“If you dare sign it, this company is finished!”
My husband, Ji Mingxuan, had his finger almost pressed against my nose, his eyes bloodshot, filled with madness and confidence in his victory. Behind him was a gloomy crowd – more than fifty core members of “Yunqi Technology,” the “token” he offered me, and also the dagger pointed directly at me.
The woman leaning against him – An Qi – his promised vice president, looked at me with the eyes of a victor, both pitying and contemptuous.
She leaned softly against Ji Mingxuan’s shoulder, her voice sickeningly sweet: “Sister Qing, Mingxuan is doing this for the company. Everyone here is an elite, they just want to develop better. Please grant us your wish.”
Grant “us”?
Sounds good, “us.”
I lowered my head and looked at the mountain of resignation letters piled on my desk – each one a name I had personally trained.
They used to be my most trusted teammates. We stayed up all night overcoming difficulties, we raised our glasses to celebrate after every successful project.
Now, they stand tall on opposite sides, their eyes avoiding mine, yet filled with aroused greed.
The air is thick with the nauseating smell of betrayal.
Seeing my silence, Ji Mingxuan thought I was scared, and his voice grew louder: “Shen Qing, don’t be so unreasonable! Without me, without this team, ‘Yunqi Technology’ is just an empty shell! Now, bow your head, give up your vice president position, give me half of the shares, and we’ll still be husband and wife, and the company will still survive.”
He still thought this was just a quarrel between husband and wife, a negotiation that could be made for mutual benefit.
I laughed.
Not a cold laugh, nor a bitter one – but a genuine laugh, one that felt utterly ridiculous.
I looked up, my gaze sweeping past him, across the familiar yet unfamiliar faces behind him.
Some people nervously bowed their heads, while others held their heads high, trying to appear calm.
My gaze finally settled on Ji Mingxuan’s face, contorted with smug satisfaction.
“Alright,”
I said.
The entire meeting room fell silent.
Even the vulnerability on An Qi’s face froze for a moment.
I picked up the Montblanc fountain pen on the table – a gift I’d given him when the company successfully raised capital in its Series A round.
The pen tip was icy cold, the sensation spreading from my fingertips to my heart.
I removed the cap, without reading the contents of each resignation letter.
Swish.
The first name: Shen Qing.
Swish.
The second name: Shen Qing.
…
Swish, swish, swish!
The sound of the pen gliding across the paper echoed in the silent meeting room like the precise sound of a scalpel.
I signed all fifty resignation letters.
“Effective date: Today.”
The air seemed to drain, everyone held their breath.
The “elite” who had been so arrogant just moments before now had pale faces, staring at me in stunned silence.
Ji Mingxuan’s pupils contracted. Perhaps he had imagined I would cry, make a fuss, or compromise—but he absolutely did not expect such a decisive outcome.
I slammed the pen down on the polished conference table with a jarring sound.
I stood up and walked step by step towards him.
The distance between us was very close—so close that I could smell An Qi’s perfume and the familiar scent that once belonged to him.
“The company won’t collapse.” I looked him straight in the eyes, calmly, each word clear. “But you’re finished.”
I paused for a moment, then delivered the final blow:
“We’re getting a divorce.”
Ji Mingxuan’s face turned from astonishment to a ghastly purple, looking at me as if he were seeing my true self for the first time.
“Shen Qing, you’re insane!” He yelled, his voice shrill with loss of control. “Who do you think you are? You’re leaving me, leaving this team, you’re nothing!”
An Qi quickly stepped forward, linking her arm with his, gently playing the role of a demure lady: “Minh Huyen, don’t mind her, let’s go. If we can’t keep you here, we can somewhere else. With our abilities, we can always bounce back anywhere.”
She glanced at me provocatively as she spoke, as if declaring victory.
I looked at that despicable couple, my lips curling into an even colder smile.
“Go? Fine.”
I tilted my head and said to the legal director – lawyer Tran – who had been standing silently until now:
“Lawyer Tran, inform the staff. Immediately activate the competition clause for these 53 people.”
“They are banned for two years from working in any domestic company related to AI, big data analytics, or related industries—including but not limited to starting their own businesses, investing, collaborating, working as employees, or consulting in any form.”
“A competition clause?”
“What competition clause?!”
The meeting room instantly erupted. The place, which had just been deathly quiet, now boiled over.
A technical team leader—the closest person to Ji Mingxuan—turned pale and shouted,
“When did we sign a competition clause?! Shen Qing, don’t even think about setting us up!”
I ignored him, staring intently at Ji Mingxuan.
The anger on his face froze, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief.
“Shen Qing…” He stammered, “You… since when…”
“Since when?” I finished his sentence, “Since the first time you took An Qi on a vacation to Sanya using company money; since you secretly gave the core source code we developed together to An Qi’s company as a mistress; since you all thought I was just a clueless tech idiot who knew nothing about the outside world.”
My voice wasn’t loud, but each word was like a sledgehammer, striking directly at the hearts of everyone present.
“In the employment contract you signed when you joined the company, chapter three of the appendix, article seventeen—regulations on confidentiality and competition limitations for key technical personnel. You probably never read it carefully, did you?”
The whole group started to panic, some frantically searching their phones for their contracts.
Ji Mingxuan yelled, “Shen Qing, you’re crazy! The compensation money is enough to crush you! Can you afford it?!”
“Compensation?” I looked at him, as if I were looking at a clown jumping around.
“Of course, compensation is due. That amount will be deducted first from your 30% stake.”
“Ji Mingxuan, you incited employees to rebellion, deliberately embezzled company funds, and caused serious damage—I will have my lawyer settle every single penny with you.”
“As for the divorce settlement—your infidelity, the transfer of shared assets—I’ll see you in court.”
He froze, his mouth agape but unable to utter a word.
