Such skepticism had instead become the mainstream opinion. The true culprit, Song Youhuai, had vanished amid the tide of public opinion.
A breeze lifted the hem of Liang Jin’s short skirt. The girl’s tall, slender figure cut through the crowd as she heard Wu Lin’s tentative question from the other end of the line. “The Crown Prince didn’t give you any trouble yesterday, did he?”
“No.”
Liang Jin’s thoughts shifted, and she recalled Shen Keye.
He was too memorable.
In fact, Shen Keye had helped her. There weren’t many places in the Hong Kong District willing to hire underage part-timers, and his bill for 240,000 had secured her high-paying temporary job.
But she had offended him.
With the movie resuming production soon, though, she would take leave from school. They wouldn’t cross paths again.
“You have to meet the investors this afternoon?” Wu Lin had been busy with club activities lately. She sounded surprised and delighted when Liang Jin mentioned the plans.
“Director Zheng flew back overnight from Beijing,” Liang Jin said. “If things go smoothly, we can resume filming right after we close the deal.”
“Director Zheng is so efficient!” Wu Lin exclaimed. Then, as if remembering something, she asked tentatively, “What about Auntie…?”
She was referring to Zeng Zhi.
Liang Jin’s dark, tousled hair half-concealed the delicate white butterfly bones of her slender back. She pulled her thoughts back, her lashes casting shadows as they drooped. Pursing her lips in a faint smile, she said, “She’ll be okay.”
Zeng Zhi had been hospitalized for a year due to heart disease.
It was an expensive condition—not a simple heart problem by any means.
Thinking of the surgery costs, Liang Jin let out a breath. “Don’t worry about me. I’m heading out now, Linlin.”
~~~
Director Zheng had been waiting in the theater’s backstage for quite some time. He was a slight, not particularly tall man with a literary air, in his early forties. “I wore this suit back when I came to the Moulin Rouge to see your mother perform.”
He had dug out his old formal suit especially for meeting the investors today. It was impeccably ironed and fit him perfectly as he patted his sleeve.
Liang Jin was surprised. “Mom performed here?”
Director Zheng chuckled. “Big Beauty was a huge celebrity back when she was studying in Hong Kong. How could she not have performed here?”
The movie Liang Jin was set to star in was based on Zeng Zhi’s life. She had heard that Zheng Yunzhi was Zeng Zhi’s classmate—and a fan.
After chatting for a few moments, there was a sudden “Bang!”
It was one o’clock in the afternoon, and the renowned investor from the Hong Kong Entertainment Circle, Mr. Shen Junbang, was due to arrive. Director Zheng had specially arranged a ballet performance, but now there had been an accident: one of the rehearsal dancers had fallen from a prop box.
The staff in charge of the gala was berating her. The girl’s white ballet costume was smeared with a large grayish-purple stain. She sat huddled in the corner, her ankle swollen into a massive lump. Her neck was red from crying as she wiped away her tears and murmured apologies.
The film revolved around ballet, and this performance was a major event. Even the usually mild-mannered Director Zheng was visibly irritated. “We sent the program to Mr. Shen’s secretary. We finally secured the investment—what are we supposed to do now?”
The excerpt from Swan Lake’s solo was the grand finale, and there was no immediate replacement. The person in charge snapped angrily, “If this falls through, it’s all on you!”
The girl nodded tearfully, shrinking into herself. She tried to stand and test her ankle, managing to get upright with difficulty. Liang Jin reached out to steady her.
“Does it hurt?” Liang Jin asked.
The girl was nervous. “It doesn’t hurt,” she explained, trying to push through—but she nearly stumbled again.
“If it really doesn’t hurt, then great!” the person in charge snorted. “So tell me, what now? We’ve only got two hours, and it’s not easy to find a suitable performer on such short notice.”
The person in charge was on the verge of sending her packing when someone spoke up. “I’ll do it.”
Under the dim backstage lights, Liang Jin spoke calmly.
Several people nearby recognized her as the female lead who had recently gone viral on social media. Whispers rippled through the group.
“That’s Liang Jin?”
“Isn’t she the lead in that third-rate movie?”
“My God, and she’s supposed to be a star?”
The girl’s thick black hair fell simply around her face. She wore a plain white shirt and jeans. Even the costumed performers couldn’t outshine her natural, makeup-free radiance.
Liang Jin ignored the murmurs and repeated firmly, word for word: “I’ll do it.”
“You?” The person in charge had never met her before and had no idea who she was. He was incredulous, laughing in disbelief. “What does our theater’s business have to do with you? On what grounds do you think you can step in?”
“Who do you think you are?” he demanded.
