The news of Shen Qianzhan’s resignation stirred up tremendous waves within the industry.

Led by several film and television companies that had once tried to poach her but failed, HR departments and executives’ social media feeds were so lively they were practically ready to pop champagne in celebration.

A certain film and media company: “That producer who’s been trending recently—our boss was very optimistic about her back then. Not only did he offer high salary, but also promised villas and luxury cars, yet couldn’t poach her. Wonder if our boss still feels regretful now…”

A certain film company: “These past few days’ trending topics have been truly bloody. I feel so sorry for this producer. When her future was bright, she didn’t job-hop or play both sides—she wholeheartedly assisted the company’s IPO. I initially thought Qiandeng must have offered great conditions, but learning she only had a small equity share, I could only admire her. I wanted to see a touching drama of ‘new emperor, new ministers,’ but Qiandeng didn’t cherish her and broke up my ship halfway.”

Of course, there were more who kicked her while she was down—

“She was too arrogant back then, offending countless people. Now that the wall has fallen and everyone’s pushing, quite deserved?”

“I still remember her arrogant rejection and blocking tactics. Now waiting to see her job-hunting and resume-sending midlife crisis [bye bye].”

“This producer has been hyped too much these past years, probably forgot how miserable she was initially. Never learns from mistakes—bound to crash sooner or later.”

“Are there still people who don’t know? This producer is a repeat offender. Seven or eight years ago, she pulled the lowlife scam of cheating investors’ funds with her boyfriend and running away with the money. Later somehow whitewashed herself—guess good-looking people have markets everywhere. These past years, she built the ‘golden producer mogul’ persona to attract investors’ money. A producer who packaged herself like a celebrity—her PR marketing and persona building were quite successful.”

“Since someone’s listening, let me say more. This female producer once painted a rosy picture for Penglai Chenguang with her boyfriend, scammed tens of millions in investment, even held an opening ceremony. Probably uneven profit-sharing—the boyfriend ditched her and ran. She went all-in, pushing all responsibility onto the boyfriend who’d escaped to paradise, filing police reports and hiring lawyers, but ended up incriminating herself. The court ruled she must repay all debts within three years. Unable to escape, she joined Qiandeng to resume old business. This woman has some capability—otherwise she couldn’t have repaid everything in just a few years and bought property and cars in Beijing. After getting rich, this producer became arrogant, only taking big productions, with particularly ugly eating habits. Basically, after 8 PM any night, you could see this beautiful producer fishing for wealthy patrons at Beijing’s nightclubs, hotels, or bars. Either with investor bosses old enough to be her father, or fresh young meat young enough to be her little brother. Sounds enviable, right? Oh, she recently hooked up with Bu Zhong Sui Asia’s Executive President. The boss probably quite likes her—been suppressing trending topics for her. Some naive girls envy their love—wake up! There’s no love between them, just power-sex transactions.”

These last two essays, due to their explosive content, were screenshotted and moved to Weibo. After several marketing accounts added fuel to the fire, they directly ignited trending topics.

“Damn, I heard this producer had bad reputation before. My baby worked with her—hope he didn’t suffer, I don’t dare think about it.”

“So the marketing account’s previous expose about someone knocking on doors at midnight saying they wanted to discuss scripts—that was her? She treats the crew like her personal harem?”

“Isn’t society’s contempt for women precisely because of women like her who sell their bodies for success?”

“Isn’t that super handsome chief watchmaker at Bu Zhong Sui probably the highest quality boss she’s ever contacted? Hope handsome brother can see her true face soon and not be corrupted.”

“Above poster is naive. At most, they’re birds of a feather. Bu Zhong Sui isn’t clean either—the founder is clearly Chinese but ran abroad to generate revenue for others. Ji Qingzhen, whom you praise to godlike status, is also a top industry mogul. On the surface advocates protecting traditional culture, but still goes to Bu Zhong Sui as a watch brand’s watchmaker, joining this trash brand to harvest Chinese people’s money?”

“Above poster is the idiot. Does it only count as harvesting if it’s free? Finally there’s a luxury brand with Chinese elements as core, and you either attack the founder’s nationality or just hate for hate’s sake. Bu Zhong Sui’s statement came out long ago—does your face hurt?”

Weibo was round after round of chaotic warfare.

Bu Zhong Sui consistently stood with Ji Qinghe—not withdrawing investment, not covering up, silently supporting. Like a lighthouse standing in the vast sea center, though its light was weak, it could be glimpsed from thousands of miles away.

——

Shen Qianzhan remained unaffected.

In her early years working part-time on Xiang Qianqian’s management affairs, she’d been attacked repeatedly and had long developed an iron will impervious to weapons.

On the flight from Wuxi back to Beijing, she even had leisure to discuss with Ji Qinghe whether, if she hadn’t experienced those early lows and had smooth sailing until now, she might have collapsed immediately.

“No.” Ji Qinghe pulled down her shade. In the slightly dim light, he held Shen Qianzhan’s hand, fingers interlaced, saying softly: “Being wrongly accused, feeling grieved is inevitable. But you’re not the type to sit and wait for death. Sinking and degenerating as they wish isn’t your style.”

