Chapter Two: The Perfect Counterfeit

As the elevator opened, desires floated beneath crystal lights: acquisition, inheritance, revenge, love. The richer the person, the more precise the price. Then a gray-haired man crossed her path. Above him were no golden words, only crimson figures. 00:03:12:18. Three hours remained. The younger man beside him stopped too. He wore a dark suit and held no drink. For the first time the Lens showed neither desire nor countdown, only a gray warning. [THE SUBJECT IS OBSERVING IN RETURN.] “The antique frames suit you,” he said. Jianwei closed her handbag. “Do you know me, Mr. Xie?” “I do now.” Xie Linchuan studied her lenses. “I only wonder whether you see prices—or death dates.”