Chapter 265: Sealed

*Bael’s POV*

Bael arrives at headquarters at seven fifty-one.

The private elevator carries him to the executive floor, where the same particular quality of morning quiet waits before the rest of the day’s machinery starts moving. He has been away for more than a week. Nothing looks different. Everything has been running exactly as it should, which is the point of building something that doesn’t require you to hold it up personally every day.

Outside his office, Shen Rui is behind his desk, while Pei Xuan and Mu Huang stand to the side with folders in hand. They greet him as he approaches, Pei Xuan quickly stepping forward to open the office door.

Bael nods, passing them to enter. Shen Rui steps in after him with the morning files, while Pei Xuan and Mu Huang remain outside to manage the executive floor.

Shen Rui closes the door and opens the first binder as Bael sits behind his desk. "The legal team is ready. The complete filing for the unconditional ownership transfer: birth certificate, paternity verification, age confirmation against the deadline, and the formal disqualification filing for Wuchen Ming based on his criminal proceedings." He sets the folder down. "Counsel is available whenever you want to review it."

Bael pulls the binder toward him. "The board meeting."

"Scheduled for two o’clock this afternoon. All twenty-three directors confirmed present." A brief pause. "Director Han confirmed first."

Bael looks at the papers without expression. "Of course he did."

He begins reading.

***

The legal counsel arrives at nine. She is a precise woman named Fang Liwei who has managed the family trust for decades, and she slides the documentation across the desk without unnecessary preamble.

"The will stipulated the full and unconditional transfer of your ownership interests in Wuchen Group, together with the properties and private holdings specifically listed in the estate, upon the birth of a legitimate heir before your thirtieth birthday," she says, her pen pointing to the relevant clause. "The young heir’s birth certificate was filed days ago. Your birthday is in two months. All conditions are satisfied."

"And Ming’s claim," Bael says.

"Permanently extinguished." She turns to the next page. "His criminal proceedings trigger the forfeit clause in the original document. Even if he were somehow acquitted, the forfeit clause operates independently of the criminal outcome." She looks at him over her glasses. "There is no remaining legal mechanism through which Wuchen Ming or anyone acting on his behalf could make a claim. Once you sign today and the board formally records the transfer this afternoon, that door closes permanently."

Bael looks at the signature line.

He picks up his pen.

The signature takes three seconds. He has signed thousands of documents in this office, contracts worth more money than most people will encounter in several lifetimes, and none of them registered beyond the business of the day. This one sits differently on the page. A quiet stillness following a line drawn through years of friction.

He sets the pen down.

Fang Liwei collects the papers into her briefcase. "We’ll have the filing finished before the board meeting. The public announcement can go out this evening once the session is concluded."

"Alright," Bael replies.

She nods and steps out.

At eleven-forty, Bael’s phone lights up on the desk. A photograph from Runze.

He picks it up.

Siying is looking directly at the lens. Her eyes are dark, wide, and fixed on whatever caught her attention behind the camera. Her hand is balled into a small fist near her chin.

No caption. Just the image.

Bael looks at the screen for several seconds. Then he sets the phone on the desk and pulls the next file toward him.

***

The board meeting opens at two o’clock.

Twenty-three directors sit around the long table. The same room where, weeks ago, Han had stood at the head with a resolution designed to strip Bael of executive authority. The same chairs, the same glass, the same view of the city skyline.

Fang Liwei presents the documentation. She is brief, the conditions, their fulfillment, the legal confirmation of Ming’s disqualification, the formal transfer of direct ownership. Ten minutes. There is nothing to debate. The conditions have been met.

"The board is asked to confirm its acknowledgment of the completed ownership transfer," Fang Liwei says. "A signed confirmation from each director is required for the filing record."

The binder moves around the table.

Bael watches it pass.

Director Zhao signs first, his pen moving quickly across the line. Director Lin signs without looking up. Director Qiao signs and slides it along to his left without comment.

The document reaches Han.

Han looks at the paper for a moment. His face gives nothing away, every readable expression stripped clean months ago. He picks up his pen. Signs. Passes the binder along without looking toward the head of the table.

Bael does not look at Han either.

By two twenty-three, the signatures are gathered. Fang Liwei collects the binder, confirming the final filing will be completed within the hour. The meeting closes. Directors gather their coats and devices, exiting in quiet streams. No one approaches Bael directly, he does not require them to.

Shen Rui is waiting in the corridor when Bael emerges. "Filing confirmed," he says, falling into step beside him. "Public announcement is ready for your sign-off. Legal has cleared the text."

"Send it to my desk."

"Yes sir."

In his office, Bael approves the public release, routes it back to communications, and opens the photograph on his phone once more.

He sets the phone face-down as a brief knock sounds at the door.

Shen Rui enters, carrying the updated afternoon schedule. He steps up to the desk with his usual flawless composure, placing the tablet before Bael.

"The quarterly review for the hospital division has been moved to Thursday morning, Chairman," Shen Rui reports, his tone crisp and entirely professional. "I have also cleared your schedule for four o’clock to allow time for the final estate filings to clear the press wire."

"Good," Bael says, scanning the tablet screen.

Shen Rui reaches out to retrieve the tablet, leaning forward slightly as he turns to leave. As he turns his head, his collar shifts half an inch, exposing the skin behind his left ear—and two small, distinct red marks. One sits high behind his earlobe, the other tracing lower toward the edge of his hairline. They are partially hidden, but unmistakably fresh.

Bael’s eyes linger on the mark for a fraction of a second before he looks up at Shen Rui’s face.

Shen Rui catches Bael’s gaze. He pauses, his hand freezing on the tablet, and instantly registers where Bael is looking. A deep, burning flush creeps up from his collar, spreading rapidly across his cheeks.

"Chairman... I..." Shen Rui begins, his usual composure cracking. "I—"

"Bitten by dogs, I see," Bael says dryly, resting his elbows on the desk.

Shen Rui’s mouth closes tightly. He drops his eyes to the floor, rigid with embarrassment.

"Shen Rui. Have you gotten comfortable because I haven’t been in the office this past week?" Bael’s tone remains calm, unhurried, but carrying a cold, quiet edge. "If you cannot keep your dogs on a leash and maintain standard protocol during work hours, I will find a chief assistant who can."

"I apologize, Chairman," Shen Rui says softly, bowing his head lower. "It will not happen again."

Bael looks at him for a quiet beat, then picks up the next report beside his elbow. "Dismissed."

Shen Rui bows deeply and steps out of the office without another word.

At five-forty, Bael’s phone vibrates against the desk.

He picks it up, seeing Runze’s name on the screen, and answers. "Hmm."

"The press release just broke online," Runze’s voice comes through the line. It is quiet, sweet, and instantly cuts through the dull ache of the workday, settling the noise in Bael’s mind before the sentence even finishes. "It’s all over the financial news."

Bael turns his chair toward the floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out over the city skyline glowing in the evening dusk. "And?"

"And your daughter just fell asleep," Runze says softly, a faint warmth beneath his tone. "When are you coming home? I miss you."

Bael snaps the leather folio shut and picks up his jacket.

"I’m on my way."