual. You don't need to be there."
Muchen's jaw tightened. "I'm already two minutes out, Secretary Lin. The Duchess doesn't like strangers, and the response team doesn't know the hybridization delicate-points."
"Sir, you're in a sedan in a thunderstorm with—" she paused, likely seeing the thermal signature of a passenger in the seat next to him. "With a guest. We can handle the sensors."
Muchen glanced at Mingzhe, then back to the road. "Stay on standby." He cut the call with a sharp tap.
When they arrived, the greenhouse was glowing like a bioluminescent lung in the middle of the dark campus. Figures in high-vis rain gear—Muchen's private security and lab techs—were already moving, but the misting system had gone rogue. Inside, it was a tropical storm.
Muchen killed the engine and turned to Mingzhe. The intensity in his eyes hadn't faded; it had just pivoted.
"Stay in the car," Muchen commanded.
"No," Mingzhe said, already unbuckling. "You're going to need someone to hold the bypass lever while you reset the Gene-Link. Your techs aren't authorized for the core hybridization room, are they?"
Muchen paused, his hand on the door handle. He looked at Mingzhe—the 'literature student' who shouldn't know what a Gene-Link was. But then he remembered: this was the man who appeared in this greenhouse far more often than the principal doing inspections.
"Fine," Muchen sighed, grabbing a spare lab coat from the back seat and giving it to Mingzhe. "Keep your head down. If my board of directors sees you, I'll have to explain why my wife is here with me."
Mingzhe's footsteps stumbled he lost his balance for a second. Whew. Muchen is shedding all his personalities that Mingzhe knew from the first day he came to this world.
[Host!] Yize's voice was buzzing with static. [The World Consciousness is spiking! The rain outside isn't just weather—it's a response to your soul density! Every time Master looks at you like he wants to devour you, the atmospheric pressure drops!]
Then let it drop, Mingzhe thought, stepping out into the deluge.
Inside, the air was 100% humidity. Water sprayed from the ceiling in a frantic, broken rhythm. Muchen moved with the grace of a general, barking orders to the two techs by the door before dragging Mingzhe toward the back, past the public ferns, into the "Orchid Gene Research Institute" wing.
They reached the Duchess. The rare orchid was shivering under the weight of the water. Muchen dove under the workbench, his expensive shirt soaking through instantly, revealing the hard lines of his back.
"Mingzhe! The lever, behind the intake!"
Mingzhe reached back, his fingers finding the cold steel. As he pulled, his body pressed against Muchen's side in the cramped space. The 'heavy air' Yize warned about began to settle over them. The smell of wet ozone and Muchen's skin was overwhelming.
Muchen looked up, his glasses fogged and wet. He saw Mingzhe—hair plastered to his forehead, lab coat dripping, looking like a devastatingly beautiful ghost in the mist.
The sensor chirped. [SYSTEM STABILIZED.]
The misting stopped. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the drip-drip-drip of water off the leaves. Muchen didn't get up. He stayed on the floor, pinned between the workbench and Mingzhe's legs.
He reached up, grabbing Mingzhe's waist and pulling him down into the damp shadows.
"You're a very expensive student to keep around, Mingzhe," Muchen whispered, his voice dark and rough. He swiped a thumb over Mingzhe's cheek, wiping away a stray drop of water. "First top student, now corporate espionage. What am I going to do with you?"
Mingzhe smiled, his hazel eyes glowing in the dim emergency lights. "You could start by admitting that your 'ordinary' life is a lie, and you've been building an empire just to keep yourself busy until I arrived."
Muchen's hand moved to the back of Mingzhe's neck, pulling him down until their lips were a hair's breadth apart. The scary energy was back, but now it was laced with the raw power of a man who owned the building, the tech, and—very nearly—the man in his arms.
"I didn't build it for you," Muchen murmured against his lips. "I built it because the world was broken. But I think I kept the penthouse empty... because I was waiting for someone."
He kissed him then—hard, possessive, and dripping with the humidity of the greenhouse.
Outside, the thunderstorm suddenly doubled in intensity. A bolt of lightning struck the lightning rod of the Botany building, shaking the very foundation.
[WARNING!] Yize screamed. [SOUL DENSITY OVERFLOW! HOST, IF MASTER KISSES YOU ANY HARDER, THE ROOF IS GOING TO CAVE IN!]
