CHAPTER 150: CHAPTER 150; YUEQIN

With a flick of his wrist, the towel landed in a careless heap, forgotten. He reached for the glass vial of oil on the shelf, pouring a measure into his palm.

Slowly, and deliberately, he smoothed it across his chest, his arms, the ridges of muscle glistening under his touch, as though layering strength where the mirror had revealed weakness.

His hand lingered at his throat, tracing the beat of his pulse, before he moved on, reaching for the suit laid out in solemn precision. Black fabric, tailored to precision, sharp as a blade.

He slid the shirt over his shoulders, fastening button after button, each click soft but final, until the pale expanse of vulnerability was sealed away.

Cuff by cuff, sleeve by sleeve, the armor returned. He pulled the coat into place, shoulders settling beneath its weight, and bent to slip his feet into polished leather shoes.

Last came the cologne, this was his favorite, cool against his throat, sharp in the air. The scent rose around him like a signature, and at the same time like a warning, until only the man the world knew remained.

He adjusted his coat with steady fingers, gaze lifting once more to the mirror looking untouchable and invulnerable, yet beneath the cut of the suit and the mask of power, the weight of her fragile breaths still anchored him, holding him in ways no empire ever could.

By the time he descended the stairs, the house had resumed its cautious rhythm. Servants lowered their heads and stepped aside, their movements hushed, as if aware that silence itself had become the household’s law.

He did not return to the grand study upstairs, nor to the private office designed for his solitude. Instead, his steps carried him to the sitting area just beyond the guest room door.

From there, the faintest sound within could reach him, and the knowledge that she lay only a breath away steadied his pulse.

Jin Zhou appeared shortly after, carrying a sleek laptop in one hand and a stack of neatly arranged files in the other. The assistant’s movements were careful, almost reverent, as he set the items down on the low table before him.

"Master Jin," Jin Zhou murmured, "the morning board meeting is ready to commence. I have arranged for it to be virtual, as per your instruction."

Jin Shuren gave a curt nod, lowering himself into the leather chair.

The sleek laptop on the low table flickered to life, its glow reflecting against his sharp features as a dozen waiting faces appeared in neat frames.

Gentlemen, and ladies," his voice was smooth, and deliberate but still commanding, "let us begin."

As voices rose, of reports of market shares, negotiations, and pending contracts, his expression returned to the polished steel his empire knew well.

And yet, beneath the table, one hand remained closed into a fist, the memory of her slender fingers still curled against his palm deeply etched in his mind.

For all the world could see, he was Jin Shuren, master of the boardroom, unshakable, but in the quiet pauses between reports, his gaze flickered toward the closed guest room door.

The world could always wait, but she could not.

The voices droned on, each report stacked with numbers, risks, and assurances. Market expansions in Europe. Weapons routes under scrutiny. A rival syndicate is making moves too bold to ignore.

Jin Shuren listened, stone-faced, but every syllable felt distant. The hum of the laptop could not drown out the silence beyond the guest room door.

"Sir?" One of the directors spoke, hesitant. "Your approval is required for the Paris negotiation."

His gaze flicked to the screen, eyes narrowing just enough to freeze the man mid-breath. Slowly, and deliberately, Jin Shuren leaned back in his chair, one hand raising to adjust the collar of his shirt.

"Do what you must do and it has to be for our benefits and nothing else," he said, voice low, even, and final. "But if they demand more than agreed, remind them whose shadow they stand under."

The director swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

Jin Zhou, ever silent, watched from the side. He alone noticed the subtle shift in his master’s gaze, the way it slid, between one report and the next, back to the closed door behind him.

It was then, faint but undeniable, that a sound stirred from within. The creak of a mattress. The softest rustle of sheets.

Jin Shuren’s eyes snapped toward it, sharper than any blade. For the briefest second, the board of powerful men across continents ceased to exist. His empire fell silent.

The creak of sheets faded into silence. Jin Shuren’s gaze lingered on the door, unreadable, before he forced it back to the screen. The meeting droned on, reports for profit margins, logistics, rivals clawing at his borders. His empire, cold and vast.

The mansion never shut its doors. Two great slabs of carved wood stood wide at all hours, flanked by silent guards in black. To most, the threshold was unthinkable, a line between life and death.

Yet through it she came.

Yueqin.

"Daddy..."

"Daddy... Daddy... Is Mommy awake? Did she look for me?"The words struck like a bullet to the chest,

The board members droned on from the screen, oblivious of the whirlwind of emotions pooling in their boss’s heart.

Jin Shuren did not respond to them and didn’t even hear what they were talking about. His head turned, slowly, inexorably, toward the hall from the entrance door of the mansion.

Yueqin stood framed by the open doors, sunlight spilling in around her like a crown. Her little shoes clicked softly against the marbled floor, her small hands gripping the straps of her uniform.

Behind her, Fang Lin followed quietly, balancing the child’s school bag and a small food box, her gaze lowered out of instinct in the presence of power.

The marble gleamed, while the guards stiffened, the board’s voices blurred into static, but none of it reached him.

Only the small figure darting forward did. Her presence could always flatter him.

Yueqin.