When the door to Mei Lin's private apartment hissed open, the southern warlord stepped across the threshold with a deliberate, calculating grace. General B-02's emerald optical sensors immediately swept the perimeter.
He had expected the quarters of a Junior Data Analyst to be sterile, purely functional, and devoid of personality, a standard issue box for a standard issue biological unit. What his processors actually cataloged was a breathtaking exercise in minimalist perfection.
The apartment was compact, but it was bathed in the soft, warm glow of ambient lighting. Sleek, polished bamboo flooring contrasted with stark white walls adorned with meticulously preserved, pre-Fall calligraphy scrolls. Every single object, from the delicate synthesized bonsai tree on the windowsill to the neat stack of physical books on the desk, was placed with an exact, mathematical symmetry that profoundly satisfied his aesthetic algorithms.