Muchen pulled back, breathless, his eyes scanning the ceiling as the building groaned. He looked at Mingzhe, a strange, smirk on his face.
"You're a dangerous man to kiss, baby. The weather seems to agree."
He stood up, pulling Mingzhe with him, and didn't let go of his hand. He looked toward the exit, where his subordinates were waiting for a report.
Muchen didn't release Mingzhe's hand as they stepped out of the humid research wing. He draped his own damp suit jacket over Mingzhe's shoulders, effectively shielding the younger man from the prying eyes of the technicians and Secretary Lin, who was waiting by the main terminal with a tablet and a very professional, yet suspicious, expression.
"Status?" Muchen asked, his voice returning to that crisp, authoritative chill that Mingzhe hadn't heard since the lecture hall.
"The Duchess is stable, sir. The drainage is clear," Secretary Lin reported, her eyes flickering briefly to the joined hands hidden beneath the jacket. "The board is asking for a report on the manual override."
"Tell them the 'Professor' had a lapse in judgment," Muchen said dryly, already guiding Mingzhe toward the private elevator that led directly to his executive office suite on the top floor. "And cancel my morning meetings. I have a guest who needs to dry off."
...........
The office was a stark contrast to the chaotic, dripping greenhouse. It was filled with the scent of old paper and expensive sandalwood. Muchen immediately steered Mingzhe toward the inner lounge.
"Sit," Muchen murmured, pressing Mingzhe into the deep velvet sofa.
He disappeared into the kitchenette, returning moments later with a bowl of steaming ginger soup and a thick, dry towel. He knelt on the floor between Mingzhe's legs—a position of absolute vulnerability—and began to methodically dry Mingzhe's hair. His movements were steady, his large hands surprisingly gentle as they cradled Mingzhe's head.
The storm outside the office windows was a muted roar, filtered through triple-paned glass. Inside, the "Professor" was gone, replaced by a man who looked weary, his damp shirt unbuttoned at the collar as he knelt before Mingzhe. He wasn't reaching for him with hunger this time; he was holding a warm, damp cloth, carefully wiping the smudge of greenhouse soil from Mingzhe's cheek.
"You look at these plants like they're a miracle," Muchen murmured, his voice low and devoid of its usual academic edge. He didn't look up, focusing instead on the task of tending to Mingzhe. "To me, they were always a prison sentence."
Mingzhe stayed silent, sensing the shift. In the past, he'd only seen Muchen as a powerful, introverted and a bit shy professor. He also understood his other persona as someone that hold a heavy crown. He is an emperor, but also a pitiful eunuch. He hadn't look into the roots of the man.
All children are innocents. They're a blank canvas. The parents are the colors that paint the children. And Mingzhe forgot that in this world, Muchen is a normal man. He was born by a normal parents, grew up here and eventually became the him in the present.
"My parents... they didn't just love botany. They were obsessed," Muchen continued, a bitter smile touching his lips. "They spent their entire lives trying to trigger a specific genetic resonance in the Duchess line. They failed. I grew up watching them wither alongside their samples. They told me they 'regretted' not being faster, not being smarter. They made it sound like a tragedy I had to fix."
For Muchen at that time, plants are very precious. He knew his parents wanted him to do his best. What can a child at that age do if not trying to be the son their parents are proud of?
Muchen squeezed the cloth, his knuckles momentarily white. He didn't realize that his parents weren't just "passionate"—they were pawns of a world consciousness that demanded him to keep the balance. The pressure he felt wasn't just filial duty; it was the script of the world pressing down on his shoulders.
Mingzhe knew and understood. That's why right now, his heart is breaking, crashing like a tidal wave against his ribcage. His heartbeats accelerated. Just what had happened to his beloved before all these misfortunes befall him? What had made his strong lover decided to scatter his souls and reaching a deal with the world consciousness?
"So I finished it," Muchen said, finally meeting Mingzhe's eyes. "I built the empire they couldn't. I gave them the results they died wanting. And now, I spend my nights in a glass box, making sure the humidity is exactly 82% so a flower doesn't cry."
A light chime at the private elevator interrupted the heavy air. Muchen sighed, but he didn't look annoyed. He looked... relieved.
The doors slid open to reveal a man who looked entirely out of place in a high-tech corporate office. He wore a loud, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt over a t-shirt and was carrying a bag of greasy takeout that smelled aggressively of fried chicken.
