Relief flickers through me as Jianhua withdraws his hand. For a man who can shift markets with a word, his fingers are borderline tiny—yet invasive, shameless, like I’m some karaoke hostess peddling sex for money.
His aggression is a statement, telling me who is in control. A test, to see whether I can keep my promise. And perhaps compensation, if the size of one's hand truly reflects the size of his manhood.
Now, he shifts. There’s something new in his gaze—curiosity, maybe even respect. I’m no longer just a tool, but a potential partner.
“Good observation,” he leans back, gives a subtle glance to Zhanwei. The accountant rises without comment and vanishes. John follows. He'd lingered silently at the door, observing my every move.
Now it's just the three of us. Partners in crime. The rainmakers.
Jianhua holds my stare and speaks with deliberate weight. “I agree with your prediction. The question is how we turn it into profit.”
Lyra turns to me, her eyes encouraging, waiting.
The test is yet to be over.
Millions of families will lose life savings, yet the only thing they want to discuss is how to profit from it.
I should be sick, disgusted. But I’m not here to rescue strangers in a foreign land. I’m here to prove I belong.
“My guess?” I say clinically. “Debt collection is messy and inefficient. What they’ll want is a cleaner, scalable investment vehicle—something that takes less manpower.”
“Bingo!” Lyra nods with approval.
“That’s where you come in,” Jianhua adds, expectant.
“Coins?” I ask.
They nod like professors watching a student crack the formula.
Then another thought clicks. “When the P2P firms go down—what happens to their assets?” I ask.
Jianhua shifts in his seat, all quiet menace. “Chaos. Arrests. Some noise. But assets recovery? Unlikely.”
He lays it out like chess.
"A liquidation committee gets formed. Its job is to salvage what it can to repay the creditors. But in these cases, the creditors are retail investors—ordinary people who have no teeth. The state won't help them—it's hard work with no reward. Plus, collecting debt from delinquent borrowers often involves intimidation and defamation. That's job for gangsters, not for police.”
I take a deep breath, thinking aloud. “Collapsing P2P companies are easy to spot. Ponzi schemes die when momentum stalls. Once new investor flow drops, it’s over. The math kills them.”
Lyra is smiling now. Jianhua’s eyes gleam.
“So we sell to distressed platforms. That would be easy as they desperately need help.” I continue, gaining confidence. “Once they collapse, we get to keep their money.”
I search their eyes. Then add.
“It's like free lunch, in the billions.”
Silence. Then smiles and nodding.
I know I have passed the test this time.
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… …
Jianhua exhales slowly, then slams his fist against the desk with finality. “Let’s do it.”
Suddenly, the air in the room lightens. The decision is made.
Lyra gives me a knowing smile, her gaze rich with approval. “Very well. You’ll come with me tonight.”
No further explanation. None needed. I understand exactly what they mean.
A chill runs down my spine. Tonight is the night. I marvel at their efficiency.
Goosebumps prickle across my arms, uninvited. My mind conjures the wild images I’ve fought off since last night—the contorted bodies, the strange positions, the panting and moaning, the pain and ecstasy.
I suddenly remembered all the boxes I’ve checked in that list. The ground beneath me feels thin. Fragile.
Suddenly, I detrct a firm hand on my arm. It's Lyra. She has moved behind me. Her other hand pats my back, and her softness presses against my shoulder, sending my heart racing.
“Don't worry.” She whispers. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
… …
Dinner is opulent. Excessive. An ostentatious display of wealth that whispered power with each course. Lyra tells me to eat light, but restraint proves difficult—plates parade in endlessly, each more elaborate than the last.
By the tenth dish, I stop counting.
When a waitress arrives cradling a bottle of Maotai—the Ruby Republic’s prized liquor—Lyra leans in close. “Drink,” she murmurs. “It’ll help you later.”
I sip obediently, all the while replaying the sentence that won’t leave my head: I’ll be with you the whole time.
What does she mean? Will she be watching? Or participating? Last night, I saw numerous actions between women, and I'd checked most of those boxes on the list.
The endless parade continues. As long as we remain seated, the food just keeps coming. Shark fin, foie gras, abalone, lobster, bird's nest, bear paw, caviar... I doubt my grandpa has ever experienced such extravagance.
At 10:30 p.m., Lyra finally says, “We should go.” Jianhua nods. We rise.
Outside the Elysian Hotel, I glance back. I’ve only been inside for a day, but it feels like I’ve aged a decade. The air tastes different now—thicker, heavier. Like I’ve crossed into something irreversible.
In the car, Lyra slides closer. Her voice brushes my ear, low and intimate. “Darling, trust me… if I had another choice, I wouldn’t let you go through this.”
There’s something almost tender in the way she says it. She's familiar now, yes—but still overwhelming. When she leans across the armrest, her body overtakes my space, my breath and my composure.
“Next week, the Politburo Standing Committee has an informal gathering. I want you invited.” She pauses. “But first, he wants to see you.”
I ask reflexively, “Who?” Then regret it instantly. “Don’t tell me.”
Knowing his name would turn my nerves into images—vivid, naked ones. I’d rather stay in the warmth of Lyra’s perfume, the pressure of her shoulder against mine. She’s the only thing tethering me to sanity right now.
She notices my nervousness. “Let’s talk about something else,” she says lightly. “I do have a question. Can your little coin move money overseas?”
The question soothes me—finally, something I understand. Something clean.
In a country where the powerful elites loudly profess their undying loyalty to the Party, their private actions betray a different truth. They are desperate to move their wealth—and their children—abroad. The system they publicly hail as “the most glorious and equitable democracy in human history” offers them none of the security, freedom, or future they quietly seek in what they denounce as “the morally bankrupt, collapsing West.”
Destination countries erect barriers: anti-money laundering laws, KYC protocols, suspicious transaction flags. But the real chokehold is domestic. The State Administration of Foreign Exchange monitors every cross-border transfer with forensic precision. Business capital, personal remittances—everything is throttled. And yet, the underground banks thrive.
“Technically, yes,” I reply. My voice steadies. “But with two caveats: volatility and traceability. If a wallet address is linked to a real-world identity, its entire transaction history becomes visible. That’s how the FBI tracks terror financing through Bitcoin.”
Lyra’s eyes narrow. “Solutions?”
“Zero-knowledge proof,” I say. “We can build a blockchain where transaction data is cryptographically hidden. No sender, no receiver, no amount—just verified movement. On that network, we issue a stablecoin—pegged to the U.S. dollar, for example. Fixed value. Untraceable flow.”
Lyra leans back, smiling. “Zero-knowledge proof,” she repeats. “Impressive. I’ve never seen a geek this pretty.”
It’s a joke. But somehow, I blush.
She grins. “You should seriously consider it. That unlocks a trillion-dollar business. And it solves a very particular headache of mine.”
Then her tone shifts—sweet, hypnotic. “Now, dear,” she whispers, “let me prepare you for what you’re about to see and experience.”
Seeing the dread in my face, she takes my hands in hers. Electricity shoots through my fingers at her touch. For a woman so powerful, her hands are surprisingly soft.
I can't bring myself to meet her eyes. I just listen.
“It’s going to be a breeze,” she says. “And I’ll be with you the whole time.”
