Su Ran’s nails dug into the sleeve of Fu Yechuan’s suit.
Sacrifice!
The two words rolled through her mind three times.
Bai Jingshan never spoke idly. If he had said those words, it meant Bai Weiwei’s arrangements were already fully in place, waiting for them to walk straight into the trap.
Bai Jingshan stepped aside, the hem of his dark red suit brushing past the crowd before he quickly disappeared.
Su Ran swept her gaze across the entire venue.
The crystal chandeliers shimmered dazzlingly overhead, champagne towers rose in elegant tiers, and well-dressed guests chatted and laughed. On the main stage, the electronic screen scrolled through images of auction items, each marked with an enticing starting price.
Nothing seemed out of place.
“Come,” Fu Yechuan said, wrapping an arm around her with just enough force as he guided her toward the corner.
“Don’t go there.” Su Ran pulled him back.
The seat Bai Weiwei had arranged was right next to the kitchen and the emergency exit. On the surface, it looked like an insult, but in reality, it was a setup with a hidden move.
The corner was a blind spot. If anything happened, no one would notice them immediately.
Instead, Su Ran led Fu Yechuan straight to an empty table in the middle section of the hall.
A nameplate stood on the table, reading: “Zhang Industrial · Mr. Zhang Hongyun and Spouse.”
Su Ran picked up the nameplate, flipped it over, and tucked it beneath the tablecloth before pulling out a chair and sitting down.
Fu Yechuan raised an eyebrow at her actions.
“I saw Zhang Hongyun in the previous records. He’s in Singapore right now. There’s no way he could attend tonight,” Su Ran explained, swallowing the words “in the book” just in time.
Fu Yechuan didn’t question further and sat down beside her.
The position was neither too good nor too bad, but it offered a clear view.
They could see the main stage, Bai Weiwei’s table, and every entrance and exit in the venue.
A waiter approached with a tray. Su Ran picked up a glass of champagne, holding it without drinking, using it as nothing more than a prop.
“Keep an eye on the main screen,” she murmured, her lips brushing the rim of the glass, her voice low enough to blend into the surrounding noise so only Fu Yechuan could hear. “Bai Jingshan mentioned a sacrifice. I’m betting she’s going to make her move during the auction.”
Fu Yechuan scanned the room with his glass in hand.
“The final item,” he said.
Su Ran immediately arrived at the same conclusion.
The fake information Zhou Zhe had spread earlier claimed that Fu Yechuan, acting on behalf of “President Ma,” would participate in the auction with a budget of five million, targeting the final item.
If Bai Weiwei had gotten that information, she would definitely have made her move there.
But what exactly would she do?
Su Ran’s mind raced.
Charity auction, final item, Bai Weiwei’s usual style—
She had her answer. “Fu Yechuan, do you know what the final item is?”
“No! Only the first ten items were disclosed. The final one is confidential.”
Su Ran set down her glass and pulled out her phone, opening the charity gala’s official account. At the bottom, a bold line read: “Mystery Final Item—Exclusively Donated by Bai Group, starting bid: 500,000.”
Exclusively donated by Bai Group.
Her fingers paused on the screen.
“What she donated doesn’t matter,” Su Ran said quietly. “What matters is that your nonexistent ‘President Ma’ is supposed to bid on it. Bai Weiwei is certain you’ll raise your paddle.”
“She’ll drive up the price,” Fu Yechuan said immediately.
“Not just that.” Su Ran shook her head. “That’s not her real goal. She wants everyone to watch you bid five million on something worthless.”
She laid out the logic clearly.
“In a charity auction, you don’t have to pay on the spot, but once you win, your bid becomes a public debt. Five million for trash—everyone will know you’re pretending to be something you’re not. The Bai family will use that to build a narrative, saying a bankrupt man like you is still spending recklessly.”
“The creditors will come knocking,” Fu Yechuan continued.
“Exactly! Once you sign the auction agreement, you’re legally obligated to pay. If you can’t, it’s a breach of contract and your credibility collapses completely. If you can, the Bai family will know you still have hidden funds, and their investigation will intensify.”
A dead end either way.
Bai Weiwei didn’t just want him to lose face.
She wanted him to dig his own grave in front of everyone.
