He didn't call Lin Jue. He didn't grab his coat. He moved with a decisive, lunging speed, his charcoal shirt unbuttoned at the collar as he tore through the private hallway.
He hit the elevator's 'Override' key with a force that nearly cracked the plastic. Every second the lift descended felt like a minute of suffocating pressure.
The elevator doors hissed open, and the smell of ozone and old metal hit him like a physical blow.
Yilin was still on the floor, a heap of white lab coat and dark hair against the cold concrete. She looked fragile, like a piece of porcelain that had finally met a hammer.
Lu Wei's footsteps didn't echo; they thudded, heavy and rhythmic, as he crossed the lab. He didn't kneel immediately.
Even in a panic, he held the posture of a man who commanded the room. He stopped inches from her, his shadow falling over her like a shroud.
"Miss Su," he said, his voice a low, vibrating frequency that demanded her attention. "I believe I explicitly told you that I don't hire people who are more fragile than the artifacts."
Despite the harsh words, he reached down, his large hand gripping her upper arm with a strength that was both terrifying and grounding.
He hauled her upward, forcing her to find her footing.
Yilin gasped, her eyes wide and wet, looking up at him. For a split second, the harsh fluorescent lights of the lab caught his face just right, casting deep shadows beneath his brow.
As he tilted his head in judgment, his dark hair fell forward, partially veiling his expression.
But it was his eyes that stopped her breath. Behind the cold, clinical distance she'd grown used to, there was a sudden, jagged flash of recognition—a depth of unspoken grief that mirrored her own.
The phantom heat in Yilin's chest didn't just throb; it screamed. It wasn't just a look; it was a collision.
In that silent beat, the space between them vanished, replaced by an agonizing familiarity that she couldn't name, but her heart already knew by heart.
"Look at me," Lu Wei commanded, his voice dropping to that dangerous, gravelly whisper.
He didn't let go of her arm. "Is there a medical reason for this 'performance,' or were you lying about your credentials?"
His eyes were obsidian, searching hers for an answer he wasn't sure he wanted to hear. He was acting the part of the cold CEO, the man who cared only for his inventory, but his thumb was pressing into her skin with a rhythmic, frantic pulse that betrayed his own racing heart.
"I... I'm sorry," Yilin choked out, her gaze fixed on the sudden, piercing intensity in his eyes. "The metal... it felt like it was burning."
Lu Wei's grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he abruptly let go, stepping back into the shadows.
"The metal is fourteen hundred years old, Miss Su. It doesn't have a temperature. It doesn't have a voice. And it certainly doesn't have the right to make you faint on my floor."
Lu Wei didn't move to comfort her. He stood over her, a towering silhouette of charcoal and cold fury, his shadow pinning her to the concrete floor.
Even as his own heart hammered against his ribs in a way that felt like a physical assault, his face remained a mask of marble.
"Enough," he snapped, the word cutting through Yilin's ragged breathing like a whip.
He didn't offer his hand again. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his thumb stabbing at the speed dial.
He didn't take his eyes off her—eyes that were narrowed, tracking the way she trembled as if she were a glitch in his perfect museum.
"Lin Jue," Wei said into the phone, his voice a low, lethal vibration. "Get down to the sub-basement. Now. Bring the car around to the service entrance."
There was a pause, presumably Lin Jue's panicked questioning on the other end.
"Because my 'expert' restorer is currently a liability on my floor," Wei interrupted, his tone shifting into the sharp, decisive frequency of a CEO managing a crisis.
"She's hyperventilating over a piece of bronze. She's unfit for the shift. Have her taken to the private clinic. I want a full neurological workup. No shortcuts."
He ended the call and tucked the phone away, finally stepping back to give her space—not out of kindness, but as if her "instability" were contagious.
"I told you, Miss Su," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that echoed off the cold stone walls.
"In this building, we value facts. If your mind is playing tricks on you, you are of no use to me.
You're going to the hospital. You will be poked, prodded, and cleared by a doctor I trust. If they find so much as a flicker of 'mysticism' in your brain, don't bother coming back for your second shift."
Yilin looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears.
The elevator ride down felt like an eternity. Lu Wei stood as rigid as a statue, his eyes fixed on the floor numbers, but his hands—clamped around Yilin's shoulders to keep her upright—were white-knuckled.
He could feel the heat radiating off her, a feverish, unnatural warmth that seemed to seep through his expensive shirt.
When the doors finally hissed open at the basement garage, the air was cold and smelled of damp concrete.
"Mr. Lu, I've got the—" Lin Jue started, running toward them with a coat in hand, but he stopped dead.
Lu Wei didn't wait for his secretary to help. He didn't even look at him. With a sudden, impatient grunt of exertion, he shifted his weight and swept Yilin off her feet.
