The figure before her began to blur. She tried to reach for the pendant around her neck—which doubled as an alarm and tracker—but her hand was caught midway. Someone asked, “What’s wrong with you? Perhaps you should lie down for a while?”

Fan Jia bit her lip hard and forced a smile. “No need, President Zhou. Weren’t you going to take me to dinner? Let me think about it, let’s go eat first…” But she had already fallen into his embrace. Someone was caressing her face, cursing softly, “Little girl, trying to leave? Not a chance. You’re the one, and we’ll take it slow—there’s still so much fun to be had.”

Fan Jia used all her strength to push him away and ran for the door. But after just two steps, he caught up. He struck her face hard with his palm, then grabbed her waist, dragging her toward the sofa. Fan Jia’s anger flared—despite her stumbling state, she drove her elbow into his chest, then landed an uppercut straight to his face. President Zhou never expected this seemingly weak, half-conscious female student to have such skills. Blood gushed from his nose as he staggered back a step, both angry and shocked.

Fan Jia’s fighting spirit was roused. Though severely dizzy, taking down a middle-aged scumbag wasn’t beyond her capabilities. She grabbed the large glass ashtray from the coffee table and swung it viciously at President Zhou’s head. He dodged the first strike clumsily and started to call out, “Quick, come—” But Fan Jia swung back with another blow, connecting squarely with his head. He swayed once before collapsing to the ground.

Fan Jia ran outside, only to look up and see several figures walking toward her from the distance. Fortunately, there were stairs on both sides. She closed the door and immediately headed downstairs. By the second floor, she nearly collapsed. Knowing she was about to lose consciousness, she felt for her neck and went cold—the alarm and tracking pendant were gone, surely torn off during her struggle with President Zhou.

The second floor was still quiet, the corridor empty. But footsteps from above were getting closer. Although she had closed the door, how long could that buy her? If they discovered President Zhou lying in a pool of blood, they would come after her. With her head spinning and limbs weakening, Fan Jia struggled to maintain consciousness as she opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

The room was dark and quiet, apparently a storage room. Fan Jia felt her way along the shelves, inching toward the window. Looking at the dim light filtering in from outside, she thought, this was the second floor—with her skills, jumping would at worst result in broken bones. You Mingxu and the others would surely see her, and she could get the evidence out. Perfect. The two girls’ wrongful deaths could finally be vindicated.

She managed to crawl to the window, her vision going dark, nearly passed out. She could only hear her rapid breathing. She bit her lip hard, tasting blood, then grabbed the windowsill. Just as she was about to climb out, there was movement behind her. An ice-cold hand reached around her waist from behind, while another covered her mouth.

Fan Jia’s eyes went wide, tears instantly welling up. But she had no strength left to resist as the person slowly pulled her back into the darkness. Fan Jia hazily heard footsteps running past outside. She desperately wanted to look back, but the person held her firmly. In their struggle, they knocked over a nearby shelf, sending items clattering to the floor. But the person’s hand remained tightly clamped over her mouth, holding her in an iron grip. Finally, Fan Jia’s vision went black, and she collapsed in their arms.