I didn’t bother looking at him anymore, turning to An Qi—who had been trembling like a leaf.
“Ms. An.”
I received a kraft paper file from my assistant, pulled out a document, and threw it straight at the “innocent” face she prided herself on.
The edge of the paper grazed her cheek, leaving a thin red scratch.
“She faked a Columbia University MBA, fabricated work experience at top American headhunting firms, and portrayed herself as a ‘rising star’ with all sorts of resources at her fingertips. Ms. An, the person behind her, who provided the money for her to go to ‘Yunqi Technology’ to find a wealthy benefactor—does she know she’s a fraud from head to toe?”
An Qi’s face instantly turned from pale to ashen, then to a deathly gray.
Her lips trembled, and she looked at me with eyes full of terror.
Perhaps she never imagined that the facade she was so proud of would be so fragile in the face of me.
“Get them out,” I coldly ordered the security guards at the door.
Ji Mingxuan was still struggling, but An Qi seemed to have lost all her strength, her whole body limp as she collapsed to the floor.
The charade of rebellion orchestrated by my husband, in collaboration with his mistress and the employees I once trusted most, finally came to an end — concluding with them being dragged out of the company in a pathetic state by security. The
conference room door slammed shut, cutting off all the noise from outside.
I looked around the room, now more than half empty, and at the remaining employees with worried faces, and took a deep breath.
I knew the real battle… had only just begun.
The
company was doomed.
That was the general thought of all the remaining employees at “Yunqi Technology.”
One of the founders, the chief technology officer Ji Mingxuan, had left with over fifty core personnel from the technical and business departments—a devastating blow to any startup.
Inside the office, everyone was uneasy, and whispers and discussions were incessant.
“What is CEO Shen planning now? The technical department is almost completely wiped out.”
“More than half of the business team is gone too. How will we secure contracts for next quarter?”
“CEO Ji is too ruthless. It’s not just layoffs—he wants to take the company down!”
My assistant, Xiao Ya—a recent graduate—had red eyes, her voice choked with tears:
“Sister Qing… We… we really can’t hold on any longer?”
I patted her shoulder gently, saying nothing.
My phone had been ringing non-stop.
Several former employees, who had been lured away, were now realizing their mistake and panicking because the competitive terms were no joke.
“Sister Qing, I was wrong… I was so reckless back then…”
“Director Shen, give me another chance, I have elderly parents and a young child…”
“It was Ji Mingxuan and that vixen who tricked us! We didn’t want to leave!”
I listened to each call filled with tearful remorse, but my heart remained calm.
Adults must take responsibility for their choices.
I wasn’t running a charity.
I hung up each call, then blocked the numbers.
Ji Mingxuan also sent a message, no longer displaying his previous arrogance, but instead angrily threatening:
“Shen Qing, just you wait! All you have left is an empty shell! In less than three days, you’ll be crying and begging me to come back!”
I looked at the message and just laughed.
He was always so arrogant, always thinking that the success of “Yunqi Technology” was solely his doing. He
would never see that within this building there was a world he had never set foot in.
I stood up and said to Xiao Ya:
“Inform all the employees currently working that in ten minutes, we’ll have a meeting in the main conference room.”
“Right now?” Xiao Ya was slightly surprised.
“Right now.”
Ten minutes later, the main conference room was packed with people. Everyone’s faces showed clear signs of anxiety and worry.
I stood on the platform, looking down at the faces that remained.
There were new interns, administrative and finance staff, and also a few young engineers who weren’t being lured into the fold.
They were the last remaining flame of “Yunqi Technology.”
“I know what’s on everyone’s mind right now,” I said, my voice calm and decisive. “You’re all thinking, ‘Will the company collapse? Will we all lose our jobs?'”
Silence fell below, but everyone’s eyes spoke volumes.
“I’m here today to tell you one thing: ‘Yunqi Technology’ will not collapse.”
I leaned forward and pressed a button on the remote control.
The large screen behind me lit up, displaying a logo—a blurry skull made up of flickering lines of code.
Below it was the text: “Project Ghost.” A
murmur arose from the crowd.
“Today, I officially introduce a brand new team.”
As soon as I finished speaking, the side door of the meeting room was pushed open.
A group of more than ten people entered.
They were very young, mostly in their twenties, dressed simply in t-shirts and jeans, with a calm, even somewhat lazy demeanor.
But when their eyes scanned the screen displaying lines of code, a glint of almost greedy desire shone in them.
It was the kind of look that only appears when top hackers, tech geniuses, face their perfect prey.
“They are members of ‘Project Ghost,’” I introduced. “Three years ago, when I discovered that the company’s technological direction could be exploited for personal gain, I secretly launched this plan.”
“For the past three years, they’ve been involved in all of our core projects under the guise of ‘external consulting.’ They understand every line of code, every process, every operation of the company.”
“Even some of the key algorithms that Ji Mingxuan has always been proud of, the core architecture itself… was designed by them.”
My words exploded like a bomb in the meeting room.
Everyone froze in place.
The remaining young engineers in the technical department stared at the newcomers as if they were looking at legendary idols.
Some of them were “legends” in the programming world – names they’d heard but never met.
The AI ​​engine they’d been working on had won them an industry award – Ji Mingxuan always boasted that it was the result of a month of “secluded coding practice.”
But now, the real author – a young man in his twenties, with messy hair and black-rimmed glasses – yawned as he walked onto the stage.
He took the microphone and lazily said,
“General Ji’s version was terrible; we did some optimization.”
The investor behind An Qi – a prominent figure in the financial world – was furious upon discovering she had falsified her resume and dragged him into a complicated lawsuit.
He not only announced the termination of all cooperation with An Qi and withdrew all capital from Ji Mingxuan’s new company, but also declared he would sue her for commercial fraud.
This news was the last straw.
