The morning air was sharp and cool.

  Zhuqing adjusted the strap of her bag as she walked, footsteps unhurried, expression composed. The streets near the commercial district were already awake—shops lifting their shutters, vendors setting up carts, office workers hurrying past with coffee in hand.

  She looked like just another student on her way to school.

  Which was exactly the point.

  The location Jason Smith had mentioned in her previous life wasn’t far from here. A narrow intersection near an older residential area, half shadowed by tall buildings, overlooked by a small convenience store and a pharmacy on the corner.

  Mid-morning. Not rush hour, but busy enough that something could happen. She slowed as she approached, eyes scanning the street casually.

  Nothing yet.

  Zhuqing stopped near the pharmacy and pretended to check her phone. She waited.

  Five minutes passed.

  Ten.

  Just as she wondered whether her memory had betrayed her—

  An elderly man staggered.

  It was subtle at first. A hitch in his step. A hand lifting to his chest as if brushing off discomfort.

  Zhuqing’s gaze sharpened.

  The man took another step.

  Then another.

  Then his knees buckled.

  He collapsed.

  The sound of his body hitting the pavement wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise of the street like a blade.

  People froze.

  Someone gasped.

  “Hey—!”

  “Is he drunk?”

  “No, no, he doesn’t look right—”

  Zhuqing was already moving. She crossed the street quickly, dropping to one knee beside the old man. His face was pale, lips tinged faintly blue, eyes unfocused.

  Heart attack.

  She didn’t need the system to tell her that.

  “Sir,” she said calmly, placing two fingers against his neck. His pulse was weak. Irregular.

  A crowd began to gather.

  Someone lifted their phone—then hesitated, unsure whether to film or help.

  “Someone call an ambulance!” a woman shouted.

  “I already did!” another voice answered, panicked.

  Zhuqing nodded once.

  Good.

  She loosened the man’s collar and adjusted his position carefully, angling his body to ease breathing. Her movements were efficient, practiced—not rushed, not hesitant. She’d learned first aid years ago. Not perfectly. Not professionally.

  But enough.

  “Sir,” she said again, steady and firm. “Stay with me. Help is coming.”

  His hand twitched weakly, fingers brushing against her sleeve.

  “Pain…” he whispered, voice barely audible.

  “I know,” she replied softly. “Just breathe. Slow. Like this.”

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  She demonstrated, exaggerating the rise and fall of her chest.

  Around them, people murmured nervously. Someone tried to step closer.

  “Give him space,” Zhuqing said without looking up.

  Something in her tone—calm, authoritative—made them listen.

  Seconds felt like minutes.

  Her knees ached and bled a little from kneeling on concrete. Sweat gathered at her temples. She didn’t move.

  Finally, the distant wail of sirens cut through the air. Relief rippled through the crowd.

  Paramedics arrived quickly, pushing through the onlookers with practiced urgency. Zhuqing withdrew smoothly, giving them room, answering questions when asked.

  “How long ago did he collapse?”

  “About three minutes before you arrived.”

  “Any medication?”

  “I didn’t see any on him.”

  They worked fast. Oxygen. Stretcher. Orders snapped back and forth.

  As they lifted the old man, his eyes fluttered open briefly. They found her. His gaze fixed on Zhuqing’s face.

  “You…” he rasped faintly.

  She leaned closer so he wouldn’t strain himself.

  “I’m here,” she said. “You’ll be fine.”

  His fingers tightened weakly around hers—then relaxed as he was wheeled away.

  The ambulance doors slammed shut. The sirens faded. The street slowly returned to life.

  Zhuqing stood and brushed dust from her knees. Her hands were steady. Her heart was not. She exhaled slowly.

  One step, she thought. Just one.

  School passed uneventfully that day.

  She answered questions when called on. Took notes. Ignored the occasional glance from classmates who still saw her as an easy target. Her bruises were hidden. Her expression was neutral.

  Inside, her mind kept circling back to the morning.

  Had she arrived in time?

  Had it been enough, not deliberate?

