Lu Tingzhou didn't insist. Since his sister was unwilling and these two tickets were soon to be given away, he couldn't bully the younger for his own sick, selfish possessiveness. How despicable and vile. But just last night in his dream, he had indeed bullied the younger. It was still vivid. The French-style bed frame was pure black—the frame, the sheets, the bedding—while his sister was pure white, curled up on his chest like a slippery little snake, bonelessly conforming to his body's curves, her hair like vines entwining around his neck... A wave of heat suddenly surged up. The images he had barely forced himself to forget replayed again, even more intensely. The TV screen was still showing tense plot points. The protagonist, Mr. White, was an underappreciated chemistry genius, but fate seemed to have shown him no mercy—not only was he terminally ill, but he also faced sneers and oppression everywhere in life. Right now, at his own birthday party, he was being upstaged by his brother-in-law, a cop. 'That these were illegal, hmm,' Old White asked his brother-in-law. 'Yeah, well, sometimes forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest, doesn't it,' the brother-in-law, who naturally looked down on him, habitually showed a condescending smirk. 'It's funny, isn't it? How we draw that line.' 'Yeah?' 'What line is that?' ... Forbidden fruit tastes sweetest. Forbidden fruit. His breathing grew noticeably heavier, his throat dry. He had just drunk water moments ago, yet now he felt thirsty again. In his dream, he held her waist, thrusting deep and shallow like a madman, covered in sweat. Wrestling with an indescribable restlessness, he reached up to unbutton his suit jacket all the way. The perfectly fitted garment instantly loosened, the collar gaping open. Cool air immediately seeped through the gap, touching his hot skin, bringing brief relief. A hypocritical attempt to hide, self-deception. People, like clothes, once there's a crack, he was no longer the invincible suit-wearing thug, but a heinous criminal coveting a beloved treasure he couldn't have. Cheng Buxi also realized the TV's sound and pictures were a bit noisy. She had turned it on casually while waiting for him, but after a few minutes, she had wandered off to play, so now she quickly turned it off. Click. The office, usually solemn, immediately returned to its empty state, like a giant silent film on mute. The siblings each harbored their own hidden thoughts, neither breaking the silence. The Chairman's Office was the highest point of the entire building, occupying the best view on the top floor. A massive floor-to-ceiling glass wall stood tall, framing the city's busy central axis. Opposite, the famous 'Qiulou' and 'Xiaoman Yaolou' buildings came into view. The afternoon sun poured in without reservation, flooding most of the space, bright but not glaring. The desk behind him was large and imposing, completely black, polished to a smooth finish, solid wood. On the desk, besides the landline computer, a few open documents, and an expensive fountain pen, there was nothing else. It was clean to the point of being cold, just like its owner—cool and efficient in conduct, famously cold-faced and ruthless. After the TV was turned off, the atmosphere became even more subtle. Hmm, better to have left it on, Cheng Buxi complained inwardly. She rehearsed several drafts in her mind, but none worked, so she simply asked, "Bro, you called me over. Is there something?" He looked like he hadn't slept well all night. The skin around his eyes seemed tight and thin, his eye bags slightly swollen and faintly bruised. Noticing this rare fatigue on his face, Cheng Buxi's heart raced nervously. In her memory, her brother seemed never to get tired—like a precision machine, running eighteen hours a day, recharging for six, cycling year after year. He could sit through a ten-hour meeting without changing his expression. She didn't know why he seemed off today. He really hadn't slept well. How could he? After such an absurd, sensual dream, he woke up not ashamed but kept replaying it, addicted like a pervert. He wanted to die. Little did she know, the man immersed in shadows was like this—both numb and weary, like an observer of interesting events and an indifferent passerby. He wanted to die. Someone save him. Now, the protagonist of his dream, his sister, sat right in front of him, as obedient and gentle as usual, with even a touch more charm and naivety than before. The sunlight fell diagonally on her profile, even her tiny fine hairs were visible. Her black hair was undyed and unpermed, the most original black, long and straight, naturally