"Muchen my brooo! You absolute lunatic!" the man shouted, ignoring the security sensors. This was Yan Zhou, the only friend who had survived Muchen's rise to the top. While everyone else bowed to the professor, Yan treated him like a younger brother who was perpetually lost in the woods.
Yan stopped dead when he saw Mingzhe sitting in Muchen's chair, wrapped in a robe, while the Great Professor knelt at his feet.
"Oh," Yan said, his grin widening into something genuinely delighted. "So the greenhouse finally sprouted something interesting. About time."
"Yan, leave," Muchen said, though there was no bite in it.
"Not a chance," Yan said, tossing the bag of food onto a million-dollar mahogany desk. He walked over and hovered over Muchen, clapping a hand on his shoulder and shaking him slightly. "I saw the lightning strike. I knew you'd be here, brooding over your leaves like an old man. How many times have I told you? The world doesn't end if a petal falls, kid. You're in your 30s, not eighty."
Yan looked at Mingzhe and winked. "Keep him away from the dirt, will you? He's been breathing CO2 for so long I think his blood is turning green. He needs a drink and a person, not another research paper."
After Yan left—forced out by Muchen with a promise to "actually eat the damn chicken you damn lunatic"—the office felt different. The "scary energy" had mellowed into something domestic.
Muchen opened the takeout bag, looking almost sheepish. He pulled out a piece of chicken and offered it to Mingzhe.
"He's the only one who doesn't want something from me," Muchen admitted, sitting on the floor at Mingzhe's feet, leaning his back against the chair. "He thinks I'm wasting my life. Sometimes, when the rain hits the glass like this... I think he's right."
Mingzhe remembered the first time he transmigrated here through Yize. He was in awe at the mortal's life. It was the year 2025. His only goal was to ease his longing and his yearning towards the man he wanted to meet. Out of giddiness for a reunion, he forgot about Muchen's amnesia and circumstances that Yize had explained.
Back then, his main task was to graduate as a top student, with flying colors. He did, and it's checked. His husband wanted him to experience the beauty of the mortal world. But, Mingzhe couldn't act like he's really a student. His soul is an ancient God. He is not a mortal. He couldn't just live like that for years.
That's when he started studying the world consciousness. That's also when he decided to collect all the soul fragments, merged them back and getting his husband whole. But, obsession is a very frightening thing. Muchen doesn't want to leave without getting the results he desired.
Since then, Mingzhe's task changed. From being a top student, to getting the side quest and the optional task. However, world consciousness is always watching. It circled the current universe, checking here and there for any irregularities.
This fight is between Mingzhe and the invisible force. Mingzhe has a feeling that he will go through a rough journey.
Mingzhe ran his fingers through Muchen's drying hair, feeling the soul fragment inside the man thrum with a newfound softness.
.............
The storm outside had finally tapered off into a rhythmic, low hum against the glass, the kind of sound that made the sprawling office suite feel like a drifting ship. Muchen didn't suggest a guest room. Instead, he led Mingzhe into his private quarters—a space even Yan Zhou wasn't allowed to enter—and practically bundled him into the center of a massive, silk-sheeted bed.
Muchen moved with a heavy, unhurried exhaustion, shedding his damp shirt and sliding in beside Mingzhe. The professor was completely gone now, replaced by a man whose broad shoulders seemed to finally let go of a decade of tension.
"The bed is too big," Muchen murmured, his voice thick with the first stages of sleep. He didn't wait for an invitation; he reached out, hooking an arm around Mingzhe's waist and pulling him flush against his chest. The heat radiating from his skin was grounding, a stark contrast to the sterile chill of the laboratory.
The overhead lights were dimmed to a soft, golden haze, leaving the corners of the bedroom in shadow. Muchen lay on his side, his arm a heavy, protective weight across Mingzhe's chest. The usual stiffness in his jaw had vanished, melted away by the warmth of the bed and the lingering scent of rain on their skin.
"Everyone thinks the botanical tech is about agriculture," Muchen murmured, his voice gravelly and low, vibrating against Mingzhe's shoulder. "Better crops, prettier flowers... that's just the facade for the board members and the university."
He shifted closer, his breath warm against Mingzhe's ear. In this drowsy, unfiltered state, the professor was shedding the secrets he'd guarded for years.
