The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 185

District Nine had always operated under the principle of “top controls bottom, bottom challenges top.” Once the announcement was made, it meant the decision was final. Han Jiang had committed an unforgivable error, and Cen Xiao was the one who had exposed it.

Of course, not everyone who exposes an error has the qualifications to replace the person involved—Cen Xiao simply happened to be the one.

Even though everything adhered to proper procedures, the people of District Nine couldn’t help but sigh at the outcome.

For the first time in so many years, the Ghost Eye Group welcomed such a young leader.

Yet the result didn’t seem absurd either. With Cen Xiao’s abilities, background, and connections, he was undoubtedly suited for the role.

He didn’t even need time to adapt—after all, he had grown up in this kind of environment.

In the brightly lit Group Leader’s office, Han Jiang had already packed all his personal belongings into boxes.

Gone was his former decisive and commanding demeanor. As he bent down to seal a box, the white strands in his hair appeared starkly clear, making him seem far older and more exhausted.

The sunlight streamed in through the window, filling the entire room with brightness. The cold of the ice and snow was kept outside by the continuously running heater, leaving behind a facade of warmth and peace.

It was still a clear day outside; the snow blanketed the ground, and the air remained dry and crisp—no different from any other day.

Han Jiang stared blankly out the window. The buildings and dull streets he had seen for decades would have nothing to do with him from now on.

He never thought that everything he once took for granted would remain etched so vividly in his memory—as though he could name every single tree branch.

He would never again stand in this office and look out this window.

The moment he lost his position as Group Leader, Han Jiang had considered fighting back. Thoughts flashed through his mind—some as extreme as putting Cen Xiao in a grave.

But when he personally saw the evidence Jiang Zheng submitted, he suddenly gave up all thoughts of resistance.

He had no room to fight back, for the evidence was conclusive. He had abused his power, bullied, and oppressed an innocent female student and a kind female manager. He had caused them over ten years of pressure and pain—consequences they would spend a lifetime trying to heal.

Any resistance on his part would only desecrate District Nine’s system and insult the Ghost Eye Group.

If Cen Xiao hadn’t replaced him, someone else would have.

Still, he wanted to end things with as much dignity as possible.

“Feeling reluctant?”

Cen Xiao leaned against the doorframe, following Han Jiang’s gaze out the window. There wasn’t much to see outside, but the sparkling snow still lifted his spirits.

“Cen Xiao, I underestimated you.”

Han Jiang straightened up, supporting his stiff lower back, and spoke with a heavy sigh.

He had underestimated many things about Cen Xiao. For instance, he hadn’t expected Cen Xiao to unearth a decade-old matter and track it back to Jiang Zheng.

Nor did he expect Jiang Zheng’s parents to willingly violate regulations, secretly performing her abortion and preserving the embryo.

But what shocked him most was that Cen Xiao would go this far for the Li Qingli Incident.

He certainly wasn’t naive enough to believe that Cen Xiao was simply acting out of compassion or justice for Jiang Zheng or for the wronged Xu Tanghui.

Everything Cen Xiao had done was to avenge Li Rong.

To settle the grudge against District Nine for turning a blind eye, refusing to speak up or clear the Li family’s name.

To take revenge on Han Jiang for collaborating with Liu Tanzhi to manipulate public opinion and push them deeper into the abyss.

Han Jiang had guarded against Cen Xiao, suppressed him, and deliberately supported Cen Xiao’s competitors—but he had failed.

District Nine’s rule was simple: the capable take the position. Victory or defeat—he should have had nothing to say. After all, when he seized power back then, he hadn’t enjoyed hearing the defeated leader’s complaints either.

But now that he was in this position, he realized he had so much to say—words that he could no longer hold back. He had become exactly the kind of person he once despised.

“They say Li Rong has aligned himself with the High Tower Group, and that you and Li Rong had a falling out. I never believed it. The two of you were acting all along, weren’t you? Putting on a show for the Hongsuo Research Institute and for your enemies.”

Han Jiang turned to face Cen Xiao, his sharp gaze fixed on him. Though his eyes still held power, they lacked their former confidence.

Cen Xiao neither confirmed nor denied it. Nor did he avoid Han Jiang’s gaze.

