She opened her digital log on the workstation's glass surface.
Log Entry 01: Sub-Level 4
Current Task: Initial Assessment of Asset YAN-001 (Zhanmadao).
Condition: Severe structural fracture at the mid-point. Unusual carbonization on the hilt.
Immediate Action: Spectroscopic analysis of the iron-nickel ratio to determine the exact heat of the "Great Fire" event.
She picked up the magnifying loupe, leaning in close to the jagged break of the sword. From a purely business perspective, this was a nightmare.
The Lu Group had promised the investors a "restored" weapon, but the molecular fatigue in this metal was unlike anything she had seen in the Yan catalogs.
"The insurance rider on this alone is enough to fund a small university," she whispered to herself, her breath hitching slightly as she adjusted the light.
She reached for the second crate, the one containing the Imperial Headgear. She needed to verify the inventory list before the morning shift started.
As she broke the seal, she reminded herself of Lin Jue's warning: He treats these relics like they're his own family.
"Well, Mr. Lu," she murmured, carefully lifting the lid to reveal the glimmer of ancient, warped gold. "Let's see just how much your family is worth."
The sun hadn't even cleared the skyline when Lu Wei's private jet touched down. He didn't go to his estate. He didn't even change. He stepped off the plane, a silent force of nature in a charcoal suit, and headed straight for the museum.
By 8:00 AM, Yilin was summoned. Not to the lab, but to the top floor—the CEO's private office.
The office was a minimalist fortress of glass and shadow. In the center of the room, isolated on a pedestal of black obsidian, sat the Dragon's Eye.
The moment Yilin looked at it, a sharp, stabbing pain flared in her chest—the exact, agonizing spot where her nightmare ended every single night. She gasped, her knees nearly buckling as she clutched the lapels of her blazer.
"The security glass is reinforced. You won't break it just by staring, though you might bore it to death."
The voice was like a sheet of ice cracking under a winter boot.
Yilin spun around, her breath leaving her in a rush. Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window was a man who looked like he had been carved from the very stone of the building. He was tall, intimidatingly broad-shouldered, and radiated a cold, predatory authority.
He wears a three-piece midnight-black suit. The fabric has a subtle, expensive charcoal pinstripe texture. He is adjusting a silver cufflink with a cold, focused expression.
Lu Wei. The CEO.
Yilin's pulse skyrocketed. She didn't "remember" his face in any logical sense, but seeing him felt like a high-speed physical collision. Her skin prickled with a heat she couldn't explain. He was devastatingly handsome, but his eyes were like black diamonds—hard, cold, and utterly devoid of warmth.
"Mr. Lu," she managed to say, her voice tight and trembling. "I'm Su Yilin. I'm here for the... the restoration interview."
Lu Wei didn't offer a hand. He didn't even move to close the distance politely. He stepped closer with a slow, suffocating dominance, his eyes scanning her face. He noted her pale skin and the way her eyes looked rimmed with exhaustion, and his lip curled with visible distaste.
"I've read your file, Miss Su. Top of your class, specialized in Han and Yan dynasty relics," he said, his voice a low, dangerous silk.
He turned his gaze back to the jade, his expression tightening. "But as you can see, the Dragon's Eye is dying. The mineral structure is changing for no scientific reason. I don't need a historian who cries in front of my displays. I need someone who can wake it up."
He leaned in, his scent—sandalwood and cold rain—filling her senses. It was a sensory overload that triggered a terrifying, split-second flash of iron and smoke in her mind.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Wei demanded, his eyebrows knitting together.
He noticed the way her gaze searched his face with a raw, agonizing confusion, as if she were trying to read a language she had forgotten.
For a split second, a sharp, unexplainable throb flared in his own chest, right where his heart beat.
It was a glitch in his cold, business-driven reality. He masked it instantly with a scowl. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."
"I... I'm sorry," Yilin whispered, her hand trembling as she tried to steady her breathing. "I just... I feel like I've been here before. And this jade... it shouldn't be grey. It shouldn't look like this. It should be..."
"It should be what?" Wei challenged, stepping even closer, his shadow completely swallowing her.
"Safe," she blurted out.
The word hung in the air, heavy and strange, vibrating with a meaning neither of them could articulate. Lu Wei stared at her, his jaw tightening so hard she could see the muscle leap.
He didn't believe in fate, and he hated "feelings" even more. But as he looked at this woman, he felt a sudden, irrational urge to protect her—and an even stronger, darker urge to fire her just to get her away from his presence.
"Safety is for the weak, Miss Su," he said coldly, turning his back on her. "In this museum, we value preservation. We value results. Follow me. Let's see if your hands are as dramatic as your mouth."