"My parents were obsessed with the Duchess because they thought plants were the key to longevity. They were wrong. They're the key to environmental restoration." Muchen's fingers traced an idle, slow circle on Mingzhe's side. "The hidden business—the real money—comes from the extraction of cellular memory from the hybrids. I've been building a bridge between organic resilience and human decay. It's a ruthless industry. Half the people I deal with would kill for the data in my head."
Mingzhe felt the weight of it—the massive, hidden empire that Muchen carried alone. "Is that why you never sleep? You're afraid someone will steal the bridge while you're gone?"
Muchen let out a soft, tired chuckle that vibrated through both of them. "I didn't sleep because I didn't have a reason to stop looking at the monitors. My goal was always to reach the end—to finish what my parents started so I could finally put the burden down. I thought if I reached my goal..., whatever this pressure is... would let me go."
He pulled Mingzhe a fraction closer, tucking his chin over Mingzhe's head.
"But then you kept showing up," Muchen whispered, his eyes half-closed, the words beginning to slur with exhaustion. "Every time I looked at a screen, I found myself wondering if you were in the library. Every time I looked at a sample, I wondered what you'd think of the color. My goal started shifting. I stopped wanting the breakthrough. I just wanted the day to end so I could find you."
He took a deep, shaky breath, the tension finally leaving his spine. "Yan thinks I'm a martyr for the family name. He doesn't know... I'm just a man who's been running a race with no finish line. Until tonight."
The rhythmic sound of Muchen's heartbeat was steady, a slow drum under Mingzhe's ear. The high-tech security, the corporate espionage, and the heavy expectations of his parents felt miles away, locked outside the heavy oak doors.
"Mingzhe..." Muchen's voice was barely a breath now, lost in the heavy pull of sleep. "Don't test me anymore. I'll just... give my all to you. Just stay."
His grip didn't loosen even as his breathing turned deep and rhythmic. He fell asleep with his face buried in the crook of Mingzhe's neck, a silent, powerful man finally anchored by something more real than a lab-grown dream.
..........
The golden light of 8:00 AM sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the dust motes into drifting sparks. The office suite, which had felt like a dark, intimate cocoon just hours before, was now reclaiming its identity as the nerve center of a multi-billion dollar empire.
Mingzhe didn't wake up to an alarm. He woke up to the sensation of soft, lingering pressure against his temple, then his cheek, and finally a slow, deliberate peck on the corner of his mouth.
"Wake up sweetheart," a voice rumbled. It was deep, clear, and stripped of the previous night's exhaustion.
Mingzhe opened his eyes to see a version of Muchen that felt entirely new. Gone was the rumpled, damp professor from the greenhouse and the vulnerable man from the bed. Standing over him was the CEO. Muchen was already dressed in a charcoal-grey three-piece suit, the fabric so sharp it looked like it could cut glass. His hair was slicked back, and his watch—a heavy, mechanical piece that cost more than a campus building—glinted in the sun.
He looked every bit the man who owned half the real estate in the city and held the keys to the future of biotechnology. Yet, despite the intimidating silhouette, his hands were doing something entirely incongruous: he was carefully tucking the silk duvet around Mingzhe's shoulders.
"It's eight," Muchen whispered, leaning down to press one more kiss to Mingzhe's forehead. "I've already been down to the wing. The Duchess is thriving, and the drainage system has been reinforced. You don't have to worry about the plants today."
Mingzhe sat up, rubbing his eyes, the heavy robe from the night before slipping off one shoulder. "You're already working?"
"I have a meeting with the board regarding the new acquisitions in the North District at nine," Muchen said, but he didn't move toward the door. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to brush a stray hair from Mingzhe's face. The contrast was startling—the cold, powerful CEO persona draped over a man who refused to leave until he knew his 'guest' was settled.
"I've ordered breakfast. It's in the lounge. Real food, not Yan's takeout," he added with a small, private smirk. "Stay here as long as you want. My security knows you're my priority. If anyone asks, you're the only person in this building with a permanent manual override."
He stood up, adjusting his cufflinks with a practiced, lethal elegance. He looked like he was ready to go out and dismantle a competitor or buy a skyscraper, but his gaze remained anchored on Mingzhe.
"I have to be a 'powerful man' for the next few hours," Muchen said, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped back toward the bed for one last, possessive kiss. "But I'll be back for lunch. Don't move. I like knowing exactly where my most valuable treasure is kept."
