Chapter 1: The Film Empress Who Jumped Off a Building to Commit Suicide (1)

White, jade-like fingers, slender and defined with distinct knuckles.

A beautiful face, meticulously sculpted by the gods themselves.

A tall-stemmed goblet brimming with deep red, fragrant liquid.

Alluring thin lips, painted with vivid lipstick, drawing closer.

As she swallowed, those limpid eyes, clear as glass, narrowed slightly—like a contented little cat.

Bai Qian arrived just a step too late.

She could only watch helplessly as Shao Zizhi, not far away, drained that tampered glass of red wine.

Product from M Country—its effects were nothing to scoff at.

In less than half a moment, that pristine face flushed with an unnatural crimson.

—The shade was deeper even than the most vibrant crabapple blossoms.

Her delicate brows furrowed lightly, as if sensing something amiss.

The man lurking nearby, biding his moment, straightened his appearance for the front-facing camera. He flashed his signature charming smile, the one that could melt legions of fans, and slithered toward his quarry like a filthy serpent seizing its prey.

But a figure beat him to it. As the woman—feigning drunkenness—clutched her forehead with a frown, her body going limp as she teetered toward the floor, an arm shot out. It hooked around her slender waist, steadying her firmly.

“Are you all right?”

Shao Zizhi felt heat prickling faintly all over her body, like tiny flames licking at her skin—scorching, boiling.

It was a sensation she’d never known before. Something nameless churned inside her, desperate for release, with no outlet in sight.

The hand on her waist felt foreign, as did the sweet breath brushing her ear in that soft murmur.

She hated being this close to a stranger, yet her traitorous body craved even nearer to that cool touch.

Bai Qian made her decision in an instant.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.”

She had just taken a step, supporting the woman’s slack form, when a mosquito-thin voice buzzed at her ear: “No… no, don’t.”

Shao Zizhi knew she was at her breaking point. She had no idea what was ravaging her, but she was certain she wouldn’t last until the hospital.

Bai Qian twisted to glance at her, startled by the sheen of sweat beading on her forehead. Then her gaze fell on the woman’s impossibly flushed cheeks and those pitiful eyes, trembling with distress. In her mind, she cursed that lecherous director once more.

“The… top-floor… suite. Press… press my fingerprint… it’ll open. Thank… thank you.” Shao Zizhi’s mind was crumbling, but she knew she couldn’t let anyone see her like this. Gritting her teeth, she forced the words out in fragments.

Bai Qian was grateful they stood in a secluded corner, a door at their backs and well out of the crowd’s sight. A sudden departure wouldn’t draw eyes.

Otherwise, with Shao Zizhi’s fame and her current state, it would have sparked a frenzy.

“Just hold on a little longer. I’ll get you upstairs.”

Shao Zizhi looked slender—and she was light as a feather.

Bai Qian carried her up to the top floor with barely any effort.

The entire level held just one presidential suite. She let the woman lean against her, grasped those exquisite fingers, and moved to press them to the lock—

“Mm—”

Unable to bear the drug’s torment any longer, the woman let out a needy whimper from deep in her throat—like a kitten’s plaintive mew, clawing right at the listener’s eardrums.

Shao Zizhi’s upper body was now plastered to Bai Qian’s, the all-consuming heat easing slightly where cool skin met fevered flesh.

Her consciousness frayed to threads, her body obeying pure instinct as it sought the one who felt like salvation. She flung off the hand gripping hers, twisted to the side, and locked her arms around Bai Qian’s waist.

Before Bai Qian could react, she shoved her backward—pinning her hard against the chill wall.

Her fevered lips groped blindly forward like a headless fly. When they met the other’s silken skin, they latched on like a lost waif finding home, refusing to yield.

Bai Qian had never been so brazenly groped before. She froze for half a second. Then, as the woman grew bolder—her grip tightening around Bai Qian’s waist, trying to deepen the kiss branding her neck—she snapped to her senses. She struggled, prying the woman away from her now lipstick-smeared skin.

“Shao Zizhi,” she growled low. “Look at me. See who I am!”

At the sound of her name, the woman—forcing her barely slitted eyes wider—peered through.

The face before her was clear and pure, unremarkable amid the entertainment industry’s parade of stunners, yet oddly, irresistibly likable.

—Bai Qian.

The name surfaced sluggishly in Shao Zizhi’s mind.

Now she remembered.

Come to think of it, Bai Qian was her senior—debuting earlier, a bit older too. But without a top agency, all these years she’d landed only supporting roles in a handful of forgettable web dramas. Nothing else to her name.

She and Shao Zizhi had no scenes together in this drama, and up until now, Bai Qian hadn’t formed much of an impression of the senior actress. It was only during the group photo the director had called for with the entire cast that Bai Qian had been curled up alone in the corner, snacking away. The director had casually called out to her, which finally drew Shao Zizhi’s glance her way.

Bai Qian had figured they’d never cross paths again, but to her surprise, the one who’d just come to her aid was this very woman.

Overthinking had no place right now. Moments later, Shao Zizhi reaped the bitter consequences of straining her mind too hard under the drug’s influence.

All shreds of reason burned away to nothing. She surrendered completely, her mind a blank slate save for the searing heat of her lips as she lunged once more at her “benefactor,” unable to hold back.

Bai Qian could fend off the still-rational Shao Zizhi from before, but this unconscious beauty before her now wielded a strength that made fighting back all but impossible.

Her waist was locked in an iron grip, no escape allowed.

Slender fingers wove through her silky hair.

The air itself grew thick and scorching.

The woman’s voice softened into a pleading whimper that set ears ablaze—

“Sister, help me.”

“I need you, Sister.”