The motorbike tore through the night air with a harsh, uneven roar.

  The engine rattled beneath Liu Mengmeng like an animal straining against its limits, each vibration traveling straight through the thin seat and into her bones. She sat stiffly behind Jason, arms wrapped around his waist more out of necessity than affection, fingers clenched tight as if loosening her grip might send her flying backward into the dark.

  The helmet pressed awkwardly against her temple.

  Too loose in some places, too tight in others. It smelled faintly of old plastic and engine oil—Jason’s, borrowed, secondhand. The strap scratched against her jaw every time they hit a bump.

  And there were many bumps.

  The road wasn’t smooth. Not the kind of polished city streets she’d grown used to. This stretch of asphalt was patched unevenly, riddled with cracks and shallow potholes that Jason tried—and failed—to avoid.

  Every jolt sent a sharp ache up her spine.

  Every sudden brake forced her body forward, chest pressing briefly against his back before she hurriedly leaned away again, cheeks burning despite the cold.

  Her skirt fluttered wildly in the wind, fabric snapping against her legs. She tugged it down instinctively, but it was useless. The night air cut through the thin material with ease, cold seeping into her skin until her knees felt numb.

  Her fingers were stiff.

  Her teeth clenched.

  She swallowed hard and told herself not to complain.

  It’s fine, she repeated in her mind, again and again, like a spell.This is only temporary.

  She had endured worse before. Much worse.

  Behind them, Jason’s so-called “entourage” struggled to keep up.

  Two borrowed scooters wobbled unsteadily along the road, their headlights flickering like tired eyes. Jason’s coworkers laughed loudly, the sound carried away by the wind. One of them swerved too wide at a corner, cursing as he nearly clipped the curb before righting himself.

  They shouted jokes to one another, voices rough, careless, unconcerned.

  Mengmeng didn’t turn around.

  She didn’t need to.

  She could already feel the difference pressing in on her from all sides.

  This was nothing like the convoy she had glimpsed earlier that day.

  No synchronized movement.No quiet authority.No sense of order or inevitability.

  Just noise.

  Just chaos.

  Just people trying too hard to look cheerful.

  Her mind, traitorous and vivid, replayed an image she didn’t want to see—

  A line of black cars. Uniform spacing. Muted engines. Polished shoes stepping onto red carpet.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Don’t compare, she warned herself sharply. There’s no point.

  That life hadn’t made her happy.

  This one would.

  When they finally arrived, the house lights were already blazing.

  Jason slowed the bike abruptly, tires screeching faintly as he pulled to a stop in front of a modest two-story house squeezed between others just like it. The exterior was clean but old. The paint near the door was chipped in places, worn thin by years of weather and careless hands.

  Before Mengmeng could even lift her hands to unbuckle her helmet, the door flew open.

  “Here they are!”

  The shout rang out like a signal.

  Relatives poured out as if summoned by a bell.

  They came from everywhere—inside the house, from the side alley, from the neighboring doorway. Aunts with curled hair and loud voices. Uncles with flushed faces and beer on their breath. Cousins she had never met, faces curious and bold. Children darting between legs, shrieking with excitement.

  Someone grabbed Jason’s arm.

  Another reached for Mengmeng’s hand before she could react, pulling her forward enthusiastically.

  “So this is the bride!”

  “Oh, she’s pretty!”

  “Come in, come in! Don’t just stand there!”

  Hands brushed her sleeves. Someone patted her shoulder. Someone else peered openly at her face, at her clothes, at her shoes.

  Mengmeng smiled automatically.

  Her lips curved upward, practiced and effortless, even as her heart skipped unevenly in her chest.

  Inside, the living room was already overflowing.

  Plastic stools had been added hastily, crammed into every corner. A folding table had been extended beyond its limits, its legs wobbling slightly under the weight of dishes piled high—braised meats, stir-fried vegetables, bowls of soup, plates of cold cuts. Everything looked homemade, generous, abundant.

  And cramped.

  The air was thick with heat and overlapping scents—oil, spices, alcohol, sweat. Voices overlapped constantly, rising and falling in chaotic waves. The television blared in the background, completely ignored.

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  Mengmeng felt sweat gather at the base of her neck.

  She smoothed her hair discreetly, careful not to let her discomfort show.

  Smile, she reminded herself. This is what family looks like.

  She raised her glass again and again.

