The silence in the narrow concrete corridor was heavy, thick with an unspoken, magnetic tension.
Yang Muchen stood completely still, his tall, imposing figure casting a long shadow under the fluorescent lights. His dark, midnight eyes remained locked onto the exceptionally handsome "young man" standing before him.
The sharp contouring along the jawline, the structured silk shirt completely hiding a feminine silhouette, and the textured, effortless wolf-cut wig created a flawless illusion. To any casual observer, this was a rebellious, ethereal young rock master who had just saved a multi-million-dollar concert.
But Yang Muchen didn't look at the clothes. He looked at the eyes. Those calm, icy, and utterly unbothered dark pools belonged to only one person in the entire capital.
"Dismissed," Yang Muchen said, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet hallway. He didn't turn his head as he gave the command to his security operatives and Assistant Han.
