Lisbon was too warm for a city hiding ghosts.
Zeyan stepped out of the private car onto cobbled stone, dressed like a tourist, tracked like a predator. A scarf half-wrapped around his collarbone, mirrored sunglasses reflecting the glint of tiled roofs.
The address Luo Hanying had sent him was a converted chapel near Alfama — now a gallery-turned-private club.
No security cameras. No exterior signage. Just the hush of money wrapped in culture.
Inside, the party had already started.
And Yan Shaoxing was exactly where she said he'd be — seated beneath an arch of exposed stone, sipping a glass of Douro red, alone.
As if daring the world to blink first.
Meanwhile — Prague
Matias Lorne was unravelling.
It started with his lines being cut.
Then the director began blocking him to Jiang Yue's left — her blind spot — never centre frame. Then his stylist began "accidentally" dressing him in colours that blend into the background.
And the crew?
They whispered when he passed.
The assistant script girl stopped saying good morning.
The latest call sheet had his name misspelled.
System Passive Pressure Protocol: Activated
Target: Matias Lorne
Influence Suppression: Social Echo Layer
Confidence Regression: 18% and rising
He confronted Jiang Yue during rehearsal.
"You're behind this."
She didn't look at him.
"You slapped me on camera. You lost the right to complain."
He stepped forward.
"You're not as innocent as they think. You burn everyone who gets too close."
She turned.
"Then maybe don't stand so close."
Back in Lisbon —
Zeyan took a seat across from Yan without a word.
A waiter appeared with a second glass. Yan poured.
"This isn't how I expected us to meet again," he said.
"You poisoned half my company and tried to break my wife," Zeyan replied. "Forgive me if I'm not nostalgic."
Yan smiled faintly.
"You're still sharp. But slower. The Zeyan I knew would've hit me in Prague. Or New York."
Zeyan raised the glass to his lips.
"The Zeyan you knew died. This one watches first."
"And what do you see?"
"A man sitting alone. Afraid to fire the final shot because he knows — if Jiang Yue survives it — she'll never stop coming."
Yan's smile faded.
"She's not untouchable."
Zeyan stood.
"She doesn't need to be. She just needs to be inevitable."
System Notification:
Yan Shaoxing Visual Confirm: Tag Logged for Live-Tracking Surveillance
Facial Micro-expressions: 0.4 sec flicker = Threat Response Trigger
Behavioural Profile: Restraint Activated
Likelihood of Next Strike: Within 5 days
Prague, 3 hours later —
Jiang Yue walked into her temporary apartment.
And paused.
The door was ajar.
Not kicked in. Just... open.
Her new assistant — Mila, local hire, mid-twenties, friendly, fluent in three languages — sat inside typing furiously on her phone.
"Mila?"
Mila jumped. Stood fast. "Sorry! Just reviewing your media notes for the panel—"
Jiang Yue stepped forward. Picked up the tablet on the coffee table.
Open. Message draft still pulsing.
The metadata read:Auto Geo Tagging On
Sent Location: 14.42508N, 50.08804E.
A live ping.
She looked up.
Mila swallowed.
"I—"
"Get out."
"I was told it was for scheduling—"
"Get out before I stop being polite."
Mila bolted.
System Report:
Proximity Data Leak Confirmed
Secondary Source Node Identified – Alias: "BlackCard"
Crossmatch: Encrypted trail links to Y.S. known secondary network
Leak Blocked at 78%: Critical Calendar and Physical Security Schedule Preserved
Jiang Yue sat down, breath shaking.
Then picked up her phone.
"Zeyan."
He answered on the first ring.
"They put someone inside my room."
He was already moving.
"Then we flush the city."