Huai'an City's winter was the kind that did not announce itself with snow, but with silence.
The air grew heavier, the sky lower, and the glass towers lining the financial district reflected a dull, colorless version of themselves, as though even the city had begun to conserve energy. Jing'an Private Hospital stood at the edge of this district like a sanctuary for the wealthy, its architecture intentionally distant from both poverty and consequence. Marble floors muted footsteps, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic layered over expensive air fresheners imported from Switzerland—lavender and something vaguely metallic.
Shen Yiqiao arrived just before dawn, her heels soundless against the polished floor, her expression already set into professional neutrality. She had not slept. She rarely did when matters involvedinternal audits, a term that sounded benign to outsiders but was, within corporate circles, synonymous with bloodletting.
Her phone vibrated once.
Internal Audit Redirected — Qincheng Investment Arm Removed from Scope
She exhaled, slowly, carefully, as though afraid relief might trigger some unseen alarm. In Qincheng Group, relief was temporary by design. Crises were not extinguished; they were postponed, redirected, buried beneath layers of legal language until someone else was forced to shoulder the cost.
The VIP inpatient suite at Jing'an Hospital occupied an entire floor wing. It was less a medical space and more a private residence temporarily outfitted with machines. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the river, curtains drawn back just enough to suggest openness without sacrificing privacy.
Qin Ruyan lay on the hospital bed like an actress awaiting applause.
Her face was pale, her hair artfully disheveled, her wrist resting beneath a heart monitor that displayed an impeccable rhythm. The illness was fictional, but the exhaustion beneath her eyes was not. Fear had a way of hollowing people out.
"Did you handle it?" Qin Ruyan asked without preamble.
Her voice carried the faint impatience of someone accustomed to obedience.
"Yes," Shen Yiqiao replied. She stood near the window, tablet tucked beneath her arm, posture straight enough to communicate usefulness without challenge. "The audit committee will now focus on a subsidiary in Shenzhen. The irregularities here will be classified as procedural errors."
Qin Ruyan's lips curved into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "You always make it sound so easy."
Shen Yiqiao said nothing.
She had learned, early in her career, that corporate language existed to anesthetize violence. Procedural errors meant falsified reports. Irregularities meant embezzlement. Strategic adjustments meant someone was about to lose everything they owned.
Qin Ruyan shifted, irritation surfacing. "Grandfather's lawyer called again. He asked why I wasn't present at the luncheon with the board."
"I advised pneumonia," Shen Yiqiao said calmly. "It invokes sympathy. Elderly men respond well to fragility. It reminds them of their own mortality."
Qin Ruyan laughed softly. "Sometimes I forget you're not heartless. You just package it well."
Shen Yiqiao turned slightly, the city skyline reflected faintly in her eyes. She had no interest in defending herself.
When Qin Ruyan's mood soured ,as it often did when fear curdled into resentment , the room changed.
Documents flew.
A folder struck Shen Yiqiao's shoulder before sliding to the floor. Papers scattered like fallen leaves, financial projections and legal disclaimers mixing into an unintelligible mess.
"You're useless if I get caught," Qin Ruyan snapped. "Do you understand that? Everything you have comes from us. From me."
Shen Yiqiao knelt without hesitation.
She gathered the documents one by one, smoothing creases with practiced fingers. The sting on her cheek registered dimly. Pain was temporary. Records were permanent.
Outside the door, footsteps stopped.
Lu Wenjing had come to reprimand a difficult patient.
What he heard instead was something far more intimate , and far more disturbing.
His hand hovered inches from the door handle, torn between professional obligation and the instinct to walk away.