The villa that belonged to Zhou Ming stood on the edge of a hill, overlooking the sprawling city of Kyoto. It was an architectural marvel, with towering glass windows and sleek lines that exuded wealth and power. Inside, the atmosphere was one of quiet luxury—subdued lighting casting soft shadows across the lavish decor, the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers hanging in the air.
Zhou Ming sat in his private study, a glass of aged whiskey in his hand. The events of the night—the grand banquet, the whispered conversations, the fleeting moments of tension—were still fresh in his mind, but none of it held his attention now. What consumed his thoughts was Feng Ruoxi.