Like Han Jiang in the past, he had no interest in listening to the ramblings of a defeated man.

Yet, Han Jiang continued speaking on his own accord: “But I don’t understand—why are you in such a rush? You’ve got evidence against me and could replace me at any time, but now is not the right moment. You’re too young. There are plenty of people in District Nine who won’t accept you. Your seniors and rivals are watching like hawks, wolves surround you—how much energy do you have to shoulder the responsibility of the Ghost Eye Group?”

Cen Xiao scoffed and replied casually, “You’re even nosier than my dad.”

This line of reasoning had been mentioned by Cen Qing before, but Cen Xiao paid it no mind.

Han Jiang squinted slightly. “Don’t tell me you did all this just because I let Liu Tanzhi target Li Rong.”

Cen Xiao’s smile gradually faded, and a faint chill crept into his gaze. “Of course, I did this because you targeted Li Rong.”

Han Jiang froze for a moment before bursting into exaggerated laughter, his eyes filled with hatred and disappointment. “Liu Tanzhi’s media accounts attacked Li Rong, yes, but the public narrative was already in your control—this incident didn’t actually harm Li Rong. You’re such a disappointment. I thought you were a worthy opponent, but you turned out to be nothing more than a hotheaded tool!”

Han Jiang didn’t know the exact relationship between Cen Xiao and Li Rong. He merely assumed that Li Rong had used the bait of friendship to turn Cen Xiao into a weapon.

But Cen Xiao wasn’t easily angered. Instead, he mocked with a smirk: “And weren’t you Zhang Zhaohe’s tool?”

While confronting Jiang Zheng, Cen Xiao had already pieced together the truth of what had happened more than ten years ago.

That night, the people who had entered the lab included the young couple Han Ying and Jiang Zheng, the manager Xu Tanghui, and Zhang Zhaohe, who appeared to have had his own motives.

Zhang Zhaohe had watched Han Ying flee the lab, with Xu Tanghui chasing after him in panic.

Xu Tanghui didn’t recognize Han Ying, but Zhang Zhaohe did.

In the years since his return to A University, Zhang Zhaohe had meticulously navigated his relationships. He didn’t know when his chance for revenge would come or how he would climb step by step, but he never stopped preparing—he never gave up.

When he saw Han Ying that night, a spark of opportunity lit up in Zhang Zhaohe’s mind.

He didn’t expose Han Ying. Instead, he immediately intercepted the security footage and secretly kept a copy.

Seeing the silhouettes of a man and a woman in the hallway surveillance, Zhang Zhaohe instantly guessed what had happened.

He knew that Xu Tanghui’s running speed would never allow her to catch Han Ying, but Han Ying, having committed such an act, certainly wouldn’t dare tell Han Jiang.

Using this brief window of time, Zhang Zhaohe found Han Ying and proposed a plan that would exonerate him without tarnishing the family’s reputation.

The plan, of course, involved framing Xu Tanghui.

Han Ying was terrified and desperate at the time. With someone offering a way out, he didn’t hesitate.

All he knew was that if Han Jiang found out what he had done in the lab, Han Jiang would probably kill him.

Besides, the manager had chased him for several kilometers—how unreasonable of her!

By the time Han Jiang learned the truth, everything had already been set in stone.

Han Ying was safe, Jiang Zheng had been silenced by Zhang Zhaohe, the storm had long passed, and Xu Tanghui had been punished. Han Jiang wouldn’t bring up the incident again and risk exposing his own son.

Though the Ghost Eye Group’s first leader was famously known for his impartiality, Han Jiang realized that when the situation befell him, he couldn’t bring himself to be as ruthless.

In a strange twist of fate, he tacitly approved Zhang Zhaohe’s plan.

One mistake often requires more mistakes to cover up, and Han Jiang was dragged deeper and deeper into the mire alongside Zhang Zhaohe.

At the time, Han Jiang still believed Zhang Zhaohe was just a small lecturer trying to cozy up to him.

By the time he realized he was being used, it was already too late.

It wasn’t that he was foolish—he simply couldn’t imagine why Zhang Zhaohe would do something like this.

Zhang Zhaohe carefully controlled the boundaries. He demanded Han Jiang use his position to help him while ensuring his requests never exceeded Han Jiang’s breaking point.