He didn't do it with the grace of a movie hero; it was a rough, desperate maneuver, his breath hitching as her head slumped against his collarbone.
"Open the damn door, Jue!" Wei barked, his voice echoing like a gunshot in the hollow garage.
The car ride was a frantic blur of neon lights and the smell of expensive leather. Lin Jue scrambled to the black Maybach, yanking the rear door open as the engine hummed to life.
Lu Wei ducked inside, his frame filling the backseat. For a fleeting, breathless second, he sat there with her in his arms, his chest heaving from the exertion.
His face was inches from hers—so close he could see the flutter of her eyelashes and the deathly pale curve of her cheek.
Up close, the "CEO mask" was cracked, his pupils blown wide as if he were staring at a ghost.
Then, as if a switch had been flipped and the ice had refrozen, his expression went flat.
He didn't gently lay her down. With a sharp, unsentimental shove, he dumped her onto the leather seat beside him. It wasn't a caress; it was a disposal.
He pulled his hands away as if she were made of hot coals, immediately reaching for a silk handkerchief in his breast pocket to wipe the "dust" of the basement—or perhaps the touch of her skin—from his palms.
"Get to the private clinic," Wei commanded, his voice returning to that cold, clipped frequency that brooked no argument.
"Tell them if they aren't standing at the curb when we arrive, I'll buy the building just to fire the entire staff."
"Wei, you're shaking," Lin Jue noted, glancing at the rearview mirror as he peeled out of the loading dock.
"I am frustrated, Jue. There is a difference," Wei snapped, though he didn't look at Yilin again.
He stared straight ahead at the partition glass, his jaw set in a hard, judgmental line.
"She's a liability. I hired a specialist, not a Victorian heroine with the vapors. If she can't handle a crate of bronze, she certainly can't handle what's in the vault."
As the car tore through the city streets, Yilin let out a soft, broken moan, her body sliding slightly on the slick leather as the car took a sharp turn.
Lu Wei didn't reach out to steady her. He sat like a statue, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.
"Drive faster," he muttered, his voice a dangerous vibration. "I want her out of my car and into a doctor's hands before she ruins the upholstery with her 'delusions.'"
The sterile white light of the private clinic was a harsh contrast to the shadows of the museum. Yilin woke up to the rhythmic beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor and the smell of antiseptic.
Lu Wei was leaning against the far wall of the exam room, his arms crossed, watching her like a hawk assessing a broken piece of equipment.
He hadn't even taken off his charcoal coat. Beside the bed, a doctor in a crisp white lab coat was reviewing a tablet, looking puzzled.
"Vitals are perfectly within the normal range, Mr. Lu," the doctor said, glancing at Yilin.
"Blood pressure is slightly elevated, but that's expected after a syncopal episode. No signs of neurological distress. Physically, Miss Su, you're as healthy as a marathon runner."
The doctor turned to Yilin, his expression shifting to one of clinical concern.
"Miss Su, have you experienced these 'blackouts' before? Are you currently under the care of a psychiatrist or taking any medication for anxiety or... hallucinations?"
Yilin felt Lu Wei's gaze drill into her. She sat up slowly, her head still spinning. "I... I've had episodes of exhaustion," she lied, her voice a thin whisper. "But I've never fainted on the job."
"And the mental health side?" Lu Wei interrupted, his voice a low, dangerous frequency that made the doctor blink.
Yilin's heart hammered against her ribs. She thought of the nightmares—the screaming horses, the smell of burning copper, and the sensation of a heavy blade sliding through silk.
She had seen a specialist months ago because the dreams were stealing her sleep, but she wasn't about to hand that ammunition to the man who looked like he wanted to fire her on the spot.
"I've had trouble sleeping," she said, choosing her words with the precision of a restorer. "I saw a doctor for insomnia. That's all. It's stress, Mr. Lu. Nothing 'mystical' or 'unstable' about it."
"Insomnia doesn't make you clutch your shoulder as if you've been shot," Lu Wei snapped, stepping closer to the bed. The doctor, sensing the tension, took a discreet step back.
Wei leaned down, his presence once again suffocating, the scent of sandalwood and cold rain hitting her like a physical wave.
"If you're hiding a condition that makes you a liability to my collection, tell me now. I don't pay for 'exhaustion.' I pay for focus."
"I told you, I'm fine," Yilin insisted, her jaw tightening. She didn't tell them that her shoulder still felt like it was being gripped by iron teeth.
She didn't tell them that in the darkness behind her eyelids, she could still see the General's face—and it looked exactly like his.
Lu Wei stared at her for a long, silent beat. He seemed to be looking for a crack in her story, his obsidian eyes scanning her face for the truth she was burying.