July 22nd, 2128.
8:40 a.m.
37th Floor, XX Financial Center — Law Firm Conference Room.
Sunlight spilled across the glass façade, reflecting a thin, cold sheen onto the table.
When Ethan stepped inside, only one person was there.
Zoe.
She looked sharper than yesterday—white blouse, charcoal pencil skirt, hair pulled tight, a faint bluish shadow under her eyes.
Not fatigue—polish.
The kind pressure grinds into a blade.
An ultra–minimalist structural draft lay spread across the smart-table. Clean lines, nodes, annotations—ruthlessly clear.
"Morning, Ethan," she said, standing. Her tone was cool, precise.
"Morning."
The politeness ended there—no small talk, no filler.
Zoe tapped the table. "This is the first draft I put together last night based on your framework. Disclaimer—it's only a first draft. Feel free to tear it apart."
Ethan rotated the screen toward himself and read.
Silence settled over the room. Only the faint swipe of pages moved the air.
Part I: Overall Architecture.
Fund source → Receiving entity → Multi–account segmentation → Liquidity pool → Tax paths → Investment & operational branches.
Every arrow marked with: "explainable path," "compliance note," "audit narrative."
Part II: The split pools.
A: 200M High–Net–Worth Investment Pool (equities primary)
B: 200M Operational Liquidity Pool (PineRiver Asset & affiliates)
C: Remaining capital toward fixed assets + long-term development (PeachSpring One, expansions)
Then came account structures, sample flows, risk prompts.
Five minutes later, Ethan closed the terminal.
Expressionless.
Zoe's fingers tightened around her pen. She braced herself for two possible outcomes:
A polite "good job," or total demolition.
Instead, Ethan said calmly:
"Your structure is excellent. You're one of the few financial attorneys I've met who doesn't try to impress clients with suicidal tax gymnastics."
One of her brows lifted. "Is that… a compliment?"
"Of course."
He paused. Then:
"But three things must change."
She straightened.
"First," Ethan said, reopening the liquidity diagram, "most major banks and regulators run automatic penetration checks now. If even one account shows abnormal turnover or a single upstream source, the system flags it."
"Your structure—if executed at your stated frequency—gets flagged as 'high attention' within three months."
"Not illegal. Just too visible."
Zoe inhaled slowly. He wasn't just wealthy—he knew things.
Deeply.
"Go on," she said quietly.
"So we cut the dead weight. Fewer shells. Fewer placeholders. Those are liabilities, not shields."
"Make it three primary accounts, three sub-accounts."
Primary 1: Asset intake (lottery → foundation/company)
Primary 2: Operational account (PineRiver Asset)
Primary 3: Personal consumption & private transfers
Sub 1: Short-term liquid investments
Sub 2: Long-term allocation
Sub 3: High-risk investments
"All primary accounts stay immaculate. Sub-accounts absorb different risk tiers. Most of the extra masking structures—cut them."
He met her eyes.
"What matters is every dollar must have a story that makes sense on paper."
Zoe hated to admit it—but he was right.
And not in a novice way.
In a this-man-knows-the-machine-from-the-inside way.
"Second," Ethan continued, "your operational pool is static. The real world isn't."
"Over the next year I'll move capital constantly. With your structure the money either sits too low—forcing constant top-ups—or stays bloated, wasting yield."
"I need a dynamic reservoir."
"Base pool: covers three months of full burn."
"Supplemental pool: quarterly injections from realized gains."
"Safety valve: in systemic risk scenarios, funds flow back temporarily—but trigger an automatic de-risking protocol."
"Anyone reading the books sees one thing:
A stable company enforcing conservative cash-flow rules."
Zoe stared at him.
This wasn't a lucky winner.
This was someone who thought in systems.
"Third," Ethan said quietly, "I'm not a gambler. I'm simply more certain than most people about what the next few years look like."
In her line of work, arrogance was common. But this didn't sound like arrogance.
This sounded like someone who had already lived through the answers.
"So," he said, "don't try to seal every risk hole for me."
"Your job is to ensure that even if one line collapses, the entire structure stands—and the numbers still tell a clean story."
"I'll own the outcomes. All of them."