This tug-of-war lasted over a decade, until Zhang Zhaohe lost control while targeting Li Rong. When he struck at the height of the storm, Han Jiang finally severed ties with him.

Although Han Jiang had been coerced into the situation, Zhang Zhaohe had only succeeded because Han Jiang harbored greed and selfishness.

He wasn’t innocent.

Cen Xiao calling him Zhang Zhaohe’s tool hit the nail on the head and stung deeply.

This incident would likely become the greatest shame of Han Jiang’s life.

Sure enough, Han Jiang’s expression shifted, and he said bitterly, “How laughable. The Ghost Eye Group’s last two leaders both turned into tools of the High Tower Group!”

Cen Xiao shrugged nonchalantly. “Whether you want to be Zhang Zhaohe’s tool is your business. I, for one, am perfectly willing to be Li Rong’s tool.”

Han Jiang snapped in anger: “You schemed so hard to seize the position of leader just to turn the Ghost Eye Group into a puppet of the High Tower Group? You don’t deserve this role! You’ll destroy the Ghost Eye Group!”

Cen Xiao, now irritated, replied, “Whether I’m worthy or not is no longer your concern.”

Han Jiang sneered, his emotions boiling over. “You’re all fools! You used your hidden trump card to take me down, but I already hinted to you—Zhang Zhaohe is the true enemy of the Li family!”

After venting, Han Jiang’s demeanor shifted. He took a deep breath, a strange smile crossing his face as he said slowly, “You probably don’t know this, do you? Zhang Zhaohe was the one who drove Li Qingli and Gu Nong to their deaths. Back then, Zhang Zhaohe met with them, spun a web of lies, and crushed all their hopes and dreams. He pushed them to take their own lives as atonement—for Li Rong, for the High Tower Group, and for public opinion. How tragic… They trusted Zhang Zhaohe completely, never realizing that his ultimate goal was their deaths!”

Cen Xiao frowned, his expression darkening with barely concealed disgust, though he forced himself to listen.

Seeing Cen Xiao’s change in demeanor, Han Jiang finally felt a twisted satisfaction. “Li Qingli and Gu Nong were far too gentle. The High Tower Group raised them like rabbits. Zhang Zhaohe had long wanted to replace them but lacked an opportunity. Suhe Biotech fell into his lap like a gift from the heavens. He used the situation to pressure me and orchestrated the final straw that crushed the Li family.

As expected, Li Qingli and Gu Nong were indeed dead, and Zhang Zhaohe smoothly took over the High Tower Group, successfully sidelining Zhu Yan! Cen Xiao, you and I fought each other to the death, yet it’s Zhang Zhaohe, that rat hiding in the gutter, who gets the last laugh. Is it worth it? This matter involves the reputation of the Ghost Eye Group, and the news will inevitably be sealed. Without your trump card, how will you get revenge on Zhang Zhaohe?”

Han Jiang’s laugh wasn’t sincere, and the muscles on his face twitched uncontrollably. He wanted to see Cen Xiao falter, but thinking of his own complete downfall filled him with a sense of bitter irony, like the pot mocking the kettle.

He calmed his emotions, straightened his back, and sneered, “Cen Xiao, let me kindly tell you this: as the leader of the Ghost Eye Group, for the sake of District Nine’s reputation, the group’s authority, Blue Pivot’s status, and social stability, you won’t have the chance to reveal the truth about what happened back then. You’ll even have to maintain the blame on Xu Tanghui because her sacrifice is insignificant.

And the Luyinxu incident two years ago—don’t even think about holding anyone accountable. Too many people made mistakes in that matter, and you can’t go against everyone. The whole affair will end with Suhe Biotech, even though you know full well that Zheng Zhupan wasn’t the only culprit. The more you want revenge, the less you can achieve it. You and Li Rong will be left with nothing but regret.

Cen Xiao, that’s the responsibility of being the leader of the Ghost Eye Group! ‘To wear the crown, one must bear its weight.’”

Han Jiang’s lengthy tirade seemed to release all the pent-up bitterness within him. 

He knew how petty and venomous he sounded, reveling in others’ pain and waving the banner of righteousness while hiding his own cowardice. He had once despised such behavior, yet now he found a twisted sense of pleasure in it.

