THE REAL PROTEGE

Ling Li paused, her gaze momentarily drifting as a flicker of pride ignited in her eyes, casting a warm glow across her face. "Tell them I'm proud," she said, her voice steady yet soft. "But if they dare to breach the executive vault, I'll send them to the mountain," she warned, her words dripping with a blend of affection and caution, echoing like a distant thunderstorm.

Jack blinked, his features contorting into a mask of bewilderment. "There's a mountain?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as the weight of her ominous words lingered in the air, thick with unspoken dangers and layered meanings.

Without waiting for a response, Ling Li ended the call, the sound of the disconnect punctuating the heavy silence.

Across the room, The Twins erupted into ecstatic disbelief, their elation bursting forth like fireworks in the night sky. They sprinted towards their father, their small frames darting forward like twin comets, propelled by an unstoppable force of affection and the promise of comfort.

"Dad, hug… hug…" Kim Kim implored, her little arms spread wide like a pair of eager wings, reaching out as if trying to gather the entire universe into her warm embrace.

"Dad, up… up…" Chin Chin chimed in, her voice bubbling with excitement as she bounced on her tiny toes, radiating the earnestness of a pint-sized diplomat, desperately seeking a lift into the comforting safety of her father's arms.

Four Eyes peered down at his two charming little manipulators, a playful twitch pulling at the corners of his lips as he struggled to suppress a smile that threatened to betray his resolve. He was all too familiar with this dance. The twins weren't merely exhibiting their irresistible cuteness; they were expertly wielding their tactical affection like seasoned strategists. Their mother's impending wrath hovered over them like a dark storm cloud, and in that moment, they needed their father to act as the lightning rod that would draw away the approaching tempest.

'The Mountain…?'

The twins' exuberant chorus of disbelief echoed through the air: "NO WAY!"

"Dad, I love you the most..."

"You're the best Daddy in the whole wide world!"

Sweet words tumbled from their lips like joyous confetti filling the sky, each compliment bursting with sincerity and mischief. Just as swiftly as they unleashed their heartfelt flattery, the twins catapulted from his arms, dashing away with gleeful glee — mission accomplished, delightfully victorious.

Four Eyes stood there, momentarily frozen, gazing at the empty arms where his children had just been.

Four Eyes: "…"

He felt the warmth of their absence settle around him, a poignant reminder of the fleeting moments that slipped through his fingers like sand. It was as if they had burned the bridge of affection the instant their feet hit the ground.

He watched them disappear into the distance, then turned to Jack, whose expression mirrored his own confusion.

Kim Kim had crouched beside the vending unit, her pencil dancing across the page as she meticulously sketched its interface, resembling an aspiring engineer lost in a world of circuits and codes. Meanwhile, Chin Chin leaned close to the enigmatic sculpture, his voice barely a whisper, as it pulsed with a soft, otherworldly glow — an unsettling yet captivating acknowledgment of their presence.

Four Eyes rubbed his temple, the weight of incredulity etched on his face, letting out a weary sigh, like a man who'd just discovered that his once-robust firewall was nothing more than a flimsy picket fence.

"We're going to need a bigger firewall," he muttered, the gravity of the situation settling in around them like an impending storm.

Day Three — The High-Stakes Renegotiation (Shanghai)

The Xu Corporation's executive tower loomed over the Huangpu River, its mirrored facade catching the morning haze like a blade. Inside, the 47th-floor conference suite had been cleared of its usual decor —no brand colors, no digital art. Just a long table, twelve chairs, and a single screen displaying the Project Skybridge logo: a bridge of light stretching across Southeast Asia.

Four Eyes stood at the head of the table. He hadn't slept. Ling Li's division had already begun preliminary integration tests in Manila and Da Nang. The numbers were promising. The politics were not.

The legacy partners, each one a strategic pillar of the company, entered one by one. They were old, but not obsolete—each one tied to Xu Chu Yan's original expansion charter. Their contracts were woven into the company's operating code, resistant to dissolution without unanimous consent.

Mr. Han, a logistics and port authority official, still wore his father's signet ring.

Madam Qiu, who had once built the data infrastructure, had once built the backbone of Xu's neural grid.

The Lin Brothers, silent stakeholders in regional security, hadn't spoken publicly in ten years.

Zhao Min, legal architect, had drafted the inheritance clause that still governed executive succession.

They sat. No greetings.

Four Eyes began.

"Project Skybridge is live. We've secured preliminary nodes in five Southeast Asian cities. Ling Li's division has proven the tech. We're ready to scale."

Madam Qiu raised an eyebrow.

"Without us?"

"With new partners," Four Eyes said. "Agile, responsive, unburdened by legacy clauses."

Mr. Han leaned forward.

"You want us to dissolve."

"I want us to evolve."

Zhao Min tapped the table once. The screen behind Four Eyes flickered, revealing a clause from the original charter.

"Clause 17.3. No dissolution without full consensus. You need all five signatures." The weight of these words hung heavy in the air.

Four Eyes nodded.

"That's why we're here."

Silence.

Then Madam Qiu spoke, voice low.

"Your father built this company on trust. On continuity. You're asking us to erase ourselves."

"I'm asking you to release the future," Four Eyes replied. "Skybridge isn't just expansion. It's a transformation. If we don't move now, we'll be obsolete in three years."

Mr. Han's jaw tightened.

"And what happens to our networks? Our people?"

Jack entered then, unannounced. He placed a data shard on the table—clean, gold-edged, pulsing with live metrics.

"We've modeled the transition. No layoffs. No asset loss. Legacy networks will be absorbed into the new grid. But we need flexibility. We need speed." Four Eyes declared.

Zhao Min studied the shard. Then looked at Four Eyes.

"And if we refuse?"

Four Eyes didn't blink.

"Then we trigger the override. Clause 19.2. Emergency restructuring in the face of systemic threat."

The Lin Brothers stirred. That clause hadn't been invoked since the cyber-collapse.

Madam Qiu exhaled.

"You'd burn the house to build a bridge."