The city lay draped in the shimmer of late afternoon light, its skyline a scatter of silver glass and burning clouds. From the topmost floor of the Wen Corporation headquarters, the world appeared small — like a living painting beneath layers of calm illusion. Yet within the glass walls of the boardroom, serenity was a ghost no one dared believe in.
It had been months since the tension of the interviews. The chaos, the suspicion, the cleansing — all seemed to have settled like dust on forgotten shelves. Those who were removed had been erased without echo, those who were accepted now moved like clockwork, every motion calculated, every word rehearsed. Order had returned, or so it appeared.
Li Chenrui, the man everyone had whispered about since that bizarre interview, had risen quickly through the ranks. His name drifted through the corridors like a rumour that refused to die — "young," "smart," "too composed." Some said his promotion was destiny; others said it was design. But no one dared say it too loudly.
The peace was fragile. Then, one morning, the illusion cracked.
An impromptu security check — initiated by none other than Wu An herself — swept through the departments. What began as a routine audit unfurled into a storm. Illegal transactions, hidden ledgers, bribery trails — all surfaced like rot beneath polished marble. Wu An's order came sharp and final:
> "Board meeting. Now."
No explanations. No mercy.
By the time the board members gathered, the air was already steeped in anxiety. The vast mahogany table stretched endlessly beneath the soft glow of chandelier light, its sheen reflecting faces drained of color. Laptops sat unopened. Hands fidgeted. Every breath felt too loud.
No one spoke.
They all knew this wasn't a meeting to discuss profit margins or projections. The silence had a pulse — slow, heavy, suffocating. The walls, paneled in dark walnut and edged with brass, seemed to lean inward as though to listen. Somewhere beyond the windows, the city kept breathing, oblivious.
Then came the sound.
The click… click… click of heels down the hallway — deliberate, poised, echoing through the marble corridor like a metronome of judgment. Every head turned toward the door. Each step tightened the air. A few exchanged nervous glances; one man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple jerking visibly.
The door opened.
Liu Dai Fei entered first, her composure immaculate, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. Behind her, Wu An stepped through — and the temperature seemed to drop.
Her presence filled the room before she spoke a word. Even the air-conditioning seemed to still, as if afraid to interrupt. She didn't walk; she glided — each movement quiet but full of gravity, the way one might imagine a queen crossing her throne room. The faint scent of white peony trailed after her — subtle, clean, but dangerous in its perfection.
She wasn't dressed for war, yet she looked every bit the conqueror.
A silken dove-gray blouse hugged her frame, its high collar fastened with a small obsidian pin that caught the light when she turned. The fabric shimmered faintly, soft as mist, but the cut was sharp enough to draw blood. Beneath it, her pencil skirt in storm-black flowed into sheer stockings and heels that gleamed like dark water. Her hair — pulled into a smooth chignon — revealed the clean line of her neck, the only softness about her.
She looked like calm personified — and yet everyone in that room knew better.
She was the calm before a killing frost.
Every board member stood instinctively, heads bowed, as if a monarch had entered.
But Wu An didn't sit.
She walked slowly around the far end of the table, her fingers brushing lightly across the surface, leaving invisible marks where she passed. The soft tapping of her nails on wood was the only sound.
Then she looked up.
Her eyes — lined in deep kohl — were dark storms that reflected nothing. No anger. No warmth. Only control. And it was that very restraint that made the room tremble.
"Let's sit," she said.
No one moved.
The words hung there, simple yet suffocating. Her lips curved slightly, not quite a smile — something sharper. A pause stretched, thin as a blade's edge.
Then she chuckled — a low, melodic sound that shouldn't have been terrifying but somehow was.
"What? Are you afraid now?" she asked lightly.
It wasn't a question.
It was a command disguised as one.
It carried the same weight as a verdict.
Chairs scraped. Everyone sat — stiff-backed, trying not to make a sound. The air vibrated with nerves. Some stared into their laptops as though the glowing screens could save them. Others tried to look busy writing notes that made no sense. But all eyes, whether openly or secretly, followed her every move.
Wu An remained standing.
"Mrs. Ling," she said softly.
The name alone sent a jolt through the woman seated halfway down the table. Mrs. Ling flinched, her hands trembling around the folder she held. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.
"Y-yes, ma'am," she stammered.
Wu An tilted her head slightly. "I believe you have something for me."
The words were smooth — almost kind. But beneath that calm tone lay a promise of ruin.
