Chapter 52: World 2 – 22

The night brought Shao Qing’s favorite kind of rainy weather. In the past, the sound of raindrops tapping against the glass would have been enough to lull her to sleep in no time, even gifting her a pleasant dream.

But tonight was different. After her shower, Shao Qing lay in bed without a hint of drowsiness. The rain against the windowpane only sharpened her wakefulness.

In that state of alertness, she couldn’t help but replay the evening’s events in her mind—the glamorous figures at the private banquet, and the woman forced to hide in the hedges. The two images formed a stark, vivid contrast in her thoughts.

After tossing and turning to no avail, Shao Qing reached for her phone, checking for new messages.

She habitually silenced her phone before bed. WeChat messages arriving late at night would not give a notification, save for incoming calls.

Unlocking the phone, she found several unread messages sent by Sister Ke half an hour ago.

Sister Ke: Home safe, I assume? Any trouble on the way?

Sister Ke: There was a minor ruckus back at the manor. Someone called to ask when you got home. I covered for you.

Sister Ke: If something did happen, let me know, so I can make arrangements early.

Only three messages, but they were loaded with meaning, making Shao Qing start worrying about that young woman.

Glancing at the time in the top-left corner, she sent off a cute cat sticker in reply.

Less than a minute later, Sister Ke called.

“It’s me. You’re still up at this hour. Something happened on the road, didn’t it?” Sister Ke’s voice carried a note of resignation.

“Yeah, I ran into a bit of a situation. How is it playing out over there?” Shao Qing asked, grasping the hidden implication behind Sister Ke’s words.

“These things can be blown up or downplayed. People like them are never short of others wanting resources. I stayed to ask around; it was the subordinates who botched things.” Sister Ke paused. “They made it very clear: business is about mutual consent. Since there was a misunderstanding on their end, they’ll take some responsibility. They’ll probably give the girl some cash, tell her to act like nothing happened. It’s better for everyone that way.”

Shao Qing was silent. Could one dismissive line about “subordinates botching things” really whitewash the truth?

She wasn’t naive. The woman had been barefoot, wearing flimsy clothes. It was obvious she’d been drugged before being changed. She had definitely been unconscious and without bodily autonomy for a period of time.

The hidden proclivities in these circles varied. Some valued mutual consent; others craved something more forceful.

If not for some unforeseen accident, that woman would never have escaped the manor. A night spent there would have meant utter ruin. The videos those people recorded could have been used to ensure the woman never spoke of her ordeal for the rest of her life.

“Shao Qing, it’s better to settle big matters into small ones, and small matters into nothing. This is already the best outcome,” Sister Ke, who knew her artist well, sighed. “There are plenty like that in the entertainment world. The forces behind them run deeper than you can imagine; one or two people can’t change it. Compared to before, they’ve already toned it down a lot.”

“I know.” Shao Qing closed her eyes, then slowly opened them. “As long as she’s unharmed, I’ll act like I saw nothing tonight. I left the private party and went straight home. I didn’t meet anyone, didn’t hear a thing.”

“Good. I’ll handle the rest. You just focus on preparing for Director Li’s film,” Sister Ke said, relieved. “It’s late now; get some rest soon.”

“Okay. Thank you, Sister Ke.” After hanging up, Shao Qing let out a heavy sigh.

Acutely aware of her own limitations, she could only force her eyes shut and banish the chaotic images from her mind.

Finally, around 3 a.m., sheer mental exhaustion dragged her into a fitful sleep.

–

The next morning, Shao Qing was roused not by her alarm or the gloomy weather outside, but by an aroma of food that had drifted up from the kitchen on the first floor, somehow slipping into her bedroom and wafting into her nose.

Feeling her somewhat sunken stomach, she pushed herself up with one hand, grabbed her phone from the bedside, and checked the time.

10:30 a.m. Seven-plus hours of sleep, just barely hitting the daily benchmark.

After a quick wash, Shao Qing, casually dressed in cotton slippers, headed downstairs. The appetizing scent in the air grew richer.

Jing Ke emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of freshly sliced beef. Seeing Shao Qing descend the stairs, she smiled at her. “Shao Qing, good morning.”

“Morning, though it’s not so early anymore,” Shao Qing said, taking the plate of beef from Jing Ke. “Are you prepping ingredients? What are you making?”

“Getting the ingredients ready for hot pot. I also simmered a beef bone broth base. The average temperature today is several degrees lower than yesterday—perfect weather for steaming hot pot,” Jing Ke replied, turning back to the kitchen to fetch more dishes.

Shao Qing moved to help, neatly arranging the plates Jing Ke had spent all morning preparing onto the dining table.

The induction cooktop holding the hot pot base sat in the center of the table. Since the beef bone broth was freshly cooked, it started bubbling and steaming moments after being plugged in.

