Chapter One: The Veil of Maya (1)

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Bang!

A gunshot rang out from the bedroom.

Accompanied by a man’s startled cry and the shattering of a vase, Gu Jing’s eyelid twitched outside the door as his hand closed around the handle.

A few seconds later, he heard:

“Get out.” It was Wen Mingwei’s voice, slightly muffled. “You don’t need to come again.”

Gu Jing opened the door at just the right moment and took in the scene: Wen Mingwei sat on the bed, a gun in his right hand, his long, loose hair veiling his profile, his expression hidden in the shadows cast by a small night light.

That last remark had been directed at the man in his bed.

Wen Mingwei’s bed companion—a young celebrity who had schemed his way into this position—was so terrified by the gunshot that he stood frozen at the bedside, not daring to move.

Fulfilling his duty, Gu Jing spoke up, “Please.”

The bed companion snapped out of his daze and turned to look at him.

Gu Jing continued, “The breakup fee will be transferred to your account later. From now on, don’t mention Mingwei’s name anywhere. You know the rules.”

The companion still seemed slow to react. Already losing patience, Gu Jing picked up the man’s clothes from the floor and ushered him out.

This was Wen Mingwei’s third bed companion.

The one who had lasted the longest—almost a year—but ultimately, just like the previous two, no amount of effort changed his fate of being discarded.

He didn’t even understand why Wen Mingwei had suddenly turned on him, waking in the dead of night and firing a gun.

But Gu Jing knew very well—the shot had never been meant for him.

“Mingwei, did you have a nightmare?”

Gu Jing closed the door, approached the bed, and knelt gently by Wen Mingwei’s side, moving in with care.

Officially, Gu Jing was both secretary and bodyguard, but those titles only scratched the surface of his true role. He had been with Wen Mingwei for ten years, knowing every facet of his life, a presence both as brother and confidant.

Even so, Gu Jing remained unfailingly respectful. Receiving no answer, he didn’t press further, but softly and patiently pried Wen Mingwei’s fingers from the gun and slipped it back under the pillow.

As his palm emptied, Wen Mingwei’s right hand twitched involuntarily.

Gu Jing gripped it tightly, knowing the man was still caught in the aftermath of his nightmare, not fully awake. He waited patiently, then asked gently, “Are you alright? Would you like some water?”

Wen Mingwei didn’t look up, replying instead, “Give me two pills.”

Gu Jing hesitated, glancing at the nightstand where a row of white bottles stood as usual, each with a cryptic label: “no.18b,” “no.19a”… Their contents indecipherable.

But Gu Jing knew every one of them, even how many pills remained in each. He picked the leftmost bottle, counted the pills out of habit, and said, “You’ve already exceeded the limit today…”

Wen Mingwei’s voice was low and commanding, “Give them to me.”

Gu Jing dared not disobey. He poured out two pills, handed them over, and helped him swallow them with cool water. At last, Wen Mingwei gathered his long hair back and lifted his head.

His hair was extraordinarily long, jet-black and straight, pouring down his bare shoulders like a waterfall—a tranquil beauty.

If one judged by appearance alone, Wen Mingwei himself was far less intimidating than his reputation suggested.

He had a perfect face, striking features, and an air of compassion—almost a touch of divinity, as if set apart from the mundane world.

Especially his eyes—when focused intently on someone, they seemed able to perceive and forgive everything, inspiring trust and goodwill. No one would ever imagine how much blood those hands had once been stained with.

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But Gu Jing knew too well. His fear and loyalty toward this man were engraved in his very bones, forbidding the slightest disrespect.

When Wen Mingwei’s gaze fell on him, Gu Jing instinctively straightened his spine, ready to obey any command.

Unexpectedly, Wen Mingwei seemed still not fully awake. Who knew what nightmare had shaken him so deeply? His eyes struggled to focus before he suddenly asked, “What’s the date today?”

Gu Jing’s heart skipped a beat. “…The sixth.”

Across from the bed, an electronic clock displayed: Eastern Alliance Time, July 6, 2155, 22:46, Saturday.

It dawned belatedly on Gu Jing what day it was. He instinctively pressed his lips together and held his breath.

As expected, Wen Mingwei hadn’t forgotten.

He straightened slightly and asked, “Has Tan Zhao returned?”

At the mention of that name, his spirit seemed to revive.

Gu Jing quickly sent a message to his team, then relayed the answer honestly: “He’s back. Took a 4 p.m. flight, was picked up by friends after landing, didn’t go home. He’s at a bar right now.”

“Which bar?” Wen Mingwei asked.

“Port Unfrozen.”

“Alright.” Wen Mingwei rose from the bed and headed toward the bathroom. “I’m going to shower. Take me there afterward.”

Gu Jing hesitated. “…Understood.”

Just as the gunshot from the bedroom had told Gu Jing Wen Mingwei was having a nightmare, it was equally predictable that, once awoken and unsettled, he would want to see Tan Zhao.

Who exactly was Tan Zhao? That wasn’t easy to answer.

On the surface, Tan Zhao was the person Wen Mingwei secretly admired and wanted to pursue.

Wen Mingwei knew everything about him, tracking his every move.

For instance, today was the end of Tan Zhao’s graduation trip, his return to Xijing City. Wen Mingwei had obtained his flight information in advance, marked July 6 in his schedule with a “Tan Zhao” label, indicating his intent to see him today.