cascading down her back. The texture was soft—clearly well-maintained. He wanted to touch her head. But she was so far away. Why did she have to sit so far from him? His chest felt like something was gently scratching it, itchy and stuffy. His fingers unconsciously tightened under the table, knuckles white, then slowly loosened. She kept her head down, her neck curved in a distant, fragile arc, as if what separated them was not an empty coffee table but an insurmountable ditch. Including her hands resting on her knees—as far as he could see, her fingertips were slightly curled, nails trimmed round and clean. He remembered she used to tug at his sleeve with that hand, but now she wouldn't even spare him a glance. One hand couldn't clap; emotions were hard to control. Seeing that her brother wasn't speaking, Cheng Buxi vaguely guessed the answer: she had failed Advanced Financial Management, and Linear Algebra, most likely, since she hadn't finished the paper—just when she was about to flip to the next page to write more, the bell rang inexplicably. Uh... Afraid of being scolded, she instinctively tried to preemptively explain: "Bro, during the exam, I didn't finish the paper... I ran out of time." "Er, actually, I reviewed the wrong chapters..." "Okay... actually, I fell asleep while writing..." Her voice grew softer and softer, along with her head, almost drooping below the coffee table. After miserably saying this, she added, "Don't tell Auntie and Uncle, okay?" "Please..." Was this an attitude for asking? Lu Tingzhou wanted to ask her. Was it? Sitting so far away from him—was he going to eat her? It was too quiet. Cheng Buxi, not getting a response, wished he would criticize her a bit. Even if he snapped at her a couple of times, it would be fine. She had grown up, gotten bolder, dared to make a scene... Why didn't he speak? It made her heart pound. As he raised his hand, more of his wrist was exposed. Cheng Buxi remembered he used to always wear that Vacheron Constantin tourbillon watch, a titanium limited edition with a semi-transparent blue lacquer dial. Although it was lacquer, it looked no different from pure sapphire. Something close to four million—astonishingly expensive. But today, he had switched to a Breguet in calfskin leather, which was surprising—both had tourbillons, though. In her memory, her brother never wore watches under six figures—Nautilus, Patek Philippe, Richard Mille, and even more elegant old-money styles. Once you get used to wearing a watch, you don't change it easily, unless... "Bro," she suddenly broke the silence again, with natural curiosity, "Did you change your watch?" It was just a casual question, but her brother's mind spun into a long chain of cause and effect. He lowered his eyes, inadvertently looking at his own wrist. A fleeting something passed through his eyes, like a breeze over a calm lake, instantly creating ripples. His Adam's apple moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something but swallowed it back. His gaze met hers. Her eyes were pure and clean, nothing else mixed in. Lu Tingzhou never expected his sister would notice he had changed his watch. Ever since the rift between them, he had always thought her attention towards him was limited to necessary family matters—like caring for a brother under the same roof but without blood ties—polite and distant. If he changed cars, she might only notice much later; if he changed assistants, she probably wouldn't ask; let alone such a private and minute detail as changing a watch. He never expected her to notice. But now, the balance was broken. Perhaps his gaze was too intense and direct, making Cheng Buxi feel a bit baffled. She blinked. But her confusion was only about why he had suddenly switched watches—was the old one broken, or did he just want a new one? That was all. The thought spun in her mind like a bubble on water, popping with a soft pfft. She just found it novel and curious—how did this new watch fit him better than the previous one? So much so that he gave up the old one. He clearly liked the old one a lot, didn't he? But her brother completely misunderstood. Naively thinking she cared about him, the corner of his mouth curled up slightly, almost imperceptibly. A quiet glimmer rose in the depths of his eyes, like a small flame suddenly igniting in the dead of winter night. He didn't speak. Instead, he reached out his hand to her, palm up, knuckles distinct. Having been raised by him since childhood, Cheng Buxi instinctively placed her hand in his. He took it, his fingers closing around hers. His fingertips, with familiar warmth and force, gently stroked the back of her