The livestream had just ended.
Bai Zhiqi removed her veil with a slow, practiced hand, the soft rustle of silk echoing in the quiet rooftop space. The gentle breeze tugged at the ends of her crimson hanfu, still heavy with the emotions she'd poured into the last performance. The city skyline flickered behind her like fading applause, but she barely noticed it. Her mind was already moving ahead.
Xiao Lin stood nearby, holding her tablet with wide eyes. "Miss Bai… the viewership broke half a million."
"Mm," Bai Zhiqi hummed faintly, not surprised.
She turned to leave the rooftop, heading down to her room to change out of the performance outfit. But before she reached the hallway, she saw Han Su already waiting—sharp in his usual black suit.
"Miss Bai," he said, voice low. "The President would like to see you."
She paused, brow lifting. "Now?"
"In his room."
That made her stop.
His room?
For the past three months, Ji Yanluo had kept every conversation strictly professional—always in the study or at the dining table. Never his room. The unspoken boundary had been clear.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her veil. "Very well," she said.
By the time she reached the top floor, the entire house felt unusually silent. She stood outside his door for a breath, then knocked once.
"It's open," came the smooth voice from inside.
She stepped in.
His room was dimly lit—warm tones casting long shadows against the matte walls. The space smelled faintly of cedar and leather. Ji Yanluo was seated on the armrest of a leather chair near the window, unbuttoned at the collar, a tumbler of whiskey in hand.
He looked at her—really looked—and for a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then he spoke, voice calm but edged in thought. "You didn't go today."
"I didn't need to," she replied. "Let them crave what they can't find."
He raised a brow. "And the livestream?"
"Just enough to stir them again."
Ji Yanluo leaned back slightly, taking a sip. "You're pulling strings like you've done this your whole life."
"I've had five years to plan," she said, her voice colder than before. "And now I have the netizens in the palm of my hand. They'll spread the story faster than any press agency ever could."
He stood and walked over to a sideboard, pouring another glass of water. "So what's next, Zhiqi?"
She met his eyes. "Lanyue is hooked. She's curious now. I can feel it. But I won't go to her… not yet. I want her to come to me. Confused. Drawn."
Ji Yanluo offered her the glass of water, and she took it.
"She already missed me once," Bai Zhiqi continued. "Tomorrow, I won't perform either. I'll disappear again. Let the hype swell."
"And then?"
"Then I strike. With something bold. A performance that forces her hand. I want her to reach out publicly."
Ji Yanluo nodded slowly. "And if she doesn't?"
"She will," she said with certainty. "Curiosity is a trap. And she's already halfway in."
He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"You've changed," he said quietly. "You were all sharp edges when you got out of prison. Now you're fire covered in silk."
She smiled faintly. "You're the one who gave me the fuel."
"And what will you do once Lanyue comes?" he asked, voice a little softer. "What's the endgame, Zhiqi?"
Her gaze flickered.
"I want her to feel what I felt—humiliation, betrayal, isolation. Not through violence. Through precision. Let her crumble under the weight of her own lies."
For a long moment, Ji Yanluo said nothing.
Then, he nodded. "I'll handle the press angle. If she tries to get ahead of the story, we'll already be one step further."
She gave a short nod. "Thank you."
As she turned to leave, he said quietly, "Zhiqi."
She paused, looking over her shoulder.
"You don't have to carry it all alone."
Her expression didn't soften. But something flickered in her eyes.
"I know," she said. "But I need to."
And with that, she left the room—her veil still in her hand, her heart burning like the ember of a storm not yet unleashed.