  She wouldn’t know anything today.

  Patience.

  The call came three days later.

  She was at home, seated at her desk, reviewing practice exams when the phone rang.

  An unfamiliar number.

  She stared at it for half a second—then answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Liu Zhuqing?” a male voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Central City Hospital. I’m calling regarding Mr. Bai Rui.”

  Her grip tightened slightly.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s awake and stable. He asked us to contact you.”

  A pause.

  “He said you saved his life.”

  Zhuqing closed her eyes briefly.

  “I’m glad he’s okay,” she said evenly.

  “There’s more,” the voice continued. “Mr. Bai would like to meet you. If it’s convenient.”

  “Of course,” she replied without hesitation. “When?”

  The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and flowers.

  Mr. Bai looked smaller lying in bed, but his eyes were sharp—too sharp for an ordinary old man.

  They studied her the moment she entered.

  “So,” he said, voice still rough but steady, “you’re the girl.”

  Zhuqing inclined her head politely. “I’m glad to see you awake, sir.”

  He chuckled weakly.

  “Most people would be more surprised to see me alive.”

  “Then I’m glad I’m not most people.”

  That earned a proper laugh.

  “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair beside the bed. “Tell me. Why didn’t you hesitate?”

  She paused—not because she lacked an answer, but because she needed the right one.

  “Because you needed help,” she said finally. “And I was there.”

  He watched her carefully.

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s enough.”

  Silence stretched.

  Then he nodded once.

  “Good answer.”

  A man in a dark suit stepped forward—assistant, secretary, something of that nature.

  “Sir,” he said quietly, “the board is waiting—”

  “They can wait,” Mr. Bai snapped, irritation flashing briefly before fading. He waved the man away, then turned back to Zhuqing.

  “Most people would want money. Or connections. Or favors.” he said. It wasn’t a question.He watched her closely. “what about u?.” Zhuqing met his gaze steadily.

  “Connections?”

  “No.”

  “Favors?”

  She hesitated—just a fraction.

  “Not today.”

  That pause did not go unnoticed.

  Mr. Bai smiled.

  “Honest,” he murmured. “That’s rare.”

  He shifted slightly, wincing, then continued. “I built my fortune by noticing two kinds of people. Those who rush in because they want to be seen—and those who act because they’ve already decided.”

  His eyes sharpened. “You’re the second kind.”

  Zhuqing didn’t deny it. “I won’t ask you what you want,” Mr. Bai went on. “Because you don’t yet.”

  She stilled.

  “But you will,” he said. “And when you do, come find me.”

  He gestured weakly toward the suited man.

  “My assistant will give you a card. Use it if you need to.”

  Not if. When.

  Zhuqing accepted the card with both hands.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Mr. Bai closed his eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

  “Go,” he said. “You have things to prepare.”

  When she left the hospital, the sky had darkened.

  The city lights flickered on one by one.

  Zhuqing stood outside for a moment, card cool and solid between her fingers.

  It had gone exactly as she had planned.

  No—

  Better..

  That night, she opened her new bank account.

  It wasn’t much—just a start. But it was hers.

  Untouchable.

  She reviewed stock charts afterward, eyes scanning patterns she remembered faintly from another life. Nothing dramatic yet. Small movements. Subtle shifts.

  Enough.

  She wrote everything down.

  Dates. Names. Possibilities.

  Then she paused.

  Her gaze drifted to the system panel hovering quietly at the edge of her vision.

  |  Golden Finger Draw ×1.

  Still there.

  She considered it for a long moment.

  Not yet.

  Luck was a resource.

  And she refused to waste it when she finally decided to gamble.

  Somewhere across the city, Yun Wantang smiled for cameras at a charity banquet.

  Liu Mengmeng laughed brightly among friends, already planning her next move.

  Her father , sitting in his office showing of his authorithy to his employees

  They didn’t know.

  Not yet.

  Zhuqing closed her notebook and leaned back in her chair.

  The first thread had been pulled.

  And the tapestry was already beginning to unravel.