The morning of the final hearing broke with a sky the color of a bruised plum. Rain had finally begun to fall, a steady, rhythmic drumming against the high windows of the Shanghai People's Court. Inside, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke. This was no longer a simple property dispute; it had become a public execution of an old era.
Lin Xia arrived at 7:30 AM. She didn't look like a woman who had spent the night defending a factory from arsonists. She was dressed in a tailored navy blue suit—modern, sharp, and distinctly international. She took her seat at the defense table, her spine a straight line of cold resolve.
Zhao Meifeng arrived ten minutes later. The matriarch was pale, her hand trembling slightly as she leaned on her jade cane. She had heard of the failure at the mill. She knew that her son, Kun, was missing—taken into "protective custody" by Han Huojin's men. For the first time in forty years, the Queen of the Red Crane looked small.
Justice Zhang entered the room. He didn't look at the gallery. He went straight to his bench and opened the heavy file.
"The court has reviewed the 1988 Land Management Amendment and the invoices provided by the defense," the judge began, his voice echoing in the hollow room. "We have also taken into account the testimony of Mr. Zhao Kun."
Counselor Wu, the Zhaos' lawyer, stood up, his face flushed. "Your Honor! The testimony of Zhao Kun was given under duress! My clients have evidence of a conspiracy between the defendant and certain officials—"
"Sit down, Counselor," Justice Zhang said, a terrifying edge to his voice. "This court is interested in the movement of state funds, not your theories on conspiracy."
The judge turned his gaze toward Zhao Meifeng. "Madame Zhao, your family has claimed for three years that the No. 4 Mill was a 'charitable burden' on your private assets. Yet, the bank records from 1987 to 1989 tell a different story."
Justice Zhang signaled to a court clerk, who began to distribute a new set of documents. These weren't the ones Lin Xia had provided. These were the internal records from the Ministry of Finance, secured by Han Huojin in the dead of night.
"It appears," the judge continued, "that every time the state issued a subsidy to the mill for 'technological upgrades,' that exact amount was transferred within forty-eight hours to a private account in Macau. An account linked to the Red Crane Investment Group."
The courtroom was so quiet that the sound of the rain outside felt like a roar. This was the "Embezzlement" that Lin Xia had known about from her past life—the secret that had eventually led to the Zhaos' downfall in the late 90s. She had simply accelerated the timeline by a decade.
Lin Xia stood up. She didn't wait for her lawyer to speak. She looked directly at Zhao Meifeng.
"Madame Zhao," Lin Xia said, her voice steady and clear. "You spoke of the 'soul' of the city. But while my weavers were working eighteen-hour shifts to revive this industry, you were stripping the copper from the walls to pay for your family's failed real estate gambles in Hong Kong."
"You have no right!" Counselor Wu shouted.
"I have the right of a creditor," Lin Xia countered. She pulled a final document from her briefcase—a piece of paper with the official gold seal of the Shanghai Stock Exchange Preparatory Committee.
"Under the new corporatization laws," Lin Xia announced, "debt can be converted into equity when the state's interest is at risk. Because the Zhao family has defrauded the state of over 500,000 Yuan in subsidies, the Ministry of Commerce has authorized the seizure and conversion of all Zhao-held shares in the No. 4 Mill to settle the debt."
She laid the document on the judge's desk. "I am not asking the court to 'give' me the factory. I am notifying the court that as of 9:00 AM this morning, I have purchased that debt from the Ministry. I am now the 100% owner of the No. 4 Mill, and the Zhao family is legally barred from its premises."
Zhao Meifeng stood up. She didn't use her cane. She stood on her own strength for one last moment, her eyes burning with a hatred that felt ancient.
"You think you've bought a future, Lin Xia?" the matriarch whispered, her voice carrying to every corner of the room. "You've bought a tomb. You've humiliated a family that has survived emperors and revolutions. We will not be forgotten."
"You already are," Lin Xia replied. "You're a footnote in a ledger that's being rewritten."
The judge's gavel came down. CRACK.
"The court finds in favor of the defendant," Justice Zhang declared. "The transfer of Land Use Rights is upheld. Furthermore, based on the evidence of financial impropriety, a warrant is hereby issued for the audit of all Red Crane assets. Madame Zhao, you are remanded to the custody of the Economic Crimes Bureau for questioning."
The back doors of the courtroom opened. Two officers in grey uniforms stepped forward. They didn't move roughly; they handled Meifeng with the somber respect one gives to a dying animal.
