At the end of this year, the entertainment industry was bound to be a lively affair.
On the road from Ning City Airport Expressway to the “Starlight Diamond Awards” venue.
The asphalt stretched smooth and silent, as a black Alphard weaved through traffic with effortless fluidity.
Inside the minibus, Ying Yin was being helped into her haute couture gown by her styling assistant, adjusting her crinoline, while leaning toward the makeup artist’s powder puff. To her right, her hairstylist was racing against time, lifting the crown of her hair and teasing it into a voluminous princess bun.
On the car’s LCD screen, a live broadcast of an event was playing.
In the footage, the red carpet of ” Starlight Diamond Awards ” was proceeding in order – rising Chinese models walked first, followed by familiar faces from boy bands, girl groups, and other trending stars.
“Almost there, almost there, really almost there,” Zhuang Tiwen pressed a finger to her Bluetooth earpiece and assured the frantic PR on the other end, again and again: “We’ll be there absolutely on time!”
Twenty minutes earlier.
At Ning City Airport, on the private jet apron, the Gulfstream G550, which had just flown across the ocean from Tanzania, glided to a slow stop.
The moment the boarding stairs descended, a figure in a green dress dashed down, like a streak of emerald wind, sprinting all the way to the terminal, through customs, and straight to the underground parking garage.
The driver dispatched by Lin Cunkang took the wheel of Junyi’s car. Just as that emerald figure darted into the seat with a swift leap, he started the engine, shifted into gear, and spun the steering wheel, pulling the Alphard out of the underground bunker with a forceful surge of acceleration.
Inside the car, the pressed-for-time celebrity took off her hat, letting her long hair fall loose. Beneath her mask, her features were radiant and beautiful, but her eyes remained calm as still water, her voice composed and steady. “Alright everyone, we’re on a tight schedule. Let’s get started.”
Cheng Junyi sat in the passenger seat as the navigator, dutifully monitoring the road ahead and estimating the time remaining. She announced, “Still twenty-three kilometers to go – only eight more kilometers until we enter the city!”
Inside the livestream, the red carpet had reached its middle segment. Taking the stage now were familiar faces – the dignified actresses and newly rising young stars, with Ruan Ye among them.
“The people at Starlight are about to lose their minds.” Zhuang Tiwen hung up the phone and let out a long sigh.
Chu Anni swiftly pulled on a pair of black silk gloves and spun the combination lock of the safe. With a click, the lock cylinder opened, revealing a full set of priceless pink diamond jewelry inside.
She carefully lifted it out with both hands, taking a long, tense, and deep breath. “I’ve never done red carpet styling in a car before, and I’ve never taken a thirty-million-yuan set of jewelry out of the studio.”
The car returned to its quiet bustle, broken only by Zhuang Tiwen’s phone ringing once more. She had to repeat herself for the fifteenth time, “Almost there! Just ten more minutes!”
“Half an hour ago you said ten minutes!!!” the PR roared on the other end.
She wasn’t just any publicist – she was a veteran editor at Starlight magazine, responsible for planning and coordinating celebrity cover shoots, advertising campaigns, and interviews. Being assigned to handle Ying Yin was a clear sign of the magazine’s regard for her.
The volume was murderous. Tiwen had to hold the phone away from her ear, and everyone in the car heard every word loud and clear.
“Give me the phone.” Ying Yin reached out.
Tiwen placed the phone into her palm.
“Hello.” Ying Yin closed her eyes as the makeup artist instructed. “It’s me.”
“Ying Yin?” The editor recognized her voice.
“Go find Sister Wan. Tell her that if I end up missing my slot, she can go on first.”
“Chengwan? I’m afraid she might…” The editor sounded hesitant.
“She’ll agree.”
After that phone call, the editor’s barrage of frantic calls finally ceased – proof that Zhang Chengwan had indeed agreed to her request.
“Hey, Zhang Chengwan is being so nice for once.” Junyi, ever blunt, added, “She’ll definitely ask you for a favor later.”
Ying Yin smiled. “Last time she snatched the closing spot and made such a mess of the Moda event, I helped her out. She owes me one. It’s just the way favors work.”
“You might as well say it’s because you bought that French chateau together with her,” Junyi said, straightforward as always.
The whole car burst into laughter.
Half an hour later.
Zhang Chengwan, originally scheduled second-to-last, walked the red carpet ahead of schedule, striking practiced poses for the cameras, showing no trace of the awkward scandal from the previous Moda event.
The host, presumably hearing cues from the production team through his earpiece that they needed to stall for time, began an easy back-and-forth banter with her.
Her relationship with Zeng Meng was already public knowledge, and everyone knew she was soon to be married, so the host played it safe, asking about her wedding dreams, her vision of married life, and so on.
Just as Zhang Chengwan’s red carpet time was about to exceed three minutes, a low-key black Maybach pulled up slowly at the far end of the carpet.
