Bai Chenxi almost laughed — a cold, bitter sound that never made it past her lips.
So this was Li Sijue's solution? To cage her under the guise of protection, to keep her and her child within the range of his command?
Her first instinct was to refuse outright. But the image of Nian Nian's smile — so pure, so fragile — flashed before her eyes. Then came the memory of Vice President Wang's whispered threat, his voice coiling like a snake around her heart.
She swallowed her pride. For now.
Until every hidden enemy was dragged into the light and stripped bare, Li Sijue's protection was the safest shield her son could have.
The apartment he arranged for her was elegant to the point of sterility — minimalist décor, flawless security, a private elevator with biometric access. Every corner hummed with quiet surveillance. Even safety came at the cost of freedom.
Then one morning, Red Sister (Hong Jie) came by with news that carried both thrill and risk.
A major TV network had reached out — the producers of The Birth of an Actor, the nation's most-watched acting competition. They wanted Bai Chenxi as a featured opening guest.
It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity — a stage to rebuild her image before her drama even aired.
"It was Gu Chenyì who recommended you," Hong Jie added, her tone faintly complicated. "He said… your talent shouldn't be buried."
Warmth flickered across Bai Chenxi's chest — soft and unexpected.
At a time when Li Sijue's attitude toward her had turned icy and distant, Gu Chenyì's faith in her felt like a single light still burning in the dark.
The day of recording came. The set of The Birth of an Actor gleamed under bright lights, buzzing with reporters, fans, and the sharp hum of competition.
The audience murmured as soon as Bai Chenxi's name was announced. Some scoffed. Some leaned forward. Everyone wanted to see if the "disgraced actress" could actually act.
But Bai Chenxi was calm.
After Feng Li Jiuxiao, she no longer feared the gaze of others. Her battlefield was no longer gossip — it was the stage itself.
Her first challenge was a classic film excerpt — a mother who loses her child, descending into grief and madness.
The moment she stepped onto the stage, everything else vanished.
Her body trembled, her hands reached for something that wasn't there, her eyes hollow yet full of desperate love. Every cry, every breath, every flicker of her gaze tore open her own heart — because deep inside, the fear of losing Nian Nian was the wound that never truly healed.
When the lights dimmed at the end of her performance, the silence in the studio was deafening.
Then came the applause.
A slow, stunned, unstoppable wave that spread through the room. Several of the judges — even the sternest veterans — were visibly moved.
Gu Chenyì's voice cut through the clamor, calm yet resonant. "Bai Chenxi's performance," he said, "isn't acting. It's truth. She made us feel the weight of a soul."
The cameras captured every second — her tear-streaked face under the spotlight, his gaze filled with admiration.
That night, when the episode aired, the internet exploded.
#BaiChenxi'sActing shot straight to the top of the trending charts.
Public opinion, once a noose around her neck, began to shift — thread by thread — into applause.
She had done it.
Not through scandal or sympathy, but through skill.
On this new battlefield, she had fought her way back to the light.
In his office, Li Sijue watched her performance on the large screen.
For once, his expression wasn't cold.
He didn't just see her acting — he saw the vulnerability behind it, the fragments of pain that mirrored his own buried regrets.
Something twisted quietly in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.
When the applause filled the screen, he realized, to his own irritation, that he felt… proud.
But as the camera panned to Gu Chenyì's approving smile — the warmth in his eyes, the easy familiarity of his tone — that pride soured into something darker.
Jealousy, though he'd never admit the word.
Days later, Bai Chenxi's face was everywhere again — this time for all the right reasons.
Magazines praised her "rebirth." Fans called her "the comeback queen." Sponsors started calling Hong Jie nonstop.
For a brief moment, she let herself breathe.
Maybe, just maybe, she was finally free from the shadow of her past.
Until the next headline hit.
BREAKING: Rising Star Zhao Qian Caught in Late-Night Meeting with Business Tycoon Li Sijue!
Attached was a blurry photo — Zhao Qian stepping into a private club under Li Sijue's name, her lips curved in a knowing smile, her figure leaning suggestively toward the camera.
The caption was merciless:
"Secret romance or hidden transaction? Sources say Zhao Qian has recently become the 'favored muse' of a certain corporate giant."
Within hours, the news spread like wildfire.
Her phone wouldn't stop buzzing.
Group chats exploded.
Comments filled with mockery and speculation —
"So this is why she got that role!"
"Turns out Li Sijue likes his actresses obedient!"
"Poor Bai Chenxi — looks like she wasn't the only one in his bed."
For the first time in weeks, Bai Chenxi felt the ground shift beneath her feet again.
Because this — this wasn't just a rumor.
It was war.
And somewhere deep down, she knew — Zhao Qian hadn't leaked those photos by accident.
This was a declaration.
The old battlefield had changed, but the enemies remained the same.
Only this time, Bai Chenxi wasn't the woman who would bow her head and run.
She looked at the flashing headlines, her lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Fine," she murmured. "If it's a war they want… I'll give them one."