July 26th, 2128.
12:00 p.m.
Second-floor restaurant, hotel.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city was at its brightest. Sunlight bounced off glass, casting a warm shimmer across the room.
The restaurant was quiet. Background music played so low it was almost air. Only cutlery clicked softly against porcelain.
Chen stood in the lobby, clutching his phone a little too tightly.
He still wore his slightly worn shirt and slacks. His shoes were polished to a shine, but nothing could fully hide the "overworked admin veteran" aura.
A server, seeing he was waiting, approached and asked a few polite questions. Chen bowed and waved both hands in thanks, declining again and again.
The moment he slipped his phone back into his pocket, the screen lit.
Ethan: Second-floor restaurant, left side by the window.
Chen hurried upstairs.
As soon as he stepped into the restaurant, he saw that familiar silhouette.
Even in a simple, more casual outfit, Ethan's presence hadn't faded at all—as if every table and chair nearby naturally made space around him.
"Mr. Ethan!"
Chen walked over quickly. He almost reached out for a handshake, then yanked his hand back at the last second and replaced it with a slightly awkward nod.
"Have you—have you eaten?"
"Do you hear yourself?" Ethan looked up at him, a smile tugging at his mouth. His gaze flicked over Chen's greying temples and tired eyes. "I just came down. Didn't we agree to eat together? Sit. Order first."
—
They kept it simple. A few home-style dishes. A pot of tea.
Once the server left, only the unopened teapot and the two of them remained at the table.
"Letter of resignation submitted?" Ethan asked, tone casual.
"Submitted. Management signed off too."
At the mention, Chen couldn't hide the faint excitement in his eyes.
"HR said Ms. Summer already called. I just need to hand things over today and I don't have to go back tomorrow. Full salary, not a day short."
His eyes reddened slightly.
For someone like him, "not losing a day's pay" was the highest form of dignity.
"Good."
Ethan nodded lightly. "You've had a hard few years."
"Not hard, not hard at all." Chen waved his hands quickly. "The years working for you were the smoothest in my life. After you left, honestly… I've felt empty."
He hesitated, then admitted, "When I got your call this time, I was so happy I almost didn't believe it."
"People I fully trust aren't many," Ethan said.
He opened the teapot, poured Chen a cup of hot water, then poured one for himself.
"What I'm about to do next—I need a house steward. A real one."
"Chen, the next few years won't be easy for me. They won't be easy for you. They won't be easy for anyone on this planet. But as long as you're willing, I'll make sure all your work will be worth it."
Chen's hands tightened around the cup.
"Just tell me what you need," he said seriously. "I don't have much education, and my ability is just… execution, process, communication. But as long as it falls within what I can do, I won't drop the ball."
Ethan nodded.
"Good."
He didn't waste time with comfort. He went straight to the core.
"Let me show you two things first."
From his pocket he took out a small storage card and slid his phone across.
"This is the access key for the company's cloud drive and core accounts."
"From today, you're not just an admin assistant. You're the steward."
"One: you manage processes. Two: you watch the money for me—execution, reconciliation, spotting leaks."
He paused.
"Let me give you a rough outline first."
"Right now, the warehouse projects under PineRiver Asset have under 200 million in free liquidity.
On the Peach Garden side, I've allocated 400 million as seed capital."
"All of that is 'currently usable.' By tomorrow, both project accounts will receive another very large injection of funds. Enough for the near future. And more will follow."
"From now on, every large expenditure runs past your eyes. You must know where the money goes, why it goes, and which contract it corresponds to."
"We'll set up an internal approval group."
"For warehouses, it's simple: procurement and payroll. For Peach Garden, early on it's severance, later it's renovation and modification."
"For anything under 10 million, you sign and approve on your own—but the records must be clear, and the spending reasonable. I trust your character and your habits."
"For anything above 10 million, I want the group to ping me. I'll sign off. But you still need to review the contracts and make sure everything's correct before payment—unless I explicitly say, 'Pay it directly.'"
Chen was a little overwhelmed.
He forced himself to pull his focus out of those shocking numbers and nodded.
"Understood. I'll keep everything in order."
"Good. That's the money side for now."
Ethan folded a napkin and set it aside.
"Next is your first immediate job."
"I'll send you an email later. It's got photos of PeachSpring One's exterior and a tenant list by floor."
"Like I said earlier—the building still has seventeen tenants scattered across floors one through five."
"Normally, you'd wait out leases and shuffle slowly. I don't have that luxury."
"Ten days."
He raised a finger.
"Starting tomorrow, by the end of day ten, I want every tenant on floors one through five to have signed a termination agreement. They get twenty days to move out after that. Within one month, the entire stack must be empty."
Chen almost choked.
"Ten days? Clear them all within a month?"