There was some truth to the saying that good food can soothe the soul.

The moment Shao Qing ate a slice of beef coated in the house-made dipping sauce, her previously wilted spirits lifted considerably. As the savory umami flooded her taste buds, the deliciousness pushed aside the troubling memories occupying her mind.

“Thank you. It’s delicious,” Shao Qing said through a full mouth, having downed five slices of beef in a single breath.

“You’re welcome. Your three meals a day are my responsibility, after all. I’m just doing my job,” Jing Ke responded, noticing Shao Qing’s particular fondness for the beef today and moving the plate of thickly cut ribeye closer to her.

Shao Qing noticed but said nothing more, just placing a piece of meat she had scooped out into Jing Ke’s bowl.

Jing Ke had prepared a lavish spread. The fresh ingredients and professional handling made this home-cooked hot pot rival—or even surpass—meals at famous chain restaurants.

After eating and drinking their fill, Shao Qing and Jing Ke cleaned up together, then collapsed side-by-side onto the sofa, letting the soft cushions take their full weight.

“Jing Ke, Sister Ke contacted me last night,” Shao Qing spoke up after three minutes of relaxing. “I told her it was all a misunderstanding caused by poor communication. That side is willing to pay the girl a sum of money to make her forget the unpleasant memories.”

“What do you think of their way of handling this?” Shao Qing asked, turning her head toward Jing Ke.

“Using a little money to smooth over a small mess. Very typical of them,” Jing Ke assessed as objectively as she could.

“Right, I also have something to tell you. While you were still asleep, that girl’s friend, Xixi, called my phone,” Jing Ke added.

“What did she say on the phone?” Shao Qing instinctively grabbed Jing Ke’s wrist.

Jing Ke’s tone was composed. “She wanted to know what her friend went through last night. I didn’t share any speculation with her. I just recounted how we found the girl and took her back to her residential complex.”

“She didn’t press further, only asking that we keep her friend’s confidentiality—not to tell anyone else, and especially not to post anything online.”

“I agreed. She thanked me for a long time, then hung up.”

Shao Qing listened, stunned. A beat later, she asked, “Did she say what she was going to do? Like… going to the police?”

“She didn’t say, but I could tell she was holding back a deep, genuine anger, mixed with helplessness.” Jing Ke’s perception of emotions had sharpened considerably since the last world. “That Miss Xixi resembled you a little last night, but her emotions were more outwardly visible,” Jing Ke added.

“Was I angry last night?” Shao Qing countered. She thought she had only shown her powerlessness.

“Yes. I could sense it,” Jing Ke nodded affirmatively. “Do you need me to do something? I can access many of the audio and video recordings they’ve kept through the network.”

“Once something like this spreads online, public opinion can erupt in less than two hours.”

“A single person’s resistance might be weak, but if thousands, tens of thousands, even millions of people cry out against this injustice, the relevant authorities won’t just stand by idle,” Jing Ke continued. “Public servants chosen through rigorous selection, those whose judgment is clouded by temporary greed are still a minority. Law enforcement with normal empathy won’t just sit back and do nothing.”

Seeing Shao Qing staring blankly at the coffee table, Jing Ke added, “I would use an anonymous report. Make the whistleblower look like someone who betrayed their collective interests. I wouldn’t let them trace it back to you.”

“No, that’s not what I’m thinking about,” Shao Qing said subconsciously. “People with normal empathy indeed couldn’t sit by and do nothing. But through the screen of the internet, you’ll see all sorts of people. After the audio and video go public, most netizens will surely condemn the perpetrators and demand the judicial system give justice. But there will always be a certain group who just wants to dig up these victims one by one and gossip about them.”

Shao Qing had clearly thought much further ahead. “And if public pressure forces certain authorities to take notice and step in to investigate, won’t the criminals then weaponize that same public opinion—leaking the victims’ identities to put pressure on the victims themselves?”

Just like the guilt and self-blame she had felt returning home last night, Shao Qing wasn’t worried about being targeted herself, but about the existing victims. As a well-known artist with tens of millions of fans, even if she stepped forward to expose the darkness, the worst they could do was blacklist her in the industry and force her into retirement.

But the ways they could crush ordinary people were far more numerous. Public opinion alone could destroy them.

Jing Ke’s brow furrowed upon hearing this. “If the spread is purely online, I can process the content to remove any personally identifying information and prevent its dissemination.”

“But if it’s through other means, like physical printouts, I might not be able to plug every leak. That would require sufficiently professional law enforcement involvement.” Jing Ke considered for a moment. “What about trying an anonymous tip-off to a law enforcement agency? If they step in, they’ll definitely assist in protecting the victims’ privacy.”

Shao Qing couldn’t quite decide. She didn’t know if she had the right to make that choice on behalf of so many people.

