At one-thirty in the morning, the massive engine sound of a low-flying plane rumbled above the terminal. Long Qi looked at the person across from her, a certain nerve reacting sensitively. Her neck stiffened as she slowly asked, “What?”

……

Five minutes later, she sat in the Land Rover’s passenger seat, looking at Fang Xuan’s phone screen. Fang Xuan was driving. The spiked club lay in the back seat. Her forehead was red and swollen.

On the phone screen was a forum discussion post with extremely high traffic, already pushed to the homepage. The poster had put up a high-definition paparazzi photo of Long Qi shooting an advertisement in Hawaii. At the time, she had worn an extremely thin high-waisted T-shirt, exposing her slender waist, talking with her assistant on the beach. But the image zoomed in on a faint horizontal scar on her abdomen. On the second floor, they posted a photo of Jin Yiken previously taken by reporters—him holding a baby down hospital steps with a maternity nurse following behind.

Title: Doesn’t anyone find this suspicious? Long Qi has a scar on her abdomen, the Jin family has a new baby, my mom says that scar looks exactly like one from a C-section…

“Sick.” Long Qi immediately read it aloud.

Fang Xuan shot her a glance: “Really has nothing to do with you?”

“That’s his sister. Didn’t Wu Jiakui tell you?” She continued scrolling down.

“I haven’t asked her yet.”

The replies in the thread were mostly shocked while agreeing with the poster. One floor said: I heard from her fans before that whether filming MVs or visiting new drama sets, they rarely saw her in person. Every time it was assistants receiving people… Thinking about it this way, she really was inconvenient to see people…

Another floor said: Did she “give birth” at the beginning of this year? I don’t know about anything else, but I do know Long Qi’s exposure only gradually increased starting this year.

A rebuttal floor: If she was really pregnant, wouldn’t it have been obvious? Remember the fashion show at the gala last December? Could someone who really gave birth be like that? Please use your brain when throwing shade!

A counter-rebuttal floor: Some people’s constitutions just don’t show the belly. My sister was like that. Long Qi’s Weibo went a while without updating status or photos, and even the paparazzi photos that were taken showed her wearing oversized coats. She probably was pregnant.

A catty floor: Is Wu Jiakui going to be a stepmom?

And a floor “pretending to be in the know”: Heard from a friend—Long Qi planned to marry into the Jin family with a pregnancy and then retire from the industry to become a rich wife. But the Jin family only wanted the baby, not her. She wanted to get back with Jin Yiken, used underhanded tactics, and lost both the lady and the soldiers. This is an open secret in the industry.

Her finger slowly stopped when scrolling to the reply with the highest response count.

Poster: Real info. One of my close friends knows a boy from Beifan High School. That boy said he personally witnessed Jin and Long Qi discussing the child, but Jin discovered and threatened him at the time. He only told my friend about this when pursuing her. Counting the time, if it happened then, it indeed matches up…

She remembered the boy who had been eavesdropping when she and Jin Yiken had dinner to discuss matters.

Her chest rose and fell steadily. She continued clicking to the next page. The subsequent discussion gradually went off track. All sorts of hearsay emerged. The most conspicuous one was: Do you really believe Long Qi and Jin had a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship? Do you believe she was the school SLUT in high school?

Reply: True or false???

Response: Reliable source, guaranteed authentic. Jin was her major sponsor. Later he got tired of playing with her. Now he’s seriously dating Wu Jiakui. Long Qi and Jin’s relationship is an open secret in the rich boys’ circle. At the time, quite a few wanted to keep Long Qi, but she climbed up to Jin, flew up to the branches, and looked down on others. Ha ha, her fans are so pitiful. So what if she’s gorgeous? Isn’t she still priced and sold? The child she just gave birth to—who knows if it’s even the man’s. Taking the baby away is for DNA testing. Otherwise, how could they separate? Did you think the Jin family was that easy to enter?

She finally understood how disgusting these two words “spread rumors” could be.

The second she finished reading the reply, she suddenly threw the phone toward the front of the car. Fang Xuan nearly screamed: “This is my phone!!”

Screaming aside, the steering wheel didn’t veer an inch. Fang Xuan immediately yelled at her: “Why don’t you create a burner account to curse back instead of throwing my phone! Do they know you’re angry? Only my phone knows you’re angry! But what the hell does this have to do with my phone!”

“You’re annoying again.” Long Qi glared at her.

“And you’re yelling at me?!” Fang Xuan freed one hand to shove her shoulder once. “Yelling at me!”