“You could stop being a producer, but I think your reason for stopping would only be that you want to rest, not because you’re giving up due to those irrelevant people.”

Outside the first-class curtain was the quiet cabin.

Occasionally passengers’ conversation would rise, but it was quickly covered by the plane’s engine noise, becoming unclear.

Shen Qianzhan leaned against the armrest, resting her chin on her hand, looking at him: “Not worried about me at all?”

Ji Qinghe withdrew his gaze from the newspaper and turned to meet her eyes: “Am I not obvious enough?”

These past days, except for occasionally avoiding her when taking calls, he’d stayed by her side almost constantly. Even if the sky fell outside, his expression never changed, as if nothing was more important than her eating three meals on time.

Moreover, Shen Qianzhan’s strong psychological resilience meant that even at her most dispirited, she’d only skipped one dinner.

Instead, Qiao Xin cried through two large packs of tissues at the hotel. During this period, whenever Shen Qianzhan saw her, her face was red all over.

Eyes, nose, and both cheeks—everything swollen in a circle.

Su Zan was the same, getting so fired up his mouth was full of blisters.

Either shuttling between police stations or making calls to clear relationships.

Although neither task succeeded, seeing this, Shen Qianzhan was still quite comforted—the Ah Dou she’d spent years trying to support had finally begun active rehabilitation after she let go, preparing to stand up.

Even if there was still some distance before he could handle things independently, toddlers learning to walk couldn’t master it in a day or two. They had to fall several times, bloodying their heads.

——

At dawn today, Shen Qianzhan dissolved the crew.

She left the aftermath work to Su Zan and Qiao Xin, returning to Beijing first to submit materials and cooperate with investigations.

Incidentally, to process resignation procedures.

Her resignation letter, approved by Su Lanyi, had been forwarded to HR for the next handover steps.

Speaking of handover, there wasn’t much to hand over.

She only had “Time,” which had consumed most of her energy for half a year. Now the crew was dissolved—besides accounts needing verification, there were no other project processes requiring someone to take over.

Instead, it was Ji Qinghe.

Shen Qianzhan only learned on the plane, overhearing his conversation with Ming Jue, that this afternoon was Bu Zhong Sui’s couple’s watch series new product concept launch.

If she remembered correctly, the watch launch should be around October—at least nearly a month ahead of schedule.

Shen Qianzhan’s first reaction was that Bu Zhong Sui, affected by the “Time” incident, faced significant impact, and the brand planned to use the launch to respond to recent public opinion storms.

But thinking calmly, she felt this didn’t match Ji Qinghe’s style.

New product launches had the most direct market effect on post-launch sales and brand reputation, relating to the brand’s entire year’s quantified benefits. He wouldn’t mix personal emotions into business decisions.

Moreover, such important launches definitely required internal Bu Zhong Sui discussion before implementation.

Her relationship to it was minimal.

But rationality aside, when Ji Qinghe browsed through several important launch processes, Shen Qianzhan couldn’t help quietly reminding: “Holding a launch now makes it easy for reporters to lead you around.”

Ji Qinghe’s gaze didn’t shift, only his body leaned toward her to hear her speak.

Shen Qianzhan asked: “You’re going on stage to speak, right?”

Ji Qinghe was reviewing the speech Ming Jue prepared for him. Hearing her obvious question, he couldn’t help curving his lips, turning to look at her: “What do you want to say?”

Shen Qianzhan organized her words and said: “You don’t often deal with reporters—you don’t know how sinister people can be. This industry has plenty of reporters like Jiang Mengxin. To grab eyeballs, they’ll probably ask many questions that leave you completely stumped. Even if you handle it, having the rhythm disrupted during the new product launch, customers will have doubts about the company’s public image—this implicit damage is immeasurable.”

Especially at this critical juncture—once Bu Zhong Sui mishandled things, expanding the domestic market would face great resistance.

Ji Qinghe seemed to listen, considering for several seconds before saying: “Bu Zhong Sui has long-term media partnerships, relationships always maintained well. So you don’t need to worry about reporters making things difficult for me.”

Both had their own careers and were leaders in their respective fields.

Their meeting was like two worlds on opposite ends of a balance scale accidentally tilting one day, creating the starting point where their stories intersected.

Aside from “watch repair,” what could mutually attract them was only each other. So within the work sphere, they always maintained clear-cut respect and distance.

Ji Qinghe reflected briefly and said: “I seem to never have time to tell you many things.”

“Bu Zhong Sui suffered no actual damage in this storm. Mainstream media have a good impression of Bu Zhong Sui—this public opinion actually responded to past rumors that never made it to the surface.”

“When Bu Zhong Sui first entered the domestic market, due to Ms. Meng’s political stance and nationality issues, it faced repeated questioning. But these doubts never gained widespread circulation—just small circles boycotting together. Public statements seemed like making mountains of molehills, easily affecting brand image. Ignoring them gradually became a hidden danger—the PR department had headaches over this for ages. This opportunity perfectly provided clarification.”