An Qi instantly fell from being a “goddess of resources” to a jinx that everyone avoided.
All her messages to the group chat went unanswered.
Ji Mingxuan was even more devastated.
He had used all his remaining money to rent a luxury office floor in the city center, intending it as a springboard for his empire.
Now, before he could even move in, he was facing a capital shortage.
Worse still, the team he had painstakingly built had disbanded.
Every day, people called him: either demanding money or accusing him of dragging them into trouble.
He was reeling in the chaos, starting to sell his sports car, even putting the apartment we bought after our wedding up for sale, just to raise money to keep his staff.
But trust, once shattered, cannot be rebuilt.
A few people wanted to return, sending messages through intermediaries, some even coming in person to stand outside the company building, hoping to see me once, begging for leniency.
I instructed the HR department to post a notice right outside the door:
“Yunqi Technology – No Waste Recycling.”
That statement quickly spread throughout the tech industry.
That was my attitude, and also my resolve.
Betrayal, there would only be one, and countless more, after that.
For the first time in his life, Ji Mingxuan felt genuine fear.
The engineering team he was once proud of had become a burning hot potato; the lover he trusted completely turned out to be a fraud from beginning to end; and the “interrogation” he thought he had a sure win over ultimately became a huge joke.
And I – the wife he thought he could manipulate at will – had secretly laid a trap for him without his knowledge.
He started frantically calling me, but I didn’t answer.
He sent me long, rambling messages, recounting everything from our sweet college romance to the hardships of building “Yunqi Technology” together, every word filled with regret and nostalgia.
I looked at them, feeling only sarcasm.
If only I had known this, why did I have to do it in the first place?
I casually deleted them and added him to my blacklist.
That night, after finishing overtime, I drove home.
Under the streetlights of the apartment complex, a familiar figure leaned against a tree, a bottle of liquor in hand, completely drunk.
It was Ji Mingxuan.
He looked haggard—his hair disheveled, his beard unkempt, lacking the former spirited and confident demeanor.
Perhaps he was waiting for me.
My car windows were tinted, so he didn’t notice.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, then loosened.
No anger, no pity—no emotion at all.
It was like looking at a complete stranger.
My face was expressionless as I pressed the gas pedal.
The car glided smoothly past him, turned a corner, and sped straight down into the underground parking lot.
In the rearview mirror, his figure grew smaller and smaller, finally becoming just a faint black dot.
Ji Mingxuan, your performance—it’s over.
My life, however, has only just begun.

People like Ji Mingxuan, once cornered, will stop at nothing.
Knowing that begging me was useless, he set his sights on my parents.
On Saturday morning, I rarely got to sleep in, but I was woken up by a barrage of calls from my mother.
As soon as I answered, her shrill cries pierced my eardrums.
“Shen Qing! Do you have any conscience?! Are you trying to kill Mingxuan?!”
I held the phone away from my ear and rubbed my aching temples.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong?” My mother’s voice was a mixture of tears and anger.
“Mingxuan’s here!
He’s kneeling and begging you and Dad! He says you’re determined to divorce him, that you want to sue him, that you want to ruin him! How could you be so heartless! He’s your husband!”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Sure enough—he was still using his most despicable trick.
Taking advantage of my parents’ softheartedness, they tried to bind me with familial affection.
“Shen Qing!”
The other end of the line was replaced by my father’s furious roar.
“I’m telling you now, immediately, immediately get back here!
Have you grown too big for yourself, no longer listening to your parents?”
“Let me tell you, if you dare ruin Ming Xuan’s future, we’ll consider you not our daughter anymore!”
“Okay, I’m coming back.”
I calmly hung up and sent Gu Ze a message.
“Activate the plan.”
Half an hour later, I returned to the house where I had grown up.
In the living room, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt like it could drip.
My parents sat on the central sofa, their faces gloomy.
Ji Ming Xuan sat on the small sofa opposite them, his eyes red, his face weary and dejected. On the coffee table in front of him were various expensive tonics he had brought.
The moment he saw me, he immediately jumped up, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions, as if he had found a savior… and an enemy.
The three-way confrontation was already set.
As soon as I entered, my mother burst into tears, pointing at me and saying to Ji Mingxuan,
“Mingxuan, don’t be afraid! I’ll stand up for you! This girl has been blinded by those men outside!”
My father slammed his hand on the table, glaring at me and shouting,
“Kneel down!”
I stood still, not moving.
“I told you to kneel down! Apologize to Mingxuan!” My father trembled with anger. “Husbands and wives argue in bed and then reconcile; why can’t we sit down and talk? Do you have to be so heartless? She’s been with you for so many years; she’s contributed and suffered, so why not give her half the company?! Immediately withdraw all those ridiculous lawsuits!”
“Give him half?” I looked at my father, feeling a strange estrangement I’d never experienced before. “Do you know how much ‘Yunqi Technology’ is worth now? Do you know how much damage his departure has caused the company?”
“I don’t care!” my father yelled. “I only know he’s the son-in-law of the Shen family! You can’t treat him like that!”
Ji Mingxuan, standing beside them, intervened at the right moment, trying to force out a few tears, her voice choked with emotion:
“Uncle, Aunt, don’t blame Qing, it’s my fault… I’m not capable, I couldn’t give her a better life. Now she’s met someone better, and she thinks I’m not worthy… I only beg her, for the sake of our past relationship, to leave me a way out.”
Those heartfelt words caused my parents unbearable pain.
My mother grabbed his hand, crying as she turned to scold me,
“Look at this, how far you’ve pushed Minh Huyen! Shen Qing, let me tell you—today, either you withdraw the lawsuit and go back to living peacefully with Minh Huyen, or you sever all ties with this family and never set foot in this house again!”
