The Factory - Security Wing
A black limousine pulled up to the abandoned Jinwei Metal Components factory, its polished exterior completely at odds with the industrial decay surrounding it. The driver, dressed in an immaculate suit, stepped out and opened the rear door.
The Ice Queen emerged.
Red carpet rolled out before her feet touched the ground, literal red carpet, unfurled by two attendants who'd been waiting specifically for this purpose.
The carpet stretched from the car to the factory entrance, a path of luxury cutting through the dirt and grime.
She was breathtaking in a way that transcended normal beauty. At six-foot-four in her heels, probably six-foot-one without them, she commanded immediate attention simply by existing. Her body was the kind that seemed mathematically impossible: massive breasts that defied gravity, a waist so slim it looked like it could snap, hips wide enough to create an hourglass silhouette that belonged in Renaissance paintings of fertility goddesses.
Her face matched the body, high cheekbones, full lips painted deep red, eyes that were simultaneously warm and absolutely cold, framed by perfectly styled hair that fell in dark waves past her shoulders.
She wore a designer dress that probably cost more than most people made in a year, the fabric clinging to every curve, the cut revealing just enough to be devastating without being crude.
She was forty-six years old and looked twenty-five. The rumors about her appearance were, if anything, understated.
She walked along the red carpet with measured steps, her heels clicking against the fabric, her expression one of complete disgust as she surveyed her surroundings.
"I should have sent someone to this dump," she muttered, her voice carrying the kind of refined accent that came from expensive education and deliberate cultivation.
"This is beneath me."
Attendants followed behind her, ensuring the carpet remained perfectly flat, that no dirt or debris touched her path.
She arrived at the security wing entrance and saw Nergui limping toward her, using a crutch to support his weight. His face was swollen and bruised, evidence of Tòumíng's knee strike that had broken his nose and knocked out a tooth. He moved with obvious pain despite his usual composure.
The Ice Queen's face contorted in disgust. "How the fuck did YOU of all people get hurt?"
Nergui bowed respectfully, keeping his blank eyes lowered. "Mistress Xuě Bào, I apologize for my—"
Her kick was faster than he could react to. Her heel, a weapon in its own right, probably five inches tall with a pointed toe, connected with his chest and sent him flying backward. His crutch clattered away as his body hit the ground hard, his already-injured ribs screaming in protest.
The Ice Queen walked to where he'd been standing and spit on the spot. The glob of saliva landed on the red carpet with deliberate precision.
"Did I give you permission to speak, pig?"
Nergui, still on the ground, shook his head frantically.
"That's what I thought." She scoffed, a sound of pure contempt, and walked past him without a second glance.
Her heels clicked against the factory floor as she kicked open the door to the security room. The metal door slammed against the wall with a BANG that made everyone inside jump.
She walked directly to the monitoring station where a dwarf—maybe four-foot-five at most—sat watching multiple security camera feeds. He spun his chair around, clearly terrified, his hands gripping the armrests with white knuckles.
"Do you know," the Ice Queen said, her voice dangerously calm, "who the fuck ruined my 'love battle'?"
The dwarf swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. "Y-yes, Mistress. We've identified him. Someone related to Xuān Láng. Our records show his name is Tòumíng. No last name on file. Age nineteen. Occupation listed as miner."
"Where does he live?"
"We've pinpointed his address to a one-mile radius around Guanlan Lake, but it's still vague. The area has multiple residential complexes and—"
"Show me."
The dwarf quickly pulled up surveillance footage, the clearest images they had of Tòumíng from the factory's security cameras. The footage showed him fighting Nergui, his face clearly visible despite the chaos.
The Ice Queen's eyes lit up, an expression that was equal parts interest and predatory hunger.
"Ugh," she said, but her tone carried appreciation rather than disgust. "And he's cute too. Young. Fit. That desperate survivor energy. Very appealing."
She leaned closer to the screen, examining Tòumíng's features with the kind of attention someone might give to evaluating expensive jewelry.
"Find him," she ordered, straightening up and smoothing her dress. "Bring him to me as soon as possible. Alive. Unharmed. I want to meet this boy who managed to hurt Nergui and escape with my prisoners."
"Yes, Mistress. We'll dispatch teams immediately."
"Not teams. Send your best tracker. I don't want a circus. I want efficiency. Discretion. And I want him delivered within twenty-four hours."
She turned on her heel—the movement so fluid it looked choreographed—and walked toward the door, her hips swaying with each step, her presence filling the entire room even as she exited.
The dwarf and the other security personnel exhaled collectively once she was gone, the tension draining from the room like air from a punctured balloon.
Outside, the Ice Queen walked back along the red carpet to her limousine, completely unbothered by the violence she'd just inflicted or the orders she'd just given.
Nergui was still on the ground where she'd kicked him, trying to push himself up with shaking arms.
She didn't look at him as she passed.
The attendants rolled up the red carpet behind her, erasing all evidence of her presence, and the limousine pulled away into the night.