The neck of the champagne bottle spun, slowing down until it pointed dead at He Xiangru. This woman, usually revered as the "pinnacle of pure, elegant genius," was now like a white rabbit caught in a snare. She hesitantly forced a choice through her clenched teeth: "I choose truth... wait... mmh... truth is fine."
"The base is pointing at me."
Lin Huanhuan’s eyes, shimmering with a dense, purplish-black predatory greed, locked deathly onto He Xiangru. An asymmetric, wicked smirk curled up the corners of her lips.
Lin Huanhuan’s current state was akin to a newly awakened, corrupt succubus; all social decorum was nothing more than garbage in her eyes. Using the coarsest, most explicit terminology, she ruthlessly shredded He Xiangru’s paper-thin veil of purity:
"Do you like getting fucked? Or rather, whose cock do you want to be impaled by the most right now?"
Not far away, sitting right beside me, Lin Yijia’s pupils maintained the unwavering, pale-yellow glow of The Authentic Inspiration. The logical force field heavily blanketed He Xiangru. Under the unblinking surveillance of this mathematical genius, any manufactured lie was physically incapable of slipping past her lips.
He Xiangru’s frame trembled lightly as she took in the malicious, lust-fueled gazes projecting from all sides—particularly from Fang Mingtian, whose loins were on the verge of detonating from blue balls.
"I... I..."
Under the crushing, undeniable weight of Lin Yijia’s field, the clarity in He Xiangru’s eyes dissolved instantly into complete vacancy, her cheeks flushing with a sickly, feverish crimson. Her tightly shut lips parted slightly, as if forced open by an invisible hand of raw desire, as she vomited out a truth that shattered the moral compass of the entire pavilion:
"I want to get on top of the famed director, Mu Zian! I want to be fucked by him every single day!"
He Xiangru’s voice rang out crisp yet fractured with tremors. Then, falling into a frantic, unhinged confession, her eyes widened as her speech turned rapid and desperate:
"I want to crawl into his bed just to secure the lead actress role for his upcoming film, A Beautiful Encounter! I want to win the Golden Statuette for Best Actress! For that trophy, I am willing to take his massive rod in his office, on his film sets, or right in his home—using any position he commands!"
The words detonated like a series of heavy ordnance blasts, completely pulverizing the values of everyone listening.
Wang Miya’s eyes, swirling with an exotic purple light, crinkled slightly into an amused arc as she offered He Xiangru a satisfied nod. That gaze harbored zero sympathy; it was the definitive approval of a veteran hunter witnessing her prey achieve "self-awakening."
Listening to these explosive scandals, Producer Wang Yicai’s heart pounded so violently it threatened to burst from his ribs. His hand still gripped his walkie-talkie, yet his entire frame had frozen solid on the spot.
As a veteran producer, his baseline reflex wasn't embarrassment, but a severe case of "occupational habit." His bloodshot eyes stared deathly at He Xiangru’s vacant face, his brain spinning at a frantic velocity: If this footage is broadcasted exactly as it is, it will destroy countless careers! This is the blockbuster scandal of the year!
He began frantically calculating in his mind: How the hell can I repackage this script of raw carnality and transaction into a 'family-friendly' romance variety show?
"She is a solitary, courageous warrior willing to sacrifice everything for her artistic career!"
"This isn't casting-couch exploitation; this is the ultimate, peak pilgrimage to the arts!"
He continuously attempted to "launder" her filthy words in his head, yet the loins between his thighs traitorously offered the most honest reaction—his cock had already turned as rigid as iron, tenting his trousers into a highly prominent contour.
While Wang Yicai remained deeply immersed in the visual impact of He Xiangru’s teardrop breasts and the shifting shadows of her swimsuit, Lin Yijia sitting beside me made her move.
Pushing up her black-rimmed glasses, the pale-yellow light of The Authentic Inspiration erupted brilliantly within her cold, soul-piercing eyes. It operated like an unyielding searchlight, blasting straight onto Wang Yicai’s wrinkled, lecherous face.
"Tell the truth, do you want to plow He Xiangru?" Lin Yijia turned her head to interrogate Producer Wang Yicai, her voice as flat as if she were asking for the sum of one plus one. Yet, augmented by her logical force field, the question carried the weight of an absolute, un-defiable directive.
As if sharing a perfect telepathy with her command, the lead camera operator instantly swung his heavy lens around, locking the black void of the aperture deathly onto Wang Yicai.
Under the absolute force of The Authentic Inspiration, the famed producer's artistic countenance contorted into the hideous, raw grimace of a vulgar profiteer. Staring at the women in the circle, the lecherous fantasies he usually masked behind the lens erupted like a breached dam:
"I want to plow all three of them!"
This old man, who usually held absolute dominion over his sets, was currently barking out filthy words that completely desecrated his distinguished status right into the lens of the production camera. His gaze was like a sticky fluid, scanning frantically between He Xiangru’s innocence, Yan Shi’s green-tea sensuality, and Lin Huanhuan’s volatile malice.
As if driven to validate his authority, or perhaps thoroughly consumed by the raging fire of a withered old bachelor whose loins had been suppressed for decades, Wang Yicai reached out a trembling hand mapped with liver spots and nicotine stains. He launched a coarse, aggressive assault straight toward He Xiangru’s chest.
He clamped his palms over her bouncing, teardrop breasts, his skin savoring the hot, elastic weight he had previously only been able to fantasize about through his monitors. He Xiangru let out a sharp, brief gasp, her body freezing solid. Yet, because he reigned as a premier producer in the industry, she didn't dare offer any physical resistance, allowing his filthy hands to roam across her frame at will.
However, a thoroughly pathetic farce transpired next.
