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Hong Kong, Central, IFC top floor.

Xu Jia stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the winding Victoria Harbour. At dusk, the twilight, like ink soaked in water, was gradually spreading across the sky, while the skyscrapers on both sides of the harbour had already eagerly lit up with dazzling lights, like countless shattered diamonds carelessly scattered on the deep blue velvet.

His office was minimalist. The walls were a cool gray, slightly cemented finish, framed by a deep, dark metal frame, devoid of any superfluous decoration. Only in the very center of the office, a painting covered by a dark gray dust cover, broke the overly orderly facade, like a silent tombstone, or perhaps a imprisoned secret.

He had just finished an intercontinental video conference. The faces in suits scattered across New York, London, and Tokyo on the screen, some with awe, others with obsequiousness, all faded into pixelated fragments and disappeared into the black screen with his emotionless "Meeting adjourned."

The only sound in the space was a constant, low-pitched white background noise, the only breath left after the circulation system of this top-tier office building was isolated from the outside world.

Assistant Zhou Hui silently pushed open the door and entered. His steps were as precise as a Swiss watch movement, the soles of his shoes making a barely audible sound as they touched the ground. He held a tablet in his hand and stood three steps away from Xu Jia. His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, clear enough to reach the other person's ears without breaking the inherent tranquility of the space.

"Mr. Xu, your work has been sold. We just received news from New York that it sold for 37 million US dollars. The buyer is the European Old Money Family Foundation."

Xu Jia slowly turned around, his face expressionless, as if Zhou Hui had only reported insignificant data.

He walked up to the covered painting, his long fingers pinching a corner of the dust cover. He could feel the delicate texture of the fabric, but he didn't lift it immediately.

"The auction house director hoped to call you personally to congratulate you, but I declined as is customary," Zhou Hui added, his tone disciplined and straightforward.

"Hmm," Xu Jia responded with a barely audible nasal sound. His gaze swept past Zhou Hui and landed on the distant void outside the window. There, cargo ships slowly passed by, like moving specks of light, silent and still.

“In addition,” Zhou Hui stepped forward and switched the page on the tablet, “our initial contact with the Lu Group’s upstream rare gemstone supply chain has yielded some feedback. The three core suppliers, including their main partner in Myanmar for pigeon blood rubies, have all expressed strong interest and are willing to consider our exclusive agreement, provided that the price meets their expectations.”

“Give them 120 percent of the price they expect.” Xu Jia’s voice was low and devoid of any emotion, as if stating a physical law. “What I need is speed and certainty, not a long haggling process.”

“Understood. The premium will be paid as a ‘strategic cooperation deposit’ to ensure they can’t back out.” Zhou Hui quickly jotted down notes on his tablet, then pulled up another document. “This is the detailed schedule for next week. The organizers of the Berlin Digital Art Summit have sent another invitation, hoping you can give the opening speech. Also, these are media briefings that you need to review. ‘Mocore’s’ brand promotion for the next quarter will focus on ‘democratization of art’ and ‘technology empowerment’…”

Xu Jia took the tablet, his fingertips swiping rapidly across the cold glass screen. Most of the content was about the upcoming new project on the "Inkcore" platform, and a barrage of praise from various media outlets hailing him as "redefining the 21st-century art market" and "a disruptor of traditional auction houses." His gaze swept over it indifferently until, near the bottom of the screen, an algorithmically pushed entertainment gossip headline, with a sensational headline, unexpectedly entered his field of vision—

[Exclusive] Lu Yan, the young master of Lu's Jewelry, had a late-night rendezvous with a rising supermodel and didn't return home from Lan Kwai Fong after a night of drinking. His womanizing ways haven't changed since his marriage! The next day, his wife, Lin Ruoyin, appeared at a charity gala with a dignified smile, seemingly dispelling the rumors and tacitly approving the affair.

The title font was deliberately bolded, carrying a cheap, provocative tone. Below were two high-definition photos. On the left, Lu Yan was seen with his arm around a hot, beautiful young woman as they walked out of the back door of a secluded club in Lan Kwai Fong. The camera captured his signature smile, a mixture of drunkenness and cynicism.

On the right is an official group photo that is clearly from a charity auction gala. Lin Ruoyin is wearing a champagne-colored off-shoulder dress with a simple pearl necklace around her neck. She maintains a perfect social curve on her lips and gently links her arm with Lu Yan, who is dressed in a suit and tie. Her posture is elegant and impeccable.

The moment Xu Jia's gaze fell upon the photo on the right, it was as if frozen by an extremely cold current, nailing to that familiar yet unfamiliar figure.

Lin Ruoyin.

Her name was boldly marked by the editor with a glaring bright red circle next to the photo.

Time seemed to stretch out infinitely and freeze at that moment. Zhou Hui keenly sensed the indescribable change in pressure in the air; an invisible, icy pressure emanated from Xu Jia.

A few seconds later, Xu Jia handed the tablet back to Zhou Hui expressionlessly, his movements even described as steady and precise. But as Zhou Hui took it, he clearly saw out of the corner of his eye that Xu Jia's hand, with its distinct knuckles, trembled slightly and turned pale and bloodless as he pulled it back.

“Notify the public relations department and the strategic investment department,” Xu Jia turned around, facing the dazzling yet cold sea of ​​light outside the window again. His voice was deeper and slower than before. “Announce our exclusive contract with Master Xu Jingming one week before the Lu Group releases its next quarterly financial report. Prepare the press conference at the highest level. I want the front page of all mainstream art and financial media.”

Zhou Hui felt a chill run down his spine.

Xu Jingming is one of the few inheritors of the "court inlay technique" that Lu's Jewelry is famous for, and is the soul of Lu's craftsmanship, holding a respected position in the traditional jewelry circle. This move is tantamount to detonating a bombshell on the opponent's most prized and most vulnerable craftsmanship, enough to trigger a chain of concerns in the capital market about the loss of Lu's core talent.

He immediately lowered his head, his voice becoming increasingly cautious: "Yes, Mr. Xu. I will coordinate immediately to ensure everything goes smoothly."

The heavy solid wood door of the office was gently closed, separating the inside from the outside into two worlds and restoring silence.

Xu Jia stood there like a statue, his tall figure silhouetted against the deepening night, exuding a sense of solitude. The lights of Victoria Harbour flickered and danced in his deep pupils, yet they brought no warmth, only adding to his chilling desolation.

The official group photo kept flashing through his mind uncontrollably—she was arm in arm with another man, their posture intimate and natural, as if those years between them had never existed. And the candid photo of Lu Yan with the model next to it seemed like the most vicious mockery of her, and of that past.

Lin Ruoyin.

Is this the stability you chose when you abandoned me without hesitation back then?

A faint, cold smile curved his lips, as if mocking himself, or as a resolute gesture that had finally severed the last trace of hesitation.

He raised his hand and abruptly ripped off the dark gray dust cover on the painting beside him.

The fabric slipped off, revealing the canvas itself.

It was a dense, impenetrable darkness, like the primordial chaos of the universe, thick and suffocating. Twisted, powerful blocks of color and sharp, angular lines intertwined and tore at each other wildly, forming a blurred and tormented female silhouette. She seemed to be struggling and sinking in the darkness, crying and screaming silently, yet two eerie lights shone in her eyes, possessing a sacrificial, chilling, morbid beauty. The entire scene was filled with repression, anger, and a desire to destroy everything.

In the lower right corner of the image is a wild and unrestrained signature that almost bursts out of the frame—Jia, along with the title written in the same frenzied style: "Black Muse".