Shen Manyu gave another slight nod.
This scene barely had any lines. When she first read it, she had already committed most of the content to memory. It was the film’s emotional centerpiece—a moment where dialogue was sparse, and the weight of the performance rested entirely on the actor’s eyes, expressions, and physical movements.
An inexplicable wave of nervousness washed over Shen Manyu. Perhaps it was Hua Yanqiu’s seemingly casual demeanor, contrasted with the occasional flashes of raw passion and obsession in her eyes when discussing her craft, that exerted such heavy pressure.
In her past life, Shen Manyu had been an obscure, bottom-tier star for ten years. She had only truly started acting toward the end of her contract. In that short span, she had to rush between different sets and film an enormous volume of work. Even though she would record, reflect on, and try to improve her performance during the process, most of those projects were “trash dramas” chosen by her company solely for quick profit. They did little to sharpen her acting skills.
Performing opposite an actress as exceptional as Hua Yanqiu was a first for Shen Manyu.
She took a slow, deep breath. Her chest swelled, and her lungs felt tight, even aching slightly from the exertion.
Sister Qi stepped aside to a corner of the room, minimizing her presence as much as possible to avoid interfering with their performance.
Shen Manyu rose from her chair and retreated to the doorway. In those few short steps, her entire aura shifted quietly.
The seductive charm on her face vanished completely. Her gaze, which had previously held a soul-stirring allure in every glance and smile, transformed into the clear, naive innocence of someone who knew nothing of the world. She pursed her lips tightly. She was still beautiful, but it was a pure, defenseless beauty—utterly different from before.
She was now a sheltered young lady from a wealthy family, one who had never known the malice of the world. Growing up in luxury, she had only associated with peers of the same status and kind-hearted classmates at her private school.
This was her first encounter with a blood-stained, ruthless executioner.
The Lady General stood with her back ramrod straight. Her hand hovered in a loose grip at her waist—a reflex, though she was currently unarmed—maintaining her guard even in this setting.
“Why are you standing so far away? Will I eat you?”
Her chin was slightly tilted, her posture high and mighty. Though her voice was calm, every word carried the resonance of clashing iron and the chilling aura of a battlefield. Her tone was relatively gentle, as if she were aware of the staggering fragility of the girl before her and feared scaring her; yet, at the same time, it carried an absolute, undeniable authority.
When she spoke, her voice cracked through the silent room like a sudden thunderclap. The echo lingered in the empty space, causing the young lady to shudder violently.
The girl’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Like a startled young animal, she looked terrified and panicked, every fiber of her being screaming to flee from the predator before her. Yet, she was acutely aware of her situation. At this moment, she did not have the luxury of refusal.
Her terror and chaos were betrayed by the tears tracing paths down her cheeks, by her rigid, strained posture, and by her trembling frame and frantic eyes. Her body language was entirely one of resistance; her legs shook, and her red lips quivered. Her tears flowed like an uncontainable flood.
Anyone could see her visceral reluctance and overwhelming dread.
Finally, the Lady General’s patience wore thin. The mask of a gentle smile vanished, replaced by a cold expression. Her brow furrowed as she barked a command:
“Come here!”
The young lady flinched again, her entire body trembling even more violently. Large droplets of tears fell from the corners of her eyes, and the tip of her nose turned red from crying. A sob escaped her throat, uncontrolled.
She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, refusing to let the sound shatter the heavy silence of the room.
Most of the lights had been turned off, leaving only a single, dim, warm lamp. However, the faint light brought no warmth to the room. The glow fell at an angle, failing to illuminate the Lady General’s expression. Heavy shadows pooled like spilled ink, swallowing the room’s furniture.
Standing in the center of the room, the Lady General’s aura was overpowering. Her tall silhouette made the empty space feel inexplicably cramped and suffocating. The atmosphere was suppressed to the extreme, and the icy coldness in the General’s eyes added a layer of crushing weight to the air.
The pressure was like a mountain, bearing down on the young lady’s heart and shoulders. It made her legs go weak and her calves shake incessantly. She felt a desperate urge to collapse and kneel on the floor.
But she couldn’t.
The lives of her entire family were held in the hands of this cold-blooded, heartless General. If she failed to please her—if she failed to make her happy—her own flesh and blood would perish because of this woman’s wrath.
As the Lady General’s face grew darker and ice clouded her eyes, the wealthy young lady gave her own thigh a sharp, brutal pinch. The searing pain finally managed to drag her back from the brink of absolute panic.
Somehow, the desperate resolve to save her family’s lives granted her a flicker of courage. Clinging to that tiny spark, she took a deep breath and slowly lifted her foot.
Each step was agonizingly slow and heavy. Her heart hammered like a war drum; the closer she drew to the Lady General, the more intense that invisible pressure became. It felt almost physical, as if she had to fight against a massive resistance just to set each foot down.
The terror in her heart transformed into thorny vines, wrapping tightly around her chest and squeezing. The thorns pierced deep, leaving her heart bloodied and raw. The pain spread instantly, and a deepening sense of suffocation turned her face deathly pale, leaving her gasping for air.
The Lady General looked down at her approach, her expression undeniably frigid. Sharp blades seemed hidden beneath her dark, heavy brows. She was the hunter in absolute control, one who not only wanted to watch her prey struggle in a futile fight against fate but also intended to shatter the girl’s pride and break her spirit—forcing her to submit, however unwillingly.
The young lady kept her head bowed timidly, not daring to meet that piercing gaze.
The distance between them was actually short, yet to her, it felt interminably long. Her soul was tormented over and over, her heart feelng as though it were being turned on a spit over an open flame. At the same time, she felt the path was far too short—so short that she hadn’t nearly enough time to mentally prepare herself.
The young lady had always been obedient, following the traditional path of parental guidance and formal matchmaking. When the Lady General chose her, the implication had been crystal clear: she liked women, and she wanted the young lady specifically for her face and her body.
But how could a woman be with another woman? Could two women truly engage in the “clash of sprites”?
Her entire worldview had been shattered. Her father, hearing of such a thing for the first time in his life, had been utterly shocked—yet in his desperation, he had scrambled to find secret manuals detailing “those acts” between women so that she could observe and learn.
Heaven have mercy! In her eighteen years of life, she had always been a rule-follower. When had she ever laid eyes on such forbidden books? Reading them had made her head spin and her cheeks flush crimson; but the moment she thought of the Lady General’s bloody, brutal methods and her cold, cruel expression, her burning face would instantly turn ashen.
Within her downward gaze, the Lady General’s distinct, well-defined fingers came into view. Unlike the typical rough hands of a soldier, these hands were well-maintained; the skin was as smooth as tallow, and the white knuckles looked like fine jade. There were slight calluses on the pads of the fingers—marks left by years of gripping weapons.
Even before she reached her, the imagined scent of blood on those hands and the thought of the heads they had severed made the young lady’s chest tighten.
In particular, she suddenly noticed that the fingernails on those hands were trimmed very short and neat, with edges that were extremely smooth and rounded. These details, which she never would have noticed before, now merged with the lewd images from the books, magnifying in her mind and replaying on a loop.
She breathed with great difficulty, feeling as though she might choke to death at any moment.