"In this age, it's doable."
Ethan remained calm.
"Modular fit-outs are mature now. Cabinets, walls, lighting, layouts—every shop is a plug-and-play design."
"Take a good look at that file later."
"First, pick out the profitable, stable-brand, recently renovated tenants."
"When you approach them, start from their vantage point."
"Tell them: PeachSpring One is refitting B1 and B2 into a large supermarket. Soon it'll be a construction zone—restricted parking, safety issues, disrupted foot traffic."
"To avoid disputes, we're proactively offering early termination and reasonable compensation."
"Terms shouldn't be stingy."
"Rent compensation—at a level that lets them move to a comparable location and survive another six to twelve months."
"For modular fit-outs that can be removed intact, we'll compensate them at salvage value."
"Principle is simple:
Show real sincerity, but don't burn money blindly."
"The cinema and gym are key."
"Normally, they'll ask for more."
"But for us, their current fit-outs and equipment are reusable. We can take them over in-house later."
"So you can offer another option:"
"'We can buy your equipment + business as a package.'
Price can be pressed a bit, but settlement must be clean.
Let them calculate: taking money now and walking is better than eating construction risk and slogging to the end of a lease.'"
Chen's eyes lit up.
This type of "save money without crushing people" play felt familiar—
except no one had ever given him this level of authority before.
"Got it, Ethan," he said. "I can structure three or four tiers of compensation by tenant type. Makes negotiation easier."
"No need for a thesis. Just go do it."
Ethan waved a hand.
"Remember three rules:
One: Don't drag it out. Ten-day deadline. No loose ends.
Two: Don't waste money. Every payout needs a rationale—you should be able to explain what you paid for and why.
Three: Don't make enemies. We're spending money to buy time, not to start fights."
"Understood."
Chen took a deep breath, eyes steady.
"I'll get it done."
"Tonight I'll send you a 'Peach Garden overview' as well—yesterday's notes. Take a look."
"Starting tomorrow, you'll be handling the evictions and watching over construction crews, design firms, and bidding for Peach Garden."
Ethan paused, then added:
"One more thing."
"The public-facing plan for Peach Garden won't match the real one. You don't need to ask too much about that."
"When the project company has a designated general manager, I'll assign him. He'll send you the actual floor-by-floor construction drawings."
"You'll pay according to the drawings I sign off on, and according to progress."
"Call it construction, but it's really a refit. Some of those plans will look insane to you—doesn't matter. If my signature is on them, don't second-guess. Pay by spec and process."
"Chen, everything we're doing is legal and compliant. The actual purpose—I'll tell you when it's time."
"As for the warehouses—contracts, accounts, payments—if anything looks confusing or uncertain, you only need to remember one thing:"
"Every contract must be real.
Every batch of goods must truly arrive at a warehouse.
Every yuan must match goods and invoices."
Chen blinked, then nodded hard. "Okay."
Looking at his honest, almost clumsy seriousness, Ethan felt the knot in his chest loosen another notch.
In this life, he would not let this man die clutching bloody keys, asking:
"Are the supplies still there?"
—
Lunch ended on a warm, slightly charged note.
Chen left with the storage card and the stack of documents, holding them like fragile porcelain.
Before he stepped out, he turned back.
"Mr. Ethan."
"Yeah?"
"You can count on me. I won't screw this up."
Ethan nodded.
"Go."
"From today on, you're my steward."
—
3:00 p.m.
Law firm.
Zoe stood at her office window, watching the traffic below, still processing the shock of the past three days.
On her screen, Bulala Culture's three-day chart was still open—
that near-vertical curve had become the week's most talked-about line in the financial world.
She remembered perfectly the number that flashed on the system yesterday, after all exits were completed:
High-Risk Pool Net Value: 10.2 billion.
"Financial freedom" didn't even begin to cover it.
Behind that number was one man's stubbornness, confidence—
and terrifying vision.
A knock on the door.
"Ms. Zhou, Ethan is here," her assistant said.
Zoe froze for a split second.
"Ask him to wait in the reception room," she said. "I'll be right there."
She tidied her desk, gathered all of Ethan's files into one folder, and took out a prepared authorization sheet.
—
"Mr. Ethan, you should've called," she said as soon as the reception door closed.
"Sorry. I finished nearby and figured I'd drop by," Ethan replied with a small smile. "Good thing you're in. I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all. I was actually planning to call you today, but I didn't want to bother you."
She smiled back. Even she could hear the difference in her tone now compared to their very first meeting.
"There's something important I wanted to discuss," she said, switching back to professional mode. "About the next step for that 10.2 billion."
He nodded.
"My plan is: keep 2 billion in the stock market; 3.7 billion into Peach Garden; 3.5 billion into the warehouse expansion under PineRiver."