hand. The office was very quiet, only the faint city sounds from outside. The temperature of his fingers and that slight, rubbing pressure were clearly imprinted on her skin. "So, it wasn't that the paper was too hard." "But that you fell asleep and didn't write?" Cheng Buxi heard him say. Her mind buzzed. Uh, did she just incriminate herself? What a malicious intent. - This is the CBD. The central business district. North City's CBD didn't look like this before. It used to be a large area of old factories. Thirty years ago, it was still called 'Dabeiyao,' covered with machine tool factories and instrument factories, chimneys belching black smoke day and night. Now, the word 'earth-shaking' couldn't be more apt. Skyscrapers had risen abruptly, turning it into Asia's top financial center. The reputation of being the world's seventh and Asia's second business district wasn't just talk—on seven square kilometers of land were crammed tens of thousands of foreign-funded enterprises, and the Asian headquarters of multinational corporations accounted for more than half of all of North City. Walk into any office building with tax revenue exceeding a hundred million, and in the elevator, you might pass by an auditor from PricewaterhouseCoopers or an executive from Knorr-Bremse. They speak German on the phone and then turn around to order iced American coffee in Beijing dialect. Right now, inside the AMH Group building, multiple high-speed elevators silently and swiftly ascended and descended. The corridors were wide and straight, connecting various areas, with people flowing in and out orderly. Some held thick stacks of bidding documents, the paper edges stamped with large red seals; others clutched tablets under their arms, their mouths not idle, pressing phones to their ears as they strode briskly, speaking rapidly in low tones. Everything seemed to be running efficiently and orderly as usual. But when word spread that Wan Yi had led a girl who looked like a student into the private elevator, all the way to the Chairman's office, and even had to walk out bowing after delivering her, it was like pouring hot oil onto calm water—a thousand waves erupted instantly. Throughout the building, the surface maintained a calm, busy work state, but underneath, it was already boiling over. MSN pop-ups, WeChat group chats, even the brief moments passing each other in the hallway were secretly transmitting and fermenting gossip. "Who's that? A new intern? HR didn't notify anyone." A male coworker in a plaid shirt asked in a hushed voice. "Doesn't seem like it," a female colleague nearby quickly glanced overhead. "What intern would Secretary Wan personally escort? And directly into the Chairman's private elevator??" "Exactly! Jimy also said Wan Yi was extremely deferential, like she was serving an ancestor!" "Holy cow." "I've never seen Wan Yi so attentive to anyone except Chairman Lu..." A few people looked thoughtful. "Hey, remember that Vivian? The little secretary who was doing well but got transferred to another department late one night? President Lu even put in a good word for her back then." "I remember. What did she do wrong?" The latter shrugged in defeat, "No idea." ... Just as the lunch break began, the break room instantly filled up. The noise from the coffee machine and microwave provided the perfect cover. OLs and OGs in stylish attire gathered around, cups in hand, looking casual, but their eyes silently exchanged gossip and topics. The air was thick with barely contained excitement. "Definitely a close relationship," a female supervisor in a chic suit sipped her coffee, her gaze sharp. "When has President Lu ever looked at anyone like that? I've been under him for three years, first time!" "Little mistress?" A younger girl next to her ventured boldly, her voice tinged with the thrill of gossip. "Doesn't look like it," the male coworker on the right immediately retorted. He had been closest to the Chairman's office door today and had the best view. "That girl is young and dressed too plainly. Not that kind of relationship. More like..." He frowned, searching for the right word. "A bit... uncomfortable? Anyway, not like someone climbing the social ladder." Indeed, she wasn't there to climb; she was there because she had fallen asleep during an exam, failed, and incriminated herself—here to be scolded and punished. "Illegitimate daughter?" A smaller, more startling guess came from a corner. As soon as the word was out, the entire break room fell into a few seconds of eerie silence. Then the buzz grew louder as people exchanged shocked glances, feeling that, while shocking, it wasn't entirely impossible.