As the year-end pinnacle of fashion galas, the venue glittered with celebrity power. Traffic cones and police barricades marked off the controlled area, while black-suited bodyguards stood face to face, lining both sides of the twenty-meter-long red carpet to maintain order.
Behind the bodyguards, layers of black security ropes and barricades held back the surging crowd – but could not hold back the tens of thousands of fervent gazes, nor the barrage of camera shutters falling like artillery shells.
This was the tradition of the Starlight red carpet: no designated waiting area. The moment you stepped out of the car, you were already in the spotlight.
From the instant a star bent down to emerge from the vehicle, they were bathed in the glow of the world’s flashbulbs and subjected to the most unforgiving capture of every camera lens.
Fans’ cries and screams pierced the sky.
Who is the superstar? Who has the broadest national recognition? Who is truly a household name?
All traffic-driven hype receded here. Paid bots had nowhere to hide. The “explosive” trending topics of new internet sensations fell short. Here, the one and only anchor was star power – star power, and nothing else.
Zhang Chengwan and the host both held their breath simultaneously, turning their gazes toward the far end of the red carpet.
The black Maybach carried its signature understated elegance and prestige, its gleaming surface reflecting the glittering starlight of the venue.
With a click, a security guard – built like a male model – opened the rear door. The camera zoomed in, and a slender, long leg in champagne satin high heels stepped steadily onto the ground –
Clutching her clutch bag and holding down her gown, Ying Yin bent down as she emerged from the car. Her neck, adorned with the pink diamond necklace, rose like a swan’s from its subtle, graceful tilt, bringing her dreamlike, breathtakingly beautiful face into full view of the cameras.
In that instant, the screams were deafening, and the flashbulbs nearly lit up the sky.
At the end of the red carpet, Zhang Chengwan struggled hard to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.
But she had to admit – Ying Yin was the most luminous, the most superstar-driven female star of this era, far ahead of everyone else, one of a kind, and the only one of her kind.
The screaming lasted a long time – long enough to annoy the man sitting in the back seat of the Maybach.
The LCD screen in the rear of this Maybach had never before displayed such a meaningless scene. Lin Cunkang turned the steering wheel, listened for a moment to the host’s announcements, and chuckled. “So Miss Ying made it to the red carpet after all?”
“Mm.”
“She really is…” Lin Cunkang searched for the right word.
“Audacious to the extreme.”
Lin Cunkang laughed out loud. “Not audacious enough. If she were, she’d have had your car take her down that red carpet. I imagine that would have been quite a scene.”
Shang Shao rested his temple on one hand, smiling lazily. “Not yet.”
His gaze lingered on the screen, watching Ying Yin finish walking the red carpet and begin her interview.
It was strange. The woman who had stepped off his private jet had been a bare-faced, unassuming young girl – yet now she stood radiant and dazzling, her beauty so fierce it was almost hard to look at.
The Hong Kong media loved coining new phrases, and at this moment, Shang Shao felt that at least one of their inventions was apt: “armed with beauty to commit crimes.”
She truly possessed every qualification to do as she pleased… including that night in the Serengeti tent, when she insisted on seeing his tattoo by the flicker of a lighter flame.
The night on the savannah was utterly dark and heavy. Neither moonlight nor wind could penetrate the canvas roof. For a moment, all that could be heard were the faint rustling sounds of creatures crawling outside, and the eerie cackle of hyenas.
Amidst all those strange noises, the sounds of breathless gasps and wet kisses inside the tent seemed far less conspicuous.
It was Ying Yin’s first night sleeping in the wild grassland, and she carried a deer-like timidity and nervousness. That nervousness only heightened her body’s sensitivity, making her vulnerable to the slightest stir.
She lay in Shang Shao’s arms, pressing close to him, very still and obedient.
In truth, the situation shouldn’t have spiraled out of control – because just moments earlier, she had borrowed his phone to make a rather unscrupulous, gossipy call, playing the part of a calculating bad woman. When she returned the phone, she could hardly bring herself to meet his deep, probing gaze.
Later, in bed, nestled against him, she asked hesitantly, “Mr. Shang… do you think I’m a bad person?”
“Even being bad requires a certain level of self-respect. With standards as low as yours, you’re insulting the word ‘bad.'”
Ying Yin: “…”
Shang Shao smiled. “Besides, I was the one who taught you.”
Ying Yin tilted her chin up, her eyes bright and clear in the darkness. After a moment, she climbed onto his shoulders and began kissing him – starting at his Adam’s apple, lingering as she moved upward, over his neck, across his jaw, until finally she pressed her lips to his.
Shang Shao gently turned his face to the side, his voice calm and composed. “Don’t. I’ll pass it to you.”
“Then what were you doing this afternoon?”
Shang Shao had no answer for that.
