"Boss, I’ve finished digging up everything on those seven guys you asked for. I’m sending the encrypted file over now."
"Okay." Cecilia Lynn replied lightly. She unlocked her phone; the file from Channing was already sitting in her inbox.
She scrolled through it at her own pace, looking lazy but focused.
On the other end of the earphones, Channing was still rambling nonstop.
"Boss, why’re you checking out these big shots anyway? Sure, each one’s a legend, all handsome too, but their ages? They could literally be your dad. Your taste is… kinda wild, you know?"
"Stop talking nonsense." Cecilia’s tone chilled instantly. Her fingers flew across the screen. From the outside, it looked like some bare-minimum smartphone, but the interface was packed with dense code windows. "I’m looking for my father."
"What the—?!" Channing’s voice cracked like he’d just seen a ghost.
Cecilia didn’t bother responding.
Three days ago, her mother passed away.
Her vain, drama-loving mom had grabbed her hand before she died and spilled a secret she’d buried for years.
"Cici, you kept asking who your dad is. I never wanted to tell you. But now that Mom’s leaving… I’ll be honest. I really can’t remember who he is. I only vaguely remember seven names. Go to Scheng City and check on these men. Maybe one of them is your real father."
For someone to forget the father of her own child sounded absurd, but Cecilia knew her mom wasn’t lying.
Because her mom really did have a problem with her brain.
Not as an insult—literally sick.
Her mom had a tumor in her head, long before she got pregnant. She fought it for years, but in the end, she still lost.
The tumor made her memory glitchy and her mental state unstable. Forgetting Cecilia’s father wasn’t anything surprising.
Being able to narrow it down to seven people before dying was already her greatest effort.
Cecilia didn’t plan to explain all that to Channing. She stared at the screen, fingers tapping rapidly as she finished the last line of code. She nodded, satisfied. "Done. I just built a super powerful analysis program. Feed their data into it, and we’ll see which of these seven men is most likely my father."
To be absolutely sure, she’d have to do a paternity test with each of them.
But the real question was—
who should she go test first?
As someone obsessed with efficiency, Cecilia Lynn hated wasting time or energy. That little program she coded could pull up the closest match to her biological father in minutes, using appearance markers and personality data.
"Uh? Oh—got it!" Channing froze for half a second, then hurried to load her code into the system. "All set, the analysis result is already in your inbox."
Cecilia lowered her head to check her phone. A photo and a name filled the screen.
Her slim fingers brushed over the calm, refined face on the display as she murmured softly,
"Clifford Joe..."
Half an hour later.
Downtown.
Fengyao Group.
As the biggest financial conglomerate in the entire country, Fengyao Group’s headquarters dominated a huge chunk of the insanely pricey commercial district of S City, its interior sleek and ultra‑modern.
In the white‑themed lobby, sharp‑looking men and women hurried in and out, earphones clipped on, voices switching through different languages like a chaotic soundtrack.
And among all that busy, high‑tech energy sat one tiny figure who clearly didn’t fit in.
Cecilia Lynn.
She was still wearing that red plaid shirt, perched on a pebble‑shaped modern sofa. A beat‑up burlap sack rested by her feet, an ice pop hung from her mouth, and her legs—wrapped in old corduroy pants—swung lazily.
Her whole vibe was so off‑beat that plenty of people couldn’t help staring.
But Cecilia didn’t care at all. Head down, she kept reading the file Channing had just sent over.
Clifford Joe.
Male.
Head of Fengyao Group—the largest conglomerate in H Country. The nation’s top billionaire. Known for being ruthless and decisive, the kind of figure even the president preferred not to cross.
If she had to sum him up in one word, it’d be: legendary.
Legendary to the max.
Someone like that, a total big shot, should be impossible to get close to.
But Cecilia Lynn didn’t look worried at all.
She casually licked her popsicle, looking relaxed, and the tiny earpiece hidden in her ear buzzed again.
“He’s here, he’s here! Clifford Joe’s GPS ping is right next to you. About three minutes and he’ll walk into the lobby.”
“Got it.” Cecilia answered softly, bit off the last chunk of her popsicle, and stood up. She walked toward the front desk in a slow, steady pace, like she had all the time in the world.
The receptionist of Fengyao Group had already noticed this oddly dressed girl a while ago. She’d been debating whether she should go over and ask what the girl needed, but unexpectedly, the girl walked straight toward her. Years of work ethic kicked in, and she immediately put on a professional smile.
“Hello, miss. How can I help you?”
The girl in front of her looked about twenty. She was wearing a red plaid, old‑fashioned coarse cotton shirt, brown corduroy pants, an actual burlap sack slung over her shoulder, and a pair of straw sandals. She looked like she’d stepped right out of a 1950s countryside drama.
Her outfit might’ve been outdated, but her face was stunning—delicate features, bright eyes—and her voice was even softer and sweeter than her looks.
“Sis, I’m here to find my dad. Can you help me?”
Find… her dad?