The meeting room smelled faintly of paper and tea—neutral, academic, and deceptively safe.
Lin Ze sat with his back straight, hands relaxed on the table, eyes steady. Across from him, Professor Qin Ruo didn't bother pretending this was a formality. She had already read the documents, already seen through the surface intent, and already decided that this conversation would not end comfortably.
The two administrators on either side of her shifted in their chairs, their smiles frozen in polite uncertainty. They knew money had entered the room. They didn't know where it planned to go.
Qin Ruo closed the folder slowly.
"Before we discuss details," she said, voice level, "I want to ask you one question."
Lin Ze nodded. "Go ahead."
She didn't smile.
"This partnership," she continued, tapping the document once, "creates scholarships, research grants, and external internships. On paper, it is generous. Off paper, it creates influence."
She looked directly into his eyes.
"Tell me," Qin Ruo said, "is this influence meant to serve education… or to select people?"
The room went quiet.
The administrators exchanged glances. This was not on the agenda.
Lin Ze didn't answer immediately.
He understood the trap. If he said education, he would sound naive or dishonest. If he said selection, he would confirm her suspicion—and possibly end the partnership before it began.
Qin Ruo leaned back slightly.
"There is no neutral answer," she said. "Only honest ones."
Lin Ze exhaled slowly.
"Selection," he said.
One of the administrators inhaled sharply.
Qin Ruo's eyes didn't widen. They sharpened.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because education already exists," Lin Ze replied calmly. "Talent does not always survive long enough to benefit from it."
Qin Ruo studied him.
"You're saying money should decide who is worth protecting."
"I'm saying money already does," Lin Ze answered. "This partnership just admits it."
Silence.
Qin Ruo's lips pressed together—not in disapproval, but in consideration.
"You're young," she said. "Too young to be comfortable saying that."
Lin Ze met her gaze. "I became comfortable quickly."
Qin Ruo's eyes flicked, briefly, to the administrators.
"Please excuse us," she said.
They hesitated.
Then stood, muttered polite acknowledgments, and left the room, closing the door behind them.
The click echoed.
Now it was just the two of them.
Qin Ruo folded her hands.
"Do you know why I asked that question?" she said.
"To see if I'd lie," Lin Ze replied.
"No," Qin Ruo said. "To see if you'd simplify."
She leaned forward slightly.
"Most men with sudden power," she continued, "either hide behind morality or brag about pragmatism. You did neither."
Lin Ze remained still.
"You answered," Qin Ruo said, "as if you expect to be judged."
"I do," Lin Ze replied. "Just not forgiven."
That earned him a pause.
Then—something close to approval.
"Good," Qin Ruo said quietly. "Because forgiveness is useless. Accountability is not."
She slid the document back toward him.
"I will sign," she said. "But not without conditions."
Lin Ze nodded. "Name them."
Qin Ruo's gaze hardened—not with hostility, but with intent.
"I want full transparency on student selection," she said. "No private recommendations. No back channels. If you want influence, you will own it publicly."
Lin Ze considered this.
"That limits flexibility," he said.
"That limits abuse," Qin Ruo replied.
A fair trade.
"I agree," Lin Ze said.
Qin Ruo watched him for a long moment, as if weighing more than the deal.
"Tell me something else," she said. "Who are you really representing?"
Lin Ze didn't answer immediately.
He chose his words carefully.
"A trust," he said. "That values results over noise."
Qin Ruo nodded once.
"And the woman behind it?" she asked.
Lin Ze didn't flinch. "Is very good at choosing people."
Qin Ruo's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I don't compete with women like that," she said. "I dissect them."
Lin Ze's phone vibrated on the table.
He didn't check it.
Qin Ruo noticed.
"You're in demand," she said.
"Yes," Lin Ze replied. "That's part of the job."
Qin Ruo signed the document with a smooth, decisive motion.
"Then consider this," she said. "From today, I will be watching you—not as a donor, not as a benefactor, but as a variable."
She stood.
"And if you cross a line," she added calmly, "I won't expose you emotionally. I'll expose you academically."
Lin Ze stood as well.
"That would be inconvenient," he said.