But that was merely the surface.

In truth, Tan Zhao’s existence defied easy explanation; his significance to Wen Mingwei was beyond common understanding.

Not that Wen Mingwei needed anyone’s understanding.

About forty minutes later, Wen Mingwei had dressed and dried his hair, ready to leave.

Gu Jing had helped dry his hair; he also drove the car.

By this era, AI-driven vehicles were so commonplace that no one considered them advanced, but Wen Mingwei never used AI to drive, and his home was almost devoid of smart devices. He lived like a medieval noble in an ancient castle—reclusive, detached, refusing to integrate into society.

Part of it was privacy and safety. With hacking technology so rampant, and Wen Mingwei’s unique identity and abundance of enemies, any connected smart system was a potential liability.

It was nearing midnight, and the capital’s nightlife was at its peak.

It was rare for Wen Mingwei to go out so late. The jet-black armored sedan slipped into the night, weaving through the dazzling neon signs. He cracked the window open a sliver; pounding music from the commercial district rushed in, the city’s endless vitality pouring into his ears.

Finding it too loud, he closed the window within five seconds.

Gu Jing glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Not far now. We’ll be there soon.”

Wen Mingwei was in no rush; his mood had clearly improved. The nightmare’s influence had faded with time, and the medication had taken effect. The usual distant indifference returned to his features, as if he had no passion for the world at all.

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Gu Jing, in turn, felt relieved. Remembering the message he’d received earlier, he picked out what might interest Wen Mingwei. “Tan Zhao’s at a friend’s birthday party tonight—there are a lot of people. And, apparently, someone’s planning to confess.”

“Confess?” Wen Mingwei asked.

“To Tan Zhao,” Gu Jing clarified, extracting the key detail from the jumble of information. “He’s very popular. This one even prepared a confession ceremony…”

It was hardly news. Regardless of Tan Zhao’s own merits, his family background alone attracted legions of admirers.

Unlike Wen Mingwei, who lived almost in seclusion, Tan Zhao was born into the wealthiest family in the nation, surrounded by celebrities and socialites. The endless gossip about the Tan family kept the media in business.

Compared to his relatives, Tan Zhao was relatively low-key. He didn’t date influencers or celebrities, nor did he get involved in upper-class feuds. The few times he made headlines were for street racing, a skiing accident, and a brawl at university that someone had filmed and posted online.

Setting aside family background, Tan Zhao had plenty of personal charm.

He was twenty-four this year, academically gifted since childhood, having skipped grades to enter the Alliance’s top university, from which he’d just received his PhD last month—with no embellishments on his résumé.

His looks were striking—a classic, bold-featured beauty with commanding bone structure and presence. A dazzling diamond stud adorned his left ear, as sharp and radiant as its owner.

That diamond was the most expensive per carat in the world, called “The Heart of Dionysus.”

Auctioned for an astronomical 468 million Alliance credits despite its tiny size, it was Tan Zhao’s birth gift—utterly unique.

As a result, there weren’t actually that many who dared pursue Tan Zhao. Most people had the sense to keep their distance.

Moreover, Tan Zhao wasn’t known for his temper. He regarded all suitors as flies, buzzing around him; anyone bold enough to approach was met with a cold face.

In short, from head to toe, inside and out, this young master was the very definition of “hard to get.”

According to Gu Jing’s investigation, Tan Zhao had never dated anyone. He professed to be asexual—uninterested in men, women, nonbinaries, inflatables, robots, pet dogs, helicopters… anything.

He once famously declared, “I’d rather fall in love with my reflection than with another object on this planet.”

That quote had, word for word, reached Wen Mingwei’s ears. Wen Mingwei had merely smiled and said Tan Zhao was rather adorable.

Gu Jing, for his part, failed to see any cuteness—love truly is blind. With a face like Tan Zhao’s, no matter how impossible he was, Wen Mingwei was smitten.

But Wen Mingwei’s plan to pursue Tan Zhao was a recent development.

Previously, Tan Zhao had been oblivious to the years of attention Wen Mingwei paid him.

Their first official meeting happened three months ago.

It was simple enough: Tan Zhao was at a shooting club, “ran into” Wen Mingwei, and was surprised by his exceptional marksmanship—far above the average participant. He went over to say hello and exchange tips. Nothing more came of it.

There had been a few more “chance encounters” since, equally uneventful.

Tan Zhao was used to being the center of attention. If someone didn’t take the initiative, he saw no need to make friends. The only reason he remembered Wen Mingwei was the latter’s extraordinary looks.

As the investigation showed, Tan Zhao had little interest in romance or even forming connections. Wen Mingwei’s stunning face and distinctive long hair had only earned him a second glance.

They’d exchanged contact information—at Wen Mingwei’s suggestion, under the pretense of organizing a shooting practice together. Tan Zhao hadn’t refused.

But since adding each other, Wen Mingwei had never sent an invitation.

Nor had Tan Zhao ever messaged him first.

Clearly, pursuing Tan Zhao would not be easy for Wen Mingwei.

Gu Jing made no further comment. Having relayed the gossip about the confession, and seeing that Wen Mingwei had no reaction, he fell silent and focused on driving.

After about twenty minutes, they finally arrived at the entrance to the bar.