Long Qi stood up to drag the spiked club from the back seat. Fang Xuan’s steering wheel veered at that moment. She desperately pulled her back with her free right hand: “Calm down, calm down. I’ll give you my burner account, I’ll give you my burner!”

Later, sitting back in the passenger seat, Fang Xuan had straightened the steering wheel, looking at her in shock. She searched through her WeChat contact list for Dou Junyun’s chat window, pulled up Jin Yiken’s phone number, and dialed directly. Fang Xuan asked, “Who are you calling?”

“Stop annoying me!”

“You fuck—”

Just as Fang Xuan’s curse word emerged, after two ring tones, the other end clicked—the other party answered. Her voice drowned out Fang Xuan’s voice, pressing over like an overwhelming tide: “Three months after breaking up and I can still be dragged into your mess—I’m impressed. Jin Yiken, if you want to date Wu Jiakui, fine! First clean up your baggage! Stop letting people throw dirty water on me at every turn…”

“How did you get the scar?”

Jin Yiken’s voice was calm and measured. After her overwhelming tirade, he asked steadily in return. After two months, no noise, no wind sound. Her fire wasn’t fully vented yet. She paused for a second.

“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow,” he continued.

……

Click.

In that moment of Long Qi’s distraction, he hung up. The fire still brewed in her throat. Fang Xuan shoved her again: “What did he say?”

“I don’t know!” She looked at Fang Xuan irritably. “You’re so annoying!”

“Hey, believe it or not I’ll dump you in the middle of the road!”

But Fang Xuan ultimately didn’t dump her in the middle of the road—afraid of getting points deducted for stopping on the highway. This girl’s mouth was always tougher than her actions. In the end, she still drove Long Qi back to Yiming Bay. She still hadn’t calmed down when getting out of the car. She dragged her suitcase and walked off. Fang Xuan opened the driver’s door, half her body emerging above the car roof, shouting at her: “Your face is really thick! You’re not treating me to crayfish? My gas isn’t free, you know!”

“Next time.”

“What did you say??” Fang Xuan didn’t hear clearly and raised her voice to shout.

She spun around fiercely: “I said next time!!”

Back at the apartment, the suitcase slid across the living room. She lay down on the sofa. Lao Ping sent her messages. Turned out these online rumors had shown signs a week ago. Originally just a few people replying in the thread. Later, a marketing account with a large following noticed and posted about it—sparks started a prairie fire. It only exploded tonight. He had investigated. Most of those discussing the pregnancy topic were real-name IDs with little fabrication—normal gossip. But later, several IDs that derailed the topic toward “school prostitute” were found to all be fanatical fans from Wu Jiakui’s side.

These fanatical fans had been watching her since she joined the same production as Wu Jiakui, convinced she had stolen their idol’s role. They acted like they wanted to reclaim justice for their idol. This time, they somehow dug up information from some “reliable source.” Whenever they saw posts unfavorable to her, they went to fan the flames in the replies—making things up shamelessly.

“There’s no way to communicate with Wu Jiakui’s side about this. Individual fans’ unilateral behavior—they won’t acknowledge it,” Lao Ping said. “If we really pursue it, we’ll be labeled with the ‘hype’ tag the outside world has stuck on us. We can only ignore it for now. Besides, our fans are also exploding right now. The two groups are cursing each other furiously. If you respond, in the outside world’s view, it becomes ‘the principal parties tearing into each other.’ Not only would attention be higher and broader, but it would escalate into a different nature of incident. Ugly.”

After saying this, he sent her a Weibo link. She clicked in—it was Wu Jiakui’s team’s official Weibo.

They were clever indeed.

Before the incident fermented, the team’s Weibo posted a photo of her boarding her return flight from England to attend the Asia-America Awards. So no matter how big this got, Wu Jiakui was on a plane right now with her phone off, hearing nothing about the outside world. No blame could be pinned on her. The flight was thirteen hours long—plenty of time for her team to do thorough crisis management. It also conveniently reminded melon-eating masses to pay attention to the latest Asia-America Awards, where Wu Jiakui was the youngest Best Actress candidate.

In any case, she absolutely wouldn’t touch this matter.

“So there’s no way to break this situation?” she asked Lao Ping. “I’ve just become a child-bearing school socialite?”

“Silence is the best response.”

Lao Ping answered.

But the situation was broken that very night.

The one who broke it was Jin Yiken.

