One video had thrown Qin Wuyan into the eye of the storm, turning a top-tier celebrity into a notorious domestic abuser. The internet erupted with curses, hatred, and misplaced blame. If not for the company’s strict control over his privacy, enraged netizens might have gone even further.
Now, the tides had turned.
Zhou Qingge hid at home, afraid to leave. She turned off her phone, drew the curtains, and knew that paparazzi were lurking downstairs. Even delivery workers were being asked if they had connections to her.
That was nothing compared to her years as a celebrity. She had grown used to constant surveillance, but she could not handle this one-sided downfall.
Her Weibo had been blocked, her management company urgently held meetings to mitigate losses, and countless brands lined up to terminate contracts. Based on past precedent, she would have to pay a huge sum herself.
Her agents advised her to pay. Her family was frantic, urging her to clarify she wasn’t at fault. Her friends, teachers, even assistants feigned ignorance. She tried calling her assistant to distract the paparazzi, but no one answered.
The sense of being abandoned was unbearable. Zhou Qingge switched off her phone and sank onto the sofa, hair disheveled, eyes red from crying and anger.
She was both crying and furious.
Who did these people think they were?!
In this industry, who hasn’t done questionable things? She had just been unlucky enough to be exposed. If not for her former assistant secretly holding something back, if not for Qin Wuyan’s company digging it up, if not for Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng intervening, how could she have ended up like this?
Everything was someone else’s fault. She went along with the flow to survive, as a woman in the entertainment world, she had to use special tactics.
Typical “I’m weak, therefore I’m right.” Zhou Qingge had previously gained sympathy points with her videos; now, she was facing the full backlash.
People hated domestic abusers, but even more, they hated those who exploited abuse and gender for personal gain. Her actions had made true victims appear ridiculous, even grouped with her, negating years of effort.
The public’s anger reached its peak, yet Zhou Qingge, covering her ears, was angrier than anyone. Trembling with rage, she still blamed others, claiming it was never her fault.
Meanwhile, in Meng Shiyue’s office, Qin Wuyan and Song Cheng sat together sorting out contracts. Ban Yunfang smiled at them. “Just wait for my notice on when to start.”
Song Cheng: “Thank you, Ban Jie.”
Ban Yunfang: “No need to thank me, that’s my job. But why the sudden change of heart? Earlier, I kept persuading, and Qin Wuyan refused.”
Song Cheng glanced at Qin Wuyan, who stared at a nearby potted plant, pretending not to hear.
Song Cheng: “……”
After a pause, he didn’t undercut Qin Wuyan: “Mainly, I changed my mind. After graduation, I’ll need a lot of money. Endorsement fees are high, and that’s what I need most right now.”
Ban Yunfang laughed. “See? Who refuses free money? Honestly, you could sign a long-term contract, three to five years—”
Qin Wuyan interrupted, “One year is enough.”
Song Cheng nodded repeatedly, “One year is enough.”
With previous savings and today’s endorsement fees, once in hand, Song Cheng could start investing and get his capital moving.
Recalling some knowledge he had learned before, he immediately divided the savings into several profitable investments.
Just two days later, he could already see returns. Qin Wuyan was amazed and asked how he did it. Song Cheng rattled off a series of technical terms and showed him ten or more draft sheets of calculations.
Qin Wuyan: “……”
His father had taught him this stuff too, but he was naturally uninterested in numbers. Rows of red and green figures bored him to death; whenever he attended classes with his brother, he’d zone out.
Just like now.
Seeing Qin Wuyan drifting off, Song Cheng sighed, “Never mind, you won’t understand anyway.”
Qin Wuyan: “……”
Here it came again—every time they talked about something he didn’t care about, Song Cheng would show that expression of “hopeless case,” making Qin Wuyan wonder if he was really that useless.
But he didn’t want to relearn those skills either. In his mind, it was enough for one person in the household to know a skill. When he was a child, his brother knew, and that was reassuring. Now that Song Cheng knew, that was enough too.
…
Qin Wuyan transferred part of his assets to Song Cheng, under the pretense of letting him “try his hand.” Song Cheng gave him a sidelong glance, ignoring the hidden motive, and invested in the projects he deemed promising.
Originally, Song Cheng should have been at home dealing with numbers today, but they came out together to sign a dual endorsement contract.
Qin Wuyan’s idea of a semi-retirement couldn’t be realized this year, but they could start building momentum. Ban Yunfang still had to stay behind and coordinate details with him, so he probably wouldn’t return until evening. Song Cheng didn’t want to wait and asked for the car keys.
Qin Wuyan hesitated, “You’re leaving already?”
Song Cheng held out his palm. “Staying here won’t help.”
Qin Wuyan had no choice but to hand over the keys.
After saying goodbye to the others, Song Cheng went to the underground parking lot, found Qin Wuyan’s car, and got into the driver’s seat. Like when he was first learning, he started the car step by step, slowly, cautiously, and drove out slowly.
Fortunately, the underground lot was restricted to company personnel, and it was work hours, so no one else was around—otherwise, his overly careful driving would have driven someone mad.
Song Cheng had this quirk: he always started cars incredibly slowly, and even on the road, he couldn’t speed up. On a sixty-kilometer-per-hour road, he drove at thirty—already pushed up by Qin Wuyan; otherwise, he could have gone as slow as twenty.
Driving was all about practice, so low-traffic areas were perfect for him to train. Today, the roads were especially empty because it was Saturday.
Gradually, Song Cheng’s mind relaxed.
Once he actually started driving, he found it surprisingly meditative. Although his eyes and hands were busy, his mind could rest—it felt very soothing.
He thought, maybe he would even come to love driving.
The thought had barely appeared when he pressed the brake—and the car didn’t slow down at all.
Song Cheng’s eyes widened, his face drained of color.
His mind went completely blank. He couldn’t remember what to do. Finally snapping back, he tried a few more times, all ineffective. One hand gripped the steering wheel, the other trembled as he reached for his phone.
He didn’t call Qin Wuyan. Instead, he contacted the car service provider and kept flashing his hazard lights, signaling other cars to keep their distance.
The service operator learned the brakes had failed and tried to take remote control to stop the car. But they couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong, and the remote control had no effect.
A few hundred meters ahead was an intersection. The navigation showed a red light with a live countdown.
Song Cheng had always excelled in math. He quickly calculated that by the time he reached it, the green light would already be five seconds past.
The operator continued calling his name, but Song Cheng, sweating coldly, said, “It’s too late.”
Without waiting, he turned the steering wheel sharply, scraping along the divider to slow down.
The screech of metal made him grit his teeth. Pedestrians at the intersection, frightened by the noise, ran back. They watched in shock as a black car scraped along the divider and, at the intersection, the young driver inside turned sharply and hit the concrete bollard.
The impact was so loud everyone blinked. Fortunately, the car stopped.
Anyone who had driven would understand: probably a mechanical failure. Several people ran over; one pressed his face against the glass, and seeing Song Cheng was still conscious, he sighed in relief. “He’s fine! Pull him out quickly!”
The airbags had deployed. Though the collision with the bollard wasn’t serious, the airbags pressed hard against his body. Song Cheng felt dizzy, the car door deformed, and with the help of those outside, finally managed to open it.
Several people reached in, dragging Song Cheng out. They all asked frantically, “Are you okay?”
Apart from a severe head rush, he was fine.
He forced a smile to reassure them, but as he lifted the corner of his mouth, an elderly lady suddenly pointed at him and shouted, “Oh my, all that blood!”
Startled, Song Cheng looked down. That downward motion was the final straw—his dizziness became total darkness, his legs gave out, and he fainted unexpectedly.