The next morning, filming resumed as if the previous day's storm had never happened. Cameras rolled, lights shifted, and voices barked through earpieces as crew members scrambled into position.
Jiang Zhiqing stood quietly near the edge of the set, her breath misting in the cold morning air. Her body ached from yesterday's emotional overload, but her expression was composed. Unshaken. Professional. She had a scene to shoot, and she was determined to deliver.
"Scene 34, take one!" someone called out.
The lush greenery of the artificial forest surrounded her like a cage of thorns. In the story, Mu Rong Xue and Lu Shaofeng were on the run, fugitives bound by circumstance and unspoken tension. He was her enemy's guard… yet also her reluctant protector.
Zhiqing, as Mu Rong Xue, stumbled through the undergrowth, her lips pale and dry. She looked weak, her face flushed with fatigue and hunger. She spotted a strange, purplish fruit hanging from a vine—a vibrant contrast to the muted greens around her.
She reached for it.
"Cut!" Director Zhou shouted, annoyed. "Zhiqing, don't nibble it like you're testing a new diet snack. You're starving, desperate. That's a forbidden fruit—act like it!"
She exhaled slowly and nodded once. "Got it."
"Okay… and—action!"
Mu Rong Xue yanked the fruit free, her hands trembling. With no hesitation, she bit into it. The sweet, tangy flavor exploded on her tongue, followed by a sharp warmth trickling down her throat.
Off-camera, Xie Zhenhua stepped into frame like a shadow gliding through leaves. His expression hardened as he spotted the fruit in her hand.
"No—" Lu Shaofeng's voice cut through the quiet forest like a blade. He rushed forward, knocking the remaining fruit from her hand. "That's the arthropod fruit! You shouldn't have eaten it!"
Mu Rong Xue blinked up at him, confusion slowly melting into something else—her breath quickened, her cheeks flushed deeper, and her eyes, glassy and wild, locked onto his.
"I… I feel strange," she whispered, clutching her stomach.
Zhenhua's eyes narrowed. "It stimulates hormonal heat. Your body's reacting to it."
Mu Rong Xue staggered, nearly falling. Lu Shaofeng caught her before she could hit the ground, their bodies pressed close. Her scent was sweet, tinged with the fruit's nectar. Her breath was warm on his neck.
The tension was electric.
"Don't touch me…" she said weakly, but her fingers curled against his chest.
Zhenhua, fully immersed in character, froze. He knew the script—he was supposed to help her, comfort her, and fight his growing attraction—but in that moment, the air between them was too real.
"Cut! Beautiful! Zhiqing and Zhenhua, perfect chemistry," Director Zhou praised.
As the crew reset for another angle, Zhiqing backed away, cheeks still hot, pulse racing. That scene had felt too close… too intimate. But she couldn't shake the way Zhenhua had looked at her—not the character, her.
Just as she stepped off set, her assistant rushed to her side, whispering, "Zhiqing, don't look now—but your name's trending again. In a good way this time. That suicide leak worked. People are moving on."
Zhiqing didn't respond.
Somewhere off the set, behind layers of velvet curtains and drawn blinds, a dimly lit room breathed in silence. A sliver of amber light fell across the man's hands—hands that trembled slightly as they hovered near his lips.
His breaths came in quick, uneven bursts, as though he'd touched something too fragile, too sacred.
Slowly… reverently… he brought his hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his skin. And then another.
As if he could still feel her warmth there. As if that one moment on set—her body pressed lightly into his, her breath on his neck—was something not meant to be forgotten.
In front of him, a soft glow emanated from a tablet, the screen dark now, forgotten. Above it, her poster loomed. Jiang Zhiqing's eyes met his through the shadows—silent, distant, unattainable.
He didn't speak this time.
Didn't need to.
His silence was worship. His stillness, reverence.
Then—a knock.
"Sir, the next scene is ready," someone called gently through the door.
The man froze. The spell shattered.
His expression, once naked and filled with something almost painful, slowly shifted—controlled, composed, cold.
He rose from the chair, fixing the collar of his jacket, the air of mystery wrapping around him like a second skin.
The door opened. Bright light spilled in, catching the edge of his profile.
Only then—his face came into view.
Xie Zhenhua.
No longer just the steely actor playing a loyal bodyguard on screen.
But the hidden force—the one pulling strings in the shadows… The one shifting blame away from her. The one who kissed his hand not because of vanity… but because it had just held the woman he had always longed to protect.
And she had no idea.
Night settled over the film set like a heavy curtain, draping everything in eerie stillness. The towering trees of the artificial forest cast long shadows under the soft glow of the floodlights. Most of the crew had already packed up, their laughter fading as they moved back toward the base camp.
Jiang Zhiqing sat alone near the edge of the set, wrapped in a thick coat, sipping quietly on a cup of hot tea. Her fingers trembled slightly from the long day's shoot, but her eyes were distant—unreadable.
Despite the warmth, a chill clung to her spine.
She couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming.
Suddenly, commotion erupted near the entry gates.
Flashing red and blue lights pierced the night, cutting across the trees like sirens in a nightmare. Crew members turned, whispering, confused and alarmed.
Then came the footsteps—firm, official.
Three uniformed police officers strode onto the set. Their expressions were solemn, their movements practiced.
"Jiang Zhiqing?" the lead officer asked, stopping before her.
She stood slowly, her brows furrowed. "Yes?"
"You'll need to come with us for questioning."
"What?" Her manager stepped in, voice tense. "What questioning?"
"It's regarding the recent developments in the Chen Wei and Ling Yuhua case," the officer replied. "We have some matters that require clarification. Please cooperate."
Zhiqing's heart sank.
Everything around her faded—the cameras, the lights, the whispers.
All she could hear was the word "questioning, echoing again and again in her mind like a drumbeat.
The officers flanked her gently but firmly. No handcuffs, no accusations. Just the tightening noose of public suspicion.
And as they led her away, the set stood frozen.
The cameras had stopped rolling.
But the real drama was just beginning.