The investor behind An Qi—a prominent figure in the financial world—was furious upon discovering that she had falsified her resume and dragged him into this troublesome lawsuit.
He not only announced the termination of all cooperation with An Qi and withdrew all capital from Ji Minh Huyen’s new company, but also declared he would sue her for commercial fraud.
This news was the final straw.
An Qi instantly fell from being a “goddess possessing resources” to a scourge that everyone avoided.
All her messages to the group chat went unanswered.
Ji Minh Huyen was even more miserable.
He used all his remaining money to rent a luxury office floor in the city center, intending it as a springboard for his empire.
Now, before he even moved in, he’s facing a capital crunch.
Worse still, the team he painstakingly recruited has fallen apart.
Every day, people call him: either demanding money or accusing him of dragging them into this mess.
He’s reeling in the chaos, selling his sports car, even putting up for sale the apartment we bought after we got married, just to raise money to keep his staff.
But trust, once broken, cannot be rebuilt.
A few people want to return, sending messages through intermediaries, even coming in person to stand outside the company building, hoping to see me once, begging for my lenience.
I told the HR department to post a notice right outside the door:
“Yunqi Technology — no recycling of waste.”
That statement quickly spread throughout the tech industry.
That was my attitude, and also my determination.
Betrayal, there’s only the zeroth time, and countless times after that.
For the first time in his life, Ji Mingxuan felt genuine fear.
The engineering team he was once so proud of had become a burning hot potato; the lover he trusted completely turned out to be a complete fraud; and the “interrogation” he thought he had a sure win had become a huge joke.
And I—the wife he thought he could manipulate at will—was secretly setting up a trap for him without his knowledge.
He started frantically calling me, but I didn’t answer.
He sent me lengthy messages, recounting everything from our sweet college days to the hardships of building “Yunqi Technology” together, each word filled with regret and nostalgia.
I looked at those messages, feeling only irony.
If only I had known this, why did I have to do it in the first place?
I casually deleted them and added him to my blacklist.
That night, after finishing overtime, I drove home.
Under the streetlights of the apartment complex, a familiar figure leaned against a tree, a bottle of liquor in hand, completely drunk.
It was Ji Mingxuan.
He looked haggard—his hair disheveled, his beard unkempt, devoid of his former energetic and confident demeanor.
Perhaps he was waiting for me.
My car windows were tinted, so he didn’t notice.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel for a moment, then loosened it.
No anger, no pity—no emotion at all.
It was like looking at a stranger who had nothing to do with me.
My face expressionless, I pressed the gas pedal.
The car glided smoothly past him, turned a corner, and sped straight down into the underground parking lot.
In the rearview mirror, his figure grew smaller and smaller, finally becoming just a faint black dot.
Ji Mingxuan, your performance—it’s over.
My life, however, has only just begun.
04
People like Ji Mingxuan, once pushed to the brink, will stop at nothing.
Knowing that begging me was useless, he turned his attention to my parents.
On Saturday morning, I rarely got to sleep in, but I was woken up by a barrage of calls from my mother.
As soon as I answered, her shrill cries pierced my eardrums.
“Shen Qing! Do you have any conscience?! Are you trying to kill Ming Xuan?!”
I held the phone away from my ear and rubbed my aching temples.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You’re asking me what’s wrong?” My mother’s voice was a mixture of tears and anger.
“Ming Xuan is here!
He’s kneeling and begging you and Dad! He says you’re determined to divorce him, that you want to sue him, that you want to ruin him! How could you be so heartless?! He’s your husband!”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Sure enough—he was still using his most despicable trick.
Taking advantage of my parents’ soft hearts to bind me with familial affection.
“Shen Qing!”
The other end of the line was replaced by my father’s furious roar.
“I’m telling you now, immediately, immediately get back here!
Have you grown up too fast to listen to your parents anymore?”
“I’m telling you, if you dare ruin Mingxuan’s future, we’ll consider you not our daughter anymore!”
“Okay, I’m coming back.”
I calmly hung up and sent Gu Ze a message.
“Activate the plan.”
Half an hour later, I returned to the house where I had grown up.
In the living room, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt like it could drip.
My parents sat on the main sofa, their faces gloomy.
Ji Mingxuan sat on the small sofa opposite them, his eyes red, his face weary and dejected. On the coffee table in front of him were all sorts of expensive tonics he had brought.
The moment he saw me, he immediately jumped up, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions, as if he had found a savior… and an enemy.
The three-way confrontation was already set.
As I entered, my mother burst into tears, pointing at me and saying to Ji Mingxuan,
“Mingxuan, don’t be afraid! I’ll stand up for you! This girl has been blinded by those men outside!”
My father slammed his hand on the table, glaring at me and shouting,
“Kneel down!”
I stood still, not moving.
“I told you to kneel down! Apologize to Mingxuan!” My father trembled with anger. “Husbands and wives argue in bed and then reconcile; why can’t we sit down and talk? Do you have to be so heartless? He’s been with you for so many years; he’s contributed and suffered, so why not give him half the company?! Immediately withdraw all those ridiculous lawsuits!”
“Give him half?” I looked at my father, feeling a strange estrangement I’d never experienced before. “Dad, do you know how much ‘Yunqi Technology’ is worth now? Do you know how much damage his departure has caused the company?”
“I don’t care!” my father yelled. “I only know he’s the son-in-law of the Shen family! You can’t treat him like that!”
Ji Mingxuan, standing nearby, intervened at the right moment, trying to force out a few tears, his voice choked with emotion:
“Uncle, Aunt, don’t blame Qing, it’s my fault… I’m not capable, I couldn’t give her a better life. Now she’s met someone better, and she thinks I’m not worthy… I only beg her, for the sake of our past relationship, to leave me a way out.”
Those heartfelt words broke my parents’ hearts.
