Reborn son-in-law: I Died at your Hands Once

The Auction

The land bureau reeked of old files and stale coffee. Gray concrete walls closed in around us as Lin Yue, Liu Xia, and I stepped inside, documents clutched in my sweaty hands. My chest thumped so loud I was sure the deputy director could hear it from across the floor.

“Deputy Director Wang Min’s office is on the third floor,” Liu Xia muttered as we climbed the narrow stairs. “We go through her. Avoid Chen Guowei entirely.”

“Will that actually work?” Lin Yue’s voice trembled just a little.

“It has to,” I said, keeping my tone steadier than I felt. “Wang Min handles eastern district. Chen Guowei? Central and western. Protocol's on our side. Technically.”

We got to the third floor as Wang Min’s office door appeared. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman, with reading glasses, buried under mountains of paperwork. Her face had no emotion, just neutral expression. My heart sank. One wrong move and this auction—our chance—was over before it started.

“Deputy Director Wang?” Liu Xia’s voice cut through the tension. “We’re here to submit our registration for today’s auction. Plot 47A.”

Wang Min looked up. Her eyes flicked to Lin Yue. “Tang family?”

“Not anymore,” Lin Yue snapped. I felt pride surge through me at her courage.

“I see.” Wang Min held out her hand. Documents went over. She examined them slowly, page by page, each movement torturing me. Marriage certificate, bank statements, ID cards, character reference from Zhang Wei. Perfect. But perfect didn’t mean safe.

“This all seems in order,” Wang Min finally said. Relief crashed over me like a wave.

We barely got halfway down the hallway when a voice froze me.

“Wait.”

Chen Guowei. Damn him. Expensive suit, Tang family lapel pin, smirk plastered like it belonged to him.

“I need to review those documents,” he said, reaching for them.

“Director Chen,” Liu Xia said smoothly. “Deputy Director Wang already approved—”

“And as senior director, I have final approval authority on all auction registrations.” He held out his hand again. “Now.”

I clenched my fists until my knuckles cracked. Perfectly clean documents. No loopholes. And yet, here we were. First sabotage attempt.

Liu Xia handed them over. Chen Guowei flipped through, frustration creeping across his face. He stopped.

“The bank statements,” he barked. “These funds—where did they come from?”

“Personal savings,” I said. “Investments.”

“Investments? What investments? I need proof of the source of funds. Without it, I reject the registration.”

“You can’t do that!” Liu Xia’s voice snapped. “Auction regulations don’t require—”

“I am updating the regulations effective immediately,” Chen Guowei cut in. “Security. Anti-money laundering. Standard procedure.”

I wanted to shove the folder across the desk, scream at him that he was a petty little tyrant. I held back.

“You can’t change the rules an hour before the auction!” Liu Xia fired back.

“I can do whatever I deem necessary for integrity,” he said, smiling like he owned the world. “Registration rejected. Reapply next time.”

My blood ran hot. This was exactly what I’d feared. But then, Wang Min’s voice.

“Mr. Chen.” Calm. Quiet. Deadly.

He spun. Wang Min stood in the doorway, file in hand. “I’ve entered Mr. Li’s registration into the system. Timestamped. Logged. Reject it now, you file a formal contestation—it takes three business days minimum.”

Chen Guowei’s face darkened.

“And Director General Zhao is copied,” she added. “He doesn’t tolerate last-minute regulation changes that interfere with scheduled auctions.”

I felt the weight lift just slightly. Zhao was Chen’s boss. Wang Min had trapped him in his own arrogance.

“Fine,” Chen spat, thrusting the folder back to Liu Xia. “For now.” He stormed off, slamming the door.

I exhaled, muscles still tight, adrenaline crackling. Lin Yue grabbed my arm.

“What just happened?” she whispered.

“She saved us,” Liu Xia said. “Bold move. Smart. But Chen Guowei hates losing.”

I ran a hand down my face. One hour until the auction. One hour. Every second ticked like a bomb.

Across the street, the café smelled faintly of burnt coffee. Liu Xia spread our papers like a general on a battlefield map.

“Maximum bid, ninety thousand,” she said. “Ten thousand for fees and contingencies. Starting bid—forty thousand. Eastern district plots usually go sixty to seventy.”

Lin Yue’s voice shook. “So we should win comfortably.”

“Unless someone else has insider info.” Liu Xia’s eyes cut to mine. “Or unless—”

“Unless my mother drives the price up just to hurt us,” Lin Yue finished. Her voice was flat, deadly calm.

“Then we bid our maximum,” I said, voice tight. “Everything we have. No hesitation.”

Once it was 1:45 PM, we were seated in a conference room B with twenty chairs and a small podium. The auctioneer was fiddling with papers. Scattered around were five other bidders. No Tang family, no Chen Hao. My stomach unclenched a bit.

“Eastern district auction begins. Six plots today. Plot 41C first…”

I didn’t hear the first three. All focus on 47A.

“Plot 47A, eastern district, former factory site, 2,800 sqm, mixed commercial. Starting bid: forty thousand yuan.”

“Forty thousand,” said a man immediately.

“Forty-five thousand,” another countered.

“Fifty thousand,” I said, voice steady.

The gray-suited man at the back met my gaze. We went back and forth, hands tight, pulses loud in my ears.

Sixty-five… seventy… eighty thousand. The edge of our budget. My heart threatened to explode.

He dropped out. Relief, sweet and sharp. Victory—almost.

Then the door opened. Chen Hao. Smiling, flawless, dangerous.

“Am I in time for Plot 47A?” he asked, smooth as silk.

Lin Yue’s hand dug into mine under the table. This was sabotage attempt two.

Eighty-five thousand… ninety thousand. My ceiling.

“One hundred thousand,” Chen Hao said. Silence. My pulse surged.

My phone buzzed. [Emergency Option Unlocked: Use future knowledge to expose Chen Hao's real intent. Risk: High. Reward: Victory.]

I stood abruptly. “I challenge this bid.”

Auctioneer blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Bad faith bidding,” Liu Xia jumped in. “He has no intent to develop, only to artificially inflate price which is illegal.”

Chen Hao’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second. “This is completely baseless.”

“Really?” I leaned forward. “Then explain your development plan. Plot 47A. What exactly will you build?”

“Proprietary—” His micro-expression gave him away. No plan.

“Then your bid is in bad faith,” Liu Xia said, pulling out a document. “Affidavit: no financial ties to Tang Mei. Sign it. Standard procedure.”

Chen Hao froze. His jaw tightened. He couldn’t sign, couldn’t refuse without invalidating the bid.

“I… need to make a phone call,” he finally said.

Wang Min’s voice cut in from the doorway: “I’m supervising this auction. His bid is invalid. The winning bid goes to Mr. Li Feng and Mrs. Lin Yue. Finalize the paperwork.”

Chen Hao’s mask cracked. He glared at me. “This isn’t over.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “It is.”

Thirty minutes later, the deed was ours. Lin Yue whispered, “We did it. We actually did it.”

“Three weeks,” I said. “This plot would birth—millions.”

My phone buzzed.

[Mission Complete: First fortune secured. Timeline integrity: 58%. Major changes achieved. Warning: Tang Mei will escalate. Chen Hao now sees you as a threat. War has begun.]

I gripped the deed like a shield. Let them come. This time, I was ready.