Chen Zhiye did not directly answer Su Muzhi’s question. Instead, he placed the note in front of him, his fingertips lightly tapping the table without thinking.
“He’s not satisfied with this outcome.”
He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke slowly rise.
“So we tell him the eagle-owl survived. Given his personality, he definitely won’t accept it or believe it. He’ll come to confirm it himself.”
Su Muzhi lowered her head in thought for a long time. When she looked up again, her red, swollen eyes from crying stared at him.
“What if he doesn’t come? Or… what if he sends another one? What do we do then?”
Chen Zhiye was silent for a moment. He extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray and said firmly,
“No, he won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“The note said ‘next month.’ What he wants is to see how we suffer this month—how we’re manipulated, how we’re scared, how we break down. If he sends another one, he ruins his own game.”
He pushed the note toward her.
The blood on it stabbed at her nerves. She remembered the mocking hand gesture from the surveillance footage—the peace sign. He was enjoying this.
Her fists clenched under the table.
“So he will definitely come.”
Chen Zhiye nodded as the embers in the ashtray slowly died out.
“So we wait for him…”
Su Muzhi took out her long-unused makeup kit and covered her swollen eyes, forcing herself to appear normal. She smiled into the camera as if nothing had happened.
“Hello everyone, I’m Su Su. This is my first time appearing in a video like this.”
“For those who watched this morning’s livestream, many of you were concerned about the injured animal. I’m here to bring you good news.”
“The eagle-owl has survived thanks to the veterinarian’s continuous treatment. It is now in isolation at the rescue station recovering.”
“And since this is the first animal successfully rescued during our livestream, we’ve decided to let everyone name it. You can leave suggestions in the comments. Oh, and remember—it’s a male.”
After editing the video, she and Chen Zhiye exchanged a look and pressed publish.
They stared at the notification panel. The red dot quickly turned into “99+”.
Su Muzhi bit her finger and scanned through the comments—but they were all just name suggestions. None of what she was looking for appeared.
She shook her head in disappointment.
“Don’t rush,” Chen Zhiye said. “Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet. I’ll go check the surveillance again.”
At that moment, the small green lizard poked its head out. It was its weekly “escape day.”
Seeing both of them in low spirits, it crawled over and gently tapped Su Muzhi’s hand.
【Su Su, what’s wrong? Why do you both look unhappy?】
Su Muzhi forced a smile and patted its head.
“It’s nothing.”
The lizard didn’t believe her at all. Its “mentor” Blackie had taught it that humans are strange creatures—you don’t listen to what they say, you observe what they do.
Su Muzhi kept staring at the livestream phone when suddenly a few private messages appeared.
After checking them one by one, her expression turned excited.
“Director Chen! Someone with the same IP location as us sent me a message. They want to visit the rescue station and also see the eagle-owl!”
Chen Zhiye immediately stood up and walked behind her, watching as she opened the person’s profile.
The account was cautious. All videos were landscapes—no face photos at all.
But in one clip, she spotted something in the corner: a shoe.
She zoomed in and said,
“Can you pull up the surveillance again? I think this shoe looks familiar.”
Chen Zhiye immediately pulled up the footage and zoomed in.
Su Muzhi’s eyes widened as she compared.
“It’s the same model. Maybe even the same pair.”
She pointed at the shoelace decoration.
“When Su Jingzhou had his birthday this year, Su Zhizhi gave him a pair and even showed off in her messages. It’s a limited edition—each pair has a different lace decoration. It sold out immediately, and she paid extra to get it.”
“In that case, this person should be quite wealthy… but why would someone like that do something like this?”
Chen Zhiye frowned and checked the profile again, searching for more clues.
When he scrolled to the very bottom, he suddenly stopped.
His expression darkened as he stared at something familiar.
After a few seconds, he said slowly,
“I think I know who this is.”
Su Muzhi lifted her head abruptly, eyes still sore from staring at screens.
“How do you know?”
Chen Zhiye opened his phone and searched for “Wish Animal Park.” Several photos appeared. He opened one and held it up.
“Look. Isn’t this the same place?”
Su Muzhi shook her head in disbelief.
“You’re saying an animal park is abusing animals? That’s impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” Chen Zhiye’s tone turned sharp. “That’s the same animal park I refused to merge with. They don’t care about animal welfare at all—they only care about profit.”
His anger rose as he spoke, as if recalling the filthy enclosures and emaciated animals from the past.
“That’s exactly why I rejected them.”
Still unconvinced, Su Muzhi pressed on.
“But why would they do this? This place is remote. We never interfered with their business.”
“Because a small private animal park needs a unique angle to stand out. This rescue station attracts attention—that’s exactly what they want. And I refused them.”
He exhaled.
“Send him the address. Let him come tomorrow. Then we’ll know whether my guess is right.”
Although full of doubt, Su Muzhi still sent the message.
The reply came quickly: he would come tomorrow.
Satisfied, Chen Zhiye walked out of the office and looked into the distance, uneasy as he waited for what would come next.