Qin Ruo's lips curved faintly.
"Inconvenience," she said, "is how men like you learn."
They shook hands.
Her grip was firm.
Not claiming.
Not yielding.
Testing.
By the time Lin Ze stepped out onto campus, the atmosphere had changed.
Students were clustered in small groups, phones out, voices lowered—not the usual gossip, but something sharper. Something new.
His phone vibrated again.
Lin Meiqi.
Message: : "I posted it."
Lin Ze stopped walking.
He opened the link.
The image was clean, deliberate, perfectly framed.
Him—leaning against the railing near the mall. Expression calm. Eyes unreadable.
Caption: : "He doesn't talk much." : "But he listens." : "And he chooses."
No name.
No explanation.
Just implication.
The comments were already flooding in.
Speculation. Jealousy. Curiosity.
And something else.
Claim.
Lin Ze's phone buzzed again—this time from an unknown number.
: "Who is he?" : "Is he taken?" : "Why does he look familiar?"
Lin Ze exhaled slowly.
Lin Meiqi had done exactly what Su Yanli predicted.
She had made him visible.
And visibility, once granted, could not be revoked.
Another vibration.
This time—Su Yanli.
Message: : "Dinner. Tonight." : "Same time." : "Same seat."
Lin Ze frowned slightly.
Same seat.
He understood what she was doing.
Habit.
Ritual.
Claim without announcement.
Lin Meiqi's message arrived seconds later.
: "You saw it." : "Now come find me." : "I don't like being ignored after I stake my ground."
Lin Ze stood between the buildings, the campus buzzing quietly around him.
Two women.
Two strategies.
One public.
One private.
And a third—watching from a distance, measuring consequences.
He typed a single reply to Lin Meiqi.
: "You made noise." : "Now let me handle the silence."
The typing indicator appeared instantly.
He didn't wait.
Instead, he opened Su Yanli's message and replied:
: "I'll be there."
The response came immediately.
: "Good." : "You're learning."
That night, the restaurant felt different.
Not because the food had changed—but because Lin Ze had.
He arrived on time.
Su Yanli was already seated, the same table, the same view. She wore a lighter dress tonight—cream-colored, understated, dangerous in its restraint.
"You came," she said.
"I said I would," Lin Ze replied.
Su Yanli gestured for him to sit.
"Consistency," she said, "is the most persuasive language."
The waiter approached, poured wine without asking, then vanished.
Su Yanli didn't touch her glass.
"You met Qin Ruo," she said.
"Yes."
"And?" she asked.
"She's not interested in owning me," Lin Ze replied. "She's interested in limiting me."
Su Yanli smiled faintly.
"That's more dangerous," she said. "Good."
She leaned back slightly.
"Lin Meiqi posted," she continued.
"I know."
"She's loud," Su Yanli said. "And now she thinks she's brave."
Lin Ze met her gaze. "You told me to let her believe she could win."
"Yes," Su Yanli said. "Because belief creates mistakes."
She studied him for a moment.
"You didn't go to her," she said.
"No."
Su Yanli's fingers brushed the stem of her glass.
"You came here instead," she said.
"Yes."
A pause.
Then Su Yanli leaned forward, voice low.
"From now on," she said, "this dinner is not optional."
Lin Ze's brow lifted slightly. "A rule?"
"A habit," Su Yanli corrected. "Habits shape loyalty without forcing it."
Lin Ze considered her.
"And what do I get?" he asked.
Su Yanli's eyes softened—not kindly, but strategically.
"You get protection," she said. "From rumors. From pressure. From women who think attention equals ownership."
Lin Ze's gaze sharpened.
"And from you?" he asked.
Su Yanli smiled.
"That," she said, "you'll have to earn."
She lifted her glass.
"To tonight," she said. "The first of many."
Lin Ze lifted his own.
Not in agreement.
In acknowledgment.
Across the city, Lin Meiqi stared at her phone, eyes dark with interest rather than anger.
And in her quiet office, Qin Ruo reviewed student files, her mind already mapping connections.
Lin Ze took a sip of wine.
And understood something deeply unsettling.
This was no longer about choosing women.
It was about managing claims.