Liang Jin had trained in ballet for twelve years. With quiet confidence, she replied, “Sir, I believe today’s performance is important to both of us. You don’t have a better option right now, do you?”
She neither groveled nor boasted. The light caught the youthful, unblemished lines of her profile. Liang Jin set down her bag and looked up at the director. “Uncle Zheng, if it’s all right with you, let me do it.”
~~~
“Ah-Ye, you’re really not showing face today?”
On the other side of the city, Shen Keye was practicing at the Training Field when the phone rang.
The young man wore an all-black shooting uniform, his short black hair tucked under a baseball cap, his thin lips pressed tightly together.
Targets stood in neat rows across the shooting range. Shen Keye had changed into his training gear. Through the sniper scope, the bullseye measured less than five centimeters across, with the tenth ring a mere 0.5 millimeters in diameter—narrower than an ant.
“Ninth tenth-ring hit,” the coach’s assistant noted on the record sheet.
The owner of Ulta Bar was the same age as Shen Keye, a classic rich second-generation heir, but he knew how to handle himself and had some ties to Shen Keye in their circle.
He had extended the invitation for a reason—to apologize. “What happened last night was my fault.”
Shang Jize had booked out Ulta the night before, hosting all the students from the School of Economics and Management for drinks. The bar was co-owned by him and his friends. He had gotten blackout drunk and had no clue Shen Keye had even shown up, let alone that it would spark a clash with Song Youhuai right on his own turf.
Just thinking about it made him shrink back. Anxiously, he said, “I’ll cover that 240,000, Ah-Ye. No need to keep things so clear-cut between us.”
The coach chimed in from the side: “Nine tenth-ring hits already, Keye. Stay steady for the last one.”
Shen Keye grunted an “Mm” before coldly snorting at Shang Jize: “No need.”
Shang Jize, desperate not to offend, replied, “Fine, whatever you say. No need it is—call it you patronizing my business.” Rubbing his temple with a headache, he added, “That server… what’s her deal?”
Song Youhuai liked Liang Jin, so as his friend, Shang Jize had kept her on at Ulta.
He never imagined two brothers getting tangled up with the same girl.
Recalling the vivid rumors swirling around, Shang Jize dropped any thought of avenging Song Youhuai and said, “If you’ve got your eye on her, I can help you keep her around…”
Shen Keye paused for a beat. As he set the equipment down in its spot and gripped the metal component, that girl came to mind.
Her slender white shoulders traced with faint purple veins, yet her eyes had been bright and serene.
Last night, Shao Xingyu had cracked up in the private chat for Hong Kong entertainment circle young masters, declaring “Brother Ye got laid.” No one bought it. Of those around him, only Shao Xingyu dared such reckless jokes. He had added, “Liang Jin really is stunning. She came to my place because she’s so pretty—boosted my business big time. Tons of guys show up just for her.”
Shen Keye snapped back to the present. “She offended me.”
Shang Jize responded decisively: “Then I’ll fire her.”
Shen Keye smiled, as if struck by a sudden thought. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Dark tides churned in the young man’s pitch-black eyes.
At some point, a blue butterfly resembling an iris had fluttered into the training field. Its delicate wings shimmered with brilliant colors, casting a soft glow in the light.
A nearby staffer called out: time for the final shot.
Shen Keye pulled the trigger at the command, his lean muscles flexing.
Bang!
Ten meters away, the target stood untouched.
The coach and his assistant froze in shock.
The assistant handed over the printed training record sheet.
Shang Jize started to ask what that meant, but the words died on his lips. He blinked in confusion as a beep sounded—the call disconnected.
The coach frowned beside him. “What the hell happened?” Then he spotted it: the ninth target showed two hits.
Shen Keye flashed a loose, indifferent smile, like it was nothing.
Not far off, the butterfly pinned to the ninth target fluttered its wings once more before going still.
Such a tiny creature, gasping its last breaths, still alive but unable to fly away. It was as if it had feebly struggled in someone’s palm, only to fail its escape as inevitably as expected.
“Ah-Ye, let’s go.”
The girl in the long skirt, who had been waiting outside for ages, finally stepped in. Beaming, she hurried to his side. “Uncle says this movie’s perfect for me. I’ve checked it out—I love it.”
But there was already a female lead.
Shen Keye had gotten a message from his uncle earlier: a script that would suit his old comrade’s daughter. He wanted to invest and asked Shen Keye to handle the talks.
His secretary had sent over the details, and the name listed for the female lead rang a bell.
Quite the coincidence.
Liang Jin.
The Liang of Liang Zhu, the Jin of nobility.