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墨書 Inktalez
My knuckles turned white against the icy patterns of Jade Pendant, the scent of sandalwood from the President's Office mingling with the metallic tang of blood that assaulted my nostrils.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, torrential rain lashed against the glass facade of the CBD, and in a flash of lightning, I caught a glimpse of my reflection—blood blooming from my left chest, staining the Armani suit that Sophie had gifted me for my birthday last month.
"Time to reel it in."
My uncle's Crocodile Leather Shoes crunched over the shards of porcelain scattered across the floor, remnants of the Ming Dynasty Blue and White Tea Bowl I had just shattered.
Bodyguards in tailored suits surged forward like a black tide. I stumbled and knocked over a rosewood display cabinet, a Qianlong-era Enamel Color Porcelain Vase rolling across the camel-colored carpet.
Suddenly, the Jade Pendant in my palm erupted with searing heat, a blinding white light engulfing Sophie's terrified tear-filled eyes.
The ringing in my ears was sharp enough to pierce through my temples as I jolted upright from the leather swivel chair. The chill from the central air conditioning sent shivers down my neck, and the date displayed in the bottom right corner of my computer screen read April 17, 2023—the week before the financial scandal erupted within the group.
My fingers trembled as they brushed against my unscathed chest; the edges of Jade Pendant in my inner pocket pressed painfully against me.
"Young Master, your iced Americano."
When Secretary Xiao Chen pushed open the door, I was burying my face in cold water at the sink.
His slightly surprised gaze reflected in the mirror; this young man, a Wharton School of Business graduate, would be paralyzed from the waist down three months later after being hit by someone sent by my uncle for reporting false accounts.
I downed the entire cup of coffee, its bitterness exploding on my tongue as memories from a past life surged back like a tidal wave.
My phone vibrated on the desk, buzzing with Sophie’s incoming call—her avatar on screen was vibrant and alluring.
I extinguished my sixth cigarette before pressing the answer button; her sweet voice wrapped around me like background music in a café: " brother Yuan, I've been waiting for you downstairs for so long~"
In the elevator's mirrored surface, I loosened my tie, swallowing down a rising tide of resentment.
Outside the revolving door stood Sophie in that Chanel outfit she wore when we first met; her chestnut curls caught in the spring breeze formed perfect arcs.
As she rushed toward me, I sidestepped her mint-scented embrace under the pretense of adjusting my cufflinks.
"Why send white roses?" she pouted while fiddling with the bouquet; last year on this day, I had given her red roses.
I smiled and lightly tapped her nose with a flower stem: "Only white roses are worthy of my Snow White."
The kiss marks barely visible behind her ear glowed crimson under the midday sun.
The central air conditioning in the finance department was perpetually set to an arctic chill; I huddled into a corner hidden from surveillance with a stack of reports clutched tightly to my chest.
The numbers danced before my eyes in a bizarre waltz, the thirty million dollar shortfall gaping like a black hole. In my previous life, I was busy setting up a champagne tower at Sophie’s birthday party.
“Mr. Lin, here’s the audit report from last quarter for each branch,” the Chief Financial Officer, Uncle Wang, said as he handed over the documents, the jade ring on his pinky flashing with a dim light.
I stared at the lipstick stain on his suit lapel and suddenly recalled how, in my past life, five million dollars had mysteriously appeared in his daughter’s study abroad account.
Jade Pendant was burning with anxiety in the study late at night; fragmented images flickered on the computer screen: the Nasdaq index plummeting, shipping containers exploding at the docks, my father’s ECG line turning flat in the ICU...
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and gulped it down; the fiery liquid scorched my throat as I hastily scribbled “May 9th, gold futures” in my notebook.
When the morning light crept onto the pages of The Wall Street Journal, I was sending an email to my father. The coffee cup bore a faint lipstick mark, and in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window, twenty-eight-year-old Lin Yuan wore a tailored suit from when he was twenty-three; the watch peeking from his cuff made him look a decade older than his actual age.
In the underground parking garage, I leaned back in the Maybach and replayed yesterday’s meeting recording. Director Wang’s words, “The rubber plantations in Southeast Asia are definitely worth investing in,” crackled with static. In the rearview mirror, my pupils suddenly reflected Jade Pendant ’s eerie glow—the K-line chart of plunging rubber futures flashed across my retina for 0.3 seconds.
“Take me to the city library,” I told my driver, Old Zhang.
In the backseat storage compartment, CPA textbooks and Blackstone Group annual reports piled up, blocking half of the car window. My phone vibrated in my pocket; Sophie had sent me dinner reservations at the top floor of Kempinski Hotel. In my previous life, I had booked out the venue and decorated it with nine thousand red roses.
As the scent of camphor from the Ancient Texts Area filled my nostrils, Jade Pendant suddenly vibrated violently against my chest. I knocked over a bookshelf filled with studies on Ming Dynasty trade routes, yellowed pages fluttering down to reveal a moldy nautical map.
The moment my fingertips brushed against the words “Quanzhou Port,” a tsunami of fragmented memories surged forth—containers packed tightly with smuggled goods emerged vividly from within.
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