Like an addict consuming a deadly drug, he knew it would corrode him, but he willingly sank into the brief, false euphoria it provided.

He was on the verge of madness, yet Cen Xiao remained unnaturally calm. It was as if an invisible boundary split the room—on one side, searing molten lava; on the other, an icy mountain glacier.

“Responsibility?” Cen Xiao curled his lips into a smile so chilling it sent shivers down the spine. Bored, he lowered his gaze and brushed his fingers lightly across the glass door of the leader’s office.

The dry friction of his fingertips on the smooth glass produced no sound, yet something in the air seemed to shatter abruptly.

Dark clouds passed over the sun, and the room’s abundant light dimmed into a slow, oppressive gloom. Shadows stretched ominously.

Han Jiang suddenly sensed something was wrong.

Reputation, authority, status, stability—did Cen Xiao really care about those things?

What if Cen Xiao was a madman, willing to destroy the Ghost Eye Group, Blue Pivot, and the Hongsuo Research Institute just to expose the injustice from fourteen years ago and the atrocities from two years prior?

Han Jiang shuddered.

Would Cen Xiao really do it?

He didn’t know.

He had never truly understood Cen Xiao, and that had given his rival a chance to exploit him. Han Jiang had grown too complacent over the years, forgetting that the Ghost Eye Group of District Nine was rife with ruthless competition.

The tides of day and night would always turn, the stars would always shift, and no matter how flawless a plan or how oppressive the power, every empire would eventually crumble.

Losing reverence for justice is the first step toward destruction.

At the very start, all Han Jiang had needed to do was pay for a damaged lab instrument and properly discipline his son.

Cen Xiao glanced at his watch, raised his arm slightly, and stated coldly, “It’s twelve o’clock.”

At the stroke of noon, Han Jiang had no reason to linger any longer.

The Ghost Eye Group no longer had a place for him. Every second he stayed was an insult to the new leader.

The light in Han Jiang’s eyes vanished instantly, as though covered in dust. Carrying his briefcase, he left the office without looking back, leaving Cen Xiao with a lonely, desolate silhouette.

The cleaning staff waited eagerly by the elevator, ready to clear out Han Jiang’s belongings and prepare a neat space for the capable new leader.

Cen Xiao, however, had no time to watch the office being tidied up; he had a meeting to attend for the Ghost Eye Group.

The meeting was nothing significant—merely an opportunity to assert authority and remind those who opposed him to accept the new reality.

He was familiar with this process. In his previous life, when he’d taken the position of District Three Chairman from his father, he’d done the same.

Cen Xiao couldn’t predict everyone’s thoughts, but he knew one thing for certain: Du Mingli wouldn’t submit willingly.

When Du Mingli realized he couldn’t beat Cen Xiao in the competition, he had chosen to bide his time and even teamed up with Cen Xiao to achieve some results.

Now that the results were in, and the foundations laid, Du Mingli hadn’t anticipated Han Jiang’s downfall.

With Cen Xiao in power, all his previous efforts were wasted.

The moment Du Mingli received the notification, he nearly quit on the spot. But after sitting in his office and thinking for a long time, he calmed down.

He didn’t know what leverage Cen Xiao had on Han Jiang, but fortunes always changed. Cen Xiao might stumble one day too.

At the end of the meeting, Du Mingli approached Cen Xiao, smiling with ambiguous intent. “Congratulations, Group Leader Cen.”

Cen Xiao replied with a fake smile, “You’re too kind. I’ll need Team Leader Du’s hard work and full cooperation in the future.”

Du Mingli’s smile deepened as he nodded. Tucking his notebook under his arm, he said meaningfully, “Of course. Just make sure to be careful, Group Leader Cen. I’ll be keeping an eye on my superiors, and I hope the mistakes of the former leader won’t happen to you.”

Cen Xiao’s gaze swept over him briefly without replying. He stepped past Du Mingli and strode out of the conference room.

An assistant waiting at the door eagerly took the meeting notes from Cen Xiao. “Group Leader Cen, would you like to see your new office now?”

Cen Xiao replied indifferently, “No need. I’m going home.”

The assistant immediately responded, “I’ll call a driver for you right away.”

