Auction House Confrontation
Laura Frost, confident in her past victories, attends the prestigious Chalaston auction under the empress's invitation. At the Victory Auction Center, she faces immediate disrespect from a member of the powerful Wilson family, leading to a tense standoff where threats and insults fly, setting the stage for a potential conflict.Will Laura's encounter with the Wilson family escalate into a dangerous feud?
Recommended for you
Incognito General: When the Fan Unfolds
There’s a moment—just two seconds, maybe less—where Lin Xiao stands at the top of the spiral staircase, sunlight filtering through the glass ceiling like liquid gold, and she doesn’t move. Not because she’s frozen. Because she’s deciding. Her black qipao hugs her frame, the high slit revealing a flash of bare leg, but it’s not seduction she’s projecting. It’s sovereignty. The silver fan pendant at her chest catches the light, and for a heartbeat, it glints like a blade. That’s the symbol of Incognito General: the fan. Open, it reveals truth. Closed, it conceals intent. And Lin Xiao? She’s holding hers shut—but her fingers are poised to release. Let’s rewind. Earlier, in Room 1522, she was different. Hair messy, sweatshirt wrinkled, eyes red-rimmed—not from crying, but from sleepless nights spent cross-referencing old medical logs and encrypted messages. Jiang Wei didn’t just hand her the ledger. He *placed* it in her palm, his thumb brushing hers for half a second too long. A gesture loaded with history. They weren’t strangers. They were former apprentices under Master Chen, before the fire at Qingyun Hall. Before the night Lin Xiao vanished—and Jiang Wei took the blame. The ledger wasn’t evidence. It was absolution. Or accusation. Depends on how you read the third entry: ‘Chen’s last words: “The girl knows where the root lies.”’ Root. Not plant. Not herb. *Root*. As in origin. As in source. As in the person who started it all. Madame Su’s arrival wasn’t accidental. She timed it perfectly—right after Lin Xiao opened the ledger, right before Jiang Wei could explain. Her entrance is cinematic: heels clicking, shawl swirling, a scent of osmanthus and aged sandalwood trailing behind her. She doesn’t greet Jiang Wei. She nods at the ledger, then at Lin Xiao, and says, ‘You kept it longer than I expected.’ Not ‘you found it.’ Not ‘you stole it.’ *You kept it.* As if the ledger belonged to her all along. And maybe it did. Because in Incognito General, lineage trumps law. Bloodline beats paperwork. And Madame Su? She’s not just Lin Xiao’s aunt. She’s the last surviving steward of the Yun Feng lineage—a title passed down through women, whispered in tea ceremonies and moonlit gardens. The men think they run the operations. The women *are* the operations. Then comes the atrium. Zhou Yan, impeccably dressed, radiating confidence—but his tie is slightly crooked. A tell. He’s nervous. Why? Because he knows Lin Xiao didn’t come alone. He saw the black sedan parked three blocks away, windows tinted, driver wearing gloves. He knows Madame Su doesn’t travel without backup. And he knows An Li—oh, An Li—isn’t just his date. She’s a liaison from the Southern Branch, sent to monitor ‘asset reintegration.’ Asset. That’s what they call Lin Xiao now. Not daughter. Not apprentice. *Asset*. Because she holds the key to the original formula—the formula for the ‘Longevity Tincture’ that cured the Governor’s wife and nearly killed three others. The ledger doesn’t list patients. It lists *outcomes*. And one name stands out: ‘Zhou Yan, 2022.11.03. Outcome: Survival. Condition: Oath of Silence.’ When An Li speaks—her voice honeyed, her smile razor-edged—she’s not challenging Lin Xiao. She’s testing her. ‘They say you disappeared after the fire,’ she says, adjusting her cuff. ‘But the security footage from Gate 7 shows a woman in a grey coat walking toward the river. Hair in a bun. Same lipstick.’ Lin Xiao doesn’t deny it. She just smiles—small, precise—and says, ‘Funny. I don’t remember owning a grey coat.’ That’s when Zhou Yan intervenes, stepping between them, his hand hovering near his pocket. Not for a weapon. For a recorder. He’s been documenting everything. Because in Incognito General, truth isn’t spoken. It’s archived. And whoever controls the archive controls the narrative. The real shift happens when Madame Su touches Lin Xiao’s arm—not possessively, but protectively. Her fingers brush the tattoo peeking from Lin Xiao’s sleeve: a vine of ginseng roots, coiled around a single character—‘Xin’ (heart). That tattoo wasn’t there before the fire. It was inked during her exile, in a village where healers still practice the old ways. It’s a map. A compass. A warning. And Zhou Yan sees it. His breath hitches. He knows that symbol. It’s the mark of the ‘Silent Root’—a faction thought extinct, who believe healing should never be commodified. Who believe some truths are too dangerous to speak aloud. Later, in the elevator—mirrored walls, no cameras—Lin Xiao finally speaks to Madame Su. Not in Mandarin. In Hokkien. A language Zhou Yan doesn’t understand, but An Li does. Her eyes narrow. Lin Xiao says: ‘The root is still alive. And it’s in the city.’ Madame Su nods. ‘Then let them dig.’ The elevator doors open. They step out into a lounge where a man in a charcoal suit waits, holding a teapot. Not porcelain. Iron. With a crack running down the side—repaired with gold lacquer. Kintsugi. Beauty in brokenness. He pours tea into three cups. No fourth. Zhou Yan and An Li are not invited to sit. That’s the genius of Incognito General: it never tells you who the villain is. It shows you how power circulates—through ledgers, through tattoos, through the way a woman folds her shawl before speaking. Lin Xiao isn’t seeking revenge. She’s reclaiming authority. Jiang Wei thought he was delivering justice; he was delivering a key. Madame Su thought she was retrieving a prodigal; she’s unleashing a storm. And Zhou Yan? He’s still trying to figure out which side he’s on—because in this world, sides aren’t chosen. They’re revealed. One confession at a time. The final image: Lin Xiao standing at a window, overlooking the city, the fan pendant now open in her hand. Not fully. Just enough to see the inscription inside: ‘Truth grows in shadow.’ Below her, the white Porsche idles. Madame Su waits in the back seat. The driver doesn’t look at her. He looks at the rearview mirror—where Lin Xiao’s reflection stares back, unblinking. She closes the fan. Slips it into her sleeve. And walks away from the building, not toward it. Because the real story doesn’t happen in the atrium. It happens in the spaces between words. In the silence after a lie. In the weight of a ledger no one dares to open twice. Incognito General isn’t about secrets. It’s about who gets to decide which secrets stay buried—and who pays the price when they rise.
Incognito General: The Red Ribbon and the Black Ledger
Let’s talk about what *really* happened in that hospital room—because no, it wasn’t just a routine visit. The first frame shows Lin Xiao, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, lips painted crimson but eyes heavy with exhaustion. She’s wearing a cream sweatshirt with ‘ERKE’ stitched faintly across the chest—not designer, not cheap, just… ordinary. That’s the point. She’s trying to be invisible. But the camera lingers on her fingers, trembling slightly as she lifts her gaze. Something’s off. Her breath catches—not from fear, but recognition. And then he walks in: Jiang Wei, dressed in a black changshan embroidered with silver wave motifs at the cuffs and hem, like ink bleeding into water. He holds a small black ledger, its cover embossed with gold filigree and characters that read ‘Yun Feng Records’. Not a notebook. Not a diary. A ledger. The kind you don’t hand over unless you’re ready to burn bridges—or build them with fire. He doesn’t speak immediately. He stands by the door marked ‘1522’, his posture rigid, almost ceremonial. His eyes lock onto Lin Xiao’s—not with anger, but with something colder: disappointment wrapped in duty. She flinches, just once, when he takes a step forward. That’s when we realize—the room isn’t empty. There’s someone else seated beside her, out of focus, but their sleeve is striped, their hand resting lightly on Lin Xiao’s forearm. A silent anchor. Jiang Wei notices. His jaw tightens. He offers the ledger not with deference, but with resignation—as if handing over a verdict he didn’t write but must deliver anyway. Lin Xiao reaches for it. Her fingers brush the leather, and for a split second, time slows. The camera zooms in on the cover: golden phoenixes coiled around a seal stamped with three characters—‘Qingyun Hall’. That name rings a bell. In Incognito General, Qingyun Hall isn’t just a place; it’s a legacy. A secret society of herbalists, healers, and informants who operate under the guise of traditional medicine clinics. And this ledger? It’s not financial. It’s a list of debts—favors owed, lives saved, oaths broken. Each entry is coded, but the symbols are unmistakable: a needle for healing, a broken branch for betrayal, a folded fan for silence. When Lin Xiao opens it, her expression shifts from confusion to dawning horror. She flips past pages—some stained with tea, others with what looks like dried blood. Then she stops. Page 47. A single line, written in red ink: ‘Xiao, 2023.08.17. Debt: One life. Repayment: Acceptance.’ Below it, a signature—not hers. Jiang Wei’s. She looks up, mouth open, but no sound comes out. That’s when the older woman enters: Madame Su, Lin Xiao’s estranged aunt, draped in emerald silk and a shawl woven with peacock motifs. Her entrance isn’t loud, but the air changes. She doesn’t look at Jiang Wei. She looks at the ledger in Lin Xiao’s hands—and smiles. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Like someone who’s waited years for the clock to strike midnight. The scene cuts abruptly—not to black, but to rain-slicked pavement, where a white Porsche Boxster glides silently past glass towers. Lin Xiao is behind the wheel, hair still in that bun, but now she wears a black qipao with silver tassels dangling from her collarbone like wind chimes. Her expression is calm. Too calm. Beside her, Madame Su adjusts her shawl, her pearl earrings catching the light. They don’t speak. They don’t need to. The car pulls up to a modern atrium, all marble and curved staircases, where a young man in a pinstripe suit—Zhou Yan—waits with a woman in a velvet slip dress and fur-trimmed coat. Her name is An Li, and she’s holding a clutch studded with crystals, her nails painted the same red as Lin Xiao’s lips. Coincidence? Please. In Incognito General, color is code. Red means danger. Or desire. Or both. Zhou Yan greets them with a nod, but his eyes flick to Lin Xiao’s hands—empty now. No ledger. Where did it go? Did she burn it? Hide it? Or hand it to someone else? The tension thickens as they ascend the stairs together, Madame Su linking arms with Lin Xiao like they’ve always been allies. But watch Lin Xiao’s left hand—her thumb rubs the inside of her wrist, a nervous tic she only does when lying. And when Zhou Yan speaks—his voice smooth, practiced—he says, ‘I heard you visited the old clinic.’ Lin Xiao doesn’t blink. ‘Did you?’ she replies, her tone light, but her pupils contract. That’s when An Li steps forward, smiling, and says, ‘Funny. I was there yesterday. The nurse said no one named Lin Xiao had checked in.’ A beat. Silence so sharp it could cut glass. Lin Xiao doesn’t react. Not outwardly. But her fingers tighten on the railing. Madame Su chuckles—a low, melodic sound—and says, ‘My dear, memory plays tricks when the heart is busy.’ Zhou Yan’s smile falters. Just for a frame. Then he recovers, but his eyes dart to An Li, and for the first time, doubt flashes across his face. Is An Li loyal? Or is she playing her own game? Because in Incognito General, loyalty isn’t inherited—it’s negotiated. Every handshake hides a clause. Every gift carries a price. Later, in the lobby, Lin Xiao excuses herself to ‘check her phone.’ She steps into a quiet alcove, pulls out a small silver pendant shaped like a fan—the same design on her qipao—and presses the center. A hidden compartment clicks open. Inside: a micro-SD card. She slips it into her sleeve. That’s when Zhou Yan appears behind her, not startling her, just standing there, arms crossed. ‘You always were good at hiding things,’ he says. She turns, slow, deliberate. ‘And you always were bad at knowing which ones matter.’ He studies her, really studies her—not the girl he remembers, but the woman who just walked out of a hospital with a ledger that shouldn’t exist. ‘What did he give you?’ he asks. She tilts her head. ‘A choice.’ The final shot: Lin Xiao walking away, back straight, heels clicking like a metronome. Behind her, Madame Su watches, then turns to Zhou Yan and whispers something that makes him pale. An Li glances at her clutch, then at Lin Xiao’s retreating figure—and for the first time, her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s not jealousy. It’s calculation. Because in Incognito General, the real power isn’t in the ledger. It’s in who controls the story behind it. And right now, Lin Xiao is rewriting hers—one silent step at a time. The hospital was just the beginning. The car ride was the transition. The atrium? That’s where the masks come off. And trust me—no one here is who they say they are. Not even Lin Xiao. Especially not Lin Xiao. The ledger wasn’t proof of debt. It was an invitation. And she just accepted.