The private elevator was a masterpiece of cold, industrial minimalism. Unlike the glass-walled lifts in the public galleries, this one was a windowless box of brushed gunmetal and black leather.
As the doors slid shut with a heavy, pressurized thud, the air in the small space seemed to thicken. Lu Wei stood at the front, his back to Yilin, his broad shoulders nearly spanning the width of the car.
He didn't press a button; the lift recognized his biometrics and began a smooth, soundless descent that made Yilin's ears pop.
The silence was absolute, save for the faint, rhythmic hum of the high-speed motor.
Yilin kept her eyes fixed on the polished metal of the doors, but she couldn't escape his reflection. Even in the distorted surface, he looked lethal—a man who moved with the silent, predatory grace of someone who had never known a moment of peace.
The scent of sandalwood and cold rain was suffocating in the enclosed space. It felt like a physical weight on her chest, pressing against the very spot that had flared with pain just moments ago.
"You're trembling, Miss Su," Wei said, his voice a low, resonant vibration that seemed to come from the walls themselves. He didn't turn around. "If your pulse is this erratic before you've even touched the equipment, I have to wonder if the board's recommendation was a lapse in judgment."
"It's just the caffeine, Mr. Lu," Yilin managed to say, her voice sounding small and foreign to her own ears. She gripped the handle of her portfolio so hard her knuckles turned white. "And the altitude change. My technical record speaks for itself."
"In this museum, records are just paper," Wei countered, his voice dropping into a dangerous, silken register. "I don't care about your degrees. I care about the fact that the Gao collection is hemorrhaging value every hour it remains 'dead.' I'm paying for a miracle, not a resume."
He finally turned, his movement so sudden Yilin instinctively took a half-step back. The elevator was small, and now he was facing her, his towering height forcing her to look up. His eyes—those black diamond eyes—searched her face with a terrifying, surgical intensity.
For a heartbeat, the elevator seemed to vanish. The brushed metal turned to stone, the LED lights to flickering torches. Yilin felt a wave of cold, mountain air hit her face, and for the briefest of seconds, she saw him not in a suit, but in shadows and iron.
"Don't leave me," a voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Yilin gasped, her hand flying to her throat.
Lu Wei's jaw tightened. He saw the flicker of recognition—or madness—in her eyes, and his own chest throbbed with that same unexplainable ache.
He wanted to reach out, to steady her, but he caught himself. He hated the way she made him feel—unbalanced, exposed.
"Don't," he commanded, his voice a harsh rasp. "Don't look at me as if I'm something you've lost."
The elevator chimed—a sharp, digital ping that shattered the moment.
The doors slid open to reveal a vault that looked like a high-tech fortress. The floor was black glass, and the walls were lined with rows of glowing, climate-controlled pods.
"This is the Black Box," Wei said, his professional mask snapping back into place as if the last thirty seconds had never happened. "Everything here is off the books. No tourists. No board members. Just you, me, and the ruins of a kingdom."
He stepped out, his footsteps echoing like a countdown. "Let's see if you're a restorer, Miss Su, or just a dreamer."
The vault was a cold, silent vacuum. At its center, a single, glowing containment field held the Nine-Phoenix Crown.
Even in its charred state, the artifact was breathtaking. It wasn't just jewelry; it was a masterpiece of 4th-century engineering.
The gold had been beaten into feathers so thin they vibrated with the building's subsonic hum, but the "Fire of the Great Palace" had left its mark. The metal was warped, and the delicate jade inlay had turned a fractured, opaque white.
Lu Wei stopped just outside the sensor perimeter, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets. He looked at the crown not with the reverence of a historian, but with the cold, possessive intensity of a man looking at a broken weapon.
"The previous team of 'experts' claimed the oxidation was irreversible," Wei said, his voice echoing off the reinforced walls.
"They said the molecular bond between the gold and the carbonized silk was too far gone to separate without destroying the filigree. I liquidated their contracts yesterday."
He turned to Yilin, his eyes narrowing. "That crown is currently valued at $120 million as a ruin. If it's restored to its peak state, it's priceless. But more importantly, the Lu Group's merger with the Gao Conglomerate depends on that crown being the centerpiece of the gala in three weeks."
He gestured to a high-tech workstation equipped with a laser-scalpel and a sonic cleaner.
"The first phoenix—the one at the very top—is choked with ash. It's fused to the main frame," Wei commanded, his tone dropping into a strict, boardroom demand.
"If you can't separate the ash from the gold without scratching the 22-karat surface, you're out. No second chances. No severance."