Zhou Chaochao had just flung the venomous snake far into the dense forest. The slender body of the white-lipped bamboo viper disappeared into the thick undergrowth.
Near the campsite, the program’s accompanying director and medical staff practically rushed over. Their faces were pale as paper, foreheads drenched in cold sweat.
“Teacher Zhou! Are you alright?!” The director’s hands were still trembling, barely able to hold the walkie-talkie. “Did Teacher Zheng Kai get bitten? Th-that was a white-lipped bamboo viper—it’s highly venomous! If it had bitten, even a helicopter might not make it in time!”
The medical staff grabbed Zheng Kai’s arm, their fingers shaking uncontrollably as they forced themselves to check every inch of his skin. Their voice trembled as well. “Fang marks… are there any fang marks? Do you feel any stinging pain? Teacher Zheng, please check carefully!”
Zheng Kai stood frozen, his mind blank. Only when the cold fingertips of the medic touched his skin did he snap back to reality, gasping heavily. “N-no… I don’t think I was bitten…”
Zhou Chaochao was brushing dirt and bits of grass off her hands. Without even looking up, she spoke calmly, “It’s fine. Snakes usually give a warning before attacking. I saw it the moment it raised its head—I had time to react.”
She paused, then added, “I’ve seen plenty of these in the mountains before. I know how to handle them.”
Her words were casual, but everyone present froze.
The director stammered, “The… mountains? Teacher Zhou, you…”
“I lived in the mountains for a while when I was young,” Zhou Chaochao straightened up, dusting off her camouflage uniform. “There were a lot of snakes there. I got used to it.”
Her explanation was vague, yet airtight.
Zheng Kai stared at her, his brows knitting tighter and tighter. The sense of inconsistency in his mind grew stronger. He had seen Zhou Mumu’s official profile—it clearly stated she was an orphan raised in the city. Where did this “living in the mountains” come from?
And that reaction just now…
It had been too fast.
So fast it didn’t feel like a spur-of-the-moment response—it felt like instinct forged through countless repetitions.
He had seen the snake shoot out from the pile of dead leaves, its fangs gleaming coldly in the sunlight. At that exact moment, Zhou Chaochao had moved—not backward, not screaming, but stepping forward, sidestepping, striking in one smooth sequence. Her fingers had precisely seized the snake at its vital point.
That level of calmness, that level of proficiency—it couldn’t be explained by simply “having seen many before.”
“Zhou… Zhou Mumu,” Zheng Kai’s voice was still hoarse, “how… how did you dare…”
He had wanted to ask, how did you dare grab it with your bare hands, but the words felt inappropriate. She had just saved him—how could he question her?
Zhou Chaochao glanced at him, her gaze steady. “Whether I dared or not, I had to. In that situation, retreating or dodging would only provoke it further. The only option was to confront it and control it.”
She spoke as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
The medical staff thoroughly checked Zheng Kai’s limbs and neck again, confirming there were no bite marks. Only then did they finally let out a long breath, wiping the sweat from their foreheads. “Thank goodness… truly thank goodness… Teacher Zhou, your reaction speed was incredible!”
The director nodded repeatedly, his gaze toward Zhou Chaochao now filled with admiration and disbelief. “That just now… was incredibly professional. We were all frozen in fear, and yet you stayed so calm…”
Zhou Chaochao did not respond to the praise. Instead, she asked, “The production team should have realgar powder or some kind of snake repellent, right? It would be best to sprinkle a circle around the campsite. This season, snakes are very active.”
“Yes, yes!” the director nodded quickly. “I’ll have someone get it right away!”
A staff member hurried off. After repeatedly emphasizing safety precautions, the director finally withdrew from the filming area, still shaken.
Once everyone left, only Zhou Chaochao and Zheng Kai remained at the campsite.
The campfire crackled softly.
Zheng Kai sat by the fire, gripping a piece of dry wood so tightly that his fingertips turned white. His mind replayed the scene again and again—the venomous snake, the glint of its fangs, Zhou Chaochao’s perfectly calm face.
“Zhou Mumu,” he finally spoke, his voice low, “why did you save me?”
Zhou Chaochao was sharpening the edge of the military shovel with a whetstone. Without pausing, she answered, “You’re my teammate.”
“But before this…” Zheng Kai hesitated. “I didn’t treat you well. I even thought about switching teams.”
“That’s your business.” Zhou Chaochao looked at him, the firelight flickering in her eyes. “Since I agreed to be your teammate, I’ll fulfill my responsibility.”
Her tone was calm, without a trace of emotion, yet it stirred something deep inside Zheng Kai.
Responsibility.
When she said that word, it carried a weight that pressed heavily on him.
“And,” Zhou Chaochao added, “if you had actually been bitten, the production team would have to suspend filming. Everyone would be affected. I don’t want the entire schedule delayed because of one person’s mistake.”
Zheng Kai: “……”
The bit of gratitude he had just felt was instantly choked off.
This woman… truly had no warmth at all.
And yet, for some reason, he found her more genuine this way. Unlike Lin Weiwei, whose voice was always soft and sweet, whose smile was always gentle—yet somehow felt like there was an invisible barrier.
“Um…” Zheng Kai hesitated, then couldn’t help asking, “You said you lived in the mountains when you were young? But… your profile says you grew up in the city.”
Zhou Chaochao paused her sharpening.
She looked at him, her gaze calm yet deep. “What’s written in profiles isn’t necessarily true.”
