Two off-road jeeps wait as we exit the greenhouse vineyard. Dr. Randall Wilson and two researchers climb into the first. Evangeline gestures us toward the second, sliding behind the wheel with the ease of someone who’s driven through both war zones and boardrooms.

  She follows Wilson’s jeep along a winding dirt path, tires kicking up dust as we jostle over uneven terrain.

  Five minutes in, the landscape opens into a sprawling ranch. Jianhua leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Are those the bloodsteeds?” he asks, voice tight with anticipation.

  We've all heard the legends—how these genetically engineered horses dominated racing circuit, shattered records with ease, and were eagerly sought after by billionaires. But their true magnificence can only be appreciated up close, in person.

  Their powerful muscles ripple beneath glossy crimson coats like liquid fire. Towering a full head above even the tallest ordinary horses, their long, graceful limbs promise both explosive speed and remarkable endurance. But it's their eyes that both mesmerize and disturb—framed by patches of deep burgundy fur, their vertical pupils evoke the penetrating gaze of apex predators.

  One of the horses raises its head abruptly, releasing a thunderous snort. Dr. Qian stumbles backward, nearly falling. He scrambles behind Evangeline. "Its eyes," he whispers, voice trembling. "They're like... like a leopard sizing me up."

  The steeds stand proud and aloof, glance at him with disdain. I feel a quiet surge of pride. My genes. My legacy.

  When one looks my way, I meet its gaze unflinchingly. The bloodsteed stares back, defiant at first, but as our eyes remain locked, a subtle shift occurs. Its taut muscles gradually relax, the proud stance softening imperceptibly. Without words or physical contact, a silent understanding passes between us. The magnificent creature lowers its head in acknowledgment, subdued not by force but by my unwavering presence. I look away quickly, before anyone notices our exchange.

  "Can I ride one?" Jianhua asks, his tone betraying his desire for status rather than any genuine appreciation for the animals. He's hunting for bragging rights, not a real challenge.

  "Unfortunately not," Eva replies, her tone firm but kind. "These are exceptionally proud creatures. They bond only with trained jockeys. And even that takes time."

  Then her smile shifts—warmer, more playful. “But what we’re about to see next? Even a toddler could pet them safely.”

  As if summoned by her words, five feline cubs emerge from the tall grass of the pristine meadow. No larger than house cats, they tumble and roll through the genetically engineered vegetation, their snow-white coats striped with black, catching the sun like polished ivory.

  Evangeline's expression softens with genuine delight. "These are white tiger cubs," she explains, kneeling gracefully. A particularly bold cub approaches her, sniffing her extended fingers before rubbing its head against her palm with a rumbling purr that seems too deep for its tiny body.

  "They're magnificent," Bao Fang whispers, awe replacing his usual calculated demeanor. The smallest cub notices him and pads over, its blue eyes curious but unafraid. When it reaches his polished leather shoes, it playfully bats at his laces with velvet paws. He doesn’t move—just watches, eyes narrowing, already picturing the gala, the whispers, the envy.

  Jianhua laughs as two cubs pounce on each other beside him, rolling in a tangle of pristine fur and playful growls. “This beats riding bloodsteeds,” he says, carefully reaching down to stroke one's silky back. But his gaze flicks toward Eva, calculating. “How long do they stay this size?”

  “Guess how old they are.” Eva says, teasing.

  “Two months? Maybe three?” Dr. Qian ventures.

  "They're two years old," Eva replies, her voice rich with satisfaction. "They'll stay cub-sized until eight. Even as adults, they remain docile—living plush toys with beating hearts. They eat specially designed synthetic food. No taste for raw meat. Genetically programmed to be repulsed by blood."

  I sit cross-legged in the lush grass, experiencing a strange kinship with these engineered marvels. Within seconds, I become their center of attention. Three cubs climb onto my lap, competing for prime position. I can't suppress a genuine laugh as one nuzzles my neck, its downy fur tickling my skin.

  "That's extraordinary!" Jianhua exclaims, his eyes gleaming with possessive desire. "I always envied Michael Jackson's white tiger. Would it adapt well to a hotel suite?"

  "Flawlessly," Evangeline confirms. "They thrive both outdoors and indoors, maintain impeccable hygiene, and can be easily trained for regular bathroom habits. They're the perfect blend of wild majesty and gentle companionship," she elaborates, her pride evident.

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  "Reserve one for me, would you?" Bao Fang asks, his tone casual but his eyes calculating the social capital such a rare pet would bring him in Beijing's elite circles.

  "I'm afraid that's impossible," Eva shakes her head. "These five are all the cubs currently available for adoption. They’ll be auctioned—Hightower Coins only." Her tone is apologetic but firm.

  She lets the silence stretch, then adds, "We've documented their development thoroughly, with comprehensive video logs. The auction will commence the moment Hightower Coin launches."

  "Then what are we waiting for?" Jianhua demands, shooting Bao Fang an accusatory glance. His expression screams: If not for your regulatory roadblocks, I'd already have my dream pet.

