Chapter 4 - The Black Phoenix
The disturbance at the entrance had not gone unnoticed.
The heavy doors of the restaurant burst open once more, and Manager Zhao—a fifty-year-old veteran of luxury dining in an impeccably pressed three-piece tuxedo—rushed down the exterior steps, flanked by three burly private security guards wearing tactical earpieces.
"What is happening here?!" Zhao shouted, his voice shrill with indignation. "Director Wei! Security, restrain that man immediately—"
The hooded stranger did not turn his head. He didn't even shift his footing.
With a flick of his right wrist, he withdrew a slim, matte-black card and held it between two fingers directly before Manager Zhao’s eyes.
It was not a plastic bank card. It was milled from solid titanium, cool and dark, bearing no raised account numbers or generic logos. Laser-etched in pure, reflective platinum on its face was a soaring mythological phoenix rising above an antique maritime anchor, beneath which sat three sharp, embossed initials: K.H.C.
Manager Zhao stopped as if he had run headfirst into a reinforced concrete wall.
His jaw dropped. The breath was ripped completely from his lungs, his throat producing a dry, clicking rattle. The blood drained from his face with terrifying speed, leaving his complexion the color of curdled milk.
The Kairos Holdings Consortium.
The offshore sovereign trust that held seventy percent of the commercial real-estate leases along the harbor district—including the ground lease, the structural building deed, and the operating license for The Chrysanthemum Pavilion itself. The reclusive, untouchable multi-billionaire chairman of the consortium had arrived in the city unannounced.
"C-Chairman Shen...?" Zhao stammered, his knees shaking so violently that he nearly tumbled down the last two marble steps. He folded his torso forward into an instantaneous, desperate ninety-degree bow. "Chairman Shen! Please forgive us! We had no knowledge... nobody notified our office that you had returned from Europe!"
Julian, still pinned to the slush on his knees, looked up through blurred, tear-filled vision, his mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. "Kenneth Shen...? That's impossible... Shen lives in Zurich... he doesn't walk the streets like a vagrant!"
Kenneth Shen released Julian’s wrist with a dismissive jerk. Julian slumped sideways into the black sludge of the gutter, clutching his throbbing, purpling arm against his ribs, panting in terrified humiliation.
Kenneth slowly reached up with both hands and pushed back his dark hood.
His features were striking—sharp, masculine, and weathered by winds far colder than the northern harbor. A thin, faded white scar ran along his left temple, ending just above a strong, resolute brow.
"Manager Zhao," Kenneth said, his voice quiet, calm, and carrying the unchallengeable weight of absolute authority.
"Yes, Chairman! Anything!" Zhao answered, his forehead still pointing toward his shoes.
"First: Mr. Wei's corporate dining account, along with those of all subsidiaries under Wei Maritime Holdings, is permanently terminated. If he sets foot on any property managed by Kairos Holdings anywhere in the province, have him arrested for criminal trespass."
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Julian let out a pathetic, suffocated gasp, staring at the pavement in stunned horror. Losing access to Kairos commercial hubs was a death sentence for his shipping logistics contracts.
"Second," Kenneth continued without sparing Julian a second glance. "Instruct your executive head chef to pack every signature winter specialty currently simmering in your kitchen. The double-boiled ginseng chicken, the braised winter bamboo with sea cucumber, the golden pumpkin-and-crab congee, the steamed lotus leaf buns, and the sweet red bean pastries. Have them sealed in your best thermal travel boxes and brought down to this sidewalk within five minutes."
