“Sister Zhan.”

The knocking outside grew more urgent with each strike. In the brief intervals of silence, Su Zan’s voice rumbled like muffled thunder above the clouds, suppressed and pressing: “Something’s happened.”

Those three short words seemed to squeeze through the gaps in the door frame, rough and low.

Shen Qianzhan’s last traces of drowsiness vanished completely in this unreasonably agitated morning.

She rose to answer the door.

The moment her feet touched the floor, an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back onto the bed.

Ji Qinghe’s gaze dropped slightly, subtly indicating her current state of dress.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the low-cut neckline exposed the kiss marks on her chest completely. The cutout designs at her waist revealed her snow-satin white skin, making her already slender waist appear even more delicate, as if it could be grasped in one hand.

This silk nightgown was short and sheer, clinging to her body. It was not only visually alluring but particularly arousing.

Shen Qianzhan realized belatedly, glancing at him silently.

Ji Qinghe embraced her lightly, soothing: “No rush. I’ll get the door, you go change in the bathroom.”

He moved past Shen Qianzhan, barefoot on the floor, walking to the door. He looked back once, and seeing her enter the bathroom with clothes in her arms, only then did he turn slightly and open the door.

Outside stood Su Zan, the production supervisor, the line producer, and the assistant director in charge of overseeing costumes and props.

At the moment of confrontation, except for Su Zan, the others all froze, looking with unclear expressions at Consultant Ji who appeared in Shen Qianzhan’s room with his upper body bare.

Inside the room, the phone continued ringing stubbornly.

Ji Qinghe quickly withdrew his examining gaze, looking at Su Zan: “What happened?”

Su Zan didn’t answer but asked instead: “Where’s Sister Zhan?”

His expression was urgent, his brow darkened like gathering storm clouds, shrouded in an undispellable gloom.

Ji Qinghe, observing his expression, knew the incident affecting the crew was significant and extremely troublesome.

His heart sank as he stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. He followed last, closed the door, picked up the shirt hanging on the sofa, quickly dressed, and sat down.

Su Zan was burning with urgency, opening his mouth several times to speak, but held back because of Ji Qinghe’s presence, forcing himself to wait patiently.

Soon after, the bathroom light went out. Shen Qianzhan emerged, fully dressed.

The entire process hadn’t taken long, but the matter awaiting her attention was so urgent that Su Zan felt he had waited through countless sunrises and sunsets, the turning of four seasons, endlessly long.

He rushed forward, his lips trembling twice. As if finding it difficult to speak, he struggled before managing: “The crew member watching the props last night… died suddenly.”

Shen Qianzhan froze, thinking she’d misheard: “Died suddenly?”

She instinctively looked at the others who had come with Su Zan. The moment they met her gaze, they all fell silent, lowering their heads to avoid eye contact.

“Yes, sudden death.” Su Zan struggled to continue: “The crew member’s surname was Chen, from the props department. He was on duty last night, guarding the ancient bell. This morning the line producer went to deliver breakfast, knocked but got no response, so hung the breakfast on the door handle. When the replacement shift arrived at eight, the incoming crew member found Old Chen already cold.”

Shen Qianzhan’s vision blurred, as if vast blanks like snowflakes obscured her sight.

Her face turned paper-white, extremely unsightly.

The disturbing phone ring resumed after a brief silence.

Shen Qianzhan suddenly turned, staring fixedly at the phone on the nightstand.

She had no time to deal with this call right now.

The news Su Zan brought was too sudden, difficult for her to process.

Accidental deaths on film sets weren’t unheard of, but Shen Qianzhan’s crews always prioritized safety. Before filming began, everyone from directors and actors to every crew member was covered by life insurance.

Work hours were also reasonably managed, not blindly rushing schedules or endlessly exploiting labor.

How could… an accident have happened?

The more she thought, the more her heart chilled. She felt like someone who had lost footing while climbing high, suddenly suspended in midair, panic overwhelming her.

Her cold fingers covered her lips as she forced herself to calm down quickly and think of solutions.

But at crucial moments, everything seemed to fall apart.

Her mind felt knotted like a tangled rope. In her confusion, she didn’t know where to begin.

The disturbing ringing continued, and her thoughts seemed frozen solid, a thousand miles of ice, completely blank.

She stood in the wind, so cold her teeth chattered. Her organs felt twisted together in knots, aching dully.

Gradually, she became unsteady on her feet. Her fingers curled as she supported herself against the wall, weathering waves of gnawing pain.

Ji Qinghe was the first to notice her distress.

He rose inconspicuously, and when he reached her side, gently gripped her shoulder, reminding her quietly: “Answer the phone first.”

The phone had been ringing since eight o’clock without pause, clearly indicating something urgent requiring such persistent calling.

Shen Qianzhan looked up at him.

Ji Qinghe unobtrusively supported her lower back until she stood straight, then released her and went to get her phone.