My mother grabbed his hand, crying as she turned to scold me:
“Look at you, how far you’ve pushed Mingxuan! Shen Qing, let me tell you—today, either you withdraw the lawsuit and go back to living peacefully with Mingxuan, or you sever all ties with this family from now on and never set foot in this house again!”
Severing ties.
Again, that phrase.
From childhood to adulthood, whenever I didn’t do what they wanted, this phrase was always used to threaten me.
I looked at them—at the place I once thought was my safe haven.
Inside, only a cold ice remained.
I laughed, laughing until tears almost streamed down my face.
“Fine.”
I walked to the tea table, pulled out the earthy yellow file bag I was carrying, and slammed it down.
With a loud “bang,” all the documents inside spilled out.
A stack of photos, over a dozen bank statements, and a small voice recorder.
The photos showed Ji Mingxuan and An Qi intimately embracing on the beach in Sanya—the setting of a company team-building trip.
Meanwhile, I was up for two sleepless nights dealing with server issues.
The bank statement clearly showed that, starting six months ago, Ji Mingxuan had secretly transferred money from our joint account to a strange account.
The total amount—millions of yuan.
He even used that money to buy An Qi a red Porsche convertible—the very car that used to be parked in front of our company, showing off for a long time.
My parents’ expressions immediately changed.
Ji Mingxuan’s face went pale, and he lunged forward to snatch the papers, but I pushed him back.
I picked up the voice recorder and pressed play.
“…Don’t worry, darling, what does that old wife Shen Qing know about management? She’s just a bookworm obsessed with technology; without me, the company would go bankrupt!”
“Wait until I take all the core technical staff away, then she’ll have no choice but to obediently hand over the company. At that time, you’ll be the vice president. No, you’ll be the boss of my company!”
“Her 60% stake? Ha, after the wedding, it will become the couple’s shared property…”
Ji Mingxuan and An Qi’s voices—shameless and calculating—rang out clearly in the living room.
Those filthy, scheming words were like sharp knives, tearing apart his mask and shattering the last illusions in my parents’ hearts.
The room fell into a terrifying silence.
My parents’ faces alternated between flushed red and pale white. They looked at the evidence on the table, then turned to look at Ji Mingxuan—now nothing more than a soulless corpse—unable to utter a word.
I turned off the recording device, looking at the two people whose faith had been shattered by reality.
“Now, do you still want to sever ties with me because of this kind of person…?”
My voice was soft, but carried an unprecedented decisiveness.
“Yes.”
“I bless you both.”
After saying that, I turned around, without glancing at them once, and strode out of this suffocating house.
The door slammed shut behind me, shutting away all my hesitation and softheartedness.
I heard my mother’s heart-wrenching sobs and my father’s angry curses.
But all of that… was no longer relevant to me.
The sun shone brightly outside, so dazzling it made my eyes sting.
I took a deep breath, the suffocating feeling of being bound by family ties finally dissipating.
I got into my car, turned on some upbeat rock music, floored
the gas pedal, and sped away.
Ji Mingxuan, and all those who had hurt me…
Your nightmare has only just begun.
The
pain of severing ties with my parents was much shorter than I expected.
When I poured all my energy into my work, those wounds called “family ties” were like junk files on my computer – completely erased without a trace.
After I kicked him out of the house, Ji Mingxuan was completely devastated.
But I knew he wouldn’t give up easily.
Someone who’s used to taking shortcuts… wouldn’t be willing to start from scratch.
I organized a strategic meeting, attended only by myself and a few key members of the “Ghost” team.
“Ji Mingxuan still has some of our old techniques. They’re not core technology, but enough to trick small, tech-savvy companies and secure a few outsourcing projects to get by.”
I pointed to the analysis diagram on the screen, calmly outlining the plan.
“Right now, he lacks two things most: money and achievements. So we’ll do two things.”
“First: cut off his money-making opportunities. Second: destroy his reputation.”
The guy in the sunglasses, codenamed “Miying,” also the leader of the “Ghost” team, lazily raised his hand:
“Boss, how should we handle this? Hack directly into his laptop?”
“No need for that trouble.” I shook my head. “If we’re going to play, let’s play fair.”
I pointed to a phrase on the screen: “Attack from above” (降维打击).
“From today, we’ll be launching three ‘youthful versions’ of our software, targeting the three areas where Ji Mingxuan’s team excelled: enterprise data visualization, customer relationship management, and intelligent recommendation systems.”
“In terms of features, they’re at least 20% more powerful than their old products.
And in terms of price—free for life for all small and medium-sized enterprises.”
“What? Free?” Someone exclaimed in surprise. “So what do we get?”
“What we want isn’t the immediate cash, but the market, the future.” I looked at them, my gaze sharp.
“We must let the entire market know that ‘Yunqi Technology’s’ technology is irreplaceable.
Anyone who tries to steal our technology to establish themselves—there is only one outcome: annihilation.”
“We must make sure Ji Mingxuan can’t even sign a tiny contract.”
“Miying”’s eyes lit up, excitedly licking her lips:
“That’s interesting. Boss, I like this.”
My instructions were quickly carried out.

Three days later, the homepage of “Yunqi Technology” officially announced
the launch of three high-level enterprise software programs, completely free, to support the development of small and medium-sized enterprises.
The news spread like wildfire, shaking the entire industry.
A flood of businesses rushed to download and try them out, almost crashing the company’s servers.
Meanwhile, Ji Mingxuan was running around looking for clients, holding several revised design drafts.
Finally, he managed to convince an e-commerce company to consider a partnership.
He boasted about the tremendous traffic growth, making the other party somewhat hesitant and preparing to sign the contract.
Just then, the partner’s assistant rushed in:
“Boss! Don’t sign! ‘Yunqi Technology’ just released a free version! Its features are far more powerful than theirs! Our technical department just tested it—it’s incredibly effective!” The partner
‘s director’s expression instantly changed—from admiration to contempt.
