The heavy obsidian doors hissed shut, sealing Yilin in a room that felt more like a high-tech vault than a boardroom. The air was crisp, expensive, and carried a faint, lingering scent of sandalwood that made her pulse spike for a reason she couldn't explain.
At the far end of a massive black glass table sat two people who looked like they'd been plucked straight from a corporate thriller.
"Ms. Su Yilin. Right on time," Director Chen said. she didn't smile; she just adjusted her glasses, her silver hair pulled back so tight it looked painful. Beside her, Curator Hales was busy tapping a stylus against a tablet, his eyes scanning Yilin like she was a suspicious line of code.
Yilin took a seat, her leather portfolio feeling like a shield. She noticed the chair at the head of the table—the big, leather one—was empty.
"I'll cut to the chase, Ms. Su," Director Chen began, leaning forward. "Our CEO, Mr. Lu, had to fly to Northern Europe this morning for an emergency acquisition. He's... well, he's a man who doesn't believe in small talk or 'getting to know you' phases. He's a pure businessman. Cold, calculating, and honestly? A bit of an enigma."
"Lin Jue mentioned he's quite strict," Yilin managed, keeping her voice steady.
Hales let out a dry, sharp laugh. "Strict is an understatement. To Mr. Lu, this museum isn't just a collection of old things; it's an empire. He runs it with an iron fist. If a project falls behind by even an hour, or if a restoration isn't 'perfect' by his impossible standards, he doesn't just fire people—he erases their careers."
"He's a man of absolute logic," Chen added, her gaze narrowing. "He doesn't have time for 'artistic feelings' or 'historical hunches.' He wants results. He wants the Dragon's Eye back to its original glow, and he wants it yesterday."
Hales leaned in, dropping his stylus.
"Here's the deal, Yilin. The Chairman is obsessed with the Yan Dynasty. Nobody knows why. He's poured billions into finding these relics, but he treats them like high-stakes assets. If you can't handle a boss who treats a 1,000-year-old crown like a failing tech stock, you should walk out that door right now."
Yilin felt that familiar, sharp ache in her chest, but she didn't flinch. "I'm not here to be his friend, Mr. Hales. I'm here because I'm the only one who can fix that jade."
The two board members exchanged a long, unreadable look. It was the kind of look you give someone who's about to walk into a lion's den.
"Bold," Chen murmured. "Mr. Lu returns in forty-eight hours. Until then, you'll be on a 'probationary' trial in the high-security lab. If you haven't made progress by the time his plane touches down, don't bother showing up for the second interview. He doesn't do second chances."
"The elevator is biometric, Ms. Su. Don't bother pressing the buttons; it already knows where you're allowed to go," Lin Jue said, his voice echoing off the brushed-steel walls as the doors slid shut.
He didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the digital floor readout. Yilin felt like she was being escorted by a high-end security bot rather than a secretary.
"Mr. Lu doesn't like people wandering," Lin continued, his tone clinical.
"This wing is the 'Grey Zone.' To your left is the archival vault—climate-controlled to exactly 18°C. To your right, the restoration suites. Memorize the turn at the intersection of the obsidian pillars. If you miss it, the motion sensors will trigger a lockdown. The Chairman isn't fond of 'accidental' tourists in his private labs."
Yilin clutched her portfolio tighter, her heels clicking a nervous rhythm. "Does he always run the museum like a high-security prison?"
Lin Jue offered a thin, enigmatic smile that didn't reach his eyes. "He runs it like a kingdom, Ms. Su. In his world, information is the only currency that matters. And right now, the Yan Dynasty is his most valuable asset."
They stepped out into a long, dimly lit corridor. The walls were lined with frosted glass, behind which ghostly shapes of ancient statues loomed.
"Down this hall is the Sub-Level 4 Lab," Lin said, gesturing toward a heavy, reinforced door at the far end. "This is your 'territory' for the next forty-eight hours. The keycard I gave you will get you in, but it won't get you out if you try to take anything—even a grain of dust—out of the room."
