Chapter 5 — Survival Skills in High Society

My father’s eyes bulged, the flicker of hope that had briefly ignited in them instantly curdling into a look of visceral, incredulous fury.

"Are you dreaming? Have you lost your mind? I raised you for all those years, and you dare to—"

"You did not raise me." I cut him off, my voice cold and steady, striking his eardrums like a splinter of ice.

"For the sixteen years you abandoned me, it was my foster father who gave me life and taught me how to survive. As for the 'rearing fees' for those sixteen years—you have yet to pay them."

I watched his face twist in pathetic rage and continued, "Furthermore, that hundred million is neither an act of filial piety nor a severance payment."

"It is a premium consultation fee for exclusive crisis management, which I—in my professional capacity as a high-level communication strategist for the Wen family brand—am providing to you."

I mimicked the tone they knew best, stripping away the pretense of kinship to present raw commerce, turning blood and bone into a transaction.

"I remain silent—you pay the price."

"I am giving you the opportunity to spend one billion to purchase my future silence, to buy out everything I could potentially disclose about the Wen family. It is a perfectly reasonable price."

I used the very business logic they prided themselves on to deliver the final, lethal blow. My father staggered, looking a decade older in the span of a single heartbeat. He pointed a trembling finger at me, his lips quivering, yet he could not utter a single word. My brother, Wen Jingran, stood beside him in total silence. Only his eyes—a cocktail of agony, inner conflict, and a despair I could not fathom—remained locked upon me. Finally, facing the survival of his company and the looming threat of total ruin, Wen Zhenhai bowed his head in humiliated defeat.

"Fine… I agree."

The transaction was complete. I did not look back. I did not grant them a second glance, turning away from the police station and walking out with long, purposeful strides. The biting air of the early morning brushed against my face, leaving me feeling remarkably clear-headed. I pulled out my phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Father."

At the other end of the line, the calm, steady voice of my foster father replied, "Is it over?"

"It is over." I looked out toward the distant horizon of the city, the corners of my mouth curving into a genuine smile for the first time.

"I have secured an investment. We can now upgrade our training facility to the highest international standards."

The charges against Wen Khaxin were quickly established. Attempted kidnapping, intentional infliction of injury, defamation—the counts piled up, and she was sentenced to five years in prison. A "fake heiress" who had lived in the lap of luxury would now spend the most beautiful years of her youth behind bars. The Wen family, true to their word, fulfilled their commitment. The next day, the front pages of every major newspaper in the city carried the official announcement: The Chairman of the Wen Group, Wen Zhenhai, had severed all paternal ties with his biological daughter, Xiao Ziqin, while also terminating all guardianship over Wen Khaxin. The hundred-million-dollar "communication fee" was transferred to my foster father’s account on time. With those funds, we purchased a vast stretch of mountain land in the outskirts. We built a premier safety education center, dedicated to teaching survival skills to children who had been overly sheltered, ensuring they could protect themselves in both the dangerous city and the unforgiving wilderness.

Following the scandal, the Wen family suffered a massive blow, losing their standing at the table of the elite and retreating in disgrace. I heard that shortly thereafter, my brother, Wen Jingran, withdrew from his studies and quietly enlisted in the military without a word to anyone. He was posted to one of the most desolate and arduous border stations in the country, and from that day on, he vanished without a trace.

Time flies, and a year passed in the blink of an eye. Relying on my close-combat skills and tactical acumen, I was fast-tracked and nearing my graduation from the police academy. Just as I was prepared to step onto my next "battlefield," someone I never expected sought me out. It was the old butler of the Wen household. He looked significantly aged, his sideburns turned entirely white.

"Miss Ziqin." He respectfully handed me a dusty, heavy wooden box.

"This is from... the Madam. Before she suffered a complete mental collapse, she kept insisting... that this must be delivered into your hands."

My heart gave an involuntary tremor. A mental collapse?