“General Manager Ji, are you planning to use those outdated things from three years ago to fool me?”
Ji Mingxuan’s face instantly turned pale.
The first project he had painstakingly secured had vanished into thin air before it even began.
And that was just the beginning.
The following week, I personally led the team to meet with every potential client Ji Mingxuan could approach.
I didn’t need to say much; I simply placed our new business plan along with a free software package on the table.
Every client was smart enough to understand:
those who betray others often meet a tragic end.
Very quickly, Ji Mingxuan realized that what he had once proudly called “technology” was now worthless in the market.
No company dared to cooperate, no project dared to hire him.
He and his so-called “elite team” officially became a laughingstock in the industry.
In despair, he had only one straw to cling to—An Qi.
He still believed that An Qi had connections that could help him recover.
But he didn’t know that An Qi was far more pragmatic than him.
After confirming that Ji Mingxuan was no longer of any use to her, An Qi disappeared overnight—taking with her over 200 million yuan in cash from his account, money he had intended to use to pay his team’s salaries.
She turned off her phone, blocked him on WeChat, and vanished without a trace.
The next morning, Ji Mingxuan woke up to find the space beside him empty, his bank account down to just a few tens of thousands of yuan—a complete collapse.
Friends abandoned him, his company went bankrupt, his lover ran away, personal debts piled up, and he was sued by dozens of employees for breach of contract.
From the heights of success, he plummeted into the depths of despair.
A week later, I—with the title of “Outstanding Young Entrepreneur of the Year”—stepped onto the stage at the industry conference.
I wore a neat white suit, stood on the stage, facing over a thousand industry experts and business leaders, and confidently presented.
I spoke about the technological innovation of “Yunqi Technology,” its human resources strategy, and its future vision.
Under the stage lights, I shone like the sun.
Meanwhile, at this very moment, Ji Mingxuan was being cornered in his dilapidated rented house by several former employees he had cheated, who were demanding money.
He was grabbed by the collar, pushed to the ground, utterly disheveled.
Someone filmed the scene and posted it on a tech industry group.
I saw the video backstage.
The man in the video was completely different from the self-satisfied man I once knew.
In my heart, there was neither joy nor pity.
Only absolute calmness remained.
Ji Mingxuan, you have not only lost your career.
He also lost the woman who had been willing to build everything from scratch with him, who had shielded him from all the storms of life.
And that… was the greatest loss of his life.
On the 6th
day of the divorce trial, the weather was beautiful, the sun shining brightly.
I walked into the courthouse and immediately saw Gu Ze waiting at the entrance.
Today he was wearing a formal lawyer’s robe, his face serious, but the eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses were still very warm.
“Don’t worry. I’m here,” he said to me.
I nodded slightly. My heart was very calm.
This lawsuit, from beginning to end, had a predetermined outcome.
In court, Ji Mingxuan sat in the defendant’s chair, his whole body drained of life, so haggard that he was almost unrecognizable.
But when he opened his mouth, he immediately changed to a pitiful expression.
Tears and snot streamed down his face as he wept and recounted to the judge, accusing me of being “dictatorial,” “authoritarian,” and that I ruled the company with an iron fist.
He recounted how I had mercilessly “kicked” him out of the company after he had worked so hard to build everything.
He tried to portray himself as a devoted family man, sacrificing for his career, only to be heartlessly abandoned by his wife.
He tried every means to evoke sympathy from the judges, constantly emphasizing his “contributions” to “Yunqi Technology,” demanding a 50/50 split of all company shares.
“Your Honor, ‘Yunqi Technology’ was built by me and Shen Qing together, like our child! Now she’s divorcing me and kicking me out of the company, that’s unfair!”
I sat there without changing my expression, not even bothering to glance at him.
That monologue—clumsy and disgusting.
I handed everything over to Gu Ze.
When it was my turn to present, Gu Ze stood up.
He didn’t raise his voice in protest, but calmly, step by step, presented the evidence to the judge and the jury.
“First, evidence that the defendant—Mr. Ji Mingxuan—was unfaithful in the marriage.”
Gu Ze turned on the projector.
On the large screen in the courtroom, intimate photos of Ji Mingxuan and An Qi in various locations appeared one after another—from the beach in Sanya, a candlelight dinner at a high-end restaurant, to even CCTV footage of them entering an apartment together at midnight.
The timeline stretched on, the earliest photo… from a year and a half ago.
Ji Mingxuan’s face immediately turned pale.
“Second, evidence that the defendant illegally transferred joint property during the marriage.”
Gu Ze switched to another file.
The screen displayed clear bank statements.
From my joint account with Kỷ Minh Huyền, the money was transferred sequentially to an account under the name An Kỳ — each transaction left a trace.

“Upon verification, over the past year, the defendant has repeatedly transferred marital assets to Ms. An Qi—the defendant’s mistress—totaling 3.27 million yuan. This includes a Porsche 911 sports car worth 1.6 million yuan, and a luxury apartment in the city center worth 1.5 million yuan…”
Gu Ze’s voice was calm and steady, emphasizing each word clearly.
A murmur of astonishment arose in the courtroom.
Ji Mingxuan’s lawyer—his face had turned ashen.
“Thirdly, there is evidence that the defendant conspired to seize control of the company, causing serious harm to the business interests.”
Gu Ze pulled out a small voice recorder.
“…Shen Qing, that old wife, knows nothing about management…”
The sordid conversation I had heard before—once again echoed in the solemn courtroom.
Ji Mingxuan completely collapsed, slumping in the defendant’s chair, his eyes filled with despair and resentment as he looked at me.
