Days slipped into one another, measured by the ticking of clocks and the turning of pages. Zhuqing’s life narrowed to a simple loop—wake early, study, attend classes, revise, sleep. No confrontations. No provocations. No unnecessary movements.
The Liu family left her alone.
No one asked how she was doing.
No one checked her progress.
No one cared.
Perfect.
The entrance exams arrived without ceremony.
On the final day, the examination hall was silent except for the scratch of pens.
Zhuqing sat straight, posture relaxed, eyes calm as she read the questions. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, dust drifting lazily through the air. Around her, students shifted anxiously—some sweating, some frozen, some already defeated.
She didn’t rush.
The questions unfolded exactly as she expected. Familiar structures. Predictable traps. She answered cleanly, efficiently, without flair. When she reached the final page, she reviewed everything once, adjusted a minor detail, and set her pen down.
Done.
When the bell rang, chairs scraped back in a wave of release. Some students laughed shakily. Others stared at their papers like they’d lost something precious.
Zhuqing simply stood and walked out.
Outside the gates, parents crowded together.
Some waved. Some shouted names. Some hovered, eyes red with anticipation.
No one called for her.
She didn’t look for them either.
That night, she submitted her application to the top university.
Quietly.
Under her own name.
No announcement.
If she was accepted, it would be because she earned it.
NetherCat continued to rise.
Steady growth. Clean exits. Unmistakable timing.
Too clean.
Zhuqing stared at the screen late one night, chin resting against her knuckles.
“It’s still not enough,” she murmured.
NetherCat had a reputation now—but not the kind that opened doors to old families. It attracted analysts and hedge funds, not people like the Shaws. Families like theirs didn’t respond to brilliance alone.
They responded to disruption. She had already tried courtesy.
A formal invitation.
Neutral language.
A proposal for “future cooperation.”
Ignored. As expected.
Zhuqing exhaled slowly. “So,” she said to the empty room, “we escalate.”
She didn’t hesitate. She slipped past defenses with practiced ease, moving through layers designed to repel outsiders—not someone who knew how systems were built when arrogance outweighed caution.
Asmodius Shaw. Heir to the Shaw family.
His personal computer registered the intrusion immediately.
Asmodius Shaw frowned.
The alert wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a subtle anomaly—an access pattern that didn’t belong.
He stilled, fingers hovering above the keyboard.
“Pause everything,” he said calmly.
His secretary looked up instantly. “Sir?”
“Run a trace. Quietly.”
Minutes passed.
“No data theft,” the secretary reported. “No manipulation. Just… presence.”
Asmodius leaned back, eyes narrowing.
“That’s not an amateur,” he said. “That’s someone making sure I noticed.”
A message appeared on his phone seconds later.
Tomorrow. 8 p.m.
Riverside Gallery, private wing.
Come alone.
You’ll want to hear this.
Asmodius stared at the screen.
No disguise.
No redirection.
No fear.
“Find out who sent it,” he said.
The answer came faster than expected.
“Sir,” the secretary said slowly, “the origin traces back to… Liu Zhuqing.”
Asmodius blinked.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“…The Liu family?”
“Yes. The second daughter.”
Silence.
He searched his memory.
Quiet.
Engaged by arrangement.
Politically irrelevant.
“…Interesting,” he murmured.
He stood.
“Prepare a background report. Everything. Family, mother, financial history.”
The secretary hesitated. “Sir, should we bring security?”
Asmodius shook his head.
“No. If she wanted me dead, she wouldn’t have asked.”
He smiled faintly.
“I’ll go.”
The Riverside Gallery was nearly empty.
Zhuqing arrived early, dressed simply. No branding. No statement. She stood by the window overlooking the river, hands folded, expression calm. At exactly eight o’clock, footsteps echoed behind her.
She didn’t turn.
“Asmodius Shaw,” she said evenly. “You’re on time.”
“You hacked my system,” he replied. “And didn’t bother hiding it.”
“And you came,” Zhuqing said, turning to face him. “Which means you’re curious.”
He studied her closely now.
“…You’re not what I expected.”
She smiled faintly. “Neither are you.” They sat.
Asmodius folded his hands. “You’re engaged to me.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem bothered.”
“Why would I be?” she asked. “It’s a contract. Not a romance.” His gaze sharpened.
“Good,” he said. “Because I don’t want this marriage.”
“That doesn’t bother me either.”
Silence settled—this time, thoughtful.
“So,” Asmodius said slowly, “why are you here?”
Zhuqing met his eyes.
“I want three things,” she said. “My mother’s relics. Her records. And limited authority as Mrs. Shaw.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t want control over your business,” she continued. “I won’t interfere with your decisions. I won’t touch your power structure.”
“And in return?” he asked.
“I’ll help,” Zhuqing said calmly, “when it benefits us both.”
His lips curved faintly. “That’s vague.”
“Intentionally.”
She leaned back slightly.
“I know your family has internal fractures,” she said. “I know some alliances are temporary. I know some people are already planning to move against you.”
Asmodius’s gaze hardened. “You’re confident.”
“I’m informed.”
A pause.
“And the marriage?” he asked.
Zhuqing shrugged lightly.
“I’ll play the role. Publicly. Properly. You get stability. I get access.”
“And if I refuse?”
She smiled.
“Then change to someone more corperative,” she said. “But if you accept—your enemies lose an angle they haven’t realized they’re relying on.”
Asmodius studied her for a long moment.
Finally, he laughed softly.
“…You’re dangerous,” he said. “And you don’t even pretend otherwise.”
Zhuqing inclined her head.
“I’m efficient.”
He stood.
“Very well,” Asmodius said. “We’ll talk again.”