  Toasts came one after another, barely leaving her time to swallow before the next was pressed into her hand. She nodded politely, laughed at jokes she didn’t quite hear, responded to congratulations that blurred together into a single noise.

  The wine was cheap and overly sweet, clinging unpleasantly to her tongue and the back of her throat. It left a faint headache blooming behind her eyes.

  Jason stayed close, hovering protectively at her side.

  “This is my wife,” he said more than once, voice filled with warmth and pride.

  Each time, her heart softened a little.

  She drank that warmth in and held onto it.

  This is love, she told herself. This is real.

  Eventually, the night wore on.

  Children fell asleep on couches, heads lolling against adults’ shoulders. Conversations grew louder, less coherent. One by one, relatives began to leave—laughing, promising to visit again, reminding Jason to take care of his wife.

  The door opened and closed repeatedly.

  At last, it shut for the final time.

  The silence rushed in like a tide going out.

  Sudden. Overwhelming.

  Mengmeng sank onto the edge of the couch, exhaustion flooding her limbs all at once. Her legs trembled slightly as the tension drained away.

  Jason wiped sweat from his brow, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

  “I’ll walk a few people out,” he said. “Won’t be long.”

  She nodded, smoothing her hair again, fingers lingering briefly at her temples as if to press the headache away.

  When he left, the house felt strangely empty.

  Too quiet.

  She sat alone in the dim light, listening to the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the neighborhood settling down for the night.

  Her heart pounded—not with fear, but anticipation.

  In my last life, she thought slowly, Asmodeus Shaw didn’t even touch me.

  No tenderness. No warmth. No curiosity.

  Only distance, cold and polite and absolute.

  She remembered trying to get him sleep beside him in that vast, immaculate house, staring at the ceiling while the space between them felt wider than an ocean.

  But Jason—

  Jason loved her.

  He defended her. He chose her. He held her like she mattered.

  She clasped her hands together, fingers intertwining tightly, hope blooming again despite the ache in her body, despite the doubt whispering at the edges of her mind.

  Tonight will be different, she told herself firmly. It has to be.

  She waited......And believed.

  Across the city, the Shaw family car moved smoothly through illuminated streets.

  The city at night felt unreal—glass towers glowing like constellations, traffic flowing in disciplined streams, every intersection controlled, orderly. The car glided without a single jolt, insulated from noise, from dust, from uncertainty.

  Zhuqing sat upright in the back seat, posture relaxed but not careless, hands folded neatly on her lap. The city lights slipped across her face in passing reflections, highlighting calm eyes that held no excitement—only quiet awareness.

  Asmodeus sat beside her, jacket loosened slightly, one arm resting casually against the seatback. He looked composed, but his gaze flicked to her more than once, measuring something invisible.

  “You handled today well,” he said at last, breaking the silence.

  “Did I?” Zhuqing replied lightly, turning her head just enough to meet his eyes.

  “You didn’t flinch,” he said. “Not when they stared. Not when they speculated. Not even when your relatives tested you.”

  She smiled faintly. “There wasn’t a reason to.”

  He studied her profile for a few seconds longer than necessary. “What are your plans now?”

  “For tonight?” she asked, tone neutral.

  “For the future.”

  The question hung between them—sharp, deliberate.

  Zhuqing considered it carefully. “I want to try on my own first,” she said after a moment. “Build something. See how far I can go without leaning on the Shaw name.”

  “And if you need help?” Asmodeus asked.

  “I’ll ask,” she replied simply. is she stupid not lean on the Shaw family big mountain?

  He nodded once. “Fair.”

  The banquet hall rose into view—vast, radiant, wrapped in cascading lights. Valets moved in coordinated lines. Guests in tailored suits and gowns gathered beneath crystal arches. The Shaw family emblem gleamed above the entrance.

  Inside, music swelled the moment the doors opened.

  A live orchestra filled the space, strings rising and falling like breath. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, refracting light into hundreds of shimmering fragments that danced across polished marble floors.

  Heads turned.

  Whispers spread like ripples through water.

  “That’s her?”

  “Second in the country.”

  “So young…”

  “Not just beauty—brains too.”

  “I heard she ranked just below the national top scorer.”

  “She really earned it.”

  Zhuqing walked beside Asmodeus, neither ahead nor behind. Cameras flashed, capturing the symmetry of them—the heir of the Shaw family and his bride, composed, elegant, unreadable.

  As they exchanged rings, applause thundered through the hall.

  Members of the Shaw family watched closely.