Cen Xiao frowned, putting distance between himself and the assistant. “I’m not as dictatorial as Han Jiang, and I have no intention of firing anyone. I’ll call you if I need something; don’t follow me.”

The assistant finally breathed a sigh of relief and smiled warmly, “Of course, Group Leader Cen. Take care.”

Not far away, Du Mingli listened to every “Group Leader Cen” as if they were knives stabbing into his chest.

He always wondered whether he had made a mistake leaving his previous job to join District Nine. Over the past year, nothing had gone as he wished. Every effort he put in ended up benefiting someone else.

—If only Cen Xiao didn’t exist.

Without Cen Xiao, the position of Ghost Eye Group leader would most likely have been his.

***

With Han Jiang’s downfall and Zhang Zhaohe losing influence, Li Rong no longer had to be as careful and restrained as in previous months.

When Cen Xiao returned home, Li Rong had just stepped out of the bathroom. His hair was still dripping wet as he made himself a cup of coffee.

Seeing Cen Xiao, he set the spoon down and, exuding the scent of shampoo, approached with a teasing look. In the humid air, he smirked and asked, “How does it feel to be Group Leader Cen?”

Cen Xiao ran his fingers through the ends of Li Rong’s hair, dampening his fingertips. “You didn’t dry your hair again.”

The moment Cen Xiao saw Li Rong, Han Jiang’s words resurfaced in his mind, sinking his mood a little.

Li Rong wasn’t pleased with Cen Xiao’s overly serious demeanor. With his cool fingers, he slid his hand under Cen Xiao’s shirt, pressing into his abs. “Even as Group Leader, you’re dressing so formal and talking like you’re my elder.”

Cen Xiao caught his hand, pulling it out of his shirt. Holding Li Rong’s waist, he drew him closer and chuckled softly, “Aren’t I older than you?”

Li Rong leaned in and playfully bit Cen Xiao’s lower lip. With a raised brow, he studied Cen Xiao for a moment and immediately realized something was wrong. Though he teased with his words, he knew Cen Xiao’s heart wasn’t in it.

Patting the arm around his waist, Li Rong said, “What did Han Jiang tell you?”

It wasn’t a question—it was a certainty. He knew Cen Xiao too well. Cen Xiao couldn’t hide things from him, and even if he tried, it was because Li Rong allowed him to.

Cen Xiao had no choice but to recount everything Han Jiang had said.

At first, Li Rong remained composed. He even calmly walked to the dining table to continue stirring his overly sugary black coffee.

His expression didn’t change much. His eyes were lowered, his lips pressed tightly, and his damp hair stuck to his cheeks.

The spoon clinked against the cup in irregular intervals as the dark coffee swirled rapidly, tiny bubbles surfacing at the center of the vortex.

The rising steam blurred his eyes with a faint sheen of moisture.

Cen Xiao finished speaking just as the sugar completely dissolved.

Li Rong raised the cup to take a sip, but he noticed his hands were trembling. The tremors disrupted the swirl in the cup, making the liquid ripple violently. He could barely hold the cup steady enough to take a drink.

He’d considered this before. He knew it couldn’t have been simple.

But hearing that his life’s tragedies stemmed from someone’s selfish motives—it was hard not to feel rage, hatred.

Cen Xiao walked behind him, placing his hand over Li Rong’s trembling hand to steady it and lift the coffee cup.

“Baby, don’t shake. Victors don’t need to grant emotions to defeated dogs.”

Cen Xiao held Li Rong’s hand as he brought the coffee to his lips.

Lowering his gaze, Li Rong took a sip. The bitterness of the coffee mingled with the excessive sweetness of the sugar, stimulating his taste buds. The scalding liquid slid down his throat to his stomach, slowly calming him.

Li Rong took a deep breath, set the coffee down, and leaned his weight into Cen Xiao’s embrace.

With dark, unreadable eyes fixed on the chandelier in the living room, he murmured, “Since that’s the case, let me choose how he dies.”

Cen Xiao pressed a soft kiss against the small curve of Li Rong’s earlobe and whispered indulgently, “You can do whatever you want.”

***

Before the second phase of the Luyinxu experiment began, the High Tower Group held their second internal meeting.