Zoe finally exhaled. "Ethan… your planning is far more sophisticated than I expected. Then why bring us on board?"
"I told you. I'll only execute investments I have absolute confidence in."
"But those windows don't come often."
"So I need a professional like you to handle everything else—legally and structurally."
"…Understood."
Her fingers danced rapidly across the terminal. "I'll revise the structure today and send it to you and Lyle."
"And for the anonymous prize claim—I've already arranged it."
"2 p.m. Lottery Center. They'll receive you privately."
"You only need two things:
Your ID.
And a covered face."
Ethan smiled. "Perfect. Thank you."
—
The meeting ended just after ten.
As Ethan left, Lyle arrived, exchanged quick greetings, then told Zoe:
"She was up past two last night. And now you gave her homework."
Ethan thanked them and headed out.
Zoe watched his departing figure, her expression unreadable.
—
Noon.
He grabbed a simple meal nearby, returned to the hotel, and changed.
Dark casual wear.
Mask.
Cap pulled low.
Only his eyes were visible—calm, steady.
No trace of excitement.
No hint of fear.
1:50 p.m.
Super Lotto Prize Center.
The building was ordinary, plastered with "Hope. Charity. Dreams." banners.
No one passing by realized that in this hour, someone's life would quietly jump several orders of magnitude.
The law firm had cleared everything beforehand.
After verifying his credentials, staff ushered him into a small private meeting room.
"Please have a seat, sir."
Professional, polite, their gaze lingering only a second on the mask before moving on.
In this era, anonymity among prize winners was routine.
"Let's validate your ticket."
The ticket materialized from his Storage Space with a flicker of thought—though to them, it simply came from his pocket.
The scanner beeped.
A moment later, the staffer stiffened, staring.
"…Congratulations, sir."
"You are the grand prize winner."
"Amount: Eight hundred million yuan."
Ethan nodded lightly.
"Thank you."
He reacted as if hearing the result of a blood test—not a life-altering windfall.
Forms followed.
Disclosures.
Interviews declined.
Receiving entity confirmed.
By the time he walked out, it was past 3 p.m.
Sunlight was still harsh.
People still hurried along the street.
No one knew eight hundred million had just fallen into the hands of a man wearing a mask and radiating zero presence.
Ethan stood on the steps.
"Last time, you gave me 'almost,'" he murmured to the sky.
"This time, we're even."
Now the real game began.
—
3:30–6:00 p.m.
With Zoe accompanying him, he moved between two top-tier banks and a major securities firm—piece by piece, opening the financial arteries that would carry his new capital.
Zoe no longer offered much guidance.
She simply opened doors.
He walked through them.
At the securities firm, the risk questionnaire included:
"Are you willing to tolerate a temporary loss of over 30% in a single stock or sector?"
Most wealthy clients hesitated.
Ethan ticked: Willing — will control exposure independently.
For the first time, professional respect flickered across Zoe's face.
He wasn't reckless.
He simply had conviction most people never would.
When asked about market interest, instead of saying "blue chips, tech, whatever," he replied:
"I'm looking at sectors tied to rising extreme-weather events—new-gen construction materials, disaster-resilient infrastructure. Also distributed energy, compact storage systems. And essential medical supplies—not glamorous, but irreplaceable."
The manager blinked. "Are you in the industry?"
"No," Ethan said mildly.
"Just have my own view."
A view carved from watching the world collapse with his own eyes.
—
By 6 p.m., everything was signed.
Outside the law firm, the sky was tinted gold between skyscrapers.
"That's it for today," Zoe said, gathering her files. "We'll disburse and segment funds over the next few days."
Ethan nodded. "Good."
He hesitated, then asked, "Are you tired?"
She blinked, surprised—almost amused.
"It's work. I'm used to it."
"In that case," he said seriously, "when things settle, I'll buy you a good drink."
"I don't drink."
"Then a good meal."
She smirked. "Sure. I'll accept once you start dominating the stock market."
"Don't worry."
Ethan adjusted his mask.
"Soon."
He left, vanishing into the crowd—a man who looked like nothing.
Yet beneath the city's neon, a massive financial network was quietly being assembled in his shadow.
—
7 p.m.
Outskirts — Warehouse Park No.3.
