Chapter 65: Sleepless and Restless

The production team quickly enacted their emergency plan. To stop all those random videos from spreading and stirring up even more backlash, every light on the stage suddenly went dark. The on standby medical team rushed over in a frantic hurry.

The image of the Aerial Wire Rig snapping and Zhong Jia plummeting straight down from midair lingered in the audience’s minds. They stood up, then sat back down, exchanging bewildered glances with one another. No one knew if the finals would go on.

A few minutes passed before the lights flickered back on. Zhong Jia and Xie Yingnian were nowhere to be seen. Staff members hurried about, cleaning up the wreckage. The director mounted the stage from the side stairs under crushing pressure and bowed deeply. “We’re very sorry, but due to an unexpected incident…”

A roar of discontent and accusations exploded from the crowd below. Some fans, furious, hurled their support items onto the stage. Director Yu dodged as best he could, sweat pouring down his face while he tried to explain. Alarming splotches of blood stained the floor at his feet.

Under the staff’s urging and evacuation guidance, some spectators headed for the exits. Fans huddled together in tears, demanding answers. This was a variety show with a massive budget—Qinggua Video wasn’t some upstart. They’d swallowed up established video platforms and ridden a wave of smooth success. How could they screw up something like this?

Director Yu was at a loss for words. He himself was in a panic. Middle-aged at last, he’d finally clawed his way to some recognition after years as an assistant. Only in recent years had he stepped up to director. If this turned into a manslaughter case, he’d lose his job for sure.

And the person whose fate hung in the balance was Zhong Jia—whose partner was Xie Yingnian, whose father was Zhong Kefei. Her fans alone could drown him in spit. Who could he afford to piss off?

He descended the stage on shaky legs. A staff member sprinted up from afar, panting as he leaned in to whisper something. The noise was deafening; Director Yu couldn’t make it out and gestured for him to repeat it.

“The Aerial Wire Rig crew had this temp worker—super unfamiliar face. No idea who brought him in. The moment shit hit the fan, he vanished. That ID he used? Probably fake…”

So it wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate?

Director Yu hadn’t pieced it together yet when Jiang Nai strode up, clutching his phone, his face dark as thunder. He buttonholed everyone he passed, asking if they’d seen Shi Cainran.

“Shi Cainran… she’s gone too?” Director Yu found it all too convenient. With his knowledge of the backstage gossip, a terrifying suspicion dawned on him.

Jiang Nai gave a curt nod and pulled the unanswered phone from his ear. The battle-hardened manager was livid, uncharacteristically losing his cool. He slammed a fist into the wall and let loose a filthy curse.

In the bustling commercial district, a curved advertising screen blasted the finals promo for “I Can Do Anything.” Crowds flowed endlessly below. Now and then, someone would glance up, unable to suppress a sigh. How could something like this happen?

The live stream had been cut long ago, but online outrage was fermenting fast. Clips of those fateful seconds had gone viral, racking up tens of thousands of shares. Every marketing account smelled blood in the water and piled on, barely bothering to tweak their copy.

They were accused of eating blood steamed buns. Zhong Jia’s fans went berserk in the comments:

– People dead? Then shut your damn mouth!

– I thought a wire snapping mid-stunt was some novel trope. Way too sketchy. Qinggua, quit chasing quick cash and clean up your internals!

– If you’re scared of heights, don’t click this. I nearly shit myself. Fuck! Shitty camera work—stage accident and they still get an overhead shot? Can’t help but think conspiracy.

– Terrifying. That thud… the mic flew so far. Don’t know her well, but heard her songs—beautiful voice. Hope she’s okay. So young.

– Xie Yingnian’s back looked unsteady, like she could barely stand. First time seeing her like that… God, I’m totally enchanted. A fierce powerhouse woman suddenly so lost—makes you wanna take advantage…

– Got this fated vibe. Qiao Yingqiu died the same way back then—slipped off a high-rise terrace.

– At least that wasn’t live. This was right in front of her eyes!!! Just thinking about it chokes me up. If it was someone I loved having an accident in front of me, it’d be a nightmare forever!

In the dead of night in Yanjing, an ambulance blared its blue emergency lights as it sped toward the Zhong Family Private Hospital.

Zhong Kefei said, “It’s far more private there. Media won’t get in easily. She needs a quiet space to recover.”

“How did you know?” Xie Yingnian gripped Zhong Jia’s hand tightly. She didn’t figure the perpetually busy President Zhong for a net surfer. The bloodstains on her suit jacket had dried into a dark red patch. She caught it in her peripheral vision and shut her eyes, the memory flooding back of blood pouring from Zhong Jia’s mouth with every choking cough.

Her distrust was plain as day. Zhong Kefei frowned. “Your tone is awfully rude.”

