Rain slicked the streets of Qinghe City that night, the neon signs bleeding colors across the wet pavement.
Inside the Grand Phoenix Hotel, the chandeliers glowed like captured stars. Every table was filled with men in suits and women in diamonds, the air heavy with perfume and politics.
At the center of it all sat Chen Shaohui, raising his glass with a smile that never reached his eyes.
"Tonight," he declared, "we celebrate the rebirth of Chen Group's entertainment division—and the beginning of a new partnership with the Horizon Development Bureau!"
Applause thundered through the hall. Cameras flashed. The press wrote headlines before dessert was even served.
Lu Cheng watched it all from the second-floor balcony, expression calm, eyes unreadable.
He wore a black suit, tie slightly loosened, like a man who didn't care to impress but couldn't be ignored.
Fang Jie's voice came through the earpiece. "Boss, signal's clear. Every mic's live. Once he mentions the SafeTrust accounts, we'll have enough to bury him."
Lu Cheng's gaze stayed on Chen Shaohui below.
"Don't rush," he said quietly. "He'll talk when he's drunk enough."
An hour later, the party had grown wild.
Chen Shaohui was laughing loudly, one arm around a woman's waist, the other holding a glass of champagne.
He raised his voice, slurring slightly.
"You think money makes the city turn? No, my friends—it's control! You control the right people, the rest crawl to you!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd, sycophantic and hollow.
But then, he leaned close to a man in a dark gray suit—one of the deputy directors from Horizon Development Bureau.
"About the Nevada transfer," Chen murmured, "your cut arrives Monday. The new phase—"
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
A low hum filled the room.
Every screen on the stage glitched—logos dissolving into static—then a new image appeared.
A map.
A world map, pulsing red lines, offshore accounts glowing like veins.
SAFE TRUST CAPITAL – CONNECTION ESTABLISHED
The crowd froze.
The laughter died instantly.
"What the hell—?" Chen's voice cracked. "Who—who did this!?"
Then a new voice echoed through the speakers. Calm, cold, familiar.
"You once said control is everything. Let's see how well you handle losing it."
Every camera in the ballroom turned toward the balcony—
where Lu Cheng stepped into the light.
"Good evening, Mr. Chen," he said, voice cutting through the silence. "Long time no see."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Several people stood, unsure whether to flee or watch.
Chen's face turned white, then red. "You—"
"Yes. Me," Lu Cheng said, descending the staircase slowly. "Remember the hotel room? Five years ago? The night your father made sure I disappeared?"
"Security!" Chen roared, slamming his glass onto the table. "Get him out of here!"
Guards surged forward—six men in black suits.
Lu Cheng didn't move.
A flash of silver glinted beneath his coat—a compact device with a blinking red light.
"Before you do that," he said, "you should know that everything on your servers is already mirrored to twelve different cloud nodes across three countries. Touch me, and the entire world will see your little empire for what it is."
The guards froze.
Chen trembled with rage. "What do you want?"
Lu Cheng's expression didn't change. "Justice."
"You think this is justice?" Chen sneered. "You're a ghost, Lu Cheng. You died five years ago!"
"Then maybe it's time the dead started talking."
The screens changed again—photos, signatures, bank records—all tied to the Chen Group, the Bureau, and SafeTrust.
Journalists were already snapping photos; phones were live-streaming before the security team could react.
Chen lunged toward the cables, but Lu Cheng's voice stopped him cold.
"Pull that plug," he warned softly, "and I release everything."
Chen froze mid-step, sweat glistening at his temple.
Lu Cheng's eyes glinted. "I told you once… everything built on lies eventually burns."
Then he turned, melting into the crowd as chaos erupted behind him.