The thirty or so most prestigious and senior members attended, but the atmosphere this time was subtly different.

Naturally, Zhang Zhaohe, as the leader, had to preside over the meeting. However, this time, it wasn’t his initiative to call it.

It was Jiang Weide’s.

Zhang Zhaohe no longer wore his usual calm, confident smile. Since Han Jiang’s downfall, he had been desperately trying to uncover what had happened, but District Nine had become an impenetrable fortress. Not a shred of information leaked out.

He didn’t know how Han Jiang had fallen, nor did he understand how much danger Han Jiang’s mistakes might bring to him.

Panic and anxiety had become his new normal.

Then, Jiang Weide sent him a notification—he wanted to formally commend Li Rong internally and offer best wishes for the successful second phase of the Luyinxu experiment.

In short, it was an awards ceremony with Li Rong as the center of attention.

Zhang Zhaohe naturally didn’t want to attend, but Jiang Weide’s request sounded entirely reasonable, even righteous.

Zhang Zhaohe had lost weight recently. His thin frame barely held up his Zhongsuon suit, and his cane struck the marble floor heavily, as though he genuinely needed it for support.

The sharp angles of his cheekbones made him look gaunt and severe, almost menacing. His eyes, however, remained sharp and alert, sensitive to even the slightest sound.

Entering the meeting room, Zhang Zhaohe immediately noticed Li Rong sitting next to Jiang Weide.

Now acting as the interim director, Jiang Weide sat naturally at the central position of authority. With Li Rong beside him, it made Li Rong an undeniable focal point.

Zhang Zhaohe scanned the room and forced a vague smile. “It seems everyone is here today.”

Instinctively, he reached for his breast pocket to touch his pen, only to feel nothing. That’s when he remembered—he had shattered the pen underfoot.

Still, his years of habit made the motion unavoidable, rendering it almost comically awkward.

Li Rong smiled innocently, his tone carrying no malice. “Teacher is here. Please, have a seat.”

Before Jiang Weide could speak, Li Rong had already taken the lead. Jiang Weide stared ahead without objection.

The people in the conference room exchanged puzzled looks. While they found it odd that Li Rong was the one picking up Zhang Zhaohe’s comment, no one voiced any objections.

Zhang Zhaohe fixed his gaze on Li Rong’s face as he slowly took his seat.

He couldn’t figure out what new scheme Li Rong might be plotting, but he had a strong suspicion that Han Jiang’s downfall was closely tied to him.

He and Li Rong were cut from the same cloth. People like them, with a strong sense of vengeance, wouldn’t let any enemy go unpunished. 

Han Jiang had turned a blind eye to the plight of Li’s family in the past; there was no way Li Rong would let that slide.

It was just the speed of it all—so swift, so decisive. It was as though, overnight, the winds in District Nine had changed direction.

Clearing his throat, Zhang Zhaohe began, “Thank you all for taking the time to attend. It’s been quite some time since our last meeting, and in that interval, the High Tower Group has undergone many significant developments. Of course, most notably, the first phase of the Luyinxu experiment was a resounding success, fulfilling one of Brother Li’s long-cherished wishes…”

The meeting itself was entirely mundane and uneventful. It consisted mostly of recycling points that had been made countless times before.

In truth, the sense of urgency that had gripped everyone not long ago was now gone. Nobody was in a state of heightened alert, necessitating such meetings to navigate the turbulent waters anymore.

Zhang Zhaohe’s speech was vague and superficial. Eventually, it was Jiang Weide who took the reins, bringing up the ongoing tensions between the Hongsuo Institute and the High Tower Group.

Jiang Weide stated, “The Hongsuo Institute has its shortcomings, but I believe it will gradually get back on track. It’s a massive institution—any change is bound to be slow and complex. We need to give them time to adjust.”

This assertion made it clear that Jiang Weide didn’t want the Hongsuo Institute and the High Tower Group to remain at odds.

From his perspective, this was reasonable. After all, he was on the verge of officially becoming the dean.

Zhang Zhaohe, however, didn’t agree. “The Hongsuo Institute has deeply rooted problems—chronic and entrenched. Turning it around won’t be as simple as it seems. Meanwhile, we at the High Tower Group should remain focused, steadfast, and vigilant in protecting our own interests.”