What had he been doing that afternoon? On the way to the hotel, he had held her languidly in his arms the entire time, their breaths mingling, kissing the whole ride.
And now he was pretending to be a gentleman of virtue.
Not that he was pulling it off very well – the darkness in his eyes had already deepened. His fingers pressed against her lower lip, rubbing gently, then finally gripping her chin. He paused for half a second, then kissed her fiercely.
The moment their lips met, a wave of weak, boneless softness spread through Ying Yin’s limbs. Breathless and gasping, she heard Shang Shao murmur, “Don’t move.”
The atmosphere was thick and dangerous. Ying Yin bent one knee slightly and asked a question that was nothing short of suicidal. “Mr. Shang… do you… actually know how to do it?”
Shang Shao was silent for a moment, then replied in a low, calm, indifferent voice. “What do you think?”
“I mean, aren’t you… you know… functionally…” Ying Yin felt she was probably missing a few screws. Why was she being such a buzzkill?
Men cared about their pride, especially a man like Shang Shao. Asking something like that in bed might just get her thrown off it.
Shang Shao curved his lips slightly, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “So?”
“So… every time you’re with me… doesn’t it feel awful for you?” Ying Yin asked solicitously. “Isn’t it torture?”
Shang Shao thought to himself – yes, it was indeed quite torturous.
“I want to touch it,” Ying Yin said out of the blue.
“…You want to what?” Shang Shao looked at her as if he had misheard.
Ying Yin summoned her courage, though her voice remained feeble. “I want to see if I can help you.”
Shang Shao was burning with pent-up frustration. As he closed his eyes, his heart tightened in waves. His self-control could be as solid and impenetrable as the Maginot Line – or as fragile and vulnerable as the Maginot Line.
“Go to sleep.” He coldly pressed Ying Yin’s face down. “It’s not your turn to worry about that yet.”
Ying Yin, struggling to breathe, had a sudden stroke of inspiration. “Then… then I want to see your tattoo.”
“Not convenient.”
“What’s inconvenient about it?” Ying Yin asked with feigned innocence. “Is it because it’s so childish you can’t show it to anyone? Did you get a SpongeBob tattoo?”
“No.”
“Your own name?”
“Not that cringey.”
“A ‘3’?”
“Not attractive.”
“You care whether it looks good or not, but you still won’t show it to people?” Ying Yin seized on his contradiction with precision.
Shang Shao: “…”
Ying Yin crawled out from under the covers and rummaged through the cabinet by the coffee table. “I just saw it here earlier…”
“What are you looking for?”
“Found it!” she said happily.
As her voice trailed off – click – a small flame flickered to life at her fingertips.
“There’s a light,” Shang Shao said coolly.
“No. The light’s too bright. It would show things you don’t want me to see.” Ying Yin released the lighter, and the tent plunged back into thick darkness.
Shang Shao felt only a faint breeze of perfume drawing near. With a soft rustle, Ying Yin crawled into his arms, her slender back arching like a cat stretching.
She knelt on both knees, one hand bracing herself on the air mattress, the other holding the lighter. “This is perfect.”
Perfect, his foot.
Shang Shao tried his best to stay calm and aloof, hoping to extinguish her inexplicable enthusiasm. “Don’t play with fire. It’s dangerous.”
“Hmm?” Ying Yin tilted her head. “Boss CEO dialogue?”
“That’s not what I meant.” A vein pulsed at Shang Shao’s temple. He asked, through gritted patience, “Do you really think playing with fire in that particular area is a very safe thing to do?”
Ying Yin flushed with embarrassment. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Her tone was so aggrieved and cautious that Shang Shao’s heart softened. He let out a deep, resigned breath. “One look. Don’t move around.”
“Okay.”
“Come here.”
Ying Yin took two steps on her knees, moving closer to him. Shang Shao pried the lighter from her palm and clicked it on. “I’ll do it myself.”
In the small, flickering flame, Ying Yin pressed her lips together and nodded – earnestly, obediently.
With the pad of his thumb, he gently pulled down the waistband of his black underwear, revealing a small line of letters just above his groin.
It was too dark to see clearly.
Too small to make out.
Too difficult to decipher – she needed to get much closer.
The tent was utterly silent, save for the soft sputter of the flame and, outside, the heavy footfalls and low grunts of two lions.
Shang Shao’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“I can’t see,” Ying Yin whispered. Her breath was hot, fanning across the sensitive muscles of that area.
“You can look at it tomorrow in the daylight.” He sounded so calm – so unnaturally calm for a normal person.
“Mr. Shang.”
Ying Yin murmured his name. Her slender, translucent, finger-like hand pressed down on the waistband alongside his thumb, pushing it even lower.
They were both ignoring it.
Studiously ignoring it.
Ignoring the tall, upright shadow rising prominently beneath that small line of text.
