7:00 PM. The doors opened.
The world held its breath.
Jiang Zhiqing stepped forward, wrapped in silk and silence. Her heels clicked softly on the marble floor, like measured heartbeats against a war drum.
And beside her, hand in hers—Xie Zhenhua.
The crowd didn't gasp.
They froze.
Because what they were seeing wasn't just a woman returning to the spotlight. It was a woman who had been dragged through blood and headlines and grief—and came back wearing white.
Livestream comments surged across millions of screens.
@XQ_Fangirl: She came BACK?? Like this?? 😭
@WeiMemorial: zhenhua. why are you holding her hand
@ZhiqingEdits: SHE'S STUNNING. HER CHIN IS UP. SHE'S NOT HIDING.
They walked together—slow, confident, and defiant. And when they reached the front, they sat. Hand still in hand.
For a moment, the entire press room… just stared. Then, the questions came like gunfire.
"Miss Jiang! Did you ever threaten Chen Wei before his death?"
"Why were you called in for questioning at the police station last week?"
"Mr. Xie—what's your relationship with Miss Jiang?"
"Are you protecting her image?"
"Is this a publicity stunt?"
She didn't answer.
Not yet.
She stared out at them—the journalists with sharpened tongues, the cameras that never blinked, and the fans behind their screens ready to judge with one emoji.
Then—
"YOU DESTROYED HIM!"
A scream. Raw. Tearing.
A woman—barely held together by grief and rage—lunged forward from the crowd. Chen Wei's face on the poster clutched in her hands. Her voice cracked like a whip as she shoved past a velvet barrier.
"He loved you! He gave everything for you!"
Security moved. Too slow.
But not Zhenhua.
He rose.
One step forward. One hand out.
He caught the woman by the wrist before she reached the stage.
Not violently. Just… firmly.
"Enough," he said, his voice cold as steel but calm as glass. "This isn't justice. It's cruelty."
The woman froze. For a moment, even she couldn't look away from him. Then security pulled her back.
The flashbulbs returned. The chaos with it.
But Zhiqing hadn't moved.
Not a single step.
And when she stood, she did it like a queen reclaiming her throne.
She walked to the mic, white silk brushing against her ankles, hair smooth, spine straighter than ever.
"I broke up with Chen Wei a year ago," she said.
And just like that, silence.
"I didn't drag his name." "I didn't expose his secrets." "I didn't scream betrayal." "I gave him peace."
"But now—after he's gone—I'm the one being blamed for a death I didn't cause. I am not a murderer. I am not the villain you want me to be."
She didn't cry.
Not because she wasn't hurting—but because tears were a luxury. And today, she came armed.
@AnonymousFan_81: this doesn't sound rehearsed
@KindaShocked: idk… she looks tired, not manipulative
@ZhenhuaEyesOnly: I SWEAR if this is a stunt, I'm DONE with him
Reporters hesitated. Then—another shout:
"Then what is your relationship with Xie Zhenhua?"
A pause.
Zhenhua moved beside her. His fingers slid into hers again—not for effect. But like it was where they belonged.
"We're engaged," he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
A gasp rippled through the room. The silence cracked wide open.
@ShipperHearts: OH MY GOD
@AngryEXOstan: LOL, THIS IS FAKE AS HELL
@ZhenQingForLife: They really said, "Plot twist."
"When's the wedding?" someone blurted.
"Next month," Zhiqing said, cool as snow.
The press went wild.
Reporters shouting over each other.
Fans are screaming online.
A flood of photos hit social media:
🔹 Behind-the-scenes from their drama together
🔹 That rain photoshoot
🔹 Him brushing her hair behind her ear during a rehearsal
@OldDramaStan: so THIS WAS FORESHADOWING📸 [uploaded: "Zhenhua_StaringAt_Her.jpg"]
@LoveAndLies: I'm not even mad. I ship this now. Hard.
@HeWasMine: She's still the woman who let Chen Wei die. I'll never forgive her.
Then came one final question.
"Mr. Xie," someone asked quietly, cutting through the noise.
"Why her?"
Zhenhua looked straight ahead.
Then sideways.
At her.
And answered.
"Because she's the only person I've seen walk through hell and still carry herself like a cathedral."
No one spoke.
Not in the room. Not online.
