The drone had crashed, and all the footage was wiped. Naturally, the interview ended in failure.
Qiu Yu didn't mind. It was mostly canned dialogue anyway—footage or no footage, it made little difference.
On the bright side, ever since the drone went down, Lu Zehou's attitude toward them had improved significantly. No more sideways glares or passive aggression.
And yet, Qiu Yu couldn't shake the feeling that Lu Zehou's gaze toward Chen Ce Bai had shifted—something complex lingered in his eyes. There was speechlessness, shock, disdain, disbelief… and even a trace of something she couldn't quite name.
She looked at Chen Ce Bai, puzzled.
Chen Ce Bai met her gaze, lowering his eyes. Three seconds into the stare, he suddenly leaned in and kissed her, hard. His cold tongue swept aggressively past her lips. Then, as if nothing had happened, he straightened up and said, completely unbothered:
"What is it?"
"…Nothing," Qiu Yu muttered, and after a moment's thought, admitted inwardly: his shameless antics really were a bit terrifying.
With the interview failed and the sky darkening, they had no choice but to come back another day.
Before leaving, Qiu Yu turned to Lu Zehou and asked, "Do you need any financial support?"
Lu Zehou frowned. "What do you mean?"
Qiu Yu blinked. "I counted the number of bedrolls. You've taken in over twenty homeless individuals. I've never rented a place myself, but I know that leasing a 30-square-meter warehouse isn't cheap. Most people in the city live in coffin cubicles—2.5 meters high, barely 5 square meters of floor space."
Her eyes were clear, voice sincere: "If you're struggling financially, please tell me. I'd be happy to help, even just a little."
Lu Zehou had indeed struggled with funding when he first began helping the homeless.
Back then, his first instinct was to attend charity galas and seek donations from celebrities.
He knew they wouldn't donate for nothing, but he believed if he presented his cause convincingly enough, someone would be willing to chip in. After all, these people could drop hundreds of millions at a single gala. He didn't need that much—just a few hundred thousand. Some of them wore outfits worth more than that.
But the first celebrity he approached responded with a laugh:
"Oh? Interesting project. First I've heard of it. So… what's the ROI? How much profit can I expect from this?"
Lu Zehou was stunned. "Profit? No, sir, this isn't an investment. It's a donation—"
The man burst out laughing. "Who said donations can't be profitable? Professor Lu, you didn't really think I'd donate, did you?"
He gave Lu Zehou a mocking once-over. "If you need money, just say so. Everyone here is kind-hearted—we'd gladly help a struggling professor. But donate to a bunch of lazy, good-for-nothing bums? I'd rather toss my cash into a pond."
He walked off, still chuckling, and later told the story to his friends like it was a joke.
Lu Zehou stood there in a daze, staring after him, unable to snap out of it.
A friend who had come with him sighed and said, "I told you—no one here is actually here for charity."
Lu Zehou mumbled, "Then why host a charity gala?"
The friend asked, "Do you know what kind of people they do like donating to?"
Lu Zehou shook his head.
"They love donating to the disabled," his friend said calmly. "Because disability evokes sympathy. And if they don't have cognitive impairments, most can be 'fixed' with cybernetic implants."
"Of course, those surgeries aren't free. The corporations claim it's to preserve the dignity of the 'special groups.' But what the public doesn't know is that those recipients sign massive debt contracts. To pay it off, they're locked into decades of labor. Meanwhile, the companies proudly declare they're 'teaching a man to fish.'"
"They also love donating to the 'Safe Commute Initiative.' Sounds nice—meant to help victims of gun violence. Offers free firearm training, even hands out basic handguns."
"But in reality…" the friend gave Lu Zehou a meaningful look, "You and I both know that the best way to sell guns is to make sure everyone has one."
Lu Zehou said nothing.
Because it was true. Basic handguns wouldn't save you in an attack.
Imagine being mugged and fumbling to load an ancient revolver while your hands shake. Would your attacker just watch?
No. He'd shoot you first with a more advanced weapon.
Just like air filter sales spike when pollution worsens, every mass shooting drove up gun shop profits. The "Safe Commute Initiative" didn't exist to protect the defenseless. It existed to sell firearms.
