Rebirth of the Phoenix Emperor

"Sir, here are the results"

Li Wei's fingers trembled as he held the manila envelope. The weight of it seemed disproportionate to its size, as if it carried not just paper but the potential collapse of his entire world. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, Shanghai's skyline glittered against the evening sky – a view he'd earned through decades of relentless work.

"Leave me," he said to Zhang Ming, his head of security who'd personally handled this delicate investigation. The man bowed slightly and backed out of the office without a word.

For three months, the suspicion had gnawed at him. Little things at first – a casual comment about blood types at Chen's last medical checkup, a family photo where his fifteen-year-old "son" looked startlingly like someone else. Someone Li Wei had tried very hard not to think about.

He broke the seal and pulled out the DNA test results. His eyes scanned the document, medical jargon blurring until they landed on the conclusion:

"Probability of paternity: 0%"

The paper crumpled in his grip. Li Wei pressed his other hand against his chest, fingers brushing the jade pendant that hung there – the last gift from his father before he passed. He'd always thought he'd give it to Chen one day.

"Fifteen years," he whispered to the empty office. "Fifteen years, and five months ago, I signed everything over to them."

He'd been so proud that day, watching his wife Mei and Chen accept the shares of Li Industries. It was meant to be his legacy, passed down just as his father had passed it to him. He'd wanted to retire early, to make up for all the time he'd lost building the company. To finally be the father and husband he'd always meant to be.

Li Wei reached for his phone, dialing Mei's number. She answered on the third ring.

"Wei? Is everything alright?"

"Come to the office. Bring Chen. We need to talk."

A pause. "Now? It's almost nine—"

"Now." He ended the call.

While he waited, Li Wei poured himself a glass of baijiu but didn't drink it. He just watched the liquid catch the city lights, creating patterns like the ones dancing in his mind – patterns of memories, moments he'd thought were real but now seemed staged. Every "I love you," every "Dad," every family dinner and vacation and proud moment – had they all been lies?

The door opened an hour later. Mei entered first, elegant as always in her designer dress. Chen followed, gangly and teenage-awkward in ways that had always made Li Wei smile before. But they weren't alone.

"What is he doing here?" Li Wei's voice was ice as Zhao Feng stepped into his office. His longtime business rival. The man who'd tried to hostile takeover Li Industries twice before.

"He has a right to be here," Mei said, her voice steady. Too steady. She'd prepared for this.

Li Wei held up the DNA results. "How long?"

Mei's expression didn't change. "Since before Chen was born."

"Sixteen years of lying to me. Sixteen years of—" Li Wei's voice cracked. He turned to Chen. "Did you know?"

The boy – not his boy, never his boy – lifted his chin. "Since I was twelve. Mom and Dad told me together."

"Dad?" Li Wei's glass shattered in his grip. "I raised you. I loved you. I gave you everything—"

"You gave us your company," Zhao Feng interrupted, smirking. "Finally. After all these years of trying to take it from you, your own stupidity handed it to us on a silver platter."

The truth hit Li Wei like a physical blow. "This was your plan all along. Mei... you never loved me?"

"Love?" Mei laughed, the sound like breaking glass. "You were a means to an end, Li Wei. Your father's company, your wealth, your pathetic need to be loved – it made you so easy to manipulate."

"Sign the shares back to me," Li Wei demanded, his voice hoarse. "We can end this quietly. I won't press charges—"

"Press charges?" Chen scoffed. "Against your own wife and son? Oh wait, I forgot – I'm not your son. I never was. Just like this isn't your company anymore."

Li Wei lunged for Zhao Feng, but years of desk work had made him soft. The younger man easily dodged, and Li Wei stumbled against his desk.

"Look at you," Mei's voice dripped with contempt. "The great Li Wei, brought low by his own foolishness. Your father would be ashamed."

"My father—" Li Wei clutched his pendant, fury and grief warring in his chest.

"Was just as pathetic as you," Chen finished. "Building a company just to have his idiot son give it away to the first woman who pretended to love him."

Li Wei straightened, dignity returning even as his world crumbled. "Get out of my office."

"Your office?" Zhao Feng laughed. "I think you're confused. This is my office now. Security will be here soon to escort you out. Permanently."

"I built this company. Everything in it—"

"Belongs to us now," Chen stepped closer, teenage awkwardness replaced by something harder, colder. "You know what's funny? All those times you tried to teach me about business, about legacy? I was learning alright – learning how not to be a fool like you."

Li Wei backed away, his heel hitting the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk. When had they all moved so close?

"Your father's company," Zhao Feng said, "your father's legacy – all mine now. Just like your wife has been mine all along."

The pendant seemed to burn against Li Wei's chest. In it, he could almost feel his father's disappointment. Three generations of work, of dreams, all lost because he'd been too trusting, too loving, too—

"Pathetic," Chen spat, and pushed.

The window shattered. Li Wei felt the night air rush past him, saw Shanghai's lights spin in a dizzying kaleidoscope. His hand clutched the pendant, and as he fell, he could have sworn it grew hot – not with shame, but with something else. Something that felt like fire.

His last thought, before the ground rushed up to meet him, was of his father's words when he'd given him the pendant: "Our family rises from the ashes, son. Always remember that."

Then there was only darkness, and heat, and the sensation of falling – not down, but back. Back through time, through memory, through death itself, carried on wings of flame that burned away everything except one thought:

He would make this right.