Gu Ze’s voice was like a final verdict:
“Your Honor, my client—Ms. Shen Qing—is the controlling shareholder of ‘Yunqi Technology,’ owning 60% of the shares. The defendant—Mr. Ji Mingxuan—owns 30%.”
“During the marriage, the defendant not only committed serious adultery and illegally transferred a large amount of assets, but also incited key employees to betray the company, conspiring to seize control, causing significant financial and reputational damage to the business.” “
Therefore, we request that the court declare the defendant to be the party with serious fault in the marriage and to leave empty-handed. At the same time, my client retains the right to continue pursuing civil litigation to demand compensation from the defendant for damages to the company.”
Ji Mingxuan’s lawyer had nothing more to say.
The evidence was overwhelmingly clear. All of Ji Mingxuan’s lies crumbled before the unshakeable truth.
After a short recess, the judge returned and pronounced the verdict on the spot.
“After the trial, the court ruled as follows:”
“One — granting the plaintiff Shen Qing’s request for divorce from the defendant Ji Mingxuan.”
“Two — due to the defendant’s serious fault during the marriage, the marital assets are divided as follows: plaintiff Shen Qing 90%, defendant Ji Mingxuan 10%.”
“Three — the defendant’s 30% stake in ‘Yunqi Technology’ company will be valued and converted into cash. This money will be used to pay the breach of contract penalties to the 53 employees who were incited to leave, as well as to compensate the company for damages.”
The gavel struck decisively.
Everything was officially closed.
This verdict meant that Ji Mingxuan not only received nothing from the company, but even his 10% marital assets — after deducting the illegally transferred funds — were left with very little.
Even worse, he had to bear the entire amount of compensation for breach of contract—tens of millions—alongside himself.
He not only left empty-handed, but also burdened with a debt enough to crush the rest of his life.
The trial ended, and I walked out of the courthouse.
The gentle midday sun shone on me.
Gu Ze stood beside me, gently shielding me from the harsh sunlight.
“It’s all over,” he said.
I nodded slightly, looked up at the deep blue sky, and let out a long sigh.
Yes, it was all… over. The man named
Ji Mingxuan, that failed marriage, those humiliating and shameful memories—all were extinguished, sealed forever with the decisive blow of the judge’s gavel. Nothing—that was a feeling Ji Mingxuan had never experienced in his life. When the verdict took effect, when the label “dishonest executioner” was affixed to him, when all his bank cards were frozen, when he was evicted from the very house we once shared, forced to hide in a dark basement on the outskirts of town… only then did he begin to face the truth. He started to spiral into nostalgia for the past. Not for me. But for the prosperous, promising life he himself had destroyed. When he hit rock bottom, his mind was no longer filled with the sweet, gentle An Kỳ, but… with the bowl of soup I left for him on the stove on the days he worked late. With the bowl of porridge I stayed up all night cooking when he was sick with a fever. With the cramped rented room from his early days of starting his career, where the two of us sat huddled together, sharing a packet of instant noodles. He finally realized that what he had destroyed with his own hands was not just a company, but the only person who had ever been his support and warmth in life. He started texting me. He used a strange phone number that he had to get through someone else. “Thanh Thanh, I was wrong, I was really wrong. These past few days, all I could think about was you. I remember you liked the small steamed buns at the shop south of the city. Today I went there to buy a steamer basket for you… but I don’t know where you live now.” “Thanh Thanh, it’s getting cold, you have arthritis, remember to dress warmly. You once said that when we get old, we’ll open a homestay in Dali, overlooking Mount Cang and Er Lake… Is that promise still valid?” “Thanh Thanh, I miss you so much…” These messages, full of remorse and romantic sentiment, were sent to my phone regularly every day. Looking at them, I only felt nauseated. Where did it all go? When I was exhausting myself for the company, for our future—where was he? When he and his group pushed me to the brink—where was he?

Now that he’s penniless, he’s back to talking about feelings?
Ridiculous.
I didn’t say a word, I just coldly blocked his number.
But he didn’t give up.
He started going to the old restaurant we used to frequent, sitting there all day, ordering only a cheap bowl of noodles, hoping to run into me by chance.
The owner called me, his voice a mixture of guilt and sympathy.
I only replied with one sentence:
“Next time he comes, just call the police. Report him for customer harassment.”
He went to find our old friends—people who had witnessed us from our school days to our wedding.
He cried and confessed his sins, hoping for help, hoping they would speak up for him.
In return—he received a merciless barrage of insults from my hot-tempered girlfriends.
“Ji Mingxuan, how dare you come back? How did Qingqing treat you, and what did you do to her? You’re an ungrateful wretch, biting the hand that feeds you!”
“Get out! We don’t have friends like you!”
He even showed up at my parents’ house—a place he used to frequent as a familiar haunt.
But this time, instead of a warm cup of tea or a friendly smile, he was greeted.
My brother—a soldier often stationed far from home, who happened to be on leave—heard everything from beginning to end.
Seeing Ji Mingxuan kneeling at the door, about to cry and beg as before, my brother didn’t say a word, grabbed a broom from the corner of the house, and started beating
him mercilessly. “Get out of my house, you beast! If you dare come near my sister again, I’ll break your legs!”
Ji Mingxuan clutched his head and fled, struggling to escape.
All his struggles, all his remorse—in my eyes, were nothing more than a pathetic, comical farce.
He didn’t regret hurting me.
He only regretted what I had given him.
Such cheap repentance, I didn’t even bother to look at him a second time.
My life… has entered a completely new chapter.
“Yunqi Technology,” under the leadership of the “Ghost Team,” is shining with unprecedented vitality.
Every day I am busy with new projects, new challenges.
The name Ji Mingxuan, to me, is now nothing more than a roadside stone—no longer evoking any emotion. I once thought that competitive contracts and court rulings would be enough to make traitors realize their mistakes and retreat in silence. But I underestimated human greed and shamelessness. Among the
53 employees who betrayed us that year, there was one named Li Wei, a key engineer and Ji Mingxuan’s number one confidant.

