The announcement of the female lead casting sent the school into a frenzy. All the hype and cheerleading for Jiang Manyu as the star instantly turned into a punchline.
The movie’s voting system required real names, allowing every single vote to be traced back to the corresponding Hong Kong citizen. Liang Jin’s victory was well-deserved first place.
On social media, people were buzzing about Jiang Manyu rigging votes.
The most furious were the students who had joined the Mini Program’s gambling-style poll: 【I blew a whole month’s living expenses betting on Jiang Manyu to win, and she rigged it???】
Having lost their money, fueled by financial bitterness, some were even demanding that Jiang Manyu get out of the Hong Kong District.
Liang Jin’s name rocketed to the top of Twitter’s real-time trends.
The girl stood outside the Equipment Room door and picked up a call from Wu Lin.
“Ahhhh!!! Jinjin, you can stay in the Hong Kong District now, right? Auntie is saved, right?”
“That’s great! I knew heaven wouldn’t be that cruel.”
Wu Lin was so thrilled she could barely string words together. Liang Jin soothed her with a few words. “Linlin, relax.”
Wu Lin kept marveling, “I never thought the crown prince would turn out to be so level-headed.”
Her sarcastic tone suggested she believed Shen Keye’s silent approval lay behind Jiang Manyu’s vote tampering.
Wu Lin dished the gossip. “Who knows if Jiang Manyu can even stick around at Hong Kong University anymore. One guy from the School of Economics and Management dropped seventy grand on her in the Mini Program—that’s half a year’s tuition—and now he’s ripping her to shreds online.”
Liang Jin offered no opinion. “I’m going to see Jiang Manyu later.”
“What for?”
Liang Jin glanced back at Shen Keye, who was taking a call. She had her answer now.
“To strike a deal with her.”
Liang Jin called Zeng Zhi to fill her in on the family situation. Zeng Zhi had just gotten off the phone with Liang Wenbin, who had no doubt spewed plenty of ugly words. Her voice sounded exhausted.
Zeng Zhi paused before saying meaningfully, “Jinjin, in this world, there are things we should do and things we shouldn’t.”
That was morality.
But she added, “Whatever you decide, Mom will always have your back.”
That was love.
Liang Jin hung up and waited for Shen Keye.
“Are you still heading to Macau tonight?” she asked.
He was going there that evening to pay respects at his birth mother’s grave.
“Mm.”
Liang Jin glanced down at his recent call log. He had just spoken with Shen Junbang.
With his confirmation, she checked her phone—there was a new message—and said, “Then give me a minute.”
An unknown number replied: 【Okay】.
For the first time, Liang Jin had reached out to Jiang Manyu first.
~~~
Jiang Manyu’s position was precarious.
Liang Jin knew the feeling all too well; she had been in those exact shoes before.
The girl in the white dress, masked up, arrived at the coffee shop’s private room as per the location Liang Jin had sent.
Jiang Manyu didn’t bother sitting. Her opening line was, “Liang Jin, are you here to gloat?”
Liang Jin locked the door, sat down calmly, and said, “No.”
“No?”
Jiang Manyu had been on guard against Liang Jin from the outset. She was not the type to tolerate loose ends.
She scoffed. “Then what do you want? To brag about how much Shen Keye adores you?”
Last time, Jiang Manyu had called her out to her face: Liang Jin didn’t actually like Shen Keye. Liang Jin met her eyes. “I want you to hand over Shen Keye’s boat ticket to Macau for tonight.”
A ripple crossed Jiang Manyu’s composed features. Realizing Liang Jin needed something from her, she regained her poise and shot back, “Why should I?”
Liang Jin replied, “I can help you shake off this media storm.”
In the cramped private room, the one Liang Jin had picked had a window, but the weather outside was overcast. The dim light shadowed the girl’s delicate profile, yet her dark eyes burned with unwavering clarity.
“Jiang Manyu,” Liang Jin said, “right now, you shouldn’t be picking fights with me. You should be crying on Shen Junbang’s shoulder. Tell Mr. Shen that Shen Keye dumped you. Get his pity and leverage it for something bigger.”
Hearing such stark, icy logic from an eighteen-year-old girl’s lips left Jiang Manyu momentarily stunned. It rang true—Liang Jin really seemed to want to help—but it was mostly absurd. Jiang Manyu eased into a seat, locking eyes with Liang Jin. “Don’t forget, Liang Jin: Shen Keye went against Shen Junbang for you. That’s how you snagged the female lead spot.”
Liang Jin brushed off the moral jab. “In return, I want you to shift all the blame onto Song Youhuai.”
For the past week, rumors had swirled nonstop on social media, dragging Liang Jin’s reputation through the mud worse than ever. She knew Song Youhuai was the ringleader, with Jiang Manyu no doubt adding fuel to the fire. Still, she had no plans to burn that bridge.