Xie Yingnian lifted her eyelids, her gaze chilling to subzero. “Rude? You’re lucky I haven’t gone mad and killed someone.”

Some kids dashed across a red light in hot pursuit of each other. The driver slammed on the brakes just in time. Inertia sent a syringe rolling from beside Xie Yingnian’s leg across the floor.

She had only just rolled down the sleeve of the arm holding her phone. No meds on her. Her breathing grew ragged; she sensed an attack coming. While the paramedics worked on Zhong Jia, she rummaged in the med kit and jabbed herself with a sedative.

The doctor was stunned. He paused before asking, “You aren’t feeling well either?”

He’d been about to chew her out for helping herself to the drugs—even celebrities had to follow protocol—but when their eyes met, he saw the sweat beading on her forehead, her lips bitten white. She looked like she was barely holding back some agony.

Xie Yingnian stared unblinkingly at Zhong Jia. The drug dulled her reactions; it took a moment before she nodded offhandedly. “Yeah, I’ve got issues.”

She’d injected sedatives countless times before, always in tiny doses. She refused to pass out before Zhong Jia woke.

I have to stay right by her side, every step.

No one can be trusted anymore.

“You’re suspecting me?” Zhong Kefei said. “She is my daughter, after all…”

Xie Yingnian shot back at him, but her mind conjured the impeccable face of Zhong Jia’s birth mother, Qiao Yingqiu. “You think saying that gives her a sense of belonging? Or that a scrap of pity from you makes up for years of neglect?”

The man across from her seemed throttled, speechless despite his boardroom prowess.

“Where were you when she was sixteen, begging for help with sky-high medical bills and getting shut out everywhere?”

“When she was seventeen, dragged back to school into a class full of strangers? Couldn’t keep up, no friends to confide in—where were you then?”

“Oh, right. Her eighteenth birthday—the same day as He Lifu’s. You gifted your son a limited-edition sports car. And her?”

Xie Yingnian found it all bitterly amusing. They said there were no bad parents under heaven—either they abused the kids they had, or they dumped them altogether. What crime had these forced-into-existence children committed?

“She’s just like me—no family to call her own. All we have is each other.” Xie Yingnian had no interest in dragging out this pointless exchange. “I have a pretty good idea who did it, Mr. Zhong. Kindly keep your son in check.”

She moved to end the call. “Wait—” Zhong Kefei blurted.

“Shi Cainran is your half-sister? My investigators say she had a hand in it.”

“I know.”

Xie Yingnian lifted Zhong Jia’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. She closed her eyes, as if sighing softly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“How is she doing?” Zhong Kefei couldn’t fathom why he cared so much about this daughter.

In his youth, he’d frozen his sperm at a bank. He didn’t have to pick an heir from these siblings. He’d long since lost all faith in his son. His daughter… well, the one time she’d sassed him in that shop, he’d seen himself in her. Men were creatures ruled by their worst instincts—the unattainable always seemed the best.

“She’ll be fine,” Xie Yingnian murmured, so softly it was like she was telling herself.

Beyond clasping Zhong Jia’s hand, Xie Yingnian ached to hold her somewhere else. She was terrified. The instant she’d witnessed that fall, her blood had turned to ice.

She yearned to feel Zhong Jia’s warmth, her presence—to steady her own spiraling panic.

But she couldn’t.

They’d scolded her when loading Zhong Jia onto the ambulance: Don’t move her. A drop from that height meant broken bones for sure. Shifting her could cause secondary damage. Her organs were likely compressed too, hence the endless coughing up of blood.

She’d stabilized a bit now. They’d know more once they got her into surgery at the hospital.

Xie Yingnian rubbed Zhong Jia’s bare wrist. When she’d rushed onstage, she’d seen the prayer beads scattered everywhere. In that moment, she’d been profoundly grateful for returning to Wonderful Cloud Temple after all these years. As Mengcan had said, they could absorb disaster in their owner’s stead. You have to pull through.

Tonight’s hot searches were dominated by the accident, titles exploding off the charts.

The show’s official account was raked over the coals, dragging down another Qinggua Video original in the process. Zhong Jia’s fans and outraged bystanders bloodied the comments sections. No new promo material dared drop.

Plenty of details felt off if you dug deep, but no one dared entertain the notion that it wasn’t an accident.

Shi Heng raced his car to the hospital, phone buzzing nonstop. Probably media or company reps. The headache was unbearable; he simply powered it off.

“Bro, I just scrolled past a bunch of identical press releases,” A Cha read aloud to him. “‘Was the aerial wire rig really just an accident? Chilling to think about—why did Shi Cainran bolt from the finals site in such a hurry?’ …And they’ve got a few pics attached. Why’s she wearing a hat with the brim pulled so low, looking all shady and suspicious.”