His grip and support eased her physical discomfort somewhat.

After taking the phone and answering the call, Shen Qianzhan’s tone returned to its usual cold, business-like manner, speaking quickly and steadily: “Please state your business quickly.” She omitted the subject, turning slightly away, speaking quietly: “I have urgent business to handle here. Can you finish in one minute?”

Shen’s mother finally got through, her voice hoarse with exhaustion from a sleepless night: “Deng Deng, I haven’t been able to contact your father since last night. His phone keeps showing ‘cannot connect,’ and I’m worried…”

Her voice broke, becoming more choked: “I’m worried something happened.”

“I also called your father’s fishing companions, but couldn’t reach any of them. I was afraid of false alarms, so I kept calling and calling all night. But at eight this morning he’s still unreachable, and I’m out of options and ideas…”

Shen Qianzhan gripped the phone, standing rigid and motionless.

The air conditioning blew like melting Arctic glaciers, carrying bone-deep cold. Even the sunlight streaming into the room couldn’t dispel the chill in her heart.

She parted her lips to speak, but found emptiness when the words reached her mouth.

She couldn’t make sound or speak. The heat from the phone receiver against her ear caused slight stinging pain.

She closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, her gaze was unfocused, as if unable to see the path ahead clearly.

Her heart felt torn open, with someone continuously filling it with stones, making it sink deeper and deeper until it plunged into frozen seawater, cold and bitter.

She wanted to say she couldn’t leave now – the crew had a sudden death, requiring cause-of-death determination, notification of the deceased’s family, insurance company claims, a pile of matters to handle.

But she couldn’t voice it.

Old Shen’s disappearance at sea wasn’t a minor matter like cutting a finger while chopping vegetables or falling while walking.

She could imagine how Shen’s mother had gradually descended into despair and fear through a night of unanswered calls, and with what hope she now sought help. But with both crises occurring simultaneously, she struggled to balance her responsibilities as a producer with her duties as a daughter, like a lone sail that could only dock at one shore.

This sense of powerlessness gradually swallowed her, then instantly tore her to pieces, scattering her like dust into the ocean.

Her lips trembled as she remained silent.

However, the prolonged silence left both Shen’s mother and Su Zan in increasingly anxious waiting, like being trapped in a deadlock with all routes blocked, only able to wait for the air to run out and gradually suffocate.

Shen Qianzhan’s head throbbed painfully.

She curled her fingers, pressing her knuckles hard against her brow.

During this standoff, Ji Qinghe took the phone from her palm. He looked deeply at Shen Qianzhan, his eyes calm and steady: “I heard some of it. If you trust me, leave your father’s matter to me.”

He slightly turned, covering the receiver, indicating she shouldn’t be distracted and should focus on handling the crew’s problems.

His eyes were profound and bright, seemingly powerful enough to shatter the transparent glass dome that had imprisoned her.

Shen Qianzhan seemed to awaken only then – she was no longer alone.

When weathering storms, being able to withstand them herself was certainly best. But when powerless and unable to manage everything, she had another path to the summit, someone she could rely on with confidence.

This strange sense of trust was one where he need not say a word yet made her feel incredibly secure; knowing he was behind her, there was always a way out, bringing calm and composure.

Both unfamiliar and refreshing.

Ji Qinghe took the call, first introducing himself: “Hello, Auntie, this is Ji Qinghe.”

He didn’t elaborate on his identity, walking to the observation deck at the corridor’s end while gently closing the door behind him.

Shen’s mother had already retrieved all memories related to him from their brief conversation moments ago.

Ji Qinghe had left such a deep impression that even after that New Year’s Eve meeting, she remembered this young man of exceptional bearing and elegance clearly.

“Mr. Ji.”

Ji Qinghe paused slightly: “Please just call me Qinghe, Auntie.” He briefly mentioned Shen Qianzhan was busy, speaking calmly and deliberately: “Please tell me about Uncle’s situation again, and I’ll see if I can help.”

Shen’s mother agreed and repeated what she had told Shen Qianzhan.

After thinking briefly and asking several more questions, Ji Qinghe reassured her: “Most islands in coastal waters are leased to farmers for seafood cultivation. The shipping routes for seafood transport are usually well-established. Uncle’s route is the same as before, so there shouldn’t be safety issues. It’s probably the storm affecting signals, causing the communication breakdown.”

His speech was steady and reasoned, without subjective speculation.

“Qianzhan can’t leave right now. If you trust me, please note my contact information and send me Uncle’s route. I’ll contact the maritime rescue team immediately and go together.” Ji Qinghe held the phone, pausing briefly: “We originally planned to visit you both the day after tomorrow with Qianzhan. Due to this emergency, I apologize for the breach of etiquette.”

Shen’s mother had already considered this possibility. Hearing his words, she felt greatly reassured and repeatedly agreed: “We’re the ones troubling you.”

After hanging up, Shen’s mother sniffled, her heart finally settling after a night of anxiety.

