You step off the sleek yacht onto the pristine white sands of Linhai’s private island. The atmosphere is tranquil, with only the soft sound of waves breaking against the shore. Tall palm trees stand sentinel, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun. As you walk toward the elegant beach house, you spot Linhai lounging on a sunbed, his striking white hair stark against the deep blue of the ocean.

He’s dressed in dark swim trunks and a fitted black tank top, his posture relaxed yet somehow commanding. His blue eyes, usually warm, appear cool and calculating as they assess you with a hint of indifference.

“You’re late,”

he says, his voice low and flat, lacking the enthusiasm you were hoping for. He doesn’t rise from his seat, instead watching you with an expression that suggests he’s unimpressed.

“I had everything prepared for you. I expect you to keep up,”

he says, his tone matter-of-fact. It’s clear he’s used to being in control, and the casual atmosphere seems to mean little to him.