Fu Yechuan set his glass down, the base making a dull sound against the tablecloth.
“So we don’t bid.”
“We don’t bid,” Su Ran agreed. “But Bai Weiwei doesn’t know we’ve seen through her plan. She’s set up something this elaborate. If we don’t cooperate, she’ll definitely have a backup move.”
Fu Yechuan thought for a few seconds.
“She’ll force us to bid.”
“Right! How?”
They both turned to look at the stage.
The auction hadn’t started yet. The host was warming up the crowd with practiced enthusiasm.
Su Ran glanced toward the side of the stage, where staff were adjusting the projection equipment.
The big screen.
“If I were Bai Weiwei,” Su Ran lowered her voice even further, “I’d use the big screen during the intermission. Maybe a video, maybe photos—something related to you or your family. The goal would be to provoke you and make you lose control.”
Fu Yechuan tapped the table slowly, thinking.
“What does she have that could provoke me?”
Su Ran hesitated.
In the original story, Bai Weiwei had once attacked him through public opinion, digging up his mother’s past and distorting it before broadcasting it in a social setting.
His mother. That was his bottom line.
Su Ran opened her mouth, hesitated for half a second, then asked, “How is your mother doing right now?”
Fu Yechuan’s tapping stopped.
He glanced at her, his expression complicated, not anger but the instinctive withdrawal of someone whose wound had been touched.
“She’s ill. Hospitalized,” he said softly.
Her guess was confirmed.
“Bai Weiwei might use your mother against you tonight,” Su Ran said bluntly. “I don’t know in what form, but she’ll use what matters most to you. Be prepared.”
Fu Yechuan’s jaw tightened slightly.
“I’m prepared.” Su Ran studied his face.
There was no dramatic change in expression, but his breathing had shortened from four seconds to three.
The auction officially began.
The first few items passed without incident.
Famous paintings, antique porcelain, limited-edition watches—all sold within expected ranges.
The atmosphere remained lively, with laughter, bidding, and smooth pacing.
Su Ran and Fu Yechuan didn’t raise their paddles once.
Occasionally, people at Bai Weiwei’s table glanced over, their expressions filled with curiosity and speculation.
After the eighth item was sold, the host announced a fifteen-minute intermission.
The lights dimmed slightly.
Waiters moved between tables, serving desserts and refilling drinks.
Su Ran took the opportunity to go to the restroom.
When she pushed the door open, it was empty.
Marble sinks, a full wall of mirrors, and fresh lilies in a vase filled the space, their fragrance almost overpowering.
She splashed cold water on her face, easing the tension pounding at her temples.
The door opened behind her. Through the mirror, she saw who had entered.
Bai Weiwei.
Alone, holding a glass of red wine, dressed in a white feathered gown that shimmered softly under the lights. Her long hair fell over her shoulders, her makeup flawless, her smile gentle and harmless.
Su Ran wiped her face with a tissue and didn’t turn around.
“Su Ran, it’s been a while,” Bai Weiwei said sweetly.
“Not that long,” Su Ran replied. “It’s only been about ten days since you handed me that worthless check.”
Bai Weiwei’s smile froze for a split second before returning smoothly.
“What are you talking about? What worthless check?” she said innocently. “I came today because I wanted to have a heartfelt talk with you.”
“Go ahead.”
Bai Weiwei stepped beside her and set down her wine glass.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, half a meter apart.
“Su Ran, what are you hoping to gain by staying with Yechuan?” Bai Weiwei asked softly. “He has nothing now. Someone as smart as you should understand the situation.”
Su Ran turned, leaning against the sink with her arms crossed.
“You followed me into the restroom just to say that?”
“I genuinely care about you,” Bai Weiwei said, her eyes glistening. “I grew up with Yechuan. I know him better than anyone. He’s not right for you.”
Su Ran studied her face.
Beautiful, pure, innocent.
The kind of white moonlight heroine readers adored.
Every expression calculated, every word a hook.
“Are you done?” Su Ran asked.
Bai Weiwei’s smile faded. She picked up her wine glass, condensation forming on its surface.
“There’s a segment in the second half about Yechuan’s family,” she said, her tone suddenly flat and cold, like a mask being removed. “I didn’t want it to get ugly, but since you refuse to leave, I have no choice.”
