Huang Min didn't sleep that night.
He sat in his penthouse office with the city sprawled beneath him, the skyline glittering like a field of daggers.
His phone was a grenade in his hand, every new message another pin pulled.
Customs corruption scandal hits luxury shipping magnates.
Insider documents leak: Huang Min named.
The articles weren't fully formed yet — just scraps and hints. But Min knew the way it worked. Rumors were fuel; the truth was only the match.
Across the desk, his aide, Wu Jian, looked pale. "We can still get ahead of this. Issue a statement, call it a smear campaign."
Min's lips thinned. "Statements don't erase signatures." He tossed the printed clearance form onto the table. His own name stared back at him, black ink that felt heavier than steel.
"Who?" Wu Jian asked.
Min didn't answer right away. He thought of Zhao Wei's face at the art show. The calm, the coldness. The way he hadn't needed to gloat. That silence had been louder than a confession.
"Find out how he got this," Min said finally. "And make sure he regrets it."
---
Zhao Wei, meanwhile, was in no hurry.
He woke late, took his coffee slow, and spent the morning on the balcony with a file in his lap — the second piece of evidence he'd kept in reserve.
The first leak was just smoke. The next one would be fire. But he wasn't ready to burn it yet. Min needed to scramble, make enemies, push his allies away first. A desperate man was easier to break.
The phone buzzed. Gao Fang.
"It's working," Gao said without greeting. "Min's pulling favors, calling in debts. The problem is, people are starting to realize helping him is a liability."
"Good," Zhao Wei said. "Let him lean on rotten beams. They'll snap under him."
---
That afternoon, Xiao An came home from school with paint on his hands and a rare smile.
"They're putting my painting in the city youth gallery for a month," he said. "They said it… felt real."
Zhao Wei studied him for a beat. The boy was slowly shedding the hunch in his shoulders, the guarded way he moved through rooms. Still cautious, but not crushed.
"That's because it is real," Zhao Wei said. "You didn't paint a storm from a book. You painted the one you've been in."
Xiao An tilted his head. "You talk like you've been in one too."
Zhao Wei's mouth curved. "Everyone has. Some just hide it better."
---
While they ate, the TV in the background shifted to a breaking news alert. The anchor's voice was clipped, almost eager.
"—corporate offices of Huang Min's shipping conglomerate were visited by investigators today following allegations of bribery and customs fraud. Sources say several mid-level executives are cooperating with authorities."
Xiao An looked at Zhao Wei. "That's him, isn't it?"
Zhao Wei sipped his tea. "That's the sound of someone realizing they're not untouchable."
---
By midnight, Min was pacing his living room, a glass of whisky in hand. His lawyer had warned him — the investigation could take months, but the headlines would ruin deals now.
Worse, some of his partners weren't returning calls.
One even sent a curt message: We can't be associated with this. Don't contact us again.
He slammed the glass onto the table, the liquid sloshing over the edge.
"This is Zhao Wei," he muttered. "It has to be."
Wu Jian hesitated. "Then… what do we do?"
Min turned, his eyes cold. "We don't wait for him to strike again. We hit first."
---
The first move came the next morning.
Zhao Wei's driver noticed the black sedan parked a little too long outside his building. The same car followed them when Zhao took Xiao An to school.
He didn't react — just noted the plates and passed them to Gao Fang.
"They're already circling," Gao said over the phone. "You want me to make them disappear?"
"Not yet," Zhao Wei replied. "If Min wants to watch, let him. The more he looks here, the less he looks where I'm actually moving."
---
That evening, Zhao Wei opened his laptop and sent a single email to a journalist he trusted. Attached was the second document — not a form this time, but a chain of emails between Min and a procurement officer discussing "expedited clearance fees."
The journalist's reply was short: Understood. Give me three days.
Zhao Wei closed the laptop. The clock was set.
By the time Min realized the second wave was coming, he'd be knee-deep in the first.
---
At the same time, in a smoky back room of a private club, Min was meeting someone Zhao Wei had hoped he wouldn't — Chen Liang, a fixer known for making problems vanish.
"This man," Min said, sliding a photo of Zhao Wei across the table, "needs to disappear from my life. Quietly, but permanently."
Chen Liang glanced at the photo, then at Min. "That will cost you."
Min's smile didn't reach his eyes. "It'll cost him more."