Against the Algorithm

Chapter 21: Lines No Longer Imagined

There was a pause.

A beat of silence.

Then—

Lan exhaled.

Long. Slow. Measured.

"I'm on my way."

Click.

And the line went dead. Just like that. No further questions. No follow-ups. No additional context requested.

Because Madam Lu, the terrifying matriarch who ruled over her household and the business world alike with an iron will and a gaze that could silence even the boldest of men, had already decided what needed to be done. And somewhere in the dining room, surrounded by clueless, unsuspecting fools who were still reveling in her humiliation, still chuckling, still making snide comments and overdramatic wheezes about her words, no one knew what was coming. They had no clue what she had just done. No idea what she had just unleashed. No understanding that they were about to be on the receiving end of a visit from the one woman even Lu Sicheng treaded carefully around when it came to emotional matters. Because she hadn't just called for backup. She had summoned judgment. And not one of them saw it coming.

Yao, face still warm, chest still tight, hands still curled into her sleeves from residual embarrassment, sat down without a word—calm, composed, with a stillness that was almost eerie in its quiet confidence—and simply began to eat. No warnings. No commentary. No warnings. Because they would learn. Oh, they would learn. And by the time Madam Lu arrived? She wouldn't need to say a word. Because the moment that front door opened... They would know.

Sicheng had barely made it back to his office, had barely let the door click shut behind him, the sound still settling into the air like the slow exhale of someone who had just delivered a precisely timed blow, had barely sunk down into the familiar leather of his chair with the quiet satisfaction of a man who knew exactly what he had done, when the sound of footsteps, soft but purposeful, unhurried but clearly intentional, cut through the thin veil of silence, followed almost immediately by a knock so hesitant, so carefully measured, that it couldn't have belonged to anyone but her.

His amber gaze shifted toward the door, sharp and focused in contrast to the way his fingers idly drummed against the edge of his desk, rhythm calm and unbothered, though his mind had already begun narrowing down the list of potential intrusions.

Not Rui.

Rui wouldn't knock—he would've barged in without preamble, clipboard in hand, armed with whatever tedious update he believed required attention, likely some poorly timed attempt to provoke him back into an argument, possibly about budgeting, or worse, team nutrition.

Not Yue, Lao Mao, Lao K, or Pang. They were still downstairs, still tangled in the aftermath of the chaos they themselves had created, still laughing too loudly over their own jokes, too amused by Yao's earlier meltdown to realize the weight of judgment already barreling toward them.

Which left only one person.

So Sicheng didn't bother asking, didn't call out to confirm, didn't wait for another knock—he simply stood, moved to the door, and opened it with the same unhurried confidence that defined every decision he made. And there she was. Exactly as expected.

Tong Yao stood just beyond the doorway, her frame small, her posture hesitant but not retreating, her silver hair slightly mussed from where she'd probably raked her hands through it more than once, her hazel eyes flickering with something unreadable—something fragile but determined, something anxious but rooted in intent, something that made him stop for just half a second and adjust.