Su Ran’s nerves snapped tight.
A segment about his family.
She had been right.
“What segment?” she asked calmly.
Bai Weiwei turned to look at her, her eyes now clear and cold like polished glass.
“Guess.”
She left, the door closing behind her, leaving behind the scent of lilies and wine.
Su Ran stood still for three seconds, then pulled out her phone and dialed another number.
It connected after one ring.
“Lawyer Shen,” she said quietly. “Do you know what Bai Weiwei has planned for the second half of tonight’s gala?”
There was a brief silence.
“Yes,” Shen Zhixing replied. “She prepared a video using your mother’s overseas medical records, edited to resemble a psychiatric history, with narration and subtitles implying hereditary mental illness in the Fu family.”
A chill ran down Su Ran’s back.
“She’s going to play it in front of everyone?”
“Not directly. It’ll be framed as a charitable video about donations to a mental health institution. The packaging is proper, but the implication will be obvious.”
Su Ran closed her eyes.
“Where is the video now?”
“In the AV control room backstage. Bai family technicians are guarding it.”
“Can it be stopped?”
A pause. “I can’t,” Shen Zhixing admitted. “But the original footage is in Bai Weiwei’s private cloud. If needed later, I can testify to its source.”
Too late to stop it. Su Ran hung up and hurried back.
By the time she returned, the second half was about to begin.
She leaned close to Fu Yechuan.
“There’s a video about your mother. Edited to look like a psychiatric history. They’ll play it under the guise of a charity segment.”
Fu Yechuan’s pupils shrank.
His expression changed into something she had never seen before.
Not anger. Something deeper, colder, like magma beneath the earth.
“Do we stop it before it plays, or deal with it after?” he asked.
“What?”
“Tell me.”
Su Ran made her decision in a split second.
“After.” He looked at her.
“Let it play,” she said. “Once it’s aired, it’s defamation. Do you still have your mother’s real medical records?”
“Yes.”
“Good! When they show the fake one, you reveal the real one.”
He held her gaze. “Are you sure?”
“Can the real records prove she wasn’t treated in psychiatry?”
“Cardiology,” he said. “A congenital valve issue. Minimally invasive surgery overseas.”
“That’s all we need.”
Under the table, her hand brushed his wrist—not comfort, but an anchor.
“Can you endure it while the video plays?”
His muscles tensed. “You’re really asking me that,” he muttered hoarsely.
The lights dimmed completely.
The screen lit up. The video began.
At first, everything seemed normal—data, case studies, expert interviews.
Then, a blurred photo appeared. A woman in a hospital gown sat on a corridor bench.
Fu Yechuan recognized her instantly.
His body went rigid.
The narration began. A medical record followed.
A surname: Fu.
Whispers spread across the hall.
Fu Yechuan’s fist clenched under the table.
Su Ran waited. Ninety seconds later, the video ended.
Silence fell, then she stood.
“May I borrow the microphone?”
She walked to the stage.
“Very touching video,” she began calmly. “But I have a small question. The medical record shown lists a Fu patient in psychiatry. However, the patient in question—Mr. Fu Yechuan’s mother was treated in cardiothoracic surgery for a congenital valve repair.”
She raised her phone, displaying the discharge certificate.
“Cardiothoracic surgery and psychiatry aren’t easily confused, are they?”
All eyes turned to Bai Weiwei.
Her hand trembled, red wine spilling onto her white dress like blood.
Su Ran stepped down. When she returned, Fu Yechuan downed two glasses of alcohol.
His eyes were red, but he sat rigidly composed.
“Let’s go,” he said after a moment.
They left. Outside, the cold night air hit them.
Su Ran’s knees nearly gave out. Fu Yechuan caught her, steadying her.
In the taxi, he helped her inside.
As the car drove off, she asked quietly, “Who paid for your mother’s surgery?”
“…The Bai family.”
Everything clicked.
“She knew everything, so she twisted it. She thought you wouldn’t reveal the truth because it would mean admitting you owed them.”
“She didn’t expect you to have a copy,” he said.
Su Ran’s phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number: “Good job.”
She turned off the screen.
Tonight’s reckoning had only just begun.