Shi Heng nearly lost his grip on the steering wheel. Now he got the picture.

Some accident, my ass! Jiang Nai was ruthless, pulling desperate measures like a lizard ditching its tail or sacrificing the pawn to save the king. Shi Heng just couldn’t wrap his head around it—what grudge could Shi Cainran possibly hold? If they followed the trail, she’d end up behind bars for attempted murder. Sure, she might not snag the championship, but her future was golden. Was it really worth throwing it all away?

Pu Chu was in the car too. She got in touch with her agent, saying she might hole up at the hospital for the next few days.

The band members who could make it rushed to the hospital right away. Wa Si had ordered takeout, planning some big ritual of watching the show from afar on her screen. But the food hadn’t even arrived when she watched, eyes wide, as her good friend plummeted from the heights. Then came the uproar, the feed went black, and there was no replay.

Ju Zai was in some other time zone. Outside her sea-view apartment, sunlight poured in bright and cheerful, the light gauzy curtains fluttering in the breeze. She rubbed her damp hair with a towel and asked her fiancée, “Where’s Tiantian?”

In the old days, Chen Kuang would’ve picked a fight a thousand times over. Is this what you call a study trip? Just say it—you’ve gone and fallen for someone else, haven’t you? I always knew those foreign girls with their big boobs, tiny waists, perky butts, and the dark-skinned ones who really know how to have fun in bed…

But Chen Kuang couldn’t muster the energy. She glanced toward the emergency room, her eyes red-rimmed. “She’s in surgery.”

The word “surgery” stabbed into Xie Yingnian’s ears like a needle. Zhong Jia’s friends weren’t hers. One had curly hair and a high nose bridge; another wore a button-down shirt. Xie Yingnian didn’t know them and found their chatter grating. They hadn’t yet woven each other into every corner of their lives.

Shi Heng walked up to her and held out a cigarette. “Wanna step out for some fresh air?”

Xie Yingnian looked up at him. She took the cigarette but didn’t light it. She just rolled it gently between her fingers.

She didn’t have the habit of smoking.

She was afraid of seeing a flame—it would remind her of San’an Li when she was eighteen, when half the sky had burned red.

But now she had something she feared even more.

She had never seen Zhong Jia so utterly lifeless. She didn’t respond to her name, didn’t smile. Only the numbers on the heart monitor proved she was still hanging on.

The red light over the operating room stayed lit for what felt like forever. One by one, more people trickled in: Zhou Chun, Jujiu, Cui Ming, and even Chang Xiaosui. Zhong Kefei made time to show up too.

But he didn’t stick around. He left a secretary behind with some instructions, and Xie Yingnian vaguely caught the name He Lifu amid it all.

The others grew tired, hungry, thirsty. Xie Yingnian sat motionless in her chair, from the thick blanket of night to the first faint light on the horizon. At last, she heard the door open. The exhausted doctor stepped out and was immediately swarmed with questions about the patient’s condition.

Concussion. Several broken bones that would need steel plates. Internal organ damage…

Each detail hit like a boulder rolling over Xie Yingnian’s heart.

She pressed her lips together and said nothing as she followed the nurses who wheeled Zhong Jia into a regular room.

Her life wasn’t in danger, but no one could say when she’d wake up.

Zhou Chun had never seen Xie Yingnian like this. Shocked, she wanted to urge her to eat something, but Cui Ming—Cui Ming—put a stop to it. “No use trying to talk her into it. Just leave her be. She’ll snap out of it once Zhong Jia wakes up.”

She was right. Xie Yingnian was stubborn as a mule. After some thought, Zhou Chun stepped in and called the production crew in Shanghai to get her some time off.

The bodyguards took shifts standing watch. Xie Yingnian kept her sleepless vigil by the bed through another night. In the end, she forced down a bowl of tasteless porridge. She was afraid she’d pass out before Zhong Jia ever woke.

On the third day, the police issued a report on the stage accident from finals night. Zhong Kefei’s cold-blooded nature was on full display. Better to snuff out his own offspring before the kid grew wings and turned around to bite him. He Lifu had been thrown in jail on a laundry list of ironclad charges—and a few trumped-up ones to boot.

The evening sky flushed with a spread of orange glow. The sunset perched on the skyscrapers’ rooftops gleamed red as blood—or maybe fire.

Xie Yingnian’s phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Just a handful of words: I’m on the rooftop.

She didn’t need to ask who it was from.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she gently brushed Zhong Jia’s forehead. Her gaze lingered there a long time. Then she stood and headed for the door. Just before she reached it, she turned back, her hand drifting toward the fruit basket. She paused for a few seconds midway, then plucked a fruit knife from inside.