Lao Ping hadn’t even figured out what measures to take when Jin Yiken’s measures arrived—simple and brutal.

At four in the morning, the official Weibo of the country’s most powerful law firm issued lawyer’s letters targeting the marketing account and rumor-spreading IDs. At the beginning of the lawyer’s letter, prominently displayed were the words “commissioned by Mr. Jin Yiken.” All the IDs that had spread rumors about him and Long Qi’s high school past were listed—major and minor accounts, not one missed. Because “the pregnancy, childbirth, and kept woman information about Mr. Jin Yiken and Miss Long Qi spread by the aforementioned infringers is completely false and malicious,” and “this behavior has seriously violated the legal personal rights and interests of Mr. Jin Yiken and Miss Long Qi,” therefore “our law firm has accepted the commission and preserved evidence of the relevant infringement. If the infringers do not stop their infringement or expand the consequences of infringement damage, this law firm will accept further commission from the rights holders to pursue all legal responsibilities of all infringers through legal channels.”

Among these named statements was also one spreading rumors that he and Wu Jiakui already had a romantic relationship.

No fancy PR, no ninety-nine twists and turns in rhetoric—one legal document in objective, calm black and white silenced that night’s turbulent social network. The marketing account deleted their post. The forum poster also deleted their thread. The situation subtly reversed. Wu Jiakui’s fans who had been clamoring arrogantly before were invisibly slapped in the face. The principal party Wu Jiakui was still on the plane at this point, “completely unaware.”

This was his style.

Law firms only started work at nine. This lawyer’s letter was issued in the early morning—timely and effective. When the masses woke up and opened their eyes, the first topic they saw was only the marketing account’s apology. And while doing these things, he had no discussion with her whatsoever.

At five in the morning, she sat on the sofa looking at the rumor topic that had already been removed from trending. Every time she refreshed, the topic’s heat dropped one rank. “Long Qi Jin Yiken” as a topic took its place in the top five—old news recycled. But she knew this wasn’t Jin Yiken’s “mercy.” It was precisely because this matter involved him—he was clearing dirty water off himself and incidentally pulling her out too.

Also his style.

Lao Ping sent a message telling her to come to the studio at nine in the morning to try on clothes. Fire&Gun had sent over the dress she would wear to tonight’s Asia-America Awards.

“This storm hasn’t completely passed. You still have to appear at the same venue as Wu Jiakui tonight. The war online is over, but the paper media are all watching eagerly. Get adequate rest and prepare well.”

Long Qi replied: You useless manager.

Lao Ping: …Okay, got it, ancestor.

Then she switched back to her phone’s call history. Her finger paused for a few seconds on the number dialed around one in the morning—paused on Jin Yiken’s number.

In England right now, it should be around eleven at night.

The sky showed a white belly. Dawn light and early morning breeze drifted onto the balcony. She sat on the sofa and pressed the dial button.

Put it to her ear.

From dialing out to waiting for the call to connect—these brief few seconds—the other end of the phone was silent. She breathed. Her finger tapped on her knee once, once, once in slow motion.

On the fourth tap, she suddenly cut off the call. The dial hadn’t even succeeded before she slid it along with the phone onto the coffee table. She still leaned back on the sofa, rubbed her forehead, and let out a sigh.

Considering last night’s turmoil, Fire&Gun’s delivered dress had been adjusted at the last minute.

Originally it was a conventional Greek-style floor-length gown, but now it had changed from a one-piece long dress to a two-piece set. The top was a white thin spaghetti strap, backless, with the straps made of connected diamonds that crossed decoratively on the back. The bottom was a black goddess skirt with a slit exposing long legs. The waist had a hollow design exposing smooth abdomen—a commanding presence.

Exposing the abdomen was the key point.

This brand really knew how to adapt on the fly.

Lao Ping was also satisfied with this arrangement. Her waist was slender anyway—no fear of exposing it. It also helped break the nonsense about pregnancy and childbirth.

The awards ceremony opened at eight. The red carpet began at six. The livestream started at five. Various fan groups and hundreds of media outlets were stationed on site. The host lineup was in full battle formation. Light from the ground was sufficient to illuminate the night, making everyone’s skin glow brightly. The April breeze wandered. She sat in the back of the entry car, elbow propped against the window, playing mobile games.

