innocent lotus flower

Regrets

In an expansive office perched at the very top floor of a towering skyscraper, the atmosphere was one of wealth, warmth, and careful sophistication. The space was masterfully decorated—earth-toned walls softened the imposing architecture, and the seating area was arranged in a deliberate formation: elegant couches faced the wide mahogany office desk like an audience before a stage. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed golden sunlight to pour in, yet the man behind the desk remained shrouded in a strange gloom.

Lan Wangji sat silently, a contract spread out before him. It had been over thirty minutes, and the page he was supposedly reading hadn't been turned. The stillness in his form was deceptive—he was a storm trapped inside a glass bottle. His fingers gripped the edge of the paper as if doing so would force him to focus, but nothing worked. His thoughts were consumed, eaten alive by one name—Wei Ying.

He frowned deeply, his normally stoic expression etched with something rare—emotional vulnerability. He had never known this kind of pain before. Not the fleeting kind that comes with betrayal or insult. No, this pain was sharp, suffocating, and relentless. For the first time in his life, he had cried. Not for himself—but for Wei Ying.

The memory of discovering the truth still burned behind his eyes. At first, he had been furious—unreasonably so—but the fury quickly gave way to a deeper, more hollow ache. It hadn’t been his pride that was hurt. It was his heart. And the strangest part? He didn’t want the pain to end—not until he made things right.

He had always been a man of few emotions, trained to suppress, trained to rule. But now, all he wanted—no, needed—was Wei Ying. To see him, to hold him, to make him understand. He was already searching for him, and once he found him, he would never let go again. Not for anything. Especially not because of people like Ning Xi.

The thought of her made his jaw clench. Her crocodile tears, her daily tantrums, her shrill cries echoing through the halls at night—he was done. He had already decided her fate. He would ruin her, disfigure her if necessary, and cast her out onto the streets where she could rot. He wanted her to feel helpless, just as Wei Ying had felt. Let’s see how she survives then.

The heavy silence was suddenly broken as the door creaked open and his secretary stepped in, her heels clicking nervously against the polished floor. Her face was pale, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched a folder.

“Sir… I—I brought the Jiang documents you asked for,” she stammered, approaching him like a mouse before a lion.

Lan Wangji lifted his gaze to her and offered a smile—cold, expressionless, and utterly terrifying. That smile alone made her blood freeze. She had once heard someone say that if Lan Wangji ever smiled, the heavens would bless his beauty tenfold. But in this moment, looking into that chilling, dead smile, all she wanted was to scrub her memory clean.

He didn’t speak immediately, and the pause stretched until her breath hitched in fear.

“You may go,” he finally said.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, nearly tripping over her own feet as she turned and bolted from the office, not daring to breathe until the door had closed behind her.

Lan Wangji didn’t notice her terror. His attention was now fixed solely on the documents in his hand. The further he read, the darker his expression became.

The Jiang family hadn’t just mistreated Wei Ying—they had commodified him. They adopted him only to gain access to Baoshan Sanren’s fortune. His grandmother’s legacy, twisted into a stepping stone for their own selfish rise. The betrayal was sickening.

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed. *No one touches what belongs to me,* he thought.

He slammed the intercom button with restrained rage. “Get me a meeting with the Jiang family. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” came the secretary’s shaken voice.

---

Meanwhile, in the Jiang household, the family was gathered around the dinner table. The air was thick with unspoken tension, as it often was. Dishes clinked faintly, silverware scraping plates without enthusiasm. No one was speaking until a shrill ringtone broke the quiet.

Jiang Fengmian glanced at his phone and was about to silence it when he caught the caller ID: *Lan Wangji’s Office.*

He answered immediately. “Yes, this is Jiang Fengmian… A meeting? Tonight? Of course—I’ll be there.”

Yu Ziyuan lifted her eyes lazily from her soup. “Who was that?”

“Lan Wangji’s office. He wants to meet,” Jiang Fengmian said.

‘Well, at least that boy finally proved useful,’ Yu Ziyuan thought with disdain. *If it weren’t for the connection our family had with him, our business would’ve collapsed already.* But she would never say that aloud.

“What are you waiting for?” she snapped. “You know he’s our biggest shareholder.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered, rising. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli didn’t react. They were used to these conversations—used to silence, to resentment, to ignoring the rot that lived among them.

---

Jiang Fengmian stepped into the private dining room Lan Wangji had reserved at an exclusive restaurant. His nerves were on edge. He didn’t know what this was about, but something told him it wasn’t just business.

Lan Wangji was already seated, sipping from a glass of water as though he had all the time in the world. His gaze met Jiang Fengmian’s, sharp and unreadable.

Jiang Fengmian bowed low, almost instinctively. “Good evening, Mr. Lan.”

It didn’t matter that he was older—right now, Lan Wangji held all the power. He was the judge and jury, and Jiang Fengmian? Just a man waiting for his sentence.

Lan Wangji gestured to the seat opposite him. “Mr. Jiang,” he said coolly, “we have much to discuss.”

And as Jiang Fengmian sat down, his heart thudding in dread, he knew this was no business meeting.

This was war.