He stopped at the door, turning to face her. His expression softened, just a fraction.
"He's a ghost of a man, Yilin. He's cold, he's brilliant, and he has no patience for failure. If you want to survive the 'interview' when he gets back from Europe, make sure that lab looks like a temple, not a workshop. He treats these relics like they're his own family."
"Family?" Yilin whispered, a sudden flash of a burning palace flickering behind her eyes. "That's a strange way to describe 1,000-year-old rocks."
"For Mr. Lu, time is just a suggestion," Lin replied cryptically. He swiped his own card, and the lab door hissed open, releasing a puff of pressurized, chilled air. "Welcome to the lion's den. I'll check on you at sundown. Try not to let the silence get to you."
Lin Jue turned and vanished back into the shadows of the hallway. Yilin stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind her with a heavy thud. The lab was a masterpiece of white light and stainless steel, dominated by a single, massive examination table.
On the table sat three wooden crates, their seals unbroken.
Yilin approached the first crate, her breath hitching. A small, minimalist incense burner sat on the workstation nearby. It wasn't lit, yet the faint, lingering scent of sandalwood clung to the metal, a ghostly signature of the Chairman's presence.
"Just a job," she whispered, her voice sounding thin in the pressurized room. "It's just carbon and mineral."
She picked up a specialized pry tool, her hands steadying as her professional instincts took over. With a sharp crack, the seal snapped. She lifted the lid, and a puff of chilled, nitrogen-preserved air hit her face.
Lying on a bed of archival foam was a weapon that shouldn't have existed.
It was a Zhǎnmǎdāo, snapped cleanly in half. The metal was dark, porous, and seemed to swallow the overhead surgical lights rather than reflect them. But it wasn't the break that made Yilin's heart stop.
It was the hilt.
Fused into the dark metal by an ancient, unfathomable heat was a fragment of burnt red silk.
Yilin reached out, her fingers hovering just inches above the jagged edge of the blade. As she got closer, a low, rhythmic hum seemed to vibrate in her fingertips—a frequency that matched the frantic thudding of her own pulse.
Suddenly, the room felt dizzyingly hot. The smell of the lab's disinfectant vanished, replaced by the suffocating stench of smoke and ozone.
"I will find you," a voice roared in her mind, sounding like a mountain collapsing. "Even if the stars go out!"
Yilin gasped, her hand jerking back as if she'd been burned. She stumbled against the workstation, sending a tray of scalpels clattering to the floor. The vision vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her gasping in the cold, silent lab.
"It's not possible," she breathed, her eyes darting to the security camera in the corner. "He's a businessman. This is a museum. This is just... history."
Unbeknownst to Yilin, thirty floors up in a private terminal in Northern Europe, a man sat in the back of a black sedan. He was staring at a tablet screen that showed a live, high-definition feed of the Sub-Level 4 Lab.
He watched the tray of scalpels clatter to the floor, the silver tools scattering like panicked minnows across the sterile white tile.
A cold, microscopic smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—a look that held no warmth, only a jagged, dark irony.
"Clumsy," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to fill the cramped space of the car.
He tapped a button on the car's integrated intercom, his voice dropping into a low, authoritative baritone. "Secretary Lin."
"Yes, Chairman?" Lin Jue's voice crackled through the speakers, instantly alert and professional, despite the thousands of miles between them.
"The contracts are signed. Tell the board to focus on the gala logistics. I'm heading to the airport now; I'll be back in the city by dawn." Wei said coldly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Yilin pull a high-powered digital microscope over the workstation. She was moving with a newfound efficiency now, her professional mask finally sliding back into place like a shield.
"I'll have the car waiting at the private terminal, Chairman."
"See that you do."
Wei swiped the screen shut with a sharp, decisive flick of his finger, plunging the back of the sedan into total darkness. Outside, the jet engines of his private Gulfstream began to whine—a high-pitched, predatory sound that cut through the Norse rain.