Only someone like Lu Zehou—head buried in his lab—could have believed that charity galas were really about charity.
Since that day, he never asked anyone for money again. And he never again expected anyone to support his unprofitable public welfare project.
Back then, he couldn't have imagined that "public good" would one day become synonymous with "return on investment."
And now, hearing Qiu Yu speak like that… he felt something stir.
How many years had it been since someone said something normal to him?
No wonder Chen Ce Bai cherished her like a treasure.
Who in this world wouldn't be drawn to someone like her?
She was like an old-world moth lamp. Even if the moths saw the burnt carcasses of their kin beneath the bulb—even if they knew it meant death—they would still fly straight into the heat.
Without realizing it, Lu Zehou had been staring at Qiu Yu for a long time.
Long enough for Chen Ce Bai to issue a cold warning:
"Professor Lu."
Lu Zehou chuckled. Their dynamic was… interesting.
Chen Ce Bai's intelligence clearly far exceeded the numbers released to the public—likely surpassing the limits of what humans were thought capable of.
Knowing how biotech operated, he'd almost certainly been genetically modified.
And yet, he hadn't died from systemic DNA breakdown. On the contrary—he had gained the ability to freely manipulate his own cells and reproduce indefinitely.
In other words, biotech had created a being that could wipe them out at any time.
Fascinating.
Even more intriguing: if his intellect had surpassed human limits, he should be purely rational—utterly immune to emotion.
But the opposite seemed to be true.
Outwardly, yes, he was colder, more composed, never ruled by impulse. But just now… when Qiu Yu went silent for a few seconds, Chen Ce Bai had nearly slaughtered everyone in the room.
Everyone except Qiu Yu, of course.
A mad idea slowly began to take shape in Lu Zehou's mind.
In the process of developing nanosecond-level chips, he'd stumbled upon secrets no ordinary person should ever know.
And those secrets were growing inside him like fermented dough—expanding, consuming.
If he kept them hidden, kept silent… it was no different from murder.
But he had no way to share them.
The corporation controlled everything.
They monitored, they listened, they were everywhere.
All his social accounts were under surveillance.
They allowed provocative speech—after all, the net was already filled with whistleblowers, hint-droppers, and fake exposés. One more voice wouldn't matter.
But truly telling the truth?
That was something else entirely.
The tide of information was overwhelming. For the average person, distinguishing truth from lies inside a cocoon spun by big data was nearly impossible.
As long as there was no concrete evidence, no one bold enough to light the first match, the company's reign would remain unshakable.
Yes—the company allowed Lu Zehou to spread conspiracy-theory-style posts online. What they forbade was the sharing of actual evidence.
It was more insidious than silencing him outright.
In the beginning, netizens believed him. But as time passed and he still failed to produce a single piece of hard proof, they began to see him as nothing more than a clown chasing attention.
Now, no matter what he said, no one took him seriously.
People just assumed he was fishing for views and clicks.
After all, Chen Ce Bai wasn't the only one falling out of control.
Lu Zehou felt it too—that sense of losing grip.
Inside him burned a spark, a wildfire waiting to spread—hot, alive, desperate to break free and ignite the silicon, steel, and circuitry of this artificial world.
But the company had trapped him inside a glass dome.
He couldn't get out.
So all he could do was burn inside, tormented by the fire in his mind, writhing in silence.
The world watched him twist and scream and beat his fists against the invisible walls—
But no one heard him.
No one knew his pain.
No one even understood why he was locked up in the first place.
Lu Zehou wasn't a sociopath.
He didn't want to destroy the world—he wanted to find a way to renew it.
The monopolistic corporations were a cancer.
They fractured nations, fueled hatred among people, turned fields into wastelands, and left once-thriving cities desolate and dead.
But he didn't have the power to cure the cancer.
Hell, he couldn't even expose it.
But now… things had changed.
Chen Ce Bai had the power to burn the entire system to the ground.
Lu Zehou had wanted to reach out, to hand him the olive branch directly.
But after half an hour of observation, he realized—
Chen Ce Bai didn't care.
Not one bit.