Jiang Weide knew change wasn’t going to happen overnight. Zhang Zhaohe’s retort left him momentarily at a loss for words.

The atmosphere in the conference room grew tense and rigid. Everyone could sense the power struggle brewing between Jiang Weide and Zhang Zhaohe.

Once Jiang Weide officially assumed the role of dean, the High Tower Group would inevitably face a shake-up. However, the scale and outcome of this upheaval remained anyone’s guess.

Amid this tense and stagnant mood, Li Rong seemed entirely unfazed.

Relaxed in his swivel chair, he twirled a carbon ink pen between his fingers, his gaze resting on a pot of daffodils on the balcony.

The daffodils were in full bloom, their white petals encasing soft yellow centers. Just looking at them was a visual delight.

Out of the blue, Li Rong spoke with a cheerful tone, “Why are there still daffodils in the conference room?”

His voice startled the professors, pulling them out of their tense silence. For a moment, they struggled to adjust to this sudden shift in mood.

The air had been thick with tension, yet Li Rong seemed completely oblivious.

Chang Li quickly tried to explain, “Because Zhang—”

She intended to say that the daffodils were Zhang Zhaohe’s favorite. As a result, any place where the High Tower Group frequently held meetings would be adorned with a few pots of them.

She wasn’t sure when this tradition started, but it was undoubtedly the work of those trying to curry favor with Zhang Zhaohe. Over time, everyone had grown used to it, and no one thought much of it anymore.

However, Li Rong didn’t wait for her explanation. He stood up and walked toward the balcony.

“These flowers aren’t particularly attractive. Their sap can easily cause skin irritation—no real benefits. I think we should replace them with forget-me-nots. They’re small, delicate, and soothing to look at. Coincidentally, I also know a beautiful cat named WuWangwo.”

Zhang Zhaohe squinted, his gaze locked on Li Rong’s back.

Those were his favorite flowers. They were only here because of his presence.

Leaning lazily, Li Rong reached out to touch a daffodil petal. He bent down to sniff it before shaking his head in disapproval. “Not fragrant enough. Just touching it makes my fingers itch. Forget-me-nots, on the other hand, have a lovely meaning. I imagine my parents would also want to ensure they aren’t forgotten by the High Tower Group. Don’t you agree, teachers?”

In truth, daffodils have a strong fragrance, much more so than forget-me-nots. Li Rong’s remarks were clearly a stretch.

But when he mentioned his parents, no one dared to refute him.

Jiang Weide cleared his throat. “White flowers do have a certain simplicity to them, but forget-me-nots are more vibrant. It’s not a big deal. If you want to change them, go ahead.”

Li Rong smiled innocently, blinking as he glanced at the others, who remained silent.

Receiving his cue, Chang Li quickly chimed in, “It’s just a flower switch—I have no objections.”

Li Yongshi added, “My wife likes forget-me-nots. I think it’s a great choice.”

Yan Youzhong nodded. “The perspective of the younger generation is indeed refreshing. We should align ourselves with their preferences.”

As more people spoke up, an underlying tension began to unravel. Hidden hopes that had long been buried started to surface.

Leaning against the windowsill, Li Rong rested his fingers on the petals, wearing an air of calm composure. But in his gaze, there was a depth of maturity and calculation far beyond his years.

The once-vibrant flowers beside him now seemed dull and lifeless, their charm entirely eclipsed.

“Whatever works. I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine with it. A little change of scenery never hurts.”

“Never seen forget-me-nots before—are they pretty?”

“Oh, this happens to be my area of expertise! From the order Boraginales, family Boraginaceae, most commonly with bluish-purple petals. They typically thrive in alkaline soil…”

“Are they easy to care for? I’ve been thinking of growing some flowers myself lately.”

“For those of us in botany, sure. But you’re in architecture—can’t say the same for you.”

“Hey, don’t underestimate me. I grew up in the countryside. I’ve planted every vegetable you can think of—flowers shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Alright, alright. Once they’re switched out, we’ll see how you handle it.”

….

The atmosphere in the meeting room had turned lively, with discussions centered on flowers and replacing them.

In truth, everyone knew they weren’t really talking about the flowers—they were discussing the person behind them. Their enthusiasm wasn’t for the flowers but for that individual.