Mrs. Ling hesitated. Then, forcing her legs to move, she stood and approached the head of the table. Her heels clicked unevenly on the polished floor. She extended a folder with both hands, head bowed as though offering tribute to an emperor.
Wu An took the file without a word. She opened it, her fingers moving slowly, page by page. The silence deepened, stretched until every tick of the clock on the wall sounded like a hammer against bone.
Finally, she spoke — voice soft but unwavering.
"It's a good work."
Mrs. Ling's heart skipped. Compliments from Wu An were rarer than mercy. But those who had worked under her long enough knew better. Compliments were preludes to correction — or destruction.
Wu An turned another page. "The schedule, the theme, the presentation — all as I requested. Calm, balanced, not ostentatious." Her tone was unreadable. "Just good."
Mrs. Ling dared to glance toward Liu Dai Fei for reassurance, but Dai Fei's face was unreadable — serene, as if carved from porcelain. That stillness frightened her more than any scolding would have.
Then Wu An spoke again.
"But…"
The word hung in the air like a loaded gun.
Mrs. Ling froze. Her throat tightened.
Wu An's gaze lifted. Her eyes, sharp and precise, cut through the air and landed squarely on Mrs. Ling.
"It lacks one thing," she said simply.
Mrs. Ling's lips trembled. "May I know… what the problem is, ma'am?"
"This work," Wu An replied, closing the file gently, "is forced."
A murmur rippled faintly through the room. Wu An ignored it. Her gaze swept the table.
"Tell me, Mrs. Ling," she continued, her tone deceptively light. "How did you know this was the file I asked you to bring?"
The question struck the room like a crack of thunder. Brows furrowed. Eyes darted. It made no sense — unless, of course, one knew something was wrong.
Mrs. Ling's breath quickened.
"Ma'am, I—"
"Mr. Rong?" Wu An's voice cut cleanly through hers.
The man stiffened. He was older, heavy-set, his tailored suit unable to hide the tension in his shoulders. Slowly, he stood.
"Would you care to explain?" Wu An asked, her expression calm as still water.
"I don't even know what that file says," he replied hastily.
The room stiffened. Wu An's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You don't know?" she repeated softly.
Her tone didn't rise — it didn't need to. Her voice alone held the gravity of a blade pressing against skin. "And you expect me to believe that?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then she turned slightly, without looking.
"Liu Dai Fei."
Everyone in the room knew what that meant. When Wu An used her assistant's full name, it wasn't friendship — it was an order of execution.
"Yes, ma'am?" Dai Fei's tone was calm, though her pulse raced beneath her composed exterior.
"Go to the marketing department," Wu An said, still facing forward. "At Mr. Rong and Mrs. Ling's desks. I want every document there."
Dai Fei blinked. "All of them?"
Wu An lifted a single brow, the motion slight yet sharp. "Is that a problem?"
"No," Dai Fei replied quickly, already on her feet. "I'll be on my way."
She exited swiftly, heels clicking against marble, leaving behind a silence so taut it hummed.
Wu An resumed her gaze on Mr. Rong. The man was visibly sweating, his fingers fidgeting against the table edge. Time seemed to crawl.
Thirty minutes later, the door opened again. Dai Fei returned — but not alone.
Behind her rolled two trolleys stacked high with files and folders. One she pushed herself, the other was handled by a young man — Li Chenrui.
The sight of him in that moment was a strange contrast to the suffocating air. His crisp white shirt was neatly tucked, his tie a subtle navy, sleeves rolled once at the wrist — formal yet effortless. His calm expression drew eyes even in a storm.
Wu An's gaze flicked toward him, then to the carts.
"Extra hand was needed," Dai Fei said, setting her cart in place.
Wu An turned her attention back to the room. "And?"
Dai Fei pointed toward the first cart. "This one belongs to Mrs. Ling."
Wu An's eyes shifted to the second cart, the one Li Chenrui stood behind. "And that?"
Dai Fei hesitated only a second. "That… is Mr. Rong's."
The gasp that rippled across the boardroom was instantaneous — a living wave of disbelief.
Misuse of power. Bribery. Fraud.
Everyone knew what this meant.
Wu An's lips curved into a small, slow smile. Then she began to clap.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
The sound echoed against the walls like applause at a funeral.
Dai Fei exhaled, the faintest hint of a grim smile tugging at her lips.
This — this was madness. And yet, this was Wu An. Beautiful. Brilliant. Terrifying.
Li Chenrui, meanwhile, stood quietly by the cart, unaware that he had just walked into the storm of a lifetime — a storm ruled by a woman whose calm could break kingdoms.