“Let’s not rush. Give me some time to think things over,” Shao Qing said. While she had developed a cautious nature, she had also noticeably become more hesitant and overthinking. Shao Qing was deeply worried that by revealing this, some individuals might suffer secondary trauma or even be driven to despair and end their own lives.

Jing Ke didn’t push at all, just acknowledged with an “okay” and gave her ample time to think.

–

Before Shao Qing made her decision, Jing Ke took the initiative, using her hacking skills, to secure and preserve the relevant evidence.

During this process, Jing Ke also stumbled upon a ledger on a certain someone’s computer. It meticulously detailed various transactions involving Mr. Yuan’s group over the past two years.

The victims’ names were real. What’s more, the records included detailed physical data and three candid photos taken from different angles. The “buyer” column, however, used only numerical codes or aliases—they likely knew their business was too dirty to see the light of day.

After a brief scan, Jing Ke removed from the victim list those who had participated willingly in exchange for career resources. The original list of over two hundred names was thus whittled down to thirty-six.

These thirty-six had all been initially kept in the dark. Some seemed to have accepted their reality, becoming minor social media influencers with a few hundred thousand followers. For the remaining portion, Jing Ke found almost nothing online. They were, for all intents and purposes, untraceable on public platforms.

One, two, three… Jing Ke counted the names, one by one, double-checking to confirm: out of these thirty-six people, a full twenty-one had no online presence whatsoever.

After carefully memorizing these twenty-one names and faces, Jing Ke infiltrated a certain heavily encrypted information network via LAN to check on their current status.

Huh? Death certificates for two of them? Cause of death: severe depression, drug overdose suicide?

Realizing that two people had already died in the past two years because of their experiences, Jing Ke felt a pang in her heart, an inexplicable resistance arising within her. Death certificates—she never wanted to see such things. The further away, the better.

Stunned for a moment, she disconnected from the encrypted information network and stared blankly at the list of nineteen names she had compiled.

No wonder Shao Qing hesitated. The impact of those experiences on the victims was immense, enough to make a person break. If they could move on, it was one thing. But if not, many chose to end their lives for release.

Shao Qing was right. Her own initial proposal had been too naive. She had only considered how public opinion could pressure the authorities, never thinking how widespread public attention could also affect the victims’ psychological state.

Jing Ke’s handsome features knotted in a frown. Her long, pale fingers curled slightly as she tapped a rhythm on the desk.

Making a decision on behalf of those nineteen people arbitrarily? Obviously not the best choice. Contacting them one by one to ask their opinion? Clearly also a mistake. A single poorly chosen word could push a living person over a deeper edge.

On the fiftieth tap of her knuckle against the solid wood desk, Jing Ke’s eyes lit up. An idea sparked in her mind.

Without acting on it immediately, she bolted upright and dashed into the first-floor home gym.

“Shao Qing, I have a way to deal with those people,” Jing Ke announced. Her amber eyes were unusually bright, a stark contrast to the slump of the previous days, as if re-infused with vitality.

“Hmm? You thought of a way to protect those people’s privacy?” Shao Qing paused mid-rep from lifting weights, grabbed a nearby towel, and wiped the sweat from her forehead and neck.

“You could say that,” Jing Ke nodded. “It’s not just the recordings and videos we can use; we can strike from another angle. These people love laundering money by financing films. They definitely have major tax issues. If we expose their tax evasion, that’ll resonate just as strongly with the public online.”

“If we come at it from this angle, they won’t suspect those victims at all. They’ll just assume it’s a rival in the industry hitting them.” Jing Ke’s plan was simple and direct.

Very few entertainers in showbiz could survive a tax audit. One or two million in tax evasion might not make certain agencies bat an eye. But what if the total sum of their tax evasion exceeded ten digits? Tens of billions in back taxes—even for the tax bureau of a centrally-administered municipality, that was a colossal sum. They certainly wouldn’t ignore it.

Catching on, Shao Qing slapped her own forehead, muttering to herself, “Right, why didn’t I think of that? Bringing those people to justice isn’t limited to just one path.”

“Jing Ke, can you get proof of their tax evasion?” Shao Qing asked.

“I can. Few people use cash for transactions these days. As long as there’s a corresponding transaction record, I can intercept the data through the network,” Jing Ke confirmed, seeming eager.

“Then I’ll start gathering evidence now. After compiling it, I can send a package to the tax bureau and also leak some online. Sound good?” Jing Ke sought Shao Qing’s approval.

“Good. Not just the tax bureau, you can also send the package to the Public Security and Judiciary agencies. They’re the ones who can press charges,” Shao Qing said, the aura of gloom between her brows beginning to fade.

Targeting their taxes was indeed a brilliant move. It not only hit their vital spot but also maximized the assurance that the victims wouldn’t suffer secondary harm from their private information being leaked.