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“But then, something happened… President Zhao abruptly dismissed her. She was furious then, and we were too apprehensive to inquire.”

“Subsequently, she installed a password-protected door in her office, the code known only to her, and she hasn’t appointed a new secretary since.”

“We privately suspect that the young lady did something to let President Zhao down. Perhaps she stole trade secrets, embezzled funds, or compromised President Zhao’s personal privacy?”

“We’re not certain… What’s evident is that President Zhao prefers to manage her cluttered, dusty office on her own rather than hire another secretary. Despite our attempts to convince her otherwise, she remains adamant.”

Ding—

The elevator doors slid open on the 17th floor, catching Lin Xian off guard as he realized he hadn’t pressed the button for his destination.

After the finance head exited, Lin Xian pressed the button for the 20th floor and returned to his office, pensively twirling his pen.

If he could secure the role of Zhao Ying Jun’s secretary, it would be an ideal position to discreetly and effectively delve into the Genius Club. Yet, it seemed Zhao Ying Jun was not ready to trust anyone enough to fill that position.

“So, back to square one…” he muttered. “I need to devise a strategy to gradually gain Zhao Ying Jun’s trust.”

Half an hour later, Zhao Ying Jun, three vice presidents, and Lin Xian climbed into an Alphard business car and headed to the Donghai City Funeral Home.

Upon arrival, Lin Xian spotted a group of fashionable young people at the entrance, each clutching an elegantly bound book.

What’s going on here?

A funeral home, stylish youths, a best-selling book, Xu Yun’s memorial service… These elements seemed incongruous.

“What are they doing over there?” inquired one of the vice presidents, also noticing the unusual scene.

These young individuals didn’t appear to be typical attendees of a memorial service. Were they fans perhaps?

Lin Xian speculated. He approached for a closer look.

The young people held copies of “Broken Bridge,” a renowned mystery novel Lin Xian had enjoyed in college. It was an exceptional read, and he had learned it was later adapted into a Hollywood film featuring a stellar cast.

The anticipation in their eyes was unmistakable; they were undoubtedly fans waiting for the author.

Lin Xian recalled the author was a young man, described as a “genius mystery novelist” on the book jacket, though he hadn’t noted the author’s name, only the book’s title.

“Oh, these must be Ji Lin’s fans. They’re probably here for Ji Lin,” another vice president commented.

“Ji Lin?” Lin Xian turned to the vice president. “Have you read his books?”

“I haven’t read the book,” the vice president smiled, “but Ji Lin is more than just a bestselling author. You might’ve missed it in the entertainment news. His novel ‘Broken Bridge’ was turned into a movie and received several Oscar nominations.”

“And he himself was nominated for Best Screenplay, standing a strong chance of winning. Ji Lin holds substantial commercial appeal, maintains good relationships with prominent Oscar directors, and has an extensive network.”

“He typically keeps a low profile, rarely appearing in public. He even has others accept his awards on his behalf. It’s rare for him to show up, especially at Xu Yun’s memorial. It seems like they belong to different circles.”

Lin Xian was not well-versed in Professor Xu Yun’s personal life. Xu Yun had never mentioned an affinity for mystery novels or having a writer as a friend.

However, if this acclaimed screenwriter and genius mystery novelist came specifically for Xu Yun’s memorial, their private connection must have been meaningful. Whether they were relatives or friends was still uncertain.

“Come on, Lin Xian. It’s our turn,” Zhao Ying Jun’s voice pulled Lin Xian back to the moment. He followed her into the funeral home.

They entered the memorial hall, surrounded by wreaths, with a grayscale photograph of Xu Yun at the center. The man in the photo wore a bright smile, dressed impeccably. Lin Xian didn’t know when the photo was taken, but it clearly dated back several years.

The man looked much younger in the photo than Lin Xian had ever seen him, and Xu Yun hadn’t smiled like that in years.

Success had come to him, but it was met with a memorial hall filled with wreaths rather than applause. It was a sorrowful reality.

“Bow once!”

Lin Xian joined Zhao Ying Jun and the vice presidents, bowing deeply.

He had read that morning’s news. The culprits responsible for Xu Yun’s death were still at large, with the police seeking information from the public. They hadn’t managed to locate the culprits or even the vehicles involved—it was as if they had vanished.

“Bow twice!”

Lin Xian looked at Xu Yun’s grayscale photo again, bowing deeply. He felt a profound responsibility towards Xu Yun and his daughter, Xu Yi Yi.

While others insisted it wasn’t his fault, Lin Xian knew better. Xu Yun’s demise was a direct consequence of his own actions, which had altered the course of time and space, transforming the world and impacting Xu Yun’s destiny.

Lin Xian was uncertain of what he could do for Xu Yun. Perhaps his only recourse was to apprehend the perpetrators and ensure that Xu Yi Yi could rest peacefully in her cryogenic chamber as planned.

“Bow thrice!”

Lin Xian closed his eyes and bowed once more.

Suddenly, the group of Ji Lin’s fans outside erupted into excited chatter, their voices loud and energetic. This lively atmosphere starkly contrasted with the solemn music inside the memorial hall.

Lin Xian turned around, his expression somber.

A black business car door swung open, revealing a young man with slightly curly hair, a distant gaze, pale skin, and a weary demeanor.

Their eyes met, and the half-lidded eyes of the young man stared back intently at Lin Xian.