Chapter 29

Chapter 29: 029 – Watching the Show

Qiao Qing Yan turned her head, her gaze landing on the men who’d been gossiping as if she could see the bile still coating their tongues.

Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a warning, but something that made the air feel colder.

“You gentlemen are all people of status,” she said softly. “Next time, remember to check whether anyone is nearby before you talk about others.”

Her peach-blossom eyes lifted, charming and lazy, as if she were giving friendly advice.

“Otherwise, if someone hears something they shouldn’t, you won’t be able to keep your faces.”

Her voice stayed gentle.

“Isn’t that right?”

Old Madam Qian’s gaze flicked toward them.

Among the men were several judges, along with senior executives from the Jin Ying organizers. Directors, screenwriters—people whose names could decide careers with a single sentence.

In an instant, several of them averted their eyes as if the floor had become fascinating. Their sharpness didn’t disappear. It simply folded inward, cautious.

The atmosphere turned awkward.

Then Qiao Qing Yan spoke again, airy as perfume and twice as suffocating.

“As for me, I won’t be working in this circle anymore.” She tilted her head. “But I’m sure you gentlemen will still have to.”

She took a slow sip of wine, the red staining her lips like a secret.

“So watch your mouths. Save some virtue.” Her tone remained almost playful. “Don’t spend away the tiny bit of virtue your ancestors piled up for you.”

One older man’s face darkened. He turned, about to curse.

Qiao Qing Yan lifted her hand.

Her slender fingers, tipped with red nails, held her phone. The screen shone brightly—recording interface open, waiting.

The man’s expression snapped into place, forced and tight. A smile appeared like a bandage slapped over rot.

“Miss Qiao,” he said, voice honeyed, “even if you’ve quit the industry, maybe there will still be times we meet again, right?”

He chuckled as if they were old friends. “As they say, leave some room today so we can meet again in the future. Don’t you agree?”

Qiao Qing Yan casually turned the phone, then lowered it as if bored.

“That depends on fate,” she said.

And that was all.

She didn’t bother listening to whatever else they wanted to spit out. She linked arms with Old Madam Qian and went upstairs, silver fabric whispering with every step.

The moment her figure vanished around the corner, the men at the wine table exhaled like they’d been holding their breath.

Indignation rose fast.

None of them had expected to be held in check by a little girl.

But Qiao Qing Yan wasn’t wrong. They still had to work in this circle. They still had to survive it.

Qiao Qing Yan had already quit. Even if they wanted to suppress her, they had no clean way to do it.

And worse—they couldn’t even be sure whether she truly had a recording.

“Don’t worry,” one senior executive from the organizers said, face stiff. “Later, I’ll go test her tone.”

He understood clearly, too: they couldn’t afford to comment on Elder Ji.

Even if Elder Ji retired, his influence and connections weren’t something a small executive could survive offending. One wrong move and he’d be kicked out of his own circle before he even realized it.

—

On the other side of the hall, a cold, noble man watched the entire exchange as if it were a play staged for him alone.

He even followed the gossip through lip-reading—the smugness, the contempt, the careless cruelty.

“Brother Shi,” his friend said under his breath, frustration threaded through every word, “that Tan family one didn’t say anything. She said she doesn’t know either.”

He swallowed, then pushed on. “Back then, she also only got a location through the black web. She never made contact with Wu Yin.”

The lead snapped just like that.

His friend looked unwilling to accept it.

Fu Yan Shi didn’t appear surprised. He’d only let his friend go because he didn’t want to crush his last hope with his own hands.

“But Brother Shi,” his friend said quickly, seizing at another thought, “Miss Tan did give a pretty good idea.”

Fu Yan Shi withdrew his gaze from where Qiao Qing Yan had disappeared. His expression was unreadable again, as if he’d never looked at her at all.

“What?”

His friend blinked, distracted for a second by what Fu Yan Shi had been watching. He followed the direction of his eyes, but all he saw were entertainers dressed like flowers and scenes of flattery and fawning—nothing special.

“What?” he echoed, then jolted, snapping back.

He leaned in, voice dropping into something like excitement.

“Hacker W might know Wu Yin’s whereabouts.”