The elevator of the Solaris Tower ascended with a silent, pressurized hum that matched the rising tempers of the five men inside. Ye Mo stared at the digital floor indicator, his jaw set in a line of granite, while Ye Yan cracked his knuckles with a rhythmic, threatening thud. They had tracked the GPS on Wanwan's phone the moment the "private lunch" exceeded two hours. To the brothers, Lu Zhentian wasn't just a business rival anymore; he was a wolf who had successfully lured their sister into his high-altitude den.
"If I find him so much as holding her hand without her permission, I'm declaring war," Ye Mo muttered, the cold authority of the Ye Group CEO replaced by the raw aggression of an overprotective brother.
"Forget the hand," Ye Chen snapped, checking his reflection in the mirrored walls with a frantic energy. "He probably has her trapped in some boring business talk. Wanwan deserves better than a man who treats a date like a board meeting."
The doors slid open to the penthouse suite, but the scene that greeted them was not the one they had imagined. There were no lawyers, no contracts, and no arrogant power plays. The dining room was sweltering, the air heavy with a tropical humidity that made the brothers break into an instant sweat. In the center of the lounge, Lu Zhentian was sitting on a plush velvet sofa, but he wasn't sitting alone. He had Ye Wanwan wrapped in a thick, heated cashmere blanket, her head resting against his shoulder. Zhentian was holding a small bowl of medicinal broth, blowing on each spoonful with a focused, almost domestic tenderness before offering it to her lips.
"One more, Wanwan," Zhentian's voice drifted across the room—not a roar, but a low, soft command that held more weight than any shout. "Your pulse is still too thin. Eat."
Wanwan looked small in the circle of his arms, her usual "Lethal God" aura dimmed by a lingering paleness. She took the sip, her eyes flickering toward the entrance as her brothers stormed in. "Mo? Why are you all here?"
"Get away from her!" Ye Yan was the first to reach them, his hand reaching out to grab Zhentian's collar.
Zhentian didn't flinch. He didn't even put the bowl down. He simply looked up at Ye Yan with eyes that were no longer golden and playful, but dark and terrifyingly lethal. A wave of heat rolled off him, so intense that Yan instinctively recoiled. "Sit down, Yan," Zhentian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the glass windows rattle. "Unless you want to be the reason she loses her focus and her temperature drops again."
The brothers froze. Ye Mo's eyes narrowed as he looked at Wanwan's pale face and the way she was leaning—actually leaning—into Zhentian for warmth. "What happened? What did you do to her, Zhentian?"
"I didn't do anything," Zhentian growled, finally setting the bowl aside but refusing to let go of Wanwan. He looked at the five men who shared her blood but knew nothing of her scars. "But you five? You've been so busy playing 'Protector' that you haven't noticed your sister is literally freezing to death in front of you. You think she's cold because she's 'aloof'? You think she's strong because she's a genius?"
Zhentian stood up, lifting Wanwan with him as if she weighed nothing, keeping her wrapped tightly in the blanket. "She has Cold-Blood Syndrome. A gift from the Kunlun Base where she spent fourteen years being turned into a tool. Her heart stops if she gets too cold. And while you were all arguing about who gets to sit next to her at breakfast, she was disarming a bomb in a sub-zero basement and saving your corporate asses while her own internal organs were shutting down."
The silence that followed was deafening. The five brothers looked at Wanwan, their faces shifting from anger to a crushing, agonizing guilt. Ye Jun, the surgeon, took a step forward, his hands trembling. "Cold-Blood... I've read the theoretical papers. It's... it's a systemic thermal failure. Wanwan, why didn't you tell us?"
Wanwan looked at her brothers, her obsidian eyes softening just a fraction. "Because telling you wouldn't change my blood. It would only make you worry, and worry makes people slow. I can't afford for this family to be slow."
"Well, you can't afford to be alone either," Ye Mo said, his voice cracking. He looked at Zhentian, and for the first time, the hatred in his eyes was replaced by a grudging, bitter respect. "Is that why you're always hovering? Because of the heat?"
"I hover because I'm shameless," Zhentian replied, pulling Wanwan closer to his chest, his eyes flashing with a possessive glint. "And because my blood runs at forty degrees. I'm the only one who can keep her stable when the 'mountain' comes back. So, from now on, the Ye family needs to step up. Stop looking for common thugs and start looking for the people who ran that base. Because if I find them first, there won't be enough of them left to bury."
Ye Yan stepped forward, his fists no longer aimed at Zhentian, but at the world. "We'll find them. Every single one of them."
The "Predator's Banquet" ended not with a fight, but with a silent pact. The five brothers took seats around the lounge, forming a protective, silent circle around their sister. For the first time, the Ye family wasn't just a group of people living in the same house; they were a pack. And at the center of it all was Lu Zhentian, the "Human Furnace" who sat shamelessly among them, holding the "Cold Moon" in his arms as if he were protecting the only light left in the world.
Wanwan closed her eyes, the warmth of the room and the presence of her brothers finally allowing her guard to drop. "You're all being very dramatic," she whispered into the heat of Zhentian's neck.
"Get used to it, little Phoenix," Zhentian whispered back, his lips brushing her temple. "We're just getting started."