Chapter 284
"For data transmission, we're abandoning traditional encryption."
Another engineer pulled up a new topology diagram. "All S-level and above data will be fragmented into millions of meaningless pieces, randomly transmitted through different physical pathways, and reassembled at the receiving end. Even if intercepted, all they'd get is gibberish."
Their discussion felt like something out of science fiction.
Seraphine listened quietly, occasionally asking questions about algorithm redundancy or protocol compatibility—questions so precise they made the engineers pause to think.
At the meeting's end, Lucius looked at Seraphine. "One more proposal. Establish an Internal Affairs Department, independent of all other divisions, reporting directly to you and me."
Technology could be upgraded, but human hearts couldn't be encrypted.
He wasn't just giving the Ark thicker armor—he was installing a pair of eyes inside that would never close.
John's pulse hammered in his throat.
Seraphine looked at Lucius for a long moment.
Then she picked up her pen and signed her name on the document establishing the Internal Affairs Department.
After signing, she pushed the document back across the table. "I'll choose the department head."
The faintest smile ghosted across Lucius's lips. "Fine."
The establishment of Internal Affairs sent ripples through Nolan & Heidi Medical Research Center.
John held the appointment document co-signed by Lucius and Seraphine, feeling like he was clutching a burning hot potato of transferred power.
After sending the new Internal Affairs director—a man parachuted in from the Talbot Group with the codename 'Ghost'—into the elevator, he immediately bolted back to Seraphine's office.
"Ms. Manners, this is basically handing half our operation to Mr. Talbot! What if someday..."
Seraphine was replying to emails, not looking up. "His people are my people."
One sentence stopped John cold.
Just as John was feeling ashamed of his narrow thinking, Seraphine forwarded him an email.
John opened it, glanced at the subject line, and felt like he'd been struck by lightning.
[Formal Invitation for Dr. Seraphine Manners to Join the Editorial Board of Cell]
Cell—the supreme temple of life sciences.
Its editorial board members were, without exception, Nobel-level or groundbreaking luminaries.
John read the email three times, his voice cracking. "Ms. Manners... is this real? Cell's editorial board? This is one of the highest honors in science."
This stunned him more than a tenfold market value increase.
From now on, Seraphine wasn't just a successful entrepreneur—she'd become one of those who judged the rules themselves.
Seraphine closed the email, tone flat. "It's just an academic position. No need to freak out. Sit on the news—don't let PR turn it into a circus."
"How can we not— This brings glory to—" John sputtered incoherently, but swallowed his words under Seraphine's gaze.
He suddenly understood.
When someone truly stands at the summit, they no longer need to prove their height to those below.
A few days later, a final draft regarding the division of authority between Internal Affairs and Legal required both Lucius's and Seraphine's signatures.
Barry personally came to collect Seraphine, heading to Lucius's private residence halfway up the mountain.
In the study, only that document lay on the black walnut desk.
After a brief discussion of several detailed clauses, they reached an agreement.
After signing, Lucius's personal phone rang. He glanced at the number and stood to take it by the window.
The study fell quiet.
While waiting, Seraphine's gaze unconsciously swept over the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf beside the desk.
In the most prominent position sat a navy blue leather-bound volume that stood out from all the other books.
On the cover, embossed in pure gold, was the molecular structure of the G17 compound.
Almost on instinct, she walked over and pulled out the book.
On the title page, in strong, forceful fountain pen script: [The Genesis of a World.]
She turned the page and froze.
Inside were bound original photocopies of every paper she'd published since her university days.
From her slightly rough undergraduate thesis to breakthrough articles in Nature and Science—not one missing, meticulously organized and bound in chronological order.
The paper edges were cleanly trimmed, the yellowed early pages professionally restored.
This wasn't just a collection of papers.
This was the complete chronicle of her decade-plus as a scientist.
Her fingertips trembled as she turned to a paper discussing neural signal transmission efficiency. This article had been published in an obscure journal—she'd nearly forgotten it herself.
In the page margins, she saw familiar, sharp handwriting: [Model B has a paradox in energy conversion. If we introduce the M-brane hypothesis from string theory, could we construct a higher-dimensional transmission pathway?]
Next to it was a date—six years ago.
Back when they weren't yet divorced.
He'd been at a critical juncture in his career, his schedule measured in minutes.
She'd thought he'd never paid attention to her lab research.
She continued flipping.
At the footer of each paper were similar annotations: [This target selection—bold move.]
[The catalyst approach could apply to semiconductor etching processes.]
[Data's flawed, but the direction is right.]
Not a single wasted word.
Each one cut precisely to the core—some questioning, some extending, even building bridges to other fields where she hadn't thought to look.
This wasn't a layman's pretentious posturing.
This was one supremely intelligent mind engaging in profound dialogue across time and space with another.
At the end of the last paper on the Ark's automation algorithms, he'd written only: [Mission accomplished.]
The date was the night before the Ark's ribbon-cutting ceremony.
Seraphine stood motionless.
A massive wave of realization crashed through her mind, shattering and reassembling everything she'd understood about Lucius over the past decade.
He'd wagered the world for her, airlifting accelerants.
He'd bought out the art museum for her, sharing one waltz.
He'd laid a security net for her, ensuring the Ark would never sink.
She'd always thought it was capitalist logic, mutual interests, or obsessive possessiveness.
Until this moment, holding this 'bible' written with her lifeblood and his witness, she finally understood.
Beneath all that glory, wealth, and power, at the very core, was his purest, most profound understanding of her as a person.
He wasn't chasing a woman named Seraphine. He was chasing a soul that stood at the world's summit like him—lonely and proud.
Lucius finished his call and returned.
He saw Seraphine standing by the bookshelf, holding the collection he'd never intended for her to see. His expression showed no surprise.
He walked to the desk and poured two cups of tea. "Try this—this year's new harvest."
Seraphine slowly closed the book and carefully returned it to its place, as if laying to rest a precious era newly rediscovered.
She didn't look at him. She didn't speak.
She simply walked back to the desk and picked up the teacup.
In the amber liquid, her clear, profound eyes were reflected.
...
But the capital markets' winds turned colder faster than tea.
A week later, the National Drug Administration and Medical Insurance Bureau jointly released a document, quietly posted on their website late at night.
The document's wording was rigorous, its core content aimed directly at Nolan & Heidi Medical Research Center's most vital territory.