“When?”
“Soon,” he replied. “You’ve already made yourself… unavoidable.”
As he turned to leave, Zhuqing spoke once more.
“I don’t need your trust,” she said calmly. “Just your permission.”
He glanced back at her, eyes sharp with interest.
“…You already have it.”
When he left, Zhuqing remained by the window, watching the river flow steadily beneath the lights.
The board had shifted.
For the first time since the system had dropped her into this world—
She wasn’t reacting.
She was setting the terms.
She wasn’t just a piece on it.
Time did not stop after that night.
It moved—slowly, inexorably—dragging the future toward her whether the world was ready or not. Results were released one and a half months later. The announcement came quietly, buried among system notifications and academic bulletins, but the impact was anything but subtle.
National Rank: 2
Zhuqing stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary.
Second.
Not first—but high enough that can make this pair of mother and daughter's faces sour.
High enough that no one could claim luck.
High enough that even the Liu family couldn’t bury it.
She closed the page calmly and turned off her laptop.
Outside her room, the manor erupted. Servants whispered. Phones rang. Footsteps hurried back and forth as congratulations poured in from distant relatives, former classmates, people who hadn’t spoken her name in years.
Yun Wantang arrived at her door not long after.
She knocked.
Soft. Controlled.
“Zhuqing,” she said warmly when the door opened, eyes shining with practiced pride. “Second in the country. You’ve really made the family proud.”
Zhuqing smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
Liu Mengmeng stood just behind her mother.
Her smile was flawless.
Her hands were clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms.
“That’s amazing, Sister,” Liu Mengmeng said sweetly. “I always knew you had potential.”
Zhuqing met her gaze.
For just a heartbeat, something flickered in Liu Mengmeng’s eyes.
Anger.
Not loud. Not explosive.
Sharp. Acidic. Uncontainable.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
In Liu Mengmeng’s memory, Zhuqing never reached this height.
Never stood here.
Never forced her to smile like this.
The butterfly effect… Liu Mengmeng thought darkly.
It’s already this bad.
She forced the thought down and smiled wider.
Inside, her mind churned.
Jason should have been mine by now.
The Shaw family should have started slipping.
Why is everything… off?
Zhuqing watched it all quietly.
That night, she made a call.
Yunyun answered on the second ring.
“Zhuqing?” Her voice was bright. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Zhuqing replied gently. “I just wanted to talk.”
They met two days later.
A small café. Quiet. Sunlight spilling across the table between them. Yunyun looked thinner than she remembered. Tired. Still smiling too easily. Zhuqing stirred her drink slowly.
“Yunyun,” she said, “do you trust me?”
Yunyun blinked, then laughed. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”
“Then listen carefully,” Zhuqing said. “I have an opportunity for you.”
She explained it simply.
An overseas study program.
Top-tier.
Fully funded.
Connections left behind by her mother.
“A friend she helped once,” Zhuqing said calmly. “They want to repay the favor. They asked me if I knew someone suitable.”
Yunyun froze.
“…Abroad?” she whispered. “But that kind of program—Zhuqing, that’s not something people just get.”
“I know,” Zhuqing said softly. “That’s why I thought of you.”
Yunyun’s eyes filled with uncertainty.
“I can’t afford it,” she said quickly. “Even with scholarships—”
“You won’t need to,” Zhuqing replied. “Everything is covered.”
Silence stretched.
Yunyun looked down at her hands.
“I don’t want to owe anyone,” she said quietly.
Zhuqing reached across the table and covered her hand.
“You won’t,” she said. “You’ll earn it. This is just… a door.”
Yunyun laughed weakly. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It won’t be,” Zhuqing said honestly. “But you’ll be safer. And freer.”
That did it.
Yunyun swallowed, then nodded.
“…Okay,” she said. “I’ll go.”
When Yunyun left the country two weeks later, she hugged Zhuqing tightly.
“I’ll come back stronger,” she promised.
Zhuqing watched her disappear through the gates.
Back in the Shaw family.
Asmodius stood in his office, scrolling through files projected in wall.
His people were thorough.
Too thorough.
The moment he reached the section labeled Song Mengran , Liu Zhuqing’s Mother, he stopped.
“…A doctor?” he murmured.
Not just any doctor.
A renowned physician. Specialized. Trusted. Discreet.
Saved lives quietly. Built connections quietly.
Including—
His grandfather.
The file detailed it plainly.
Years ago. A critical condition. Prognosis grim. Specialists failed.
One woman stepped in. She operated. She stayed. She refused payment.
And when the Shaw family insisted on repaying her—
She asked for only one thing.
If my daughter ever needs shelter… take her in.
Asmodius closed the file slowly.
So that was it.
Not a political bargain.
Not ambition.
Gratitude.
A debt carried across generations.
“…You didn’t marry into us for power,” he murmured. “You were placed here for protection.”
His lips curved faintly.
“And you turned it into leverage.”
Back at the Liu residence, Yun Wantang smiled at guests and praised Zhuqing endlessly. Every word tasted bitter. Mengmeng stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
In her room that night, she slammed her phone onto the bed.
Second in the country.
The Shaw family still stable. Why hasn’t anything collapsed yet?
She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself.
I still have Jason.
I still know the future.
But somewhere deep down—
For the first time since her rebirth—
Fear crept in.
Zhuqing lay awake that night, calm as ever.
Yunyun was safe for now .
The Shaw family was bound by gratitude.
The Liu family was smiling through clenched teeth.
And the system panel hovered quietly at the edge of her vision.
| Golden Finger Draw ×1.
Unused.
She smiled faintly.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
This world mission—
She intended to finish perfectly.