Tonight she was just walking through formalities as an invited guest—no work, no nominations. She’d sit as an audience member for four hours in the venue, still having to watch Wu Jiakui’s nomination. She hadn’t wanted to come in the first place, but Zang Xipu had invited her early on to be his female companion. She benefited from this connection—able to walk the red carpet as the finale. Lao Ping was forcing her onto the stage like driving a duck.

She was still playing that Doodle Jump app game. Even now, she hadn’t surpassed Jin Yiken’s high score left inside. Just as she was getting close, the rear window suddenly rose. Her elbow was bumped. The little monster in the game suddenly jumped into empty space and fell downward with a “whoosh.” She blurted out: “Damn.”

Lao Ping in the passenger seat immediately turned to look at her. Zang Xipu smiled.

She looked up at Lao Ping. Lao Ping’s eyes slanted toward Zang Xipu. Only then did she slowly exit the game. However, Zang Xipu said, “Let me try?”

She looked over.

Zang Xipu extended his right hand toward her, his index and middle fingers lightly hooking. She placed the phone in his palm. Lao Ping relaxed and turned back around.

“I’ve seen my nephew play this before.” He took it and started operating.

“How old is Teacher Zang’s nephew?”

“About your age.”

“And he still plays this?” She crossed her legs, elbow propped on her knee, the back of her hand against her chin. “Just me playing this has gotten me plenty of disdain.”

Zang Xipu glanced at her: “He was pursuing a girl. That girl loved playing this.”

“Did he succeed?”

“His current girlfriend doesn’t like playing games. I think he probably didn’t succeed.”

His tone carried a smile.

The little monster kept jumping upward with “duang” sound effects. Long Qi propped her chin watching. The car slowly advanced. Outside the window, lights were just coming on. The faint screams of fans at the red carpet area and the host’s voice drifted over.

“Teacher Zang seems to be one of this Asia-America Awards’ jury members?” she asked casually.

Lao Ping in the passenger seat looked up, watching her through the rearview mirror.

“Mm.”

“Then you know the list of winners for this session of the Asia-America Awards?”

Lao Ping fake-coughed in the front seat.

“Do you want to know?” Zang Xipu asked in return. With this question, Lao Ping really did cough, frantically patting his chest in the front seat.

Long Qi ignored it.

“Isn’t there something like a confidentiality agreement? If you tell me, would it violate the rules?”

The little monster kept jumping upward. Zang Xipu’s attention seemed completely focused on the phone. He replied to her: “With me, you can have no rules, Qiqi.”

Long Qi’s gaze then drifted to Lao Ping. She shrugged her shoulders lightly—an expression of “See, he insists on telling me.” Lao Ping made a zipping motion over his mouth, warning her not to take advantage of favor and push for more.

“Who’s Best Actress?” she turned her head to ask.

Lao Ping rolled his eyes.

Zang Xipu operated the game, responding gently: “Do you have someone in mind?”

“The frontrunners are those two.”

“Indeed between those two.”

Her finger pressed against her chin, looking at Zang Xipu. Lao Ping fake-coughed again in the front seat, trying to interrupt her inquiry. Instead, Zang Xipu said without evasion: “It’s Jiakui.”

Her finger lightly separated from her chin. She leaned back against the chair back. No expression changed on her face. Zang Xipu asked, “Disappointed?”

“No.”

“The judging process proceeds in three stages, covering professionals both in front of and behind the camera. Jiakui’s performance is indeed more outstanding than in the past, especially one silent scene—breakthrough-level performance. Her future is immeasurable. Although Xi Jing is also good, she lacks a bit of spirit.”

……

“However.”

Long Qi looked at him.

“You only debuted last year. This year there’s no work from you, but next year there will be. I hope next year it’s you.”

As he said this, he finally also looked toward her. Their gazes met in the quiet car compartment. After less than two seconds, she immediately pointed at the phone: “Pay attention to your game.”

The little monster fell downward with a “whoosh,” but he smiled and handed the phone back to her: “Had dinner with Director Shao last week. He mentioned you.”

Lao Ping’s gaze drifted over from the rearview mirror again. Long Qi looked at the data on the game page. Jin Yiken’s record had been refreshed by Zang Xipu, reaching a new high score.

Her finger tapped on the edge of the phone body.

“He said you didn’t go to last month’s Border audition.”

“I was abroad the whole time after that. Only came back yesterday.”

“A pity. Director Shao’s drama is very good.”

“The audition role Director Shao gave me was the second female lead,” she spoke slowly. “That role is very marginal. I don’t like it.”

“Which role do you like?”

“If I liked one, I would fight for it.”

Long Qi replied.