With a final, lingering look that promised the "Professor" would return the moment the doors closed, Muchen turned and strode out, his footsteps echoing with the confidence of a man who finally owned everything he wanted.
As the heavy, soundproof doors clicked shut behind Muchen, the air in the room seemed to shift. The intense, magnetic pressure of the "CEO" persona vanished, leaving Mingzhe alone in the sprawling, sun-drenched suite.
He barely had a second to breathe before a familiar, frantic buzzing started at the edge of his consciousness.
[HOST!!] Yize's voice exploded in his mind, sounding like a radio that had finally found its signal after hours of static. [Oh my god, Host! I've been trying to reconnect for six hours! Do you have any idea what happened?! The soul affinity spike was so massive it literally fried my communication buffer!]
Mingzhe leaned back against the silk pillows, a faint, lingering smile on his lips from Muchen's morning "smooches." You missed the best part, Yize. It was quiet.
[QUIET?!] Yize's digital avatar—a small, glowing fluffy orb—flickered into existence above the bed, vibrating with indignation. [Host, the world consciousness didn't just spike; it stalled. When Master was talking about his hidden business and his parents... the universe was basically screaming!!]
Mingzhe stretched, feeling the slight ache in his muscles. He stood up, wrapping the plush robe around himself and walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the city looked like a toy set owned by the man who had just tucked him in.
The mission is progressing well, then, Mingzhe thought lazily. Yize settled onto Mingzhe's shoulder, its glow dimming into a more contemplative blue.
[But... I've checked the hidden logs. The part about Master's parents being obsessed. The world consciousness never flagged that. It means Master is breaking his own character constraints. Master's sharing things that it wanted to keep hidden. Master is choosing Host over the obsession.]
Yize paused, its digital sensors scanning the room. [By the way... Master wasn't kidding about breakfast. There's a tray in the lounge with specialized organic tea and handmade pastries. And... uh... there's a black card next to it with your name on it. Host, I think we've moved past the professor-student situationship into total pampering.]
Mingzhe watched as the world unfolded from the window. "Yize, what happened if I triggered the world consciousness after this? Since my hubby's soul fragment affinity has already rocketing fast across half of the bar, his obsession won't keep him anymore"
Mingzhe reached out, his fingers tracing the condensation on the glass. The city below was waking up, oblivious to the fact that its most powerful architect had spent the morning acting like a doting spouse.
[Host,] Yize's voice turned uncharacteristically solemn, the fluffy orb's glow flickering from a cheerful blue to a cautionary violet. [That's the problem. It doesn't like empty characters. If Master abandons his obsession—the drive to continue the world restoration—he stops being the Director the world requires. If he stops being the important asset, the world tries to 'recycle' him.]
Mingzhe's eyes narrowed. Recycle?
[Essentially, the invisible force will try to trigger a correction,] Yize explained, its tiny form pacing back and forth in mid-air. [Since the soul fragment affinity is at 85% and climbing, Master's heart is no longer anchored to the greenhouse and the lab. If Host trigger the world consciousness now, it will view Host as a virus that corrupted its main lead. It will try to remove the 'source of corruption'—that's you—or it will force a tragedy on Master to drive him back into his obsession.]
Mingzhe turned away from the window, his gaze landing on the black card sitting next to a plate of delicate, warm almond croissants. The "CEO" had left him a fortune, but the world consciousness wanted to leave him a tombstone.
So, if I stay, the world strikes me. If I leave, he'll fall back into that lonely glass cage, Mingzhe thought, picking up a pastry. The taste was buttery and rich, a testament to Muchen's attention to detail. But Muchen said he's running a race with no finish line. I'm the finish line.
[Exactly!] Yize buzzed, its light intensifying. [But Host, look at the UI! Because the soul fragment is fused so deeply with his CEO persona, his stat is shielding you for now. As long as he treats you as his most valuable treasure, the world consciousness has to fight through his influence to get to you. He's literally using his corporate and social standing as a spiritual shield.]
Mingzhe sat down at the table, pouring a cup of the organic tea. It was fragrant, designed to soothe the nerves—another subtle sign of Muchen's care.
"Yize, check the 'Side Quest' logs," Mingzhe commanded internally. "If Muchen is breaking his constraints, there must be a way to hijack the script entirely. I don't want to just collect the fragment and leave this shell behind. I want to see what happens when the professor finally burns the garden down."