For just a second, the internet forgot how to hate.
8:04 PM—Livestream ends. Viewers: 13.2 million.
Backstage.
Zhiqing sat in front of the mirror. Her makeup was untouched, but something in her eyes had shifted. Not fear. Not pride. Something between surrender and survival.
Zhenhua leaned against the doorframe behind her, arms folded, tie loose now.
"You okay?" he asked.
She exhaled slowly. "No."
He waited.
Then she said, "But I'm free."
He smiled. Just slightly. "Then it was worth it."
And in the quiet dressing room, far from the flashing lights and breaking hashtags, she let her hand fall against her lap.
It wasn't shaking anymore.
On the other side of the city...
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of a tablet screen and the lazy glow of a salt lamp in the corner. The warmth of the sheets hadn't faded yet. Neither had the heat between them.
Yu Feifei lay wrapped in satin and shadows, half-tangled in the bedding. Her breath was still shallow, her skin flushed. But her eyes… they were wide, fixed on the screen at the foot of the bed.
"Zhiqing looks good," Meng An'ran murmured, voice smooth as velvet, chin resting on her knuckles.
On the screen, the press conference had just begun.
Zhiqing walked in like a war goddess. White silk. Cold grace. Hand in hand with Xie Zhenhua.
Yu Feifei blinked. "They're really—together?"
An'ran didn't answer at first. She just watched.
Paused the video.
Rewound it.
Watched again. Her expression was unreadable but not cold.
"She was never the kind of girl to let the world tell her what to do," An'ran said finally, leaning back into the pillows. "So no. I'm not surprised."
Feifei sat up slightly, clinging to the sheet. "I thought she'd… I don't know. Hide. After everything."
An'ran's mouth quirked. "You've never really seen Zhiqing fight, have you?"
"I… read the story," Feifei said under her breath.
Too quietly.
But An'ran's eyes flicked sideways. "Hm?"
"Nothing," Feifei said quickly. "Just… she doesn't seem like the type to forgive easily."
An'ran gave a soft laugh. "No, she doesn't. And she shouldn't."
The video resumed. The press room buzzed. Reporters barked questions. The woman screamed. The chaos unfolded.
Zhenhua stepped forward.
Shielded her.
Held her hand tighter.
Then came the line—his voice low but clear:
"We're engaged."
Feifei's breath caught.
An'ran smiled. Not bitter. Not surprised. It was the kind of smile that had seen it all before the curtains even lifted.
"You knew," Feifei whispered.
"Of course I knew," An'ran said, stretching languidly. "Zhenhua told me a week ago that he would announce his child's engagement to the public. I helped him book the venue for the announcement."
Feifei's heart skipped. "So… you support this?"
An'ran turned her head and met her eyes directly. "She's my best friend. Since we were five. Of course I support it."
Then she reached out, plucked the tablet from Feifei's lap, and muted the livestream.
She set it on the bedside table like she was closing a novel she'd already memorized.
"But you," An'ran said, voice cooling a degree, "seem more shaken than you should be."
Feifei's pulse quickened.
"I just… didn't expect them to be real," she said carefully. "It always looked like acting, in the dramas…"
"Zhenhua doesn't act," An'ran said simply. "He only commits."
Feifei went quiet.
And for a moment, An'ran let the silence stretch. Let Feifei squirm a little under the covers, fidgeting with the hem of the blanket.
"I hope you're not planning anything stupid," An'ran said mildly. "Because now that she's marrying into the Fu family, she's not just my best friend. She's blood-adjacent."
"I'm not—planning anything," Feifei said quickly. Too quickly.
An'ran's gaze didn't shift. "Good."
Then, like flipping a switch, she relaxed again. "Because if you were, I'd have to bury you in a pretty dress."
Feifei tried to laugh. It came out cracked.
An'ran leaned over, brushing Feifei's cheek with the back of her fingers, soft as silk.
"I like you, Feifei," she murmured. "You're bold. A little messy. But don't get confused."
A pause.
"Zhiqing may be the light, but I'm the shadow behind her. And Zhenhua? He doesn't take threats lightly."
Feifei's mouth had gone dry. She nodded slowly.
"I understand."
An'ran smiled again. Sweet this time. Almost kind.
"Good. Now get some rest. Tomorrow, the real games begin."