When Lu Zehou explained the stories behind the homeless people he'd taken in, only Qiu Yu listened attentively.
Chen Ce Bai didn't even glance his way.
His gaze never strayed from Qiu Yu—not for a second.
He could only see Qiu Yu.
He only wanted to see Qiu Yu.
Otherwise, why would someone with the power to defy the system remain a top researcher for the company?
Lu Zehou saw it clearly:
Chen Ce Bai wanted Qiu Yu.
And anything—anyone—that stood between them would be crushed without mercy.
Thank god Qiu Yu was kind, sweet, and good.
Maybe, through her, he could convince Chen Ce Bai to join the Renewal Project.
With that, Lu Zehou turned to Qiu Yu and asked, "Miss Qiu, may I have a private word with you?"
The moment he finished, Chen Ce Bai answered coldly, "No. Say it here."
Just as expected—when it came to Qiu Yu, Chen Ce Bai's terrifying intelligence seemed to vanish entirely.
He hadn't even considered the possibility of a trap.
Lu Zehou gave a pleasant smile. "Dr. Chen, aren't you being a bit controlling? I know you and Miss Qiu are very close, but she's her own person. She has the right to choose whether to speak with me privately."
He paused, then twisted the knife.
"Or… do you think Miss Qiu isn't her own person? Just your accessory—without the right to make decisions on her own?"
He knew he was poking the tiger.
Had Qiu Yu not been standing there, Chen Ce Bai likely would've killed him right then and there.
Actually, he wouldn't even need to do anything.
The sheer pressure radiating off him—cold, terrifying, and violently invasive—was enough to make Lu Zehou feel like he might drop dead on the spot.
Fortunately, Qiu Yu really was as kind as she seemed.
She reached out, hooked her arms around Chen Ce Bai's neck, and kissed him softly.
Instantly, the suffocating aura vanished.
Lu Zehou wiped the cold sweat from his brow, secretly relieved.
Chen Ce Bai lowered his gaze to her.
Qiu Yu said gently, "It's okay, it's just a quick chat. I'm guessing Professor Lu wants to offer some funding but feels awkward asking in front of you…"
Chen Ce Bai caught her hand and pressed his face into her warm palm, breathing in shaky, cool gusts.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a raspy voice and a visible swallow, he murmured:
"…I don't trust him alone with you."
"Professor Lu's a good man," Qiu Yu said with a smile. "And come on, are you seriously underestimating me? I've never ranked lower than top ten in the company's self-defense and marksmanship courses. You think he could overpower me?"
Lu Zehou's mouth twitched. "Could you not badmouth me so loudly?"
Chen Ce Bai opened his eyes, still watching Qiu Yu.
She took the chance to slip off his glasses and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his eyelid. Her voice was soft and playful:
"Please?"
He didn't need her to beg—he couldn't say no to her anyway.
Chen Ce Bai sighed and rubbed his brow.
"I'll wait here. If anything's off, call me."
Qiu Yu giggled. "The room is like ten feet away—what difference does it make?"
Chen Ce Bai didn't answer.
Seeing him glance icily at Lu Zehou again, Qiu Yu stepped between them, gently replaced his glasses, and kissed him again. "Relax. If anything happens, I'll call you immediately."
The very next moment, Chen Ce Bai gripped her wrist tightly.
Qiu Yu tilted her head, puzzled.
Chen Ce Bai closed his eyes, leaned closer to her ear, Adam's apple bobbing as if he were about to say something—
But in the end, he stayed silent.
After a beat, he said, "Go ahead."
Qiu Yu kissed his fingers and turned to Lu Zehou with a warm smile.
"Professor Lu, where would you like to talk?"
Lu Zehou met Chen Ce Bai's cold, warning stare over Qiu Yu's shoulder.
The man's possessiveness had clearly crossed into obsession.
Even a brief conversation with a harmless old professor was treated like an unforgivable threat.
Lu Zehou smiled to himself.
Well, in that case, he was definitely going to speak to Qiu Yu—privately.
And not just "privately," but in a place where Chen Ce Bai's eyes and ears couldn't reach.
"This way, Miss Qiu," he said politely.