  "I'm confident the Central Bank will expedite approval after your impressive presentation to the Politburo Standing Committee," Bao replies, patting his chest reassuringly.

  I observe the cub at my feet as it yawns widely, revealing tiny but perfect teeth, before curling against my ankle and closing its eyes in perfect trust. Something deep within me recognizes these creatures for what they truly are—beautiful, powerful, and forever suspended between their natural heritage and what commercial interests has transformed them into—engineered status symbol, designed to feed the hunger of men who never stop wanting more.

  Evangeline offers a respectful bow toward both men. "We have other marvels in development. Eagles with messenger doves' homing precision. Miniature dolphins suitable for home aquariums. The auctions will be unprecedented events, drawing elite collectors worldwide." Her words fall like seeds on fertile soil—their greed and ambition.

  Dr. Qian gazes around in undisguised wonder. He bows deeply to Dr. Randall Wilson, academic deference transformed into something approaching reverence. "You are true visionaries," he says, voice thick with emotion. "What you've accomplished here transcends my understanding of cutting-edge genetic engineering—it's like witnessing science fiction materialize before my eyes. If I weren't seeing this firsthand, I couldn't possibly believe it. How did you develop such revolutionary technology in merely three years?"

  Dr. Wilson smiles modestly. "The world has only known about gene editing technology for three years. But the brilliant minds at Sanguine Institute have been perfecting these techniques for at least two decades. They've developed unparalleled toolchains and methodologies. I'm the newcomer here, learning more every day from their expertise." He gestures toward the sleek laboratory complex dominating the center of the facility.

  I watch Dr. Qian's expression transform as comprehension dawns. His jaw slackens in astonishment. He clearly cannot fathom how a team of scientists could possess such revolutionary technology for decades without publishing a single paper or claiming a single award. If not for academic recognition or financial gain, what could possibly motivate them?

  "A better life," Evangeline interjects, as if reading his thoughts. "Our true mission focuses on human health and longevity."

  She gestures deliberately to capture Jianhua and Bao Fang's complete attention. "We excel in gene therapy. Cancer treatment. Immunization against infectious disease. But our true breakthrough lies in stem cell therapy. We stand at the threshold of a revolution: vibrant youth until fifty, athletic prime until sixty, productive careers until eighty, and quality living until one hundred and fifty."

  Jianhua's eyes widen to their limits, his jaw going slack. "You can't be serious," he whispers, voice hoarse with naked desire.

  "Dead serious. Within three months—perhaps even sooner—we'll invite you back for a demonstration that will change everything you believe possible."

  I observe both men's reactions with perfect clarity. Their expressions mirror identical thoughts: calculating how this technology could reshape the Party's power structure, perhaps even the global balance of power.

  Ruling the Republic for six decades rather than one. With advancing science, perhaps even longer. It's the ultimate fantasy of every Ruby Five—uncontested power, stretched beyond a single lifetime. And once they grasp this possibility, they'll be utterly unrestrained in their pursuit.

  Evangeline has masterfully secured their absolute loyalty. She can now name any price, demand any concession. They stand before her, completely entranced by possibility and consumed by their own ravenous ambition.

  … …

  The rest of the afternoon unfolds like silk. Jianhua and Bao Fang play their roles to perfection—courteous, attentive, deferential to the scientists. Dr. Qian is visibly awestruck, any remaining skepticism dissolved into reverence.

  Eva gets exactly what she came for: a 15% stake for eighteen billion, split across three companies, with an open door to buy more before Sanguine Institute goes public. The cash will fuel their next phase—research, expansion, and the full-scale launch of Hightower Coins.

  Dinner is a performance of warmth and celebration. Laughter rings out. Glasses clink. Congratulations flow like wine. Everyone’s smiling. Everyone’s winning.

  At 9:50 p.m., the party is still humming when my phone buzzes. Telegram call. Sonora.

  “David needs help,” she says.

  Kevin may be right. This girl is in love.

  She speaks quickly, voice tight. David found Erjuan through John Crawford. She wrote the exposé on HiTV. Now her partner’s been abducted—pressure to retract the article.

  She wants me to intervene.

  But should I?

  The biggest beneficiary of the exposé is Qiuhan Wang. He wouldn’t want it retracted. Yet I know—he doesn’t care about the woman who wrote it. Not even a little.

  Then there’s Jianhua. Crawford’s already involved. I glance across the room. Jianhua’s deep in conversation with a striking female researcher, his smile wide, his posture relaxed. He could crush Jun Lai with a single call—if he wanted to.

  But he hasn’t.

  Leaving my fingerprints on this mess has consequences. My allegiance will be questioned. My neutrality compromised.

  Then again… if I move now, Qiuhan might see me not as a threat, but as a player. Someone who’s not choosing sides—just choosing profit.

  I end the call. Sonora's plea lingers—charged, unresolved—like a lit fuse hissing toward detonation.

  Across the room, Jianhua laughs. Bao Fang raises a toast. Eva glides between guests like a queen.

  And somewhere in Shanghai, a man’s life is hanging in the balance.