Negative information? Personal background?
Bai Chenxi instantly understood. This was Zhao Qian and Lu Ziming's second strike. Not content with smearing her online, they had carried their so-called "black material" directly to the investors, attempting to strangle her comeback at its root.
The atmosphere across the judges' table grew tense. The director's brows furrowed—he clearly disliked the idea of burying a talented actress over unverified gossip. Yet as a professional, he couldn't entirely dismiss the investors' concerns either.
Chenxi did not panic. Instead, she drew a slow breath and lifted her head, meeting the stern gaze of the Xingyao executive. Her voice, when it came, was calm and firm:
"Sir, I don't know which so-called 'negative information' you're referring to. But if you mean the online rumors that I am arrogant, unstable, or mentally unfit—I trust that a company as professional as Xingyao has the resources to distinguish fact from fiction.
The innocent don't need to shout their innocence. I prefer to let my work and my ability speak for me. That, in the end, is an actor's truest calling card."
Her eyes swept deliberately across the table, pausing on each judge.
"As for my personal background—my conscience is clear. I won't deny that I made mistakes in the past. I trusted the wrong people, and I paid the price. But because I have walked through that darkness, I now treasure every chance more deeply, and I know how to repay trust with nothing but my craft and my professionalism."
Her words, neither defensive nor submissive, fell into the silence with the weight of unshakable conviction.
Not a plea. Not a hysterical denial. But the quiet steadiness of a woman who had clawed her way back from ruin.
The executive adjusted his glasses, clearly preparing to press further—
But before he could speak, the door to the audition hall opened.
A young assistant hurried in, bowing quickly before leaning down to whisper something in the executive's ear, handing him a slim folder.
The man's expression shifted, surprise flashing briefly across his features. His gaze flicked back toward Chenxi, sharper now, measuring. He gave a slight nod.
The assistant straightened, turned to face the panel, and announced clearly:
"A joint report from the legal and technical departments has just been submitted. They have confirmed that the majority of online rumors targeting Miss Bai Chenxi originated from a cluster of coordinated marketing accounts. The IP traces overlap extensively, showing clear evidence of deliberate fabrication. This is the preliminary investigation."
The truth, when it came, cut through the haze like a sword of light.
In the face of capital's resources, the cheap tricks of Zhao Qian and Lu Ziming melted like frost under the sun.
Relief softened the director's features. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and when he looked at Chenxi, his eyes carried not only approval—but respect.
"This was our oversight," the executive admitted, his tone now moderated. "Miss Bai, your professionalism and your performance have spoken for themselves. Please wait for our formal notice."
Chenxi bowed deeply, every inch the composed actress. "Thank you, teachers."
When she straightened, the gleam of recognition in the director's gaze was unmistakable.
As she stepped out of the audition hall, Bai Chenxi exhaled.
She had won this round.
But a lingering question pulsed in her chest—who had intervened so decisively at the perfect moment? Hong Jie? Or… someone else?
The elevator chimed softly as she reached the corridor. The doors slid open.
Inside stood the man who had haunted her thoughts—Li Sijue.
He looked as though he had been about to leave, but his gaze fixed on her instantly, deep and impenetrable. In those eyes was neither warmth nor hostility, only a penetrating knowing, as if peeling back every layer of her defenses.
He inclined his head slightly, his voice low, smooth, pitched for her ears alone:
"Good performance. And… your child—he's very cute."
Her breath caught.
In that instant, Bai Chenxi realized—he knew.