The main filming lasted five hours, and in the end, Ying Chan, the murderer, escaped, taking home all of the episode’s rewards.
The bullet comments were going absolutely crazy. Although the viewers had a “god’s-eye view and could see the whole picture,” many people still guessed the murderer wrong.
“Ahhhh, A Chan’s acting is the biggest cheat code! She didn’t show a single flaw! I never suspected her at all!”
“Me neither! I thought it was Laine! Because the camera kept focusing on her, and everyone kept calling her out—I thought it was a hint!”
“The main thing is, I didn’t expect that this boss—who killed someone’s father, seized someone’s family property, and even stole someone else’s identity, every single act so heinous that everyone had a motive to kill him—would end up dying at the hands of someone he sexually harassed…”
“Now that I think about it, the design of the murderer being the courtesan is brilliant. ‘A devil who committed every evil imaginable, finally dying at the hands of the weak little woman he thought he could easily control’—the irony is off the charts.”
“I’m going to watch the case reconstruction!”
According to the show’s tradition, if the murderer takes all the rewards, they have to treat everyone to a meal.
So after filming wrapped, Ying Chan had her assistant tell the director and the other five guests to head over to the Korean BBQ place next to the TV station for a meal.
Ying Chan went to the dressing room first to change and have her hair taken down. While the stylist was brushing her hair, she pulled out her phone to check what people online were saying about this episode.
As she was scrolling, she suddenly received a text message. She casually tapped it open—
“Do you think your bodyguard can protect you forever? I’ll make you regret this.”
Ying Chan froze for a moment, then replied: “?”
But the sender had used a virtual phone number—she couldn’t call it back, and her reply wouldn’t go through.
Was it… a prank?
No, it didn’t seem like it.
A hate message from a toxic fan, then? That was possible.
Ying Chan’s old phone number had been dug up by toxic fans before, and they’d sent her harassing texts for a long time—including but not limited to insults, curses, black-and-white photos, and bloody images.
After she reported it to the police, they caught the person—just a minor, a middle school student who’d been brainwashed by so-called “big fans” into believing Ying Chan had stolen her idol’s role, and wished she were dead.
In the end, Ying Chan only made her write a handwritten apology letter and post it on social media, without pursuing legal action. She also changed her phone number, and that put an end to it.
So now they were back at it again?
Ying Chan stayed pretty calm—after all, it was just one sentence. She screenshotted it and sent it to Sister Wei.
Sister Wei replied quickly: “I’ll pull some strings and look into it.”
Ying Chan didn’t tell Jin Si about it for now, and went to the dinner as if nothing was wrong.
Jin Si didn’t sit at their table, but the director couldn’t stop thinking about him.
He said that for the next episode, there was a senior disciple NPC who had to carry Laine and fly down from a rooftop: “I think the NPC we originally picked isn’t handsome enough, doesn’t have enough presence. A Chan, borrow your bodyguard again for a side gig. Don’t worry, I definitely won’t shortchange him on pay, and if a suitable role comes up in the future, I’ll give it to him too.”
It was also part of the show’s format—after this episode ended, they drew the role cards for the next one.
Next episode, Ying Chan would be the Holy Maiden of the Demonic Cult, and Laine would be the youngest junior sister of the sect.
Ying Chan said without changing her expression: “Better not. You saw it yourself—he doesn’t like being on camera. Besides, he has other work next week. You should find someone else.”
The director couldn’t exactly push it, so he could only say: “Alright then.” His tone was rather regretful.
The meal didn’t end until late—it was already ten at night when Jin Si drove Ying Chan back to Heshan Bay.
On the way, he suddenly asked: “Boss, what work do I have next week?”
Ying Chan had gotten up early today and used her brain too much. She was exhausted and sleepy, sprawled motionless in the back seat, and answered casually: “No idea. Sister Wei hasn’t said anything yet.”
Jin Si let out a slow, amused laugh: “No work? Then why did you turn down the director for me? You’re cutting off my income.”
“…Damn.”
He’d tricked her.
Ying Chan coughed awkwardly, sat up straight, and put on a matter-of-fact air: “Did you not read our labor contract carefully? You’re my personal bodyguard. You need to be by my side every day—how can you just run off to make extra money on the side?”
Jin Si let out an “Oh~”: “I thought the boss’s possessiveness over me was just that strong, and you refused because you didn’t want me to have physical contact with that actress—what was her name?”
Ying Chan: “…Then you’re really overthinking it. If you want, I can introduce you to an adult film shoot right now.”
“That won’t do. I have a sense of service. I’m the boss’s man now—I can’t be doing that kind of thing with other people.”
Ying Chan was afraid his next line would be “unless the female lead is the boss,” because then she’d probably have another inexplicable erotic dream tonight.
She simply didn’t respond and slumped back into her seat.
Jin Si glanced at her through the rearview mirror, and the corner of his mouth curled up involuntarily.
As usual, Jin Si drove her home, checked the house inside and out, and only left after confirming everything was fine.
Ying Chan removed her makeup and was about to take a shower when her phone suddenly rang.
She picked it up and looked—it was Shang Lübai. She paused for a moment before answering.
“A Chan.”
On the other end of the phone, the man’s voice was cool and textured, like glass beads falling onto a porcelain plate.
Ying Chan: “President Shang, is there something you need this late?”
Shang Lübai: “I’m downstairs at your place.”
Ying Chan was taken aback for a moment, then said, “But I’m already about to go to bed. If there’s something, I’ll come find you at the company tomorrow.”
Shang Lübai: “I can come up.”
She knew that whatever this man wanted to do, he would see it through no matter what.
Ying Chan had no choice: “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll change and come down.”
She grabbed a jacket and put it on, zipping it all the way up, then tucked her hands into her pockets and jogged downstairs.
Shang Lübai stood by his car in a full suit with no tie, smoking a cigarette, the tip of the ember flickering in the dark. When he caught sight of her figure, he stubbed out the cigarette.
Ying Chan walked up to him. Besides the faint smell of smoke, she also caught a heavier scent of alcohol: “You’ve been drinking?”
Shang Lübai’s voice was low: “There was a business dinner.”
Ying Chan knew he had stomach problems. Drinking this much today would definitely make him uncomfortable, so she couldn’t help saying, “After drinking this much, you should have gone home early to rest instead of coming to find me. Is there something going on?”
Behind his glasses, Shang Lübai’s gaze was dark and deep as he looked at her: “I heard about what happened on set today.”
Ying Chan froze for a moment.
He meant the sexual harassment incident?
Only she and Jin Si knew about that, and Jin Si would never tell him… So there was a spy from his side in the production crew? Someone who had been watching her on his behalf the whole time?
“…”
Ying Chan had always known about Shang Lübai’s controlling nature, but at this moment, she still felt a strong sense of discomfort.
“It’s nothing. It’s already been resolved.”
Shang Lübai stepped closer to her: “Zhaozhao.”
Ying Chan suddenly lifted her head—he was calling her by her childhood name.
Her nose suddenly stung. This nickname of hers—besides her family, only he knew it. During those years she stayed at his house, he always called her Zhaozhao.
“Walnut milk, to nourish Zhaozhao’s brain. But if you stay up doing problems until three in the morning again, I’ll soak your head in the milk.”
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have scared Zhaozhao.”
“As compensation, how about I take Zhaozhao fishing this weekend? Isn’t fishing your favorite? I won’t tell Aunt Ying.”
“Zhaozhao, come here.”
“Zhaozhao, come to your brother.”
“Zhaozhao, Zhaozhao.”
“…”
This nickname—he said it the best. It was gentle like a dull blade, carving one crack after another across her skin.