[Scanning...] Yize's eyes whirred. [Found it! Optional Task: The Sovereign's Choice. If Host can get Master to publicly acknowledge Host—not as a student, not as a guest, but as his equal in front of the board—the world script will collapse and transform into a another script. He won't be a pawn of the flowers anymore. He'll be the master of the world.]
Which means, technically speaking, the missions after this will include Muchen's acknowledgement of Mingzhe for him to extract the soul fragment without world consciousness trying to recycle him.
Mingzhe leaned back, a dangerous, elegant glint in his hazel eyes. He thought of Muchen in that sharp suit, the man who was currently in a boardroom deciding the fate of the North District , yet who had taken the time to peck him awake.
"Then we won't wait for lunch," Mingzhe decided, standing up and discarding the robe. He looked at the high-end designer clothes Muchen had left laid out for him—a curated selection that matched the CEO's own aesthetic. "If he wants me to have an authority, I think it's time I used it."
[Host? What are you doing?]
"I'm going to the boardroom," Mingzhe replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "If the world consciousness wants to play a game of chess, it's about to find out that its pawn has changed sides."
.................
The boardroom of Chen Botanical Technologies was a temple of glass and steel, suspended fifty stories above the city.
For anyone else, the atmosphere was suffocating; for Muchen, it was a familiar, sterile vacuum.
He sat at the head of the obsidian table, his posture indifference. On the surface, he was listening to the Vice President drone on about the North District's land-value fluctuations. His eyes were cold, his expression a mask of CEO-level detachment that kept the room in a state of perpetual anxiety.
However, beneath the sharp lines of his charcoal suit, Muchen's mind was still in the penthouse.
He could still feel the phantom warmth of Mingzhe's skin against his palms and the way the younger man had looked, draped in silk and sunlight, when Muchen had pressed those final pecks to his lips. Every time the VP said "growth," Muchen thought of the way Mingzhe's soul seemed to bloom in the dark of the greenhouse. Every time someone mentioned "assets," he thought of the black card he'd left on the table—a clumsy, shy attempt to tell Mingzhe that his entire empire was an open door.
"The risk-to-reward ratio for the laboratory expansion is—"
"Acceptable," Muchen cut in, his voice like a blade. He didn't look at the speaker; he was idly adjusting his cufflink, the same one he'd touched while watching Mingzhe sleep. "Move to the next point."
Beside him, Yan Zhou leaned back in his chair, his Hawaiian shirt a violent eyesore against the room's monochrome aesthetic. Yan was the only one not sweating. He was currently peeling an orange, the citrus scent cutting through the expensive air-conditioning.
"You're distracted, 'bro,'" Yan whispered, loud enough only for Muchen to hear. "You've looked at your watch six times in ten minutes. Usually, you don't care if the sun explodes as long as the data is moving. What's the matter? Afraid your 'Duchess' woke up and realized you're a boring suit?"
Muchen's jaw tightened. "Focus on the report, Yan."
"I am focusing," Yan grinned, tossing a segment of orange into his mouth. "I'm focusing on the fact that for the first time in fifteen years, you look like you actually want to be somewhere else. It's a good look on you. Makes you look less like a statue and more like a guy who's finally figured out that he ain't a eunuch."
Muchen ignored him, but his heart gave a traitorous thud. He was the Emperor here. He held the lives of thousands in his balance sheets. But the "Professor" in him—the part that had been cracked open by a literature student with hazel eyes—was currently counting the seconds until the lunch break.
But then, the heavy double doors at the end of the boardroom groaned.
The security scanners didn't chime an alarm. Instead, they emitted a soft, melodic ping—the sound of the highest permission and authority, next to himself.
Muchen's head snapped up. His eyes, usually so controlled, widened as the doors swung open.
There, standing in the doorway, was Mingzhe. He was dressed in the tailored white shirt and slim black trousers Muchen had laid out for him. He looked ethereal, out of place in this den of sharks, yet he carried himself with a terrifying, ancient grace that made the board members gasp and scramble to adjust their ties.
Yan let out a low, delighted whistle. "Well, well. Speak of the devil and he appears in designer threads."
Muchen didn't hear him. He was already half-standing, his hand reaching out instinctively as if to bridge the gap between the obsidian table and the man who had just walked into his secret life.
"Mingzhe?" Muchen's voice was no longer the CEO's. It was the voice of a man who had just seen his finish line walk through the door.