"The remaining 1 billion goes into a separate sub-account—for you."
"For me? One billion?"
She had to confirm.
"Yes."
Ethan met her gaze.
"From today, that 1 billion is the Zoe Strategy Fund."
"You have full discretion—equities, bonds, derivatives, structured products. As long as it's legal and compliant, you can use it."
"Three conditions:
First, keep full records—every trade, every product, every underlying asset. Any time I want to review, you must send me detail promptly.
Second, you control risk. I can accept drawdowns; I can't accept you not knowing where your risk is.
Third, I take 90% of the profit. The remaining 10% is your performance fee. Losses are entirely mine."
Zoe stared at him, wondering if she'd misheard.
"Hang on," she said. "You're saying—if this fund gains, I get 10% of profits. If it loses, you eat all of it?"
"Yes."
"I won't write anything in the contract about you 'guaranteeing returns.'"
Ethan's voice was calm.
"I'll only write: 'Losses borne by Ethan; 10% of gains go to Zoe as incentive for her professional ability.'"
"You can treat that document as a real 'shared performance record' for your career."
She had to set her pen down and draw in a slow breath.
In her line of work, she'd seen too many "big clients"—
Ones who wanted you to endorse, front, and cover for them.
They'd hand you risk and keep the returns.
And now the man in front of her had done the opposite:
He'd shouldered the risk and peeled off part of the upside—for her.
"You trust me that much?" she asked.
"It's not blind trust."
Ethan smiled.
"I've been watching how you react these past few days."
"You're a professional absolutist—terms first, risk second, relationships last."
"And I'm not completely unguarded."
"If one day I see anything in your trades that can't be explained—
I'll shut the fund down on the spot, terminate the collaboration, and never work with you again."
He said it calmly, no threat in his tone. Just a fact.
"So this is both trust and a test."
Zoe was quiet for a long time.
Only when her breathing leveled out again did she say:
"All right."
"I'll take the 1 billion."
"I'll treat it with my strictest professional standards."
"If there's ever a day you feel I'm not doing well enough, you can close the fund any time."
"Until then, I'll treat it as the most important exam of my career."
"Happy cooperation," Ethan said softly.
"Happy cooperation."
She hesitated, then added:
"Tomorrow morning, 7:30, at your hotel restaurant… if it's convenient, I'd like to join."
"You mentioned some project leads—you're gathering everyone?"
Ethan nodded.
"I want everyone to sit down for a working breakfast. Get to know each other."
"Think of it as my first little 'core team meeting.'"
Zoe blinked. "So I'm officially part of your core team now?"
"Of course," Ethan said, smiling. "If Ms. Zhou the attorney and Ms. Zhou the financial strategist are willing to join, that's an honor for me. I need you very badly. And if you're willing, I'd like you to eventually work exclusively for my group."
"Exclusively for my group"—
For a second, she'd thought he was about to say:
"Exclusively for me."
When "group" landed, she felt a flash of self–mockery at her own expectation.
She crushed that thought ruthlessly.
"What am I thinking…"
She lowered her head, smoothing out her expression, pushing away the faint heat in her chest—
Leaving only those familiar words:
Professional. Clear. Distance.
"Zoe," she told herself silently. "You're his collaborator. Nothing else."
She lifted her head again. Her voice was steady.
"Mr. Ethan, I'll commit fully to supporting your company from now on. Thank you for your trust—I won't let you down."
"So quickly?" Ethan was genuinely surprised.
He had a high opinion of her and did need someone he trusted with finance beside him—but he hadn't expected such a fast decision.
"Honestly, I know you're from the main Zhou family in the capital," he said. "You have immense resources behind you."
"I'm impressed you never used them."
"You even know that?" Zoe raised a brow, then sighed.
"To be frank—my grandfather favors sons. He's been waiting for that 'dutiful grandson' in my uncle's branch to inherit everything."
"That 'dutiful grandson' is a disaster in a suit."
"I've never believed women can't build careers. And I don't want a family safety net."
"I believe my work and my skills alone are enough to prove my worth."
"I refused positions in Zhou family companies after graduation to tell everyone just that: I can."
She paused, then met his eyes directly.
"You're the first person I actually respect in this field."
"To be honest, at first I thought you were… average."
She swallowed the word nouveau riche.
"But later, I realized your grasp of structure and products isn't beneath mine—and I'm the one with a Harvard finance degree."
"I checked every possible leak. There weren't any. If you don't have supernatural access, then your foresight is… terrifying."
"Either way, working with you will push me much further than staying where I am."
"And you can relax. I'm not going back to Zhou family companies."
"You keep surprising me," Ethan said, amused. "I didn't expect Ms. Zhou to tell me so much that isn't strictly 'professional.'"