Liang Jin didn’t want the film’s production or release to face any disruptions—her current circumstances left no room for slip-ups.
When the girl lowered her voice, it came out soft and gentle, almost harmless. Liang Jin explained, “By zeroing in on the rumormonger’s malice, the crowd simplifies complicated issues into one neat blame. This is a straightforward and widespread psychological phenomenon.”
She pressed on, “Spotlight the fact that Song Youhuai spread lies about me. That’ll shift the focus, and most folks will naturally pin every mistake—including your ticket-scalping mess—on him. They’ll figure he hates my guts, despises me, and cooked it all up to sabotage me on purpose. Once you’ve got a scapegoat, the finger-pointing stops at him.”
Her bargaining chip? “I’ll testify for you.”
She aimed to spin the story and steer public opinion.
Jiang Manyu listened intently for a bit, found it intriguing, and curled her lips in a smirk. “Why not just have Uncle Shen take care of the whole thing for me?”
Liang Jin blinked in surprise. “Jiang Manyu, isn’t your whole stance built on landing as Shen Keye’s girlfriend? But—”
The memory of losing to Shen Keye made her pause, falling silent for a beat.
The girl murmured softly, “I’m with Shen Keye now.”
Just moments ago.
Jiang Manyu froze. She hadn’t pegged Shen Keye for someone so impatient.
She fixed Liang Jin with a cold stare.
Jiang Manyu knew full well that without the prospect of becoming “Shen Keye’s girlfriend,” Shen Junbang’s patience would eventually run dry. There was a world of difference between the debt of saving her father’s life and the perks of joining the family down the line.
Liang Jin looked up, her demand clear. “Give me the cruise ticket. Stay away from Shen Keye from now on. That’s my price.”
Jiang Manyu hesitated. The girl before her was icy and composed, but something clicked—like she’d glimpsed into Liang Jin’s headspace. She smiled warmly all of a sudden. “Are you scared of losing someone you don’t even like?”
Jiang Manyu fished the ticket from her handbag, set it on the wooden table, and slid it over. With a final jab, she sneered, “Liang Jin, you’re no saint.”
~~~
The massive cruise ship set off from Victoria Harbour at six that evening—not too long, not too short. A five-hour voyage.
Liang Jin got a message from Director Zheng, summoning her to the set in a couple of days.
Her acting fee hadn’t budged despite the boosted investment. Still the agreed-upon two million.
That afternoon, she’d received the report Deng Jiayi had sent over. After handing it to the doctor, he outlined some initial treatment options.
Liang Wei’s condition wasn’t dire yet, but this kind of illness demanded grueling, drawn-out care in the modern world—and it was notoriously hard to manage.
Chronic diseases were the biggest money pits.
Liang Jin wanted at least double the pay.
At the port, she waited for Shen Keye.
He stepped out of the car without a flicker of surprise, like he’d seen this coming a mile away.
Shao Xingyu had tagged along, decked out in a bespoke gray-brown suit that screamed business meeting. He was the surprised one. “Why’d you bring Liang Jin?” he asked Shen Keye.
Wasn’t it Jiang Manyu?
Liang Jin clarified, “Miss Jiang had something come up. She asked me to keep him company instead.”
The girl’s eyes flicked up, locking onto Shen Keye.
The young man’s tall frame loomed in simple black loose long-sleeves and cargo pants, his dark hair tousled and falling messily. He stared at Liang Jin as she spoke, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.
Shao Xingyu gawked like he’d spotted a ghost. “She asked you? Jiang Manyu?” he demanded incredulously.
He could tell there was dirt here. With a scoff, he waved it off. “Whatever. Let’s roll. Aren’t we meeting ‘those people’ tonight?”
His annoyance showed as he headed up the gangway. Noticing Shen Keye lagging, Shao Xingyu glanced back. “Ah-Ye?”
Shen Keye watched Liang Jin sidle up quietly beside him. Her slim shoulder brushed his like a test, and she coaxed, “Let’s go?”
Revulsion flickered across her face unbidden—she hated touching him—but her voice had warmed, almost wheedling. “We’re together now. Can’t have you heading out with other girls.”
Night had fallen softly over Victoria Harbour, the walkways buzzing with people.
“What, scared I’ll stray?”
Shen Keye’s voice was a low, magnetic rumble, tone even, but his gaze deep and unreadable.
“That’s on you.”
Liang Jin furrowed her brow and met his eyes. “I just want to hold on tight.”
She felt herself changing.
Maybe if Shen Keye had always had money, she never would’ve let go.
Her deep, clear eyes held a pure intensity. She smiled faintly, her whisper for his ears only—soft, laced with seduction. “Boyfriend.”