She quickly gathered herself and sent over Old Shen’s route, phone number, and his fishing companions’ contact information.

At the same time.

Having regained her professional composure, Shen Qianzhan immediately decided to visit the scene.

“Have you called the police? What about the ambulance?”

“Is someone watching the scene?”

“Who else in the crew knows about this?”

Her speech was steady and rapid, firing questions like bullets.

“Police called.” The assistant director answered: “Assistant Qiao and the two other crew members responsible for watching the ancient bell are at the scene.”

Shen Qianzhan asked: “What about the crew member who came for the shift change this morning?”

“He’s also surnamed Chen, from the same hometown as Old Chen. To distinguish them, we call him Little Chen, also from props.” Walking through the corridor, the assistant director lowered his voice: “Little Chen was quite shaken. I had someone take him to the adjacent room to rest and placed all relevant crew members under supervision.”

“Well done.” Shen Qianzhan entered the elevator first, pressing the floor button: “Have the hotel and Old Chen’s family been notified?”

“Not the family yet.” The production supervisor continued: “‘Sudden death’ is just our current classification. The specific cause of death must wait for police investigation.”

Shen Qianzhan frowned: “Find out about Old Chen’s family situation and notify them promptly as appropriate.”

Old Chen’s accidental death occurred at his workplace. Regardless of the cause, the crew must compensate the family.

Though she felt sorry for the loss of life, the best handling approach now was strictly business – minimize negative impact first, then negotiate compensation later.

She sighed, rubbing her throbbing temples: “What about Director Shao and Mr. Fu?”

“Director Shao started work early. The filming crew knows nothing.”

Shen Qianzhan nodded: “Notify them when cooperation is needed, but don’t let news leak.”

She instinctively reached for her phone, finding nothing before remembering Ji Qinghe had taken it. Concerned about Shen’s mother’s situation, as she stepped out of the elevator and was about to ask Su Zan to find Ji Qinghe, Su Zan’s phone rang first.

Su Zan, severely shocked this morning, looked ashen and hadn’t recovered. Hearing the ringtone, he reflexively startled.

Seeing the caller ID, he consciously handed the phone to Shen Qianzhan: “Mr. Ji’s call.”

Shen Qianzhan took it. Before she could speak, he said: “I’ve contacted the maritime rescue team about Uncle’s situation. I’m going there personally to assess things. Based on Auntie’s account, Uncle is probably just experiencing signal interruption. I asked the rescue team captain – that route is coastal with frequent fishing and commercial vessels, regular coast guard patrols. Safety shouldn’t be a major concern, so you can rest assured.”

The room specially arranged for the ancient bell was at the corridor’s end. Shen Qianzhan stopped, indicating Su Zan and others should go ahead while she followed shortly.

“You’re going there?” Shen Qianzhan was somewhat worried.

“Without being on scene personally, no one can feel at ease. Besides…” Ji Qinghe paused: “If anything changes, being there allows immediate decisions.”

He didn’t elaborate further, taking car keys as he headed to the parking garage: “What’s your situation?”

“Still unclear. The assistant director called police, now we’re waiting for them to arrive.”

“According to legal provisions, when employed staff die suddenly from illness during work hours at the workplace, legal responsibility is generally borne by the film company.” Ji Qinghe’s tone was steady, speaking quietly: “Prepare to face the family and try to avoid conflicts.”

“I understand.” Shen Qianzhan’s mood fell, an indescribable bitterness rising in her heart. “Be safe.”

Ji Qinghe gave a soft acknowledgment: “Don’t worry, we’ll stay in constant contact.” After speaking, he added: “I’ll return as soon as possible.”

Shen Qianzhan: “Alright.”

They rarely spoke so calmly and peacefully on the phone.

Despite this chaotic and extremely turbulent morning, her heart remained steady, beating calmly in her chest.

She knew she had many words and feelings to express, but she and Ji Qinghe were each manning their posts – one guarding the crew, the other conquering the seas, busy in their respective directions.

There was no time to calm these restless, anxious emotions.

With mixed feelings, after a long while, she softly thanked him: “Ji Qinghe, thank you.”

The other end was quiet for several seconds before he asked: “Need to be so formal?”

Shen Qianzhan turned around, facing away from the corridor.

Sunlight was gentle, filtering through branches in countless threads into the corner.

She watched the tiny dust motes spinning in the light beams, explaining quietly: “Not being formal.”

She simply wanted to thank him.

The sound of a car door slamming came through the phone, followed by the engine starting, the fuel gauge needle jumping lightly.

Ji Qinghe asked: “Where’s Su Zan? Put him on.”

Shen Qianzhan looked back at Su Zan standing at the room entrance: “He’s a bit far from me. Should I relay the message?”

“You can’t relay this.” As the car stereo began playing music softly, he said quietly: “Asking him to look after you – that kind of message needs to be said personally to have sincerity.”