She looked away, just for a second. "I simply wanted to properly thank you."
That tiny flinch didn't escape him.
He chose not to mention it.
"Then let me formally welcome you aboard," he said, offering his hand. "To the team."
"The pleasure's mine," Zoe replied. "Just call me Zoe from now on."
"Zoe it is. See you tomorrow at 7:30."
—
Back at the hotel, Ethan grabbed a light dinner and returned to his room.
Out in the distance, city lights spread like an overexposed star map.
He opened his laptop and typed another name:
Selene.
Results popped instantly.
[Guanghe Medical Board Announces: Selene Appointed Executive Vice Dean of Guanghe Hospital]
[Harvard Medical School Systems Biology PhD, 26-Year-Old Returnee Genius]
["Medicine Is Not About Heroism, It's About How Many More Lives We Can Save" — Interview with Selene]
["The 'Most Beautiful Hospital Director' Is Secretly a Workaholic?"]
He clicked a video segment.
On screen, a young woman in a white coat, hair simply tied back, almost no makeup—
her face clean to the point of being sharp.
Even without trying, she drew the eye.
The host asked, "A lot of people call you a 'genius.' What do you think?"
She gave a small, controlled smile.
"Genius is just a word the media likes to use," she said.
"I'm just doing what I can from my position."
"I care more about this question:
when there's no anesthesiologist, no ICU, no multidisciplinary team—how do we save people in an environment where resources are stripped to the bone?"
"When the medical system collapses, people will finally realize how important the things they never noticed were—basic medications, simple procedures, low-tech life-saving measures."
Her eyes stayed calm.
But her tone carried the clear weight of someone already rehearsing for that future.
"In the world I saw you in, everything you're describing had already happened," Ethan thought, leaning back.
By then, the killing between humans and the war against demons had already gone full-scale. Guanghe Hospital was long gone; many cities were rubble.
And yet, under those conditions, she had dragged back people everyone had given up on.
People called her "The Beautiful Hua Tuo."
He scrolled further.
CVs, papers, lectures, panel comments.
Then he searched:
Selene + extreme climate + emergency
Sure enough, in the log of an international summit on emergency medicine, he saw her name.
On stage, in the transcript, she presented a PPT titled:
"Preliminary Framework for Urban Emergency Medical Systems Under Extreme Climate Conditions"
She broke the idea into three pillars:
"First, pre-positioned supplies—basic medications, emergency equipment, infection control, and maintenance treatments need to be pre-distributed across multiple nodes in the city to avoid single-point failures."
"Second, pre-positioned personnel—a hybrid civilian–military medical team that can switch into combat mode within 24 hours."
"Third, pre-positioned space—urban planning should reserve buildings and areas that can be rapidly converted into wartime hospitals."
Ethan's lips slowly curled upward.
"Pre-positioned space."
"Perfect."
"Peach Garden has your space waiting already," he thought.
If Quinn represented the ultimate use of bones and structure,
then Selene was the extreme edge of life and systems.
"I'd been thinking about how to bring you in," he murmured. "Turns out you and Quinn are on the same wavelength—waiting for me to invite you both into Peach Garden."
Selene was the heir apparent of a family hospital, with her own network, timeline, and ambition.
But he knew—
Everyone had a soft spot.
Hers wasn't money.
It wasn't fame.
It was a single metric:
"How many people can we save?"
He tapped the desk lightly.
Ideas flowed:
— Invite her under the banner of "Extreme Climate Emergency Medical Research."
— Present Peach Garden as a "city complex + medical pilot" with a full floor reserved as wartime hospital template.
— Even wrap it in the names of government, foundations, insurers.
Not to poach her current job.
But to hand her a larger board.
And let her choose.
It would also serve as proof to Quinn that he wasn't just talking about the apocalypse—
he was building toward it.
He didn't email Selene yet. Didn't look for her contact.
It wasn't time.
He had to get Peach Garden's skeleton, capital, and preliminary design in place first—
So that when she looked over, she wouldn't just see a rich man with ideas.
She'd see a stage already built out, waiting for a co–architect.
"First, lock down the people I already have. And the structures I can already control."
"Then it's your turn."
He took one last look at the paused frame on screen—
Selene on the podium, eyes clear, voice steady.
"Selene," he whispered.
Outside, the lights thinned as night pressed in.
In a city blissfully ignorant of its future,
several timelines that were never meant to intersect
were quietly drawing toward the same point.
And all of those lines would eventually converge—
on one man.
Ethan called Blaze and Mason in turn, asking them to join him at the hotel for breakfast the next morning. Blaze sounded surprised. Mason sounded honored.
After the calls, he opened the architecture forum again.
Quinn's private message thread still lay untouched.
No new dot. No reply.
He closed the laptop.
And finally—
slept.