Chapter 3

Chapter 3: 003 – First Meeting?

Madam Wang tapped a manicured finger against her teacup, the porcelain untouched.

“Oh, right. About that short film your company mentioned.” Her tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. “As long as you sign the contract today, I’ll arrange everything immediately.”

She leaned back, satisfied with her own generosity. “Tomorrow, I guarantee you’ll come back holding a trophy.”

In Madam Wang’s mind, the woman across from her was vain. A little bait—fame, glory, a shiny award—and she would roll over obediently.

Madam Wang had never doubted her own terms.

Then the woman smiled.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Qiao Qing Yan’s voice was clear, like snowmelt trickling over stone—clean, faintly cool, threaded with lazy amusement. “Looks like your son’s pretty cheap.”

She lifted her tea, not to drink, just to toy with it. “It’s only 30 million…”

Madam Wang’s expression flickered.

Qiao Qing Yan continued, unhurried. “Third Young Master Wang has been in the station for almost twenty-four hours, right? If you don’t get him out soon, he’ll end up with a record.”

She propped her cheek on one hand, tilted her head, and smiled like someone watching a play she already knew the ending to.

“So, Madam Wang.” Her gaze sharpened. “Which charge do you think suits him better—solicitation, or drugs?”

Madam Wang’s face cycled through colors—red, then white, then red again—like a painter losing control of her palette.

For the first time, she truly looked at the woman opposite her.

That face held a thousand kinds of charm without a trace of vulgarity. She was like a beauty stepped out of a painting—bewitching, dangerous, the kind that made people want to kneel and also wanted to destroy.

Rumors called her brainless and vain.

In that moment, Madam Wang doubted every one of them.

“Miss Qiao.” Madam Wang’s voice went cold. “Do you believe that with a single sentence, I can make sure you can’t survive in this industry ever again?”

“This is the Capital, not Cloud City. I hope you understand what I mean.”

Qiao Qing Yan nodded, smiling as if praised.

“I believe it. Of course I believe it.” Her tone stayed light. “But compared to you losing a son… I’ll just quit the industry and go home to inherit my family fortune.”

Madam Wang’s fingers tightened around her cup.

Qiao Qing Yan rose smoothly, brushed at invisible dust on her skirt, and gave a careless wave.

“Madam Wang, I hope your dreams come true.”

She walked out of the private room like she owned the corridor.

The moment she turned the corner, she nearly collided with a group coming the other way.

“A Shi, did it burn you—”

Coffee splashed.

It soaked straight through the front of a custom-made suit, the rich dark liquid blooming across fine fabric.

Qiao Qing Yan could tell at a glance: handmade, privately tailored. The kind of suit most people couldn’t buy even if they tried. Even Madam Wang would struggle to get one made.

“What is wrong with you?” A sharp female voice cut through the brief hush. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Qiao Qing Yan opened her mouth, but a low, magnetic voice interrupted first.

“Sorry.” The man spoke calmly, as if the stain meant nothing. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

He angled his head slightly. “Miss, are you alright?”

Qiao Qing Yan wore a mask and sunglasses. Her face, her expression—hidden.

She lifted her gaze and took him in.

Tall and lean, he stood beneath the corridor’s rising sunlight like someone carved out of a different world—mysterious, untouchable.