The car slowly stopped. Outside the car window was a red carpet hundreds of meters long and flashing lights from various media outlets. Before opening the door, Zang Xipu left one sentence: “Qiqi, circles are more important than status. Director Shao’s films compete for international awards.”

Then an overwhelming wave of applause surged through the door crack into the car compartment. After Zang Xipu got out, he bent down to extend his hand toward her inside the car.

Hundreds of meters of red carpet, countless magnesium lights. The scene was full of reporters’ questions and fans’ screams. Before she even hooked Zang Xipu’s arm, he took her hand—quite firmly. As she arranged her skirt hem, he steadily supported her.

Arriving at the signature wall, reporters swarmed to take photos. Lenses instinctively swept toward her abdomen. Zang Xipu’s hand rested on her lower back. When it was about time, he made a pressing gesture to the reporters.

The flashing lights gradually weakened. The host came forward for a brief interview.

Near the end of the interview, according to the schedule, the red carpet segment should wrap up and end. But another black Lincoln drove up to the red carpet entrance. Long Qi looked that way and saw the car door open. Led by the film director she had worked with on set, Wu Jiakui got out.

“Miss Wu Jiakui’s flight was delayed. The red carpet order was temporarily adjusted.” The host covered the microphone and quietly reminded them, looking rather awkward. She also said several times to Zang Xipu, “Sorry, Teacher Zang, so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Zang Xipu always used a caring tone toward the younger generation.

But the reporters weren’t so kind. One by one they waited for the drama of “two flowers in sharp confrontation.” They called out to Long Qi, using the excuse of taking a few more photos to keep her there.

Wu Jiakui was coming from the entrance. She wore a nude gauze dress—slender shoulders, skin luminously white. Quite ethereal maiden feeling. Her usually ear-length short hair was loosely tied up. The earrings by her neck swayed in the breeze, gently swinging. Innocent yet wicked.

Bright eyes, smile on her lips.

Her fans screamed.

Long Qi followed Zang Xipu up the steps. The distance between the two sides widened. Reporters still called to her from behind. She turned a deaf ear.

But once inside the venue, it was beyond her control. Zang Xipu, as the ceremony’s opening speaker, first went backstage. Long Qi stopped in the aisle between the seats, turned backward, and happened to encounter Wu Jiakui descending the steps toward her. Wu Jiakui slowly walked down. Both sides of seats were full. The awards ceremony was about to begin. The two met on a narrow path, looking at each other with considerable patience. Then Long Qi passed by her, heading toward the seat labeled with her own name. Wu Jiakui gently swayed her handbag’s chain: “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“But I’m too lazy to discuss sleep issues with you.”

“Guess if it was because of the awards ceremony or because of certain rumors?”

“Probably because someone slapped your face.”

“Your rumors were broken in one night, while I’m still being chased to have hats put on me,” she smiled faintly. “People all think I was scheming against you.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t you scheming against me. You’re as innocent as a white lotus.”

Long Qi walked up one step. The two were side by side. Wu Jiakui’s hand then gripped Long Qi’s arm, making her pause mid-step.

“Right,” she said. “It wasn’t me scheming against you. Someone was scheming against me.”

Eyes meeting, spoken steadily and briefly. Then the force on her arm disappeared. Wu Jiakui descended to the next step, crossing past her. She smiled and bowed to greet the elder ahead, accompanying them to their seats.

Long Qi looked at her once from where she stood.

During the subsequent awards ceremony, she sat in her seat with her phone on silent, playing games. Playing enthusiastically when she received a text from Lao Ping telling her to put the phone down. The livestream camera had just swept over her and captured her game page ID number crystal clear—it was on trending topics. She rubbed her forehead and exited the game. The big screen ahead happened to be showing film industry predecessors’ blessings for this session of the Asia-America Awards, just cutting to Yan Wenjing.

Warm applause erupted in the venue.

Yan Wenjing was truly exceptionally beautiful.

As a three-time consecutive Asia-America Best Actress winner and Grand Slam winner at the three major international film festivals, although she was the youngest among the film industry predecessors, she alone could bear this status. The background was a sunny white wall. She said a simple “Hello everyone” and triggered another wave of applause in the venue. Gentle smile, black hair lightly tied, light makeup. Because she rarely faced cameras anymore, her face carried a trace of everyday smile. With sunlight and tree shadows complementing her, not a trace of her 35 years of age was visible.

Long Qi was convinced by her.

