The elevator doors slid shut behind Mu Bai with a soft, expensive sigh, sealing her into the sudden, cool quiet of the basement garage. The air down here was different—thicker, cooler, smelling faintly of polished concrete, tire rubber, and the faint, sharp tang of luxury car interiors. After the sterile, recycled air of the corporate offices above, it felt almost real. She paused for a second, leaning against the brushed metal wall of the elevator bank, and just breathed. It was a weird feeling, walking around in a life that was both hers and not hers at all. System 001 had downloaded the important stuff—the major plot points, the key relationships, the fact that she was supposedly a ruthless business rival to the story's male lead. But the little, everyday things? Like where she'd left her stupid car? Those were total blanks. It was like trying to navigate a new city with only a tourist map that showed the big monuments but none of the side streets.
"Okay, 001," she muttered under her breath, shoving her hands into the pockets of her tailored slacks. She felt a little silly talking to the empty air, but the system's interface was neural, a voice only she could hear. "A little help here? I know I'm rich and important. Where does rich and important me park?"
The response was immediate, a prim and slightly smug digital voice chirping directly inside her skull. *"Of course, Host. Your cognitive integration of the host body's memories is only at 78% for trivial data. Proceed straight down this aisle. Turn right at the intersection ahead. Your vehicle is assigned to a reserved, independent parking space designated for C-suite and VIP personnel only. You cannot miss it."*
"Can't miss it. Right," she thought back, pushing off the wall and starting to walk. Her heels clicked softly against the sealed concrete, the sound echoing in the vast, dim space. The garage was a cathedral of wealth, filled with rows of silent, gleaming vehicles that cost more than most houses. She followed the system's directions, turning right, and there it was.
And oh, she definitely did not miss it.
The space was like a stage, isolated from the common rows, lit by its own dedicated spotlight. And on that stage sat a car that looked less like a mode of transportation and more like a piece of violent, sculptural art. A Pagani Huayra Roadster BC. Her brain, pulling from her own real-world knowledge, supplied the name and the insane price tag that went with it. It was a stupidly rare, limited-edition hypercar, and it was hers. The body was a breathtaking flow of carbon fiber and what looked like liquid-blue metal, so low-slung it seemed to hug the very ground it rested on. Every line was a sharp, aggressive curve, designed not for beauty alone but for slicing through the air at impossible speeds. The dihedral doors were lifted skyward like the wings of some mechanical bird of prey, inviting someone to climb into its cockpit.
She approached it slowly, almost reverently, a low, appreciative whistle escaping her lips. The interior was a masterpiece of contrast—saddle-brown leather so soft it looked like butter, juxtaposed with brutal, gleaming swathes of bare carbon fiber and polished aluminum. It smelled of wealth and raw, untamed power. This wasn't a car; it was a declaration. The original Mu Bai didn't just have money; she had audacious, flamboyant, 'screw-you' levels of it.
But just as her fingers were about to brush the cool surface of the door, a flicker of movement in the deep shadow cast by the car's wide rear end made her freeze. She leaned sideways, peering around the car's dramatic spoiler.
And her breath hitched.
There, tucked into the narrow space between her Pagani and the hulking black Range Rover next to it, was a person. A woman. She was squatting on her heels, her back against the Rover's tire, looking for all the world like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Her head was bowed, and a waterfall of dark, silky hair cascaded over her shoulders, obscuring her face. But Mu Bai knew that profile, that posture, anywhere. It was Shen Ming.
What was she doing down here? This was the executive garage; her employee level shouldn't grant access. A dozen questions flashed through Mu Bai's mind, but they all evaporated a second later.
As if sensing her presence, Shen Ming tilted her head back. The motion made her hair fall away from her face, and Mu Bai got a full, unobstructed view. Her heart did a funny little stutter in her chest. This wasn't the cold, untouchable saintess of the office upstairs. This Shen Ming's brow was furrowed with what looked like genuine distress, her eyes—those usually cool, distant pools—were shimmering with a vulnerability that made something in Mu Bai's chest tighten. Her red lips were slightly parted in a soft, surprised "o," and they were turned down at the corners in the faintest, most heartbreaking pout.
Then, those eyes focused. They locked onto Mu Bai's.
And the transformation was instantaneous. It was like watching the sun break through a week of storm clouds. The distress in her expression melted away, replaced by a dawning recognition that quickly bloomed into something else entirely. The icy distance shattered, and in its place was a warmth so sudden and so sweet it felt like a physical blow. Her eyes lit up, the corners crinkling slightly, and her pout softened into a shy, almost relieved smile that was utterly devastating.
Mu Bai felt her own brain short-circuit. The icy lake she'd observed from afar was melting right before her eyes, rippling with clear, emerald water, and she was tumbling right in. Her heartbeat, which had been steady a moment before, suddenly kicked into a frantic, pounding rhythm against her ribs. A hot flush crept up her neck, and she knew her ears were turning a betraying shade of red. The million-dollar hypercar, the mission, System 001's inevitable panic—it all faded into a distant, meaningless hum. The entire universe shrank down to the space between them, to the woman looking up at her with an expression that was equal parts hope, shyness, and a sweetness that made Mu Bai's head spin.
For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Mu Bai just stared, captivated, her mind completely, utterly blank of everything except one single, screaming thought: Oh. Oh, no. I am in so much trouble.
Fortunately, the sharp, digital intrusion of System 001 in her mind broke the spell before Mu Bai could completely short-circuit. The system's voice was a jarring, panicked buzz, completely out of sync with the warm, fuzzy haze that had settled over her.
"Host! Host! Look! The female lead is here! This is a severe anomaly! Her security clearance does not permit access to this sector! Why is she here? This is not in the plot! Does she have ulterior motives? Host, exercise extreme caution!"
001 was practically vibrating with wary panic. From its very first interaction with this particular female lead, it had felt a deep, illogical sense of threat. It was an impossible feeling, a glitch in its own code. It existed entirely within the host's mental realm, a ghost in the machine of her consciousness. A person from a low-level, constructed world shouldn't possess the perception to even sense its presence, let alone feel like a direct challenge to it. It was like a character in a video game suddenly turning to look directly at the player behind the screen—it was unnerving, it was wrong. 001 had tried to rationalize it as a processing error, a bug, but the deep-seated wariness towards Shen Ming had already taken root. It saw her not as a plot point, but as a potential variable, a virus in its perfectly coded narrative.
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Thanks for reading.
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