Beside him, Ming Zhi remained still, but his eyes behind the lenses flickered with unease. He stole a glance at his master, who was seething like water in a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.
“How is this possible... why did it end up being Mi Ling?”
Confusion swirled in Ming Zhi’s head like a broken record. Everything should have ended according to his script—the plan where he deliberately fed Wen Jie fake engineering data to bait Gawin into counter-attacking with the real information Ming Zhi had secretly leaked to him... all to humiliate the heir and grind his reputation into the dust. Yet, the victory he had so meticulously staged had been snatched away by an invisible hand.
Zhou Mi Ling had emerged as the "Lady on the White Horse," rising to a position of even greater power. This was an outcome the old strategist had never anticipated, and it galled him to the point of losing his legendary composure.
“Someone read my play...” Ming Zhi gritted his teeth, his predatory gaze sweeping across the room. Gawin? No, Gawin had his chance to object but didn't. Zhang Wei? Even more unlikely. Until his gaze locked onto Adisorn.
Adisorn spared him only a fleeting glance, accompanied by a slight, mocking arch of an eyebrow—a silent greeting. That faint smile on Adisorn’s face snapped Ming Zhi’s nerves, driving him to the brink of madness.
Could the true demon who saw through his entire game be this man?
In the hallway leading to the glass balcony, the scent of defeat lingered like smoke from a dying battlefield. Ming Zhi, the veteran of dark stratagems, marched forward to confront the tall, lean figure of Adisorn, who stood admiring the afternoon cityscape as if he had been waiting for this very encounter.
Ming Zhi stared at that back, his gaze trembling. A sensation of dread he hadn't felt in decades began to gnaw at his heart. This man wasn't just a rival; he was the same demon that used to inhabit Ming Zhi’s own shadow in the past.
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"Excellently played... a flawless performance, Mr. Markrim," Ming Zhi’s raspy voice broke the silence. "Are you cold-bloodedly manipulating an heir like Wen Jie, turning him into a clown for the public to jeer at?"
Adisorn slowly turned around. The faint smile on his handsome face was as polite as that of a refined scholar, yet his eyes were as frigid as the depths of an ocean where sunlight never reaches.
"You accuse me of too much, Mr. Ming Zhi," Adisorn replied in a flat, even tone. "I am merely a neutral spectator... I harbor none of the sentiments you claim."
"Drop the mask!" Ming Zhi stepped forward, face-to-face. The sunlight from the window cast long, deep shadows across his wrinkled face, making him look ancient and grim. "I see the demon’s shadow within you... the shadow of a man ready to set the world on fire just to see the light he craves. Tell me... what is it you want? Mountains of gold? Power over tens of thousands? Or are you planning to climb your way onto the throne of CK Group?"
Adisorn went still for a moment, then let out a low, mocking chuckle. "The highest throne? Such a shallow ambition for people like you... but not for me."
Ming Zhi narrowed his eyes, trying to deconstruct this "A.P. Markrim’s" plan within a plan. "Hmph... don't try to deceive an old man like me. Your moves are transparent. You push Gawin up to counter Wen Jie, then you hoist Mi Ling as another layer of power over the Hydrogen Project. You enjoy pulling everyone's strings, don't you?" Ming Zhi leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You must think Mi Ling is the easiest to control... like a chick in the palm of your hand."
Ming Zhi paused, his breath hitching with the growing dread. "But it won't be easy. You have a long way to go before you meet the real deal." The old man’s eyes wavered, while Adisorn’s lip curled into a chilling smile that made even a veteran like Ming Zhi feel a shiver down his spine.
"You're good at predicting, Mr. Ming Zhi... but you're not entirely correct."
Adisorn stepped in so close his breath brushed Ming Zhi’s face, then whispered in a voice as steady and final as a death sentence. "I don't want to climb to the top like all of you... I just want to make sure that when the time comes for everyone to fall... not a single soul survives. Including the ones who created me."
Adisorn reached out and gently straightened Ming Zhi’s suit, an act that felt mockingly consoling. "Take care of your health, Mr. Ming Zhi... because you wouldn't want to die before seeing the final act of this novel."
He lowered his hand, offered a polite, formal bow, and walked away with eerie calm. Ming Zhi stood there, trembling in the middle of the deserted corridor. In that moment, he realized... he was facing a global cataclysm that no one in CK Group—not even the Chairman—could ever stop again.
I am a Thai author. This story is a product of my own imagination and was not generated by AI. However, I have used AI to assist in translating the text from Thai to English. Thank you for following my work."