This kind of beautiful and talented woman worked hardest in her youngest years, played everything, acted in everything. After doing everything she wanted to do, even at her career peak, she gradually faded out to focus on another life passion. Living freely and following herself, never lingering over any fame or profit.

Really great.

After the blessing segment ended, they awarded “Best Cinematography,” “Best Music,” “Best Costume Design,” “Best Screenplay,” and several other awards. The crew of Wu Jiakui’s road art film had already taken three awards—a film of the year. Several other awards were swept by other popular films, including Xi Jing’s Spring Winter crew.

At the midpoint segment, the host introduced this session’s Asia-America Awards jury to the guests. Shao Guo’an, as this jury’s chairman, delivered about ten minutes of remarks.

Long Qi pressed her forehead, wanting to yawn.

At ten forty-five in the evening, they finally reached the final segment announcing Best Actor and Actress.

……

Zang Xipu, as the Best Actress award presenter, took the stage holding the envelope containing the winner’s name. Light fell on his velvet ceremonial attire. Him standing there alone was like a film. Thunderous applause below the stage. Long Qi turned her head, looking at Wu Jiakui not far away. She was also lightly clapping, calmly watching ahead. The earrings by her neck silently swayed.

Long Qi looked at this person about to become the youngest Best Actress in Asia-America Awards history.

Looking at this woman who had put aside her career to play with Jin Yiken in England for two months.

After her chest rose and fell slightly, she faintly withdrew her gaze, picked up her handbag, and stood up. The guest in the adjacent seat looked up at her. She entered an aisle the cameras couldn’t reach.

The cameras were now busy cutting to the five nominated candidate actresses. Zang Xipu pulled the name list from the envelope and looked down.

Long Qi lifted her forehead to glance once.

Zang Xipu’s time looking down at the name list seemed a bit long, with slight frowning. Long Qi withdrew her gaze and continued up the steps toward the viewing stand exit.

On the big screen, Wu Jiakui quietly gazed ahead.

The other four candidate actresses—smiling or calmly waiting—chests gently rising and falling, each with their own posture. The entire venue was silent.

……

“The 57th Asia-America Award for Best Actress goes to—”

The voice rang out behind her. Long Qi walked to the exit. Staff opened the door for her. A burst of bright light shone in.

Zang Xipu looked up toward the microphone and said heavily: “Xi Jing.”

As thunderous applause erupted in the venue, Long Qi turned in the brightness. Her long hair leaped from behind her shoulder to in front. Xi Jing’s image rapidly enlarged on screen. She stood to accept the Spring Winter director’s embrace and congratulations from those beside her. But Long Qi frowned, looking again at Zang Xipu on stage.

The host beside Zang Xipu applauded enthusiastically. He himself only smiled, didn’t clap.

The camera followed Xi Jing onto the stage, sweeping past front-row jury chairman Shao Guo’an along the way. That moment recalled the dinner encounter two months ago with Xi Jing and Shao Guo’an. Long Qi watched all this, feeling the entire venue’s celebration. Xi Jing wore a jade-colored floor-length dress, ascending the stage to receive the trophy, lightly bowing to thank Zang Xipu.

The camera swept back to the audience. Wu Jiakui sat in her original position, clapping along with everyone, a slight smile on her lips, showing no emotion.

She again recalled Wu Jiakui’s statement before the opening when grabbing her arm: “It wasn’t me scheming against you. Someone was scheming against me.”

And Zang Xipu’s statement: “Circles are more important than status.”

Her chest rose and fell slightly. The hand holding her skirt gently released. The hem touched the ground. The trophy that even the prominent Wu Jiakui couldn’t protect, the obscure and unclear so-called circle—clearly none of her business, yet seemed to painfully strike a certain nerve. Zang Xipu on stage looked at her from afar, his gaze carrying slight worry because a dark corner of this circle had unexpectedly appeared before her eyes. She paused briefly at the exit, then turned and left before Xi Jing began her thank-you speech.

……

At the same time, at eleven o’clock at night, a flight from London, England landed at the international airport.

She didn’t know if Jin Yiken returned to the country because of her rumors or Wu Jiakui’s regrettable loss, or if he just happened to have nearly a month of Easter vacation. She only knew that this would be the most turbulent month of her life’s ups and downs—treading on thin ice, yet like fierce fire burning dry firewood. That love, hate, and jealousy in this increasingly large circle, accompanied by the crackling sound of dry firewood breaking, burned more and more vigorously. No one could escape.