As they led her past Lin Xia, the matriarch stopped. She leaned in, her breath smelling of bitter tea and old age. "You're just like us, Xia. You just don't know it yet. You'll become the monster you're fighting."
"Maybe," Lin Xia said, watching her go. "But I'll be a monster that pays its workers."
The gallery cleared quickly. The "Big Players" who had come to watch the Zhaos triumph fled like rats from a sinking ship. They didn't want to be associated with a family that was currently being audited by the CDIC.
Lin Xia remained at the table, her hands flat on the polished wood. She was shaking. The adrenaline that had sustained her for forty-eight hours was finally ebbing away, leaving a hollow, cold exhaustion in its wake.
A shadow fell over her. It was Li Tian, her lawyer. He looked stunned.
"We didn't just win a case, Xia," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "We just liquidated a dynasty. Do you realize what you've done? Every old-money family in the city is going to be terrified of you."
"Good," she said, standing up. "Fear is more reliable than loyalty in 1990."
"Where are you going?"
"To the factory," she said. "We have a shipment to finish."
As she walked out of the courthouse, Han Huojin was waiting by his car. He didn't say anything as she approached. He simply opened the door for her.
They drove through the rain toward the river. The skyline of Puxi was blurred, but across the water, the flat, dark land of Pudong looked like a sleeping giant.
"The audit on the Red Crane will take months," Han said as they crossed the ferry. "But the Zhaos are finished. Meifeng will be under house arrest, and Kun... well, Kun has agreed to cooperate in exchange for a quiet life in the countryside."
"He's lucky," Lin Xia said, looking at the water. "I gave him a better deal than he gave me in the last life."
Han glanced at her. "The 'last life.' You keep saying that."
"It's a figure of speech, Han."
"Is it?" He pulled the car over near the edge of her property. The No. 4 Mill loomed ahead, its windows glowing with the light of the night shift. "You fight like someone who has already seen the ending. You don't hesitate. You don't mourn."
Lin Xia turned to him. The rain was drumming on the roof of the car, creating a private, metal cocoon. "I don't have time to mourn, Han. The 90s are going to be a blur. By 1995, this swamp will be the most expensive land in Asia. By 2000, China will be the factory of the world. If I stop to breathe, someone else will take my place."
She reached out and touched the dash of the car. "I won the mill today. But that's just a building. I want the market. I want the brand. I want 'L-Symmetry' to be the first name people think of when they think of Chinese luxury."
Han reached over and took her hand. This time, his hand wasn't cold. "And what do you want for yourself, Xia? Beyond the ledgers?"
Lin Xia looked at the factory, then back at Han. She saw the man who would eventually become one of the most powerful figures in the country. She saw the partner she had needed but never had.
"I want to see the sun rise on a city that I helped build," she said. "And I want to know that I didn't have to marry a man like Zhang Wei to do it."
The next morning, the "Night of Long Needles" was a memory. The workers had scrubbed the soot from the walls. The "Master Loom" was producing the final meters of the Ghost-Stitch silk for the French contract.
Lin Xia stood on the loading dock, watching as the trucks—now bearing her own company's logo—were loaded with the crates.
Su Bo walked up to her, holding a newspaper. "Look at the headline, Xia."
SHANGHAI DAILY: "NEW ERA FOR PUDONG AS PRIVATE ENTERPRISE UPHOLDS STATE INTEGRITY"
There was a photo of Lin Xia on the courthouse steps. She looked fierce, unyielding, and incredibly young.
"They're calling you the 'Iron Butterfly' of the textile industry," Su Bo said, grinning.
"I prefer 'Iron Gavel,'" Lin Xia replied.
As the trucks pulled out of the courtyard, heading toward the harbor, Lin Xia felt a sense of peace she hadn't known since her rebirth. The first circle of her revenge was complete. The Zhaos were gone. The Zhangs were broken.
She walked back into the factory, the sound of the looms rising to meet her. She picked up a shuttle, the smooth wood familiar in her hand. She thought of the verdict that had just been read—a verdict that had changed the legal landscape of China.
But as she looked at the silk, she knew that the real verdict wasn't in a courtroom. It was in the hands of the women who were weaving. It was in the hum of the machines. It was in the heartbeat of a city that was finally waking up.
"Auntie Mei!" Lin Xia called out.
"Yes, Xia?"
"Increase the order for the mulberry silk from the north. We're doubling the production by June."
"Doubling? But the French only ordered—"
"The French were the beginning," Lin Xia said, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "We're going to Milan."