It was as though they hadn’t said anything of substance, yet everything had been made crystal clear.

Everyone understood that daffodils were Zhang Zhaohe’s favorite flower, but not a single person opposed Li Rong’s suggestion to replace them.

This wasn’t because Zhang Zhaohe no longer had supporters—he did. But those supporters were no longer the majority.

From the moment Jiang Weide was the first to back Li Rong, an unspoken shift in allegiances had taken place.

They had anticipated that this moment of upheaval would come later, but unexpectedly, the tremor arrived suddenly and decisively.

In their panic, they didn’t have time to think deeply and instead made the pragmatic choice to go along with the majority.

Zhang Zhaohe saw this clearly. He felt his authority slipping away, like sand falling through an hourglass, irretrievably and inexorably.

His face tensed, the slackened flesh pulling taut in unnatural patterns. The hand gripping his cane turned pale and stiff, his fingernails digging in so hard they seemed on the verge of snapping.

He looked at the faces in front of him—faces brimming with enthusiasm, pretending ignorance—and listened to the lively chatter about flowers. It felt as though an invisible blade were carving chunks out of his flesh.

They were so hypocritical, so attuned to shifts in the wind. The moment they sensed a change, they unhesitatingly shifted their loyalties and presented their allegiance with exaggerated fervor.

Li Rong, ah Li Rong.

Zhang Zhaohe’s eyes were bloodshot. He couldn’t fathom how he had been defeated by a child, how the position he had painstakingly built over a decade could vanish overnight.

Anger and frustration consumed him, but he was powerless.

Li Rong casually brushed the pollen off his hands, his gaze sweeping across Zhang Zhaohe’s face. His eyes held the scornful superiority of a victor, laced with the unmistakable derision of a member of the Li family.

But that expression was fleeting.

Li Rong spoke calmly, “It’s getting late, and the teachers are busy. Let’s end here for today.”

The meeting began with Zhang Zhaohe speaking the first words, and it ended with Li Rong delivering the closing remarks.

It felt like an omen, a sign, or perhaps a conclusion.

The High Tower Group was destined to return to its roots, restore order, and become the vision that Li Qingli had once hoped for atop the tower.

Once everyone had left, the vast meeting room was empty save for Zhang Zhaohe and Li Rong.

The evening light waned, the warm glow retreating as the air grew cooler.

Zhang Zhaohe finally dropped his pretense. His eyes bulged, and he let out a twisted laugh. “Li Rong, very good! Excellent! I never imagined you were a wolf still clinging to its wild nature!”

Li Rong smiled faintly and picked up Zhang Zhaohe’s teacup.

Leaning back lazily, he glanced at the cup. The tea inside had grown dark and cold.

Li Rong said nonchalantly, “I’ve learned something from you, teacher—something deeply impactful and immensely beneficial. Allow me to share it, though you can just listen casually. I’m holding a cup of tea here, but if I say it’s a cup of cocoa, and everyone agrees with me, then it is cocoa. This is called power. Teacher, you wielded this concept quite naturally when you used it against Zhu Yan. Now, I’ve applied it in my own way. Have I done well?”

Zhang Zhaohe trembled all over, his lips turning ashen. He clenched his teeth tightly, the grinding sound loud and grating. The veins on his hands bulged grotesquely like a spider’s web.

“Li Rong!”

“Li Rong… Li Rong!”

Zhu Yan had cared about the power of the Hongsuo Institute, and Zhang Zhaohe, in his quest for revenge, had turned Zhu Yan into an empty figurehead.

Now, Li Rong had brought this same scheme to Zhang Zhaohe’s doorstep, forcing him to watch helplessly as he lost control of the High Tower Group.

Zhang Zhaohe had once thought his own ambition was already boundless, but seeing Li Rong’s true nature, he realized how much further cunning and calculation could go.

Li Rong had struck him with a poison-tipped arrow, precisely piercing his heart. While Zhang Zhaohe bled out, Li Rong stood amidst the carnage with an air of calm amusement.

Li Rong’s face was beautiful and refined, but his heart was icy and ruthless.

In his revenge plans, Zhang Zhaohe’s name had never been omitted—he had simply been waiting for the most decisive moment to strike.

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