Though his words had been savage, the underlying cowardice of his "horny yet spineless" nature kicked in. After merely fondling her a few times, the exact microsecond he realized that dozens of high-precision lenses were documenting his hideous crime, he violently yanked his hand back. Stumbling several steps in a clumsy retreat, the crimson flush on his face warped into a ghastly white, leaving him looking utterly pathetic and ridiculous against the sea wind.
Within the pavilion, the atmosphere shifted instantly from "broken ugliness" to a state of "frenzied, chaotic adoration."
"Alright, alright, whose turn is it next...? Hehe," Asa stammered with a dry chuckle, attempting to smooth over Wang Yicai’s pathetic retreat. Yet within this venue of absolute mental skinning, any attempt at mediation was entirely hollow.
Following a rapid spin, the champagne bottle came to a firm halt, pointing directly at Lin Huanhuan.
"My turn! I choose dare!" Lin Huanhuan blurted the words out the exact millisecond the bottle stopped, her velocity astonishingly fast. Her predatory eyes flashed with an exotic light. She was like a coiled bowstring, completely devoid of any female bashfulness, exhibiting instead a spine-chilling, aggressive intensity.
The base of the bottle slowly settled on He Xiangru, who had barely recovered from the shadow of the producer's "audition."
"...Then... kiss Quan Zhixin once?" He Xiangru offered timidly, her teardrop breasts swaying with her anxious breathing. A command of this pure-romance, high school drama tier was nothing more than child's play in Lin Huanhuan’s eyes.
Lin Huanhuan let out a cold sneer, preparing to counter, when Huang Shao cut in arrogantly: "What kind of garbage dare is that? Lin Huanhuan, I dare you to shave your wanton pubic hair completely clean! And once you're done, you have to let the camera operator inspect it. Oh, and make sure the heavy lens gets a pristine close-up..."
Before Huang Shao could even finish his sentence, Lin Huanhuan executed the command without a second's hesitation. A wild, unbridled arc curling up her lips, her slender fingers gripped the edges of her tight swimsuit—
Rip!
Amidst the collective gasps of the crew, Lin Huanhuan pulled her swimwear down to her waist with complete disregard for her surroundings, her proud, red-nippled breasts standing defiantly against the sea breeze. She straight-up straddled the luxury lounge chair reserved exclusively for Producer Wang Yicai, spreading her long legs wide apart to expose the dense, mysterious forest of her black bush.
"Hand it over," Lin Huanhuan commanded flatly, accepting the razor a crew member handed her with trembling fingers, her expression as placid as if she were merely trimming her eyebrows.
Scrape... scrape...
The sound of the blade grating against her tender skin was picked up flawlessly by the directional microphones of the production cameras, echoing across the site. Lin Huanhuan’s hand was deathly steady. Within a few swift strokes, that once mysterious zone was stripped of every single strand, exposing a plush, smooth, porcelain-like "white-tiger plain."
The souls of every man on site felt as though they had been violently sucked into that bare, pristine plain.
Fang Mingtian looked entirely soul-shattered. His frame already pushed to the absolute limit of edging, his hand trembled as he reached toward Lin Huanhuan, his eyes vacant as he muttered incoherently, "Let me touch it... just once..."
Quan Zhixin stared in absolute awe from his wheelchair, his 23-centimeter monster rod throbbing violently once more.
Wang Yicai was completely stupefied, the script he had intended to use to smooth things over slipping from his fingers to crash into the sand.
Yet, a single microsecond before Fang Mingtian’s fingertips could brush against that sacred plain, Lin Huanhuan elegantly hitched her swimsuit back up. The paper-thin fabric instantly wrapped around her smooth flesh once more, severing all avenues of exploration.
"You want a touch?" Lin Huanhuan flashed Fang Mingtian a cruel, mocking smile. "Let's see how well you perform first."
As the list of winners was recorded, the sea breeze sweeping across the beach seemed to carry a layer of anxious, suffocating heat.
"The game of Truth or Dare has officially concluded! Thank you for your hard work, everyone!" Asa’s voice echoed over the empty shore, accompanied by the mechanical applause of the production crew.
Within this seemingly high-energy wrap-up, Quan Zhixin operated as a deeply discordant anomaly. Slumped in his wheelchair, the eyes that should have brimmed with youthful vitality were reduced to an endless void of chaos. He hoisted his hands—which trembled uncontrollably from excessive ejaculation and mental terror—and offered a spine-chilling, idiotic grin to the empty air. Carrying a lone soul value of 3, his current cognitive intellect was likely inferior to that of the crabs crawling along the shore.
Lin Huanhuan stood at the podium to collect her points card. As the wind whipped the hem of her tight swimsuit, her freshly shaved, porcelain-smooth white-tiger plain glinted with a dangerous, pristine luster under the sun.
As she accepted her card, there wasn't a single shred of the "pure, infatuated little fangirl" who had chased Quan Zhixin left in her eyes.
Having undergone multiple rounds of mental skinning, Lin Huanhuan had converted fully into a supreme predator. The high-pressure aura rippling from her frame blanketed every single male on site like an invisible net. To her, Quan Zhixin’s 23-centimeter rod was undeniably alluring, yet it was no longer her sole fixation.
What lay inside the villa penthouse? There were exhausted guests, anxious crew members, the host Asa, Producer Wang Yicai, and the camera operators who fancied themselves the directors of this game. The moment they stepped into that building, it would become her definitive restaurant.
She had grown from an obsessed disciple of Quan Zhixin into a ravenous, ghostly entity stalking the shadows—constantly hunting for fresh souls and vital essence.
No gimmicks. Pure smut. Hardcore storyline. On Ream, there are no limits, no censorship—only pure, unadulterated pleasure and endless dark fantasies.
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