Zheng Kai froze.
“And what others say isn’t necessarily true either. Don’t just follow the crowd,” she continued, her voice light but every word clear.
After that, she lowered her head and resumed sharpening the shovel. The scraping sound of metal against stone echoed distinctly in the quiet night.
Zheng Kai stared at her blankly, his thoughts in chaos.
What was she implying?
That the scandals were fake? That her past wasn’t what the profile claimed?
But if the scandals were false… then Lin Weiwei…
He shook his head abruptly, not daring to think further.
At the same time, the livestream comments had completely exploded.
【Holy crap!!! She caught a venomous snake with her bare hands!!!】
【I stopped breathing at that moment! How did she even dare?!】
【That’s a white-lipped bamboo viper! Deadly venom!】
【Her reaction speed isn’t human!】
【The key is her calmness! She didn’t even frown the whole time!】
【Zheng Kai was frozen, she acted like nothing happened…】
【She said she’s seen many before? Who exactly is Zhou Mumu?!】
【Everyone who insulted her before—come apologize!】
【I’m officially a fan now! She’s too cool!】
The real-time popularity skyrocketed. The hashtag #ZhouMumuCatchesVenomousSnakeBarehanded shot to the top of trending searches within half an hour, marked with three explosive tags.
The trending page was completely overtaken:
【Top trending already! Zhou Mumu is insane!】
【I don’t believe a single word of those scandals anymore! With this skill and courage, why would she need to sleep her way to resources?!】
【Where are Lin Weiwei’s fans now? Come see what real ability looks like!】
【From today on, I’m her career fan! She’s amazing!】
【Does anyone feel like she’s completely different now? Like a different person…】
Even the marketing accounts that had previously spread hate began deleting posts, changing their stance, and publishing praise.
Some even started digging into Zhou Mumu’s “mysterious past,” fabricating wild stories—disciple of a hidden master, retired special forces soldier, secret agent…
The more outrageous, the more people loved it.
At the Red Team’s campsite.
Lin Weiwei stood in the shadow behind the tent, gripping a spare phone so tightly her nails nearly dug into the screen.
Top trending.
Three explosive tags.
Endless praise and admiration.
Every word stabbed into her eyes like needles.
“Why…” she gritted out, her voice filled with suppressed hatred, “why is she so lucky… why?!”
She scrolled through the comments praising Zhou Mumu, growing angrier and more panicked with each one.
This couldn’t continue.
Absolutely not.
If Zhou Mumu kept gaining fans, if public opinion completely reversed, then everything she had done before…
Lin Weiwei shuddered.
She immediately opened her chat with Wang Qiang, her fingers trembling with anger and fear.
“The plan must be moved up! Tomorrow! I don’t care what method you use—she must get ‘accidentally’ injured and withdraw! We can’t wait any longer!”
She hit send.
Seconds later, Wang Qiang replied with one word: “Okay.”
Lin Weiwei exhaled, but the unease in her heart did not lessen.
She put away her phone, adjusted her expression, and stepped out of the shadows.
Zhao Lei was roasting potatoes by the fire. Seeing her, he waved. “Weiwei, come—these are almost done.”
Lin Weiwei smiled sweetly and sat down. “Brother Zhao Lei, you’re amazing—you can even roast potatoes.”
“It’s nothing, just basic survival,” Zhao Lei chuckled.
She took the potato and ate it in small bites, but her gaze drifted uncontrollably toward the Yellow Team’s campsite.
The firelight flickered in the darkness, faintly outlining Zhou Chaochao’s figure by the flames.
Straight-backed. Silent.
Like an unsheathed blade.
Lin Weiwei bit her lip.
Zhou Mumu.
No—Zhou Chaochao.
No matter who you are, no matter what you’re capable of—
Tomorrow, I’ll make sure you can never smile again.
At the Yellow Team’s campsite.
Zheng Kai finally couldn’t hold back anymore. “Zhou Mumu, can I ask you something?”
Zhou Chaochao looked at him.
“You… have you trained before? I mean, your skills…”
Zhou Chaochao was silent for a few seconds.
“Something like that,” she finally said. “I was weak when I was young, so my family sent me to learn some self-defense. Later… I got used to it and kept practicing.”
The explanation sounded reasonable, but Zheng Kai still felt something was off.
What kind of self-defense training taught someone to catch a venomous snake with bare hands?
What kind of habit allowed someone to thrive so naturally in the wilderness?
But he didn’t press further.
Some things, once asked too clearly, became uncomfortable.
“Today… thank you,” Zheng Kai said seriously. “If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be on my way to the hospital right now.”
Zhou Chaochao glanced at him and nodded. “No need. Just be more careful in the future. Don’t casually flip over piles of dead leaves in the wild—many venomous snakes like to hide underneath.”
“I understand,” Zheng Kai replied solemnly.
For the first time, a brief and relatively peaceful silence settled between them.
The campfire crackled. Night deepened.
Zhou Chaochao finished sharpening the shovel and put away the whetstone. She looked up at the night sky—stars were sparse, the moon half-hidden behind clouds.
Tomorrow would be a crucial day.
Lin Weiwei’s side was probably already getting impatient.
A faint, cold smile curled at the corner of her lips.
Let them come.
She wanted to see what tricks they would try next.
And she was already fully prepared.
This game had only just begun.
And the best hunters often appeared in the guise of prey.