His compensation for the violation amounted to 3 million, among the highest. His
house was foreclosed, his savings were wiped out, and his wife filed for divorce—in just one month, Li Wei’s life plummeted from heaven to hell.
Burdened by debt, he began to hatch sinister plans.
He approached a self-proclaimed sensationalist media outlet and agreed to an exclusive interview.
In front of the camera, he sobbed and fabricated stories, trying to portray himself as a “pitiful victim exploited by ruthless capitalism.”
He distorted the truth, painting me a cold-blooded, ruthless witch who squeezed me dry.
“Shen Qing is an executioner! We worked hard to build our careers with her, and in the end, she used a so-called competitive contract—something we never knew—to promote her new lover, pushing all the veteran employees to the brink of ruin!”
“She wants to kill us all! She wants to cut off all our livelihoods!”
The article, with its provocative headline, quickly spread online:
“Shocking! Female CEO Drives Her Boss to Death for Love – The Degradation of Humanity Behind a Billion-Dollar Competitive Contract!”
Netizens are easily swayed by emotional stories.
In a short time, the internet was flooded with countless criticisms and condemnations of me and the company.
Some even called for a boycott of “Yunqi Technology” products, severely damaging the brand’s image.
The PR department was in chaos, and Gu Ze suggested I immediately send a lawyer’s letter and sue the media outlet for defamation.
I looked at the computer screen, my eyes growing cold amidst the vile and abusive comments.
“Send a lawyer’s letter? It’s too late.”
I looked at Gu Ze and calmly said,
“To deal with a mad dog, you can’t just use a stick. You have to use a gun.”
The following afternoon, as CEO of “Yunqi Technology,” I held an online press conference.
I didn’t invite any media outlets, I just livestreamed it publicly.
Before millions of online viewers, I didn’t explain or complain.
I just calmly… played a recording.
“…Just follow General Manager Ji, and everyone in the company will get a house! Director An said her investor has tens of billions in assets!”
“What does that Shen Qing know? She only knows how to calculate money! Without us, the company would collapse!”
“Then she’ll have to kneel down and beg us to come back! By then, all the shares she holds will belong to General Manager Ji!”
The recording contained a conversation between Ji Mingxuan, Li Wei, and several other traitorous employees in the hallway outside the meeting room on the day of the “coercion.”
Their blatant greed and dirty calculations were undeniable, word for word.
The livestream chat room instantly exploded.
“Oh my god! What a twist! It turns out to be a technological version of the fairy tale ‘The Peasant and the Snake’!”
“That Li Wei is a traitor! He betrayed us, and now he’s cursing us?”
“Poor Ms. Thanh! Betrayed by her husband, betrayed by her employee, and now falsely accused!”
But I didn’t stop there.
I continued to release another piece of evidence.
It was all the documentation proving Li Wei exploited company resources to take on outside work for personal gain.
This included: chat logs with clients, transfer history, and evidence that he stole unreleased internal source code for his own project.
I looked directly into the camera, my voice icy:
“Mr. Li Wei, in your three years working at our company, your total salary was 1.78 million. But you abused your position for personal gain, totaling 2.15 million.”
“This is no longer just a matter of professional ethics.”
“I declare: ‘Yunqi Technology’ will not only demand full compensation for breach of contract, but will also formally sue you for misappropriation of company assets.”
“According to current law, if the amount is large enough, the maximum sentence for this crime can be more than 5 years in prison.”
My words, like a powerful blow across the internet, struck Li Wei directly.
He was sitting there watching the livestream, waiting for public pressure on me—he instantly froze.
He probably never dreamed… I still held a trump card powerful enough to send him to jail.
He completely collapsed, and before the livestream even ended, he knelt down in front of my company building, banging his head on the ground begging for forgiveness.
It was too late.
Killing the chicken to scare the monkeys was clearly effective.
Public opinion immediately shifted; the netizens who had previously cursed me all turned against me, angrily cursing Li Wei as a “modern-day Lu Bu.”
That self-proclaimed media outlet immediately removed the article that same night and posted an apology.
The other traitors who had tried to emulate Li Wei’s actions were terrified.
They hadn’t expected me to act so decisively, demanding not only money—but also lives.
The next day, more than a dozen people came to the company, hoping I would be lenient.
I instructed the security guards to block them all at the gate; no one was allowed in.
From then on, no one dared to challenge the boundaries of “Yunqi Technology.”
I used the strongest possible method to make one principle clear to everyone:
My kindness is only for those who deserve it.
I have never shown mercy to traitors.
After
the storm, “Yunqi Technology” entered a period of revival.
With the superior technological support of the “Ghost” team, in less than half a year, we launched a revolutionary product—the next-generation AI search engine “Qi Ming,” utilizing a completely new algorithm.
“Qi Ming” excelled in accuracy and intelligent learning capabilities, surpassing all similar domestic products. Upon its launch, it caused a sensation in the industry.
User numbers increased exponentially, and stock prices soared. In just three months, the company’s value tripled.
Shen Qing, officially freed from the shadow of “Ji Mingxuan’s ex-wife,” became a shining new star in the tech world.
At the product launch celebration, I wore a custom-designed long red dress, holding a glass of champagne, and walked gracefully among investors and partners, like the center of attention.
I was confident, calm, and radiant.
Gu Ze remained silently beside me.
He was unlike others; he didn’t rush to shake hands or try to befriend me. Instead, he quietly offered me a warm glass of water when I was tired, or when some wealthy, slippery investors clung to me relentlessly, he would silently step in to stop them.
He was like a silent but steadfast knight, protecting me so I could wholeheartedly fight on my own battlefield.