He simply set the documents aside and chatted with her about this launch’s content and purpose.

Usually they focused too much on spiritual and physical union, rarely exchanging these daily topics, causing Shen Qianzhan to often overlook his ambition and schemes in his career.

After understanding that Ji Qinghe was using this wave of attention to save Bu Zhong Sui promotional costs, she thought: Fortunately, she hadn’t been presumptuous.

——

The plane arrived in Beijing at 1 PM.

Though both their itineraries were completely confidential, after reaching the airport, they still encountered a small accident.

Unknown which media got wind of it, learning Ji Qinghe and Shen Qianzhan were returning to Beijing today. Though not knowing the specific flight, they stationed one or two reporters at every Wuxi-Beijing flight.

When Shen Qianzhan discovered reporters at the airport, it was too late to run.

Reporters trained by New Entertainment Express were almost all printed from the same mold as Jiang Mengxin. Without a word, they first shoved cameras in faces, firing questions like machine guns—

“Ms. Shen, is your return to Beijing for investigation?”

“Is your public Weibo resignation announcement to distance yourself from Qiandeng, or just expressing dissatisfaction with Qiandeng’s inaction?”

“Ms. Shen, how do you feel about the crew’s dissolution? As a tribute drama scheduled for early next year, what impact will this abortion have on your career?”

“Have you considered rebuilding the crew to complete filming after this storm ends?”

Shen Qianzhan nearly had her nose bridge hit several times by cameras thrust forward. If not for Ji Qinghe promptly protecting her in his arms, these reporters appearing from unknown corners could have immediately drowned her in the crowd.

Ji Qinghe’s protective action obviously attracted reporters’ attention. Some cameras and microphones shifted, targeting Ji Qinghe, who’d also appeared at the center of recent topics.

In the scene’s chaotic chorus of “Mr. Ji” and “Ms. Shen,” one scream stood out like the small ball that topples domino cards. Soon, pushing and shoving knocked the already crowded group every which way.

A petite female reporter in front of Shen Qianzhan, bumped by reporters behind her, lost grip of her camera, which flew straight toward Shen Qianzhan.

This sudden incident made many witnesses cry out in alarm.

Shen Qianzhan instinctively looked up—the out-of-control camera, just inches from her eye socket, was firmly gripped by the lens in someone’s palm.

The chaotic scene suddenly quieted as if someone hit pause.

The camera’s other end still hung around the female reporter’s neck. Terrified and pale, her lips trembled. After reacting, she quickly took back the camera, apologizing repeatedly: “Sorry, sorry…”

Ji Qinghe didn’t let go.

His face was so dark it seemed to be brewing a storm, his gaze deep and dark like storm clouds pressing down, creating dead silence at the scene.

He blocked the lens, pressing his wrist down to force the camera’s angle toward the ground.

Simultaneously, Ming Jue led several bodyguards into the scene, easily protecting Ji Qinghe and Shen Qianzhan within a protective circle, separating them from reporters.

The tall, imposing bodyguards, each powerfully built and stern-faced, formed a human wall, firmly blocking the previously arrogant reporters at arm’s length.

This sudden transformation and pressure left everyone unable to react in time.

They looked at each other, still hesitating whether to continue interviewing.

Ji Qinghe released his grip. The eyes behind his frames looked down, glancing at the pale-faced female reporter, saying quietly: “Hold your camera properly.”

His tone remained relatively calm, his words not particularly sharp.

Yet it carried crushing weight that prevented the female reporter from raising her lens again. The low pressure spreading around seemed tangible, seeping through skin, so cold everyone’s teeth chattered, momentarily forgetting to react.

Until Ji Qinghe left with Shen Qianzhan in his arms, the bodyguards more imposing than photographers following closely behind, did this small area get a breath of fresh air.

The reporters stood stunned briefly before scattering like birds and beasts.

——

Ji Qinghe’s low pressure extended all the way to the vehicle. Ming Jue, knowing his dereliction of duty, began self-criticism upon boarding.

Two business cars drove away from the parking lot in tandem.

Ji Qinghe, as if not hearing Ming Jue at all, turned to ask Shen Qianzhan: “Stay at my place these few days?”

Though phrased as seeking her opinion, it carried little questioning intent.

Ming Jue, knowing he’d already displeased Ji Qinghe, wisely shut up.

Before Shen Qianzhan could speak, he’d already decided for her: “I’m not comfortable with you alone. I’ll have the driver take you to Time Hall later.” His voice lowered, asking hoarsely: “Need Meng Wanzhou to prepare another guest room?”

Ming Jue in the front passenger seat observed his nose with his eyes and his heart with his nose, casually instructing the driver to take Shen Qianzhan to Time Hall later.

Shen Qianzhan was still immersed in that recent false alarm. Hearing this, she met his gaze across the space for several seconds, silently mouthing three words: “Sleep with you.”

Ji Qinghe curved his lips, satisfied with her perceptiveness.

Across the armrest, he took Shen Qianzhan’s hand, also silently mouthing three words: “Don’t be afraid.”