Chapter 7: The Storm That Stirred Beijing
The sky above Beijing simmered in a leaden haze, cloaking the capital in a veil of unease. It was as if the city sensed the tremors beneath its surface—tensions brewing, gears moving, destinies converging.
In a sleek, high-rise tower piercing the city's heart, Mr. Qiao stood before a digital command table, fingers interlocked behind his back. His eyes scanned the floating holographic map with surgical precision.
"We have names now," he said without turning. "Lin Meiyun and her granddaughter, Lin Xiaomeng. I want them found. Immediately."
His assistant flinched slightly, knowing what that tone meant.
"If we must, turn the city upside down," Mr. Qiao continued. "Mobilize every contact, every favor, every buried connection. Call in the police. Military reservists, too. I don't care what strings you pull—as long as they're found."
He was not just a tycoon. In Beijing, Mr. Qiao was a myth draped in a suit—a man whose influence could rearrange the city's laws before breakfast. When he moved, institutions trembled.
Within two hours, a silent storm began to roll across the capital. Surveillance drones swept alleyways. Traffic cameras rerouted to facial recognition. Police checkpoints emerged overnight, joined discreetly by military personnel in civilian dress.
The Ministry of Internal Affairs was in disarray. "Who authorized these deployments? Why is the 5th Security Division involved?" a senior official barked.
A junior officer hesitated before whispering, "Sir... it's Mr. Qiao."
The room fell into stunned silence.
"Forget I asked," the official muttered. "Let him do whatever the hell he wants."
Far from the city's glass towers, in the rusting skeleton of an abandoned textile factory, Lin Meiyun lay curled in a corner. Her breaths came shallow and dry. Beside her, Mengmeng sat cross-legged, her face flushed with fever. Her small hands tried to fan her grandmother with a torn piece of cardboard.
Footsteps echoed in the distance.
A group of four local thugs swaggered into the scene, laughing crudely.
"Look what we have here. Still breathing, old bag?"
Mengmeng's eyes widened, but she stood up. Her legs shook, but she spread her arms protectively in front of her grandmother.
"Go away! Don't touch her!"
One of the men chuckled and stepped closer, reaching out for Mengmeng's arm.
That's when the roar of high-performance engines cut through the quiet.
Three armored black SUVs screeched to a halt just outside the factory. Men in matte-black uniforms with no insignia poured out like shadows.
"Target located. Civilians confirmed. Remove all threats," came a curt command through earpieces.
The gangsters didn't have time to blink. In under sixty seconds, all four were disarmed, incapacitated, and lined up like garbage awaiting disposal.
Mr. Qiao arrived minutes later, stepping out of the central SUV. He walked with the calm of a man attending a morning stroll, yet his eyes radiated lethal calculation.
He stopped in front of the thugs, now bruised and bleeding.
"Which one of you touched the girl?" he asked quietly.
None answered. One tried to speak, but it was mostly blood and broken teeth.
Mr. Qiao gave a short nod. His men understood. Silence followed—a silence filled with swift punishment.
From the corner, Lin Meiyun stirred. She struggled to sit upright, her eyes dazed.
"Please... who are you? Don't hurt her. Take me instead..." her voice cracked like dry twigs.
Mr. Qiao approached her, knelt down slowly.
"Madam Lin, I'm a friend of the man you met in Panjiayuan. Adrian Bong. He never forgot about you and your granddaughter."
Her eyes lit with fragile warmth. "Adrian... that kind-hearted boy... he remembered us?"
"He did. And I will ensure no one ever harms you again."
Mengmeng crawled over, her hand grasping her grandmother's. She looked up at Mr. Qiao with eyes filled not with fear, but confusion.
He gave her a gentle smile and extended his hand. "You're safe now, Xiaomeng. Let's take you home."
That night, under Beijing's artificial stars, the Eastern Tiger gang was annihilated.
Mr. Qiao led the operation personally. Their hideout was breached without warning. Their leaders vanished. Their records were burned. And their name was erased from every whisper of the underworld.
In a luxury private hospital, Mengmeng and Lin Meiyun were treated in a sterile, quiet VIP room. Nurses moved like ghosts, and the air smelled of expensive disinfectant and lavender.
Mengmeng's doll—previously threadbare—had been repaired and cleaned. The girl now lay asleep beside her grandmother, both on IV drips, their hands intertwined.
Mr. Qiao visited the next morning.
Lin Meiyun tried to sit up when she saw him. "Mr. Qiao... you saved more than just our lives. You gave us back our dignity."
"No need to thank me," he replied gently. "The gratitude belongs to Adrian. I'm merely fulfilling his promise."
She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Tell him... we never forgot. And that I pray for him every night."
Later that evening, Mr. Qiao initiated a secure video call. Adrian's face appeared, eyes sharp yet weary.
"You found them," Adrian said quietly.
"We did. And we dealt with the ones who dared harm them."
Adrian closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, there was something deeper in them—relief, and something else. Purpose.
"Thank you, Mr. Qiao. I can't express what this means to me."
"You don't have to. Meiyun and Mengmeng spoke your name like a prayer. You've already done more than you realize."
Adrian nodded, but his gaze turned serious. "There's something else. I need to tell you something important."
"Go ahead."
Adrian leaned in. "There's a global collapse coming. And it's already begun. Food supply chains, political systems, economic balance—they're crumbling. I've seen the signs. You need to prepare. Logistically, strategically, morally."
Mr. Qiao's face hardened. "Are you certain?"
"I wish I weren't. But I am."
A moment passed.
Then Mr. Qiao straightened. "Then I'll prepare for the worst. Distribution networks, protected shelters, strategic reserves. I'll start tomorrow."
Adrian exhaled. "Good. You'll need it. We all will."
After the call, Adrian descended into his private training chamber beneath his estate.
The lights flickered on automatically, illuminating a reinforced concrete block in the center.
Adrian approached it, cracked his knuckles, then threw a punch.
The sound echoed like thunder.
Spiderweb cracks burst across the concrete. A flurry of dust fell like ash.
The ring on his finger glowed faintly. Not bright, but pulsing—alive.
Adrian looked at his hand. The muscles felt tighter. Denser. His bones... lighter, but stronger.
"You've evolved again," he whispered to the ring.
He didn't know how or why. Only that the ancient artifact now increased his physical strength. Gradually, subtly—but undeniably.
He turned away, walking toward the far wall lined with gear and weapons.
His thoughts whispered silently:
No one can know about the ring. Not yet. Not even Mr. Qiao.
As the city above him buzzed with artificial lights and oblivious dreams, Adrian Bong trained alone—sharpening himself for a world that had already begun to collapse.
And somewhere in that darkness, destiny sharpened its own blade.