Zhao Qian.
Her name surfaced again, a key rattling at the lock of a past Bai Chenxi had long buried. If Zhao Qian had been present at the Bojue Hotel that night… what role had she played? Was she the puppeteer behind Bai Chenxi's ruin, or another piece caught in the same sinister web? The fog parted only to reveal a deeper, more tangled darkness.
Filming for The Phoenix Weeps in the Nine Heavens neared its close. Bai Chenxi's final scenes—some of the heaviest emotional beats in the entire drama—demanded everything she had.
Perhaps it was the weight of sleepless nights, the relentless press of secrets clawing at her chest. Or perhaps it was the raw ache of truth closing in. Whatever the reason, when the director called "Cut" on a heartbreaking farewell between her character and the male lead, Bai Chenxi didn't rise. She stayed crouched on the ground, shoulders trembling, the sobs she'd borrowed for the scene refusing to leave her body.
A silence fell over the crew. Then, a shadow moved closer.
Gu Chenyi.
He knelt, his presence quiet but steady, and extended a handkerchief. His voice was gentle, like warm spring air brushing through frost.
"Leaving the character behind… that's every actor's hardest lesson. You were brilliant."
His words, his gaze, his compassion—they slid past her armor like a sliver of light in a shuttered room. She accepted the handkerchief, her fingers brushing his. For a fleeting moment, the grief in her chest felt just a little less suffocating.
From the shadows of the set, another man watched.
Li Sijue.
He had come under the guise of an inspection, but what he saw was not the scene or the crew—it was her. The way her tears shone under the studio lights, the way Gu Chenyi's hand rested lightly on her shoulder. The fragile trust in her eyes, a vulnerability she had never once shown him.
The air around him cooled, his expression carved into marble. His gaze darkened, sharp and unreadable, before he turned away. Without a word, he left the soundstage, the echo of his departure colder than the autumn night outside.
That evening, her phone buzzed.
[Li Sijue]: Security detail for your son has been reinforced. New protocols will be in effect tomorrow. Any questions, contact Amur directly.
Businesslike. Detached. As if she were a contract, not a woman.
Bai Chenxi's chest tightened inexplicably. Was it the tangled threads of Zhao Qian's revelation weighing on him? Or… had it been the sight of her with Gu Chenyi?
She stared at the message until the screen dimmed. Why did his silence bother her? Why did she care?
She scolded herself, whispering the reminder like a mantra: Li Sijue's help is strategic, transactional. He is power, and you are a pawn. Nothing more.
But her heart, treacherous thing that it was, no longer obeyed her commands.
The wrap banquet glittered with champagne and applause. Bai Chenxi, as one of the drama's luminous pillars, attended in a modest gown that drew more eyes than diamonds. Li Sijue, in a rare appearance, held court among investors and executives, his laughter measured, his composure flawless. He didn't look at her once. Not once.
By the end of the night, the room was loud with drink and celebration. Bai Chenxi slipped out onto the terrace, seeking a breath of clean air. The city lights burned in the distance, indifferent stars against the skyline.
Then a shadow staggered after her.
Vice President Wang.
The glint of his gold-rimmed glasses caught the terrace lights, his smile oily, reeking of alcohol. He leaned too close, voice lowered to a poisonous whisper.
"Miss Bai… don't think Li Sijue's protection makes you untouchable. Some truths are better left buried. Dig too deep, and you—and that precious son of yours—might not survive what you find."