As soon as I reach the office, I tell Junru to get a written directive from the General Secretary to halt Antz Financial’s IPO.

  Protocol.

  In the Republic’s political machinery, responsibility flows downhill like sewage. Even the General Secretary’s verbal orders are treated like vapor—real until they aren’t. If this explodes, I need paper. Proof that the fire started above me, not from me. My subordinate does the same to me.

  Before I can pack up for the day, Junru returns. “Director Sun from the MPS is here. He’s asking if you have fifteen minutes.”

  “Let him in.” I paste on my most sincere smile—the one I reserve for people I don’t fully trust.

  "Chairman Bo," Linjun says the moment his backside hits the chair. His face sags like a man who hasn't slept in days. "I need your help."

  "Of course. Anything for your investigation." I keep my voice warm. Helpful. Noncommittal.

  Linjun leans forward, voice dropping to a conspirator's whisper. "You heard what the General Secretary said—hunt tigers. To him, a vice chairman is just a fly." He inches closer still, eyes searching mine. "Who do you think the tiger is?"

  “Why don’t you ask Xiaohang?” I say evenly.

  “You know how he is. Fierce, but silent as a tomb.”

  I shake my head. The target is obvious—Keyang Li or Qiuhan Wang. But bad-mouthing central leadership? That's not just dangerous, it's a violation of Party discipline. I'm not that reckless. Or that stupid.

  He reads my silence. “Is it the Prime Minister?” The question lands like a lit match on dry grass.

  I study him carefully. I’ve heard the stories—the Hong Kong Bookstore case, his appetite for risk. Xi clearly favors him. But favor is fickle. And discussing the Prime Minister with a man he knows in passing? That’s not courage. That’s a death wish.

  “Punishment doesn’t apply to the Ruby Five,” I remind him, my tone measured.

  “True,” he concedes. “But evidence can still be weaponized.”

  I nod slowly. weighing each word before it leaves my mouth. Is he here on Xi's orders, probing for loyalty? Or he is genuinely lost in the fog?

  “You mentioned twenty-one foreign and private firms shorting the market. Can I see the list?”

  He pulls a folded paper from his briefcase and slides it across my desk.

  I scan the names, mentally crossing off the international giants—JP Morgan, Goldman Sachs, BlackRock, etc. That leaves ten.

  Tomorrow Investment and Rubian Renaissance leap off the page.

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  I pick up my pen and circle Rubian Renaissance, then write "Bao Fang" beside it.

  He squints at the name like it’s written in Sanskrit.

  I sigh—internally, of course—and add "R5" next to Bao Fang's name. Then I look at him with the kind of meaningful stare that says, Come on, connect the dots.

  Qiuhan Wang ranks fifth in the Ruby Five by official position, though his actual power dwarfs that of the National People's Congress Chairman and the Political Consultative Conference Chairman combined.

  Finally, realization dawns in his eyes like a slow sunrise.

  I continue down the list, circling a few obscure smaller firms and adding question marks beside them.

  He nods. He'll dig into those.

  But then I shake my head. There's no smoking gun pointing to Keyang Li. Not yet.

  "Maybe the real beneficiaries are still waiting in the shadows," I say. "They'll only show their hand at the last possible moment."

  "That makes sense." He frowns, then adds with a hint of frustration, "But what if I can't afford to wait?"

  "Lure the snake out of its hole." The old proverb rolls off my tongue.

  "How?" He leans in more, eager now.

  I pull up Antz Financial's shareholder list on my screen and hit print. Moments later, Junru knocks and glides into the room with the printouts.

  Linjun's eyes lock onto her the instant she enters. He watches her move across the room—those long legs, that effortless grace—all the way to my desk. His gaze follows her back out the door like a heat-seeking missile.

  I cough. Loudly.

  He startles, then laughs, cheeks flushing. “I thought she looked familiar.”

  "Oh? From where?" Now I'm genuinely curious. Junru has always been a mystery dressed in designer suits.

  “I was mistaken.” He recovers quickly.

  I let it go. For now.

  I place the printout in front of him and circle Zexi Investment. “R2,” I write.

  "Xian Xu runs a ring of A-share companies," I explain. "He colludes with executives to manipulate share prices through coordinated trading—fund products, shell accounts, the usual theater. The companies manufacture good news and bad news on cue, like a propaganda department."

  "You finance guys sure make easy money." There's more than a hint of envy in his voice.

  "Until they get greedy," I say with a slight smile. "Unlike Tomorrow and Renaissance, Zexi Investment came late to the party. Xu's playing catch-up. He expanded aggressively—real estate, P2P lending, government bonds. Always stretching his cash flow thin. I doubt he'd let cash sit idle just to jump in next week." I pause, watching his reaction.

  “Chairman…” Linjun frowns, confused. “So they won’t short?”

  "Of course they will. I'm saying they'll leverage the Antz Financial IPO to do it.” I point to the heading on the paper. “They can't sell them—one-year lock-up period. But they can borrow against them."

  "When's the IPO?"

  "Was scheduled for next Monday. But not anymore."

  "Cancelled?"

  "Between you and me?" I lower my voice. "The General Secretary told me to kill it the moment you guys left.”

  He blinks. Then grins. “So they’ll be scrambling for cash.”

  “Exactly. That’s when you bait them.”

  “How?” The word bursts out, unguarded.

  I lean back, folding my hands. That’s his job. I’ve handed him the map, the compass, and the weather report. If he wants me to walk the trail for him too, he’s in the wrong profession.

  He gets it. The grin fades. He nods, sheepish.

  “Chairman Bo, thank you. I owe you one.” He rises.

  “Wait.” I raise a hand. “That pretty girl with you earlier.”

  “Ruolin?” His tone shifts. Careful now.

  “Yes. If you can arrange for her to visit me, I can arrange for Junru to visit you.”

  He can’t help it—a grin spreads across his face before he catches himself. Then he shakes his head, almost wistfully. “She’s the First Lady’s favorite. I can’t even touch her.”

  I know. Of course I know.

  But in the Party, there’s an old saying: Split loot together, and you’re blood brothers. Solicit prostitutes together, and you’re best friends.

  Even talking about it brings men closer.

  And right now, I need Linjun close.

  Because the market’s about to bleed.

  And I need someone else’s fingerprints on the knife.