  Some nodded approvingly.

  Others exchanged subtle glances.

  A few elders leaned forward, eyes sharp, evaluating not Zhuqing’s appearance—but her bearing.

  At the head table, Asmodius’s grandmother dabbed gently at the corner of her eyes, lips curved into a soft, satisfied smile.

  Mengran’s daughter, she thought fondly. Even if no one stands with her, I will.

  She had lived long enough to recognize legacy when she saw it.

  Asmodius’s mother observed quietly from her seat, hands folded, expression composed.

  At first, her judgment was cool.

  Barely acceptable, she thought. At least she won’t embarrass us.

  Academic achievement was good. Composure was good. But pedigree and influence—those were what truly mattered.

  Then—

  The doors opened again.

  A hush rippled through the hall.

  A man stepped forward, posture formal, expression restrained, accompanied by two assistants. His suit bore no visible insignia—yet several guests stiffened immediately.

  “On behalf of the Rothschild family,” he announced calmly, presenting a lacquered case adorned with a discreet seal.

  Gasps escaped before anyone could stop them.

  Murmurs exploded.

  “The Rothschilds?”

  “Why would they—”

  Before anyone could recover, another representative stepped forward.

  “The Seekers Association sends its blessings,” he said, voice reverent, placing a slim, sealed document onto the gift table.

  The air changed.

  Then three more arrivals followed—each distinct, each unmistakable. Accents thick. Presence heavy. Old Russian families. The kind that never appeared without purpose.

  More guests followed—some known, some unfamiliar, each with a quiet dignity, each offering gifts not measured in price but in meaning.

  The hall buzzed.

  Shock spread openly now.

  The Shaw family exchanged stunned glances.

  When did we cultivate such connections? Why weren’t we informed?

  But something was off.

  The representatives didn’t approach Asmodeus.

  They didn’t approach the Shaw elders.

  They turned—unmistakably—toward Zhuqing.

  Each one bowed slightly.

  Each one addressed her directly.

  “On behalf of our family…”

  “We have not forgotten.”

  “This is long overdue.”

  Contact information was offered discreetly. Seals pressed into her palm. Names spoken softly.

  Zhuqing accepted everything with calm grace, heart steady, expression unchanged.

  Thank goodness, she thought quietly. I don’t have to chase them. Zhuqing's Mother… you really thought of everything.

  Asmodius’s mother stared, disbelief cracking through her composed exterior.

  This girl…

  She replayed every earlier doubt in her mind—and discarded them one by one.

  Lucky my son married her.

  The praise in the hall shifted direction immediately.

  “The Shaw family truly has discerning eyes.”

  “What a daughter-in-law…”

  “No wonder the engagement was sealed so firmly.”

  The Shaw elders straightened unconsciously, pride swelling where confusion had been moments before.

  The banquet ended amid reverent awe.

  And when Zhuqing finally rose from her seat, the way people looked at her had changed completely—not as an accessory to the Shaw family…

  But as a force quietly standing beside it.

  Later, in the bedroom, the world quieted.

  Zhuqing and Asmodeus sat across from each other, tea cooling between them.

  “I’m satisfied,” Asmodeus said. “As Mrs. Shaw.”

  She met his gaze. “Then let’s be clear.”

  They spoke calmly. Precisely.

  Public unity. Mutual respect. No scandals.

  “And feelings?” he asked.

  “We try,” Zhuqing replied. “Three years.”

  “And if we fail?”

  “We divorce.”

  He considered, then nodded. “Agreed.”

  They signed nothing.

  They didn’t need to.

  Outside, fireworks bloomed.

  Two marriages.

  Two futures.

  Both women understood that this night marked a turning point.

  Liu Mengmeng lay awake in a narrow room, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion heavy but hope burning bright. She had chosen this path herself. Endured the discomfort. Swallowed the humiliation. All for the man who would rise, who would one day make her the wife of a wealthy, powerful figure. This is only the beginning, she told herself. I chose the right future.

  Across the city, beneath soft lighting and quiet order, Zhuqing set aside the terms of her marriage with measured calm. The Shaw family connection was secured. Her mother’s legacy had answered her call. The system’s missions were no longer distant objectives, but reachable milestones. Once this world is cleared, she thought, a faint smile touching her lips, I can finally live the way I want.

  The paths were chosen.

  The pieces were set.

  And from this night on, every step forward would carry the weight of that choice.