Li Sijue's efficiency was terrifying.
Within hours, layers of invisible protection cocooned Bai Chenxi and Nian Nian—trained men shadowing their every move, surveillance woven into places she hadn't even thought to look. More than that, he spun the faintest threads of evidence—the note, the sabotaged harness—into a web designed to catch whoever dared strike again.
A rumor was planted. Amo whispered it first to a grip, then to a production assistant, letting it ripple through the set like smoke: Bai Chenxi, shaken by recent events, had grown restless under Li Sijue's control. She would slip away tomorrow afternoon, alone, to a private café in the city.
Bai Chenxi understood immediately. "You're luring them out."
"Yes." His gaze was unflinching, cold steel wrapped in restraint. "But it means you'll have to play the bait. There may be risk."
"I'll do it." She didn't hesitate. Living as prey was worse than danger itself. Better to face the hand pulling the strings than keep waiting for the knife in the dark.
The following day, she drove away from the set. Even with the tinted glass between her and the world, she could feel them—eyes in the blind spots, shadows trailing her tires.
At the café, she sat in the secluded booth they had chosen, porcelain cup trembling between her fingers. She stirred her untouched coffee, eyes flicking toward the window like a woman trying to mask fear. She didn't have to fake the pulse hammering in her throat.
Minutes bled into an hour. She began to wonder—had they grown too cautious? Would they let her walk away untouched?
The door clicked.
It wasn't Zhao Qian. Nor Lu Ziming.
A man slipped in—slight build, baseball cap low, mask concealing his face. His movements were jerky, almost desperate. Then she saw it: the small canister in his grip, aimed straight at her.
"You—!" Her cry was half-genuine as she stumbled back, chair screeching.
The room exploded.
Both side doors crashed inward. Amo and two men in black surged in, slamming the intruder to the ground. The canister clattered away harmlessly. Within seconds, his wrists were bound, his body pinned beneath an unforgiving knee. His muffled curses turned into panicked shrieks as Amo yanked his jaw open and wrenched out a capsule he'd tried to bite down on.
From the neighboring booth, Li Sijue emerged. His presence filled the small room, towering, implacable. He looked down at the struggling man the way one might regard a stain on polished glass.
"Who sent you?" His voice was quiet, yet it chilled the air.
The man shook under that gaze. His eyes darted wildly, then squeezed shut as if to ward off the inevitable. Finally, his voice cracked into a shout:
"It was… Lu Ziming! He paid me! Said he wanted photos—compromising ones!"
Bai Chenxi's fists curled until her nails bit her palm. Of course it was him. Her anger surged hot, unrelenting.
But Li Sijue's brows drew together, his expression cut from another, colder cloth. "No." His tone was final, analytical. "The harness sabotage, the note about your son… those moves are too clean, too deliberate. Lu Ziming doesn't have the intelligence. He's merely a pawn."
His eyes flicked, briefly, to Bai Chenxi. "The real hand is still hidden."
For the first time, she felt her rage tangle with dread. The enemy wasn't just malicious—it was clever. And clever enemies never stopped at one strike.