PineRiver Asset · Temporary Office.
A small administrative building beside a soon-to-be-renovated warehouse had been hastily cleaned and fitted with a few desks.
Mason was hunched over a screen when Ethan entered.
"Ethan."
"How's it looking?"
"First batch of shelving arrives tomorrow. Grain suppliers pushed prices as low as they reasonably could—pushing further risks offense. I picked the two strongest for primary, one backup. Hiring list is drafted. And—someone came asking for you. Waiting outside."
Ethan nodded. "Good work. Let's go."
—
Under the dim yard lights stood a man leaning against the wall, a cigarette glowing faintly.
Blaze.
Black T-shirt, cargo pants, battered combat boots.
Sharper eyes than yesterday—still wild beneath the calm.
He crushed the cigarette out when he saw Ethan.
"Boss."
"Well, that was fast," Ethan said lightly.
"Heh. Yesterday you were just some guy. Today you're the one I report to. Gotta show respect."
Ethan chuckled. "Come. Let me show you your battlefield."
They walked to the warehouse. Mason opened the industrial door.
Lights flickered on row by row.
Ten thousand square meters of empty space.
Reinforced concrete floors.
Steel beams.
Shelving stacked in pieces like skeletal remains awaiting assembly.
Blaze scanned the cavernous interior.
"That's it? Empty?"
"For now," Ethan said. "Soon—grain, water, medicine, energy, equipment."
"We have five warehouses like this. Your job is simple: keep everything safe. Before and after they're full."
He stepped to the center, footsteps echoing.
"What you're guarding will be worth more than gold."
Blaze followed silently.
"From today," Ethan said, turning, "this is your territory."
"Your title: Head of Security, PineRiver Asset."
"Your duties:
Full security of all warehouses—people and goods.
Build a trustworthy security unit. You choose the core; I'll vet them.
Enforce security protocols—no phones in core zones, no photos, no leaks."
"Team size?"
"Start with six."
Blaze nodded, circling the empty warehouse like measuring it with instinct alone.
"All this gets filled?"
"Yes."
"When do we start loading?"
"Soon."
"When do I start guard duty?"
"Tomorrow."
"Mason will brief you."
Blaze snorted. "Reporting day was in two days. I came early."
"I wish you'd come earlier," Ethan said.
"But one day early is fine."
Blaze grinned—ugly, honest—and walked out.
Pure Aries—always charging forward.
The warehouse went dark again.
"Ethan," Mason said quietly, "he seems… dangerous."
"To enemies, yes," Ethan replied.
"To us—never."
He lifted his gaze toward the night sky.
Aries · Blaze.
In position.
—
10 p.m.
Hotel room.
A quick shower.
Towel through his hair.
Window open to the electric sprawl of the city.
Two new emails.
First: Zoe's revised structural plan. Clean, efficient, perfectly aligned with his instructions.
The woman was now truly thinking on his wavelength.
Second: Qingyuan Group.
Subject: PeachSpring One · Long-Term Lease Proposal (Draft)
Terms:
— Entire building: 20 floors + 7 basements
— 20-year lease
— Annual rent = regional market rate × 1.2
— 55M upfront within three days (deposit + 1.5 years rent)
— Advance annual payments
— Priority purchase right included
At the end, Summer had written:
"You called it your 'feng shui point.'
So I'm leaving it to you in the way you wanted.
Twenty years is long enough for someone to accomplish many things.
I hope this place doesn't disappoint you.
— Summer"
Ethan tapped his finger softly on the screen.
He rarely felt this toward anyone—
the urge to pull someone into his world,
yet the instinct to shield them from it.
I'll keep you farther from the blade this time,
he thought.
He replied confirming the signing tomorrow at 1:30 p.m.
Then he leaned back and exhaled.
Phase One had truly begun.
Outside, lights flickered alive floor by floor.
A year from now the freeze would tear the city apart.
Districts would fall dark.
Buildings would break.
But tonight—
everything still looked ordinary.
Loud.
Alive.
He closed his eyes.
Inside the white expanse of his Storage Space, silence reigned.
In the real world, money was flowing.
Shelves were arriving.
A building named PeachSpring One waited to be reborn.
And the second Star Warden
had quietly taken his place.