PART 2

Gu Chenzhou didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t need to.

The security room seemed to shrink around him, the glass walls suddenly too thin, the air too clean, like the building itself was holding its breath.

“Explain,” he said calmly.

Lin Xia stepped forward at once, placing herself—instinctively—between him and her son.

“My child was curious,” she said. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

Bao frowned. “Mom, that’s not accurate.”

She shot him a look. A warning. A plea.

Gu Chenzhou noticed everything. The way she stood protectively. The way the boy didn’t look scared—only alert. Evaluating.

“Curious children don’t usually bypass military-grade firewalls,” Gu Chenzhou said. “Especially not in under three minutes.”

Bao perked up. “Two minutes forty-seven seconds, actually. But the encryption was lazy.”

Silence.

One of the security engineers who’d rushed in froze mid-step. Someone else swallowed audibly.

Gu Chenzhou looked down at Bao. Really looked.

The eyes. Too sharp. Too steady. Not the wide, unfocused gaze of most six-year-olds. There was calculation there. Awareness. The same unsettling stillness Gu Chenzhou saw in his own reflection when the world slowed before a hostile takeover.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Six,” Bao said. “Seven in October.”

“Bao,” Lin Xia hissed, “don’t—”

“What’s your name?” Gu Chenzhou interrupted.

“Lin Xiaobao,” Bao said proudly. “But Mom calls me Bao because it’s shorter and she’s always tired.”

That earned him a sharp inhale from Lin Xia—and, surprisingly, a twitch of something like amusement from Gu Chenzhou.

“Who taught you to code?” Gu Chenzhou asked.

“No one,” Bao said. “I just… figured it out. Like puzzles.”

Gu Chenzhou straightened.

“Everyone out,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Lin Xia said.

“Now.”

The engineers hesitated. He didn’t repeat himself.

Within seconds, the room emptied, leaving only Gu Chenzhou, Lin Xia, and Bao. The door slid shut with a soft, ominous click.

Lin Xia’s heart hammered.

“This is inappropriate,” she said. “If there’s punishment—”

“There will be no punishment,” Gu Chenzhou said. “Not tonight.”

Bao tilted his head. “You’re lying. But not about me.”

Gu Chenzhou’s gaze snapped back to the child.

“…Interesting.”

Lin Xia felt a chill crawl up her spine. “My son isn’t a lab experiment.”

Gu Chenzhou looked at her then. Fully. As if the years folded in on themselves.

Seven years vanished in a blink.

Rain against a hotel window.
A deal gone wrong.
A woman who’d looked at him without fear—or expectation.

“Lin Xia,” he said quietly.

Her breath caught.

So he remembered.

“I wondered,” he continued, “if I’d ever see you again.”

Bao blinked. Looked between them. “Oh. You know each other.”

“No,” Lin Xia said quickly. Too quickly. “We worked together briefly.”

Gu Chenzhou didn’t contradict her.

“Your employment file,” he said instead, “is… unusual.”

She stiffened. “You checked my file?”

“Tonight,” he said. “After Director Su flagged you.”

There it was.

Su Man.

Lin Xia’s jaw tightened. “She threatened my job.”

“She exceeded her authority,” Gu Chenzhou said flatly.

Bao crossed his arms. “She’s bad at math.”

Gu Chenzhou raised an eyebrow. “Is she?”

“She stole my mom’s algorithm,” Bao said matter-of-factly. “Then she broke it.”

Lin Xia’s blood drained from her face.

“Bao,” she whispered.

“It’s true,” Bao insisted. “Her version leaks efficiency at scale. She compensated with brute force. That’s why your energy costs spiked last quarter.”

Gu Chenzhou went very still.

“That information,” he said slowly, “is not public.”

Bao shrugged. “It should be.”

Gu Chenzhou turned to Lin Xia. “Did you know?”

She closed her eyes.

“I suspected,” she said. “But I couldn’t prove it.”

Gu Chenzhou exhaled. A long, controlled breath.

“Director Su will be removed,” he said.

Lin Xia’s eyes flew open. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said. “And I will.”

Bao smiled. “See? Time did it.”

---

The next morning, Starlight Technologies buzzed like a kicked hornet’s nest.

Emails flew. Meetings were canceled. Director Su’s access badge failed at the lobby gate.

By noon, the official announcement dropped: Director Su Man has been placed on indefinite leave pending internal investigation.

Lin Xia stared at her screen, hands trembling slightly.

Her coworkers whispered again—but the tone had shifted. Confusion. Awe. Fear.

She felt none of it.

Only dread.

Gu Chenzhou had asked her to meet him at noon.

Alone.

In his office.

The office, she discovered, was less intimidating than she’d imagined. No gaudy displays of wealth. Just glass, steel, and a city view that looked like it belonged to no one.

Bao sat on the couch, happily dismantling a decorative smart lamp.

“Please don’t break anything,” Lin Xia murmured.

“I won’t,” Bao said. “Probably.”

Gu Chenzhou watched him with undisguised interest.

“You never told me,” Gu Chenzhou said quietly.

Lin Xia didn’t pretend not to know what he meant.

“You never asked,” she replied.

A beat.

“Is he mine?” Gu Chenzhou asked.

The question landed softly—and shattered everything.

Lin Xia didn’t answer right away.

Outside, traffic moved. Lives continued. Oblivious.

“Yes,” she said finally.

The word felt heavy. Final.

Gu Chenzhou closed his eyes.

For a moment—just one—his perfect control slipped.

“When?” he asked.

“After Zurich,” she said. “You left the country. I found out two weeks later.”

“You could have contacted me.”

She laughed. A short, bitter sound. “You were acquiring half of Europe. And I was… inconvenient.”

He didn’t deny it.

Bao looked up. “So you’re my dad.”

Gu Chenzhou opened his eyes.

“Yes,” he said, voice rough. “If you’ll allow me.”

Bao studied him. Long. Serious.

“Okay,” Bao said. “But you need better cybersecurity.”

Gu Chenzhou laughed. Actually laughed. The sound startled even him.

---

The backlash came fast.

Rumors leaked. Share prices wobbled. A board member resigned “for personal reasons.”

And then the tabloids caught scent.

TECH TYCOON HIDES LOVE CHILD?
CEO’S SECRET FAMILY SHAKES SILICON VALLEY

Lin Xia hated every headline.

Bao thought they were hilarious.

“Do I get a trust fund?” he asked one morning over cereal.

“No,” Lin Xia and Gu Chenzhou said in unison.

Bao grinned. “Worth a shot.”

Gu Chenzhou moved quickly. Lawyers. NDAs. Security upgrades.

But one thing he refused to do was hide Bao.

“He’s not a scandal,” Gu Chenzhou said. “He’s my son.”

Lin Xia watched him navigate fatherhood like a hostile negotiation—awkward, earnest, surprisingly clumsy.

It almost worked.

Until the threat arrived.

A message, encrypted and unmistakable.

YOU TOOK WHAT WASN’T YOURS. RETURN THE BOY. OR LOSE EVERYTHING.

Bao read it over Gu Chenzhou’s shoulder.

“Huh,” he said. “That’s inefficient.”

Lin Xia’s stomach dropped.

“Someone knows,” she whispered.

Gu Chenzhou’s expression hardened into something cold and lethal.

“No,” he said. “Someone thinks they do.”

He looked at Bao.

“Stay close,” he said. “Things are about to get complicated.”

Bao smiled. “Good. I was getting bored.”

End of Part 2