“This drama was written for Su Zhi. You can all see that. I’ve been asking you for one thing all this time: Su Zhi. And now you send me a sixteen-year-old pretty face, like you can recreate her success? If you could, would your company be running out of new talent?”
“When I worked with Su Zhi, I didn’t even have to remind her to get into character. She was better than I needed her to be before the cameras rolled. And what have you sent me now? When she’s supposed to be sad, she just frowns. When she’s supposed to be fierce, she bares her teeth. If I wanted to see someone bare their teeth, I’d go find a monkey. It could do it all day!”
“Either Su Zhi comes, or you can pull out of the project. I can make this drama without your thirty million!”
Inside a villa on the outskirts of Magic City, Director You Xin hung up after a call with Su Zhi’s former company, Morningstar Entertainment. He sank onto the sofa, looking exhausted.
Then he picked up the script on the coffee table.
Loophole.
He’d written it for Su Zhi—or, more accurately, he’d taken the inspiration he’d found when he first met her and shaped it into a story.
Even now, he could still picture that day.
Five years earlier, You Xin, a detective-story fanatic, had brought out a script he’d spent three years polishing: Battle of Ningcheng. It followed a veteran detective on the verge of retirement as he faced off against a supercriminal trying to bring down the law in Ningcheng.
Everything had been going well before filming started. But once the show aired, the first two episodes had drawn dismal ratings. The investors had bluntly told him that if the numbers weren’t up to scratch by the fifth episode, his painstaking work would be canceled—and his directing career might end with it.
Desperate for a distraction, he’d gone to a food street outside the set to grab something to eat. That’s where he’d run into Su Zhi, who looked as harmless as could be.
To be fair, he wasn’t usually the sort of person who chatted with strangers, let alone disturbed a young girl who was minding her own business.
But the cold-noodle stall was packed that day, and Su Zhi’s table was the only one with a spare seat.
So he’d reluctantly joined her. As they ate, he noticed she was reading the Great Xia Criminal Code.
It felt like fate—or maybe he’d just been acting on impulse. Either way, he’d pointed out a loophole in the law that she’d misunderstood, and the two of them had started talking.
He’d thought he could teach Su Zhi something. Instead, what she said left him stunned.
“Obviously, if your girlfriend and your mother both fall into the water, you save your mom! If you don’t save your girlfriend, people might call you heartless. But if you save your girlfriend and let your mother drown, you’ve broken the law!”
“If they catch a criminal but only have an audio recording as evidence, is that enough to prove a crime? If all they’ve got is a recording, then no, of course not! I’m the kind of person who says whatever comes into my head. If somebody records me saying something stupid, does that prove I committed a crime? I might as well say I’m going to destroy the world tomorrow.”
“If the police arrest me without evidence, but I admit I committed a crime, am I guilty? Of course not! No evidence means no crime. They can’t arrest me just because I say so. They have to find proof. Without evidence, I’m innocent—even if there’s a 99.999 percent chance I’m guilty. The law only recognizes a hundred percent. Anything less is zero. Procedural justice might be cold, but it’s necessary.”
You Xin knew a little about criminal law because he loved detective stories. But up against Su Zhi, who seemed to enjoy studying the constitution and criminal code, he was completely out of his depth.
He also started noticing all the legal loopholes in the detective novels he’d read.
It was as if someone had unblocked his meridians. Combining criminal law with what he knew about detective stories, he suddenly found answers to all the questions that had been troubling him.
He’d learned that Su Zhi was an idol trainee. She’d only just started, and she had plenty of free time, so he’d invited her to act in his show. It was a small way to help, he thought—to give her more screen time and introduce her to the public a little earlier.
But after filming the first scene, he’d realized the truth: he wasn’t helping Su Zhi. She was helping him.
Loophole was the result of all the research he’d done after filming Battle of Ningcheng. He’d consulted veteran detectives and criminal lawyers, then built on all the outrageous things Su Zhi had said to him.
The loophole in the title was a loophole in the law—and this wasn’t just about skirting the rules. The role he’d designed for Su Zhi was that of a perfect criminal.
No, she couldn’t even be called a criminal. Her weapon was the law itself. Her murder weapon was the courtroom.
Of course, a show like that would never get past censorship. The law could hardly have such serious loopholes, and nothing like that could really happen.
But sometimes, the most effective stories were the ones that couldn’t happen in real life. Loophole looked like a detective drama, but it was really a legal-education series in disguise.
It used the criminal’s perspective to show ordinary people how to protect themselves with the law—and how to make sure criminals received the harshest punishment possible.
And he’d secured official support for the project.
That was why the criminal character was so important. It wasn’t a role an ordinary star could handle.
Since the project had begun, he’d auditioned more than a hundred people. There’d been A-listers, super A-listers, Best Actors, Best Actresses, Television Emperors, and Best TV Actresses among them.
Not one had met his standards.
In his heart, there was only one candidate: Su Zhi.
But Su Zhi had been shelved three years ago, for reasons no one could explain. When he’d asked, the only answer he’d gotten was that she wanted to focus on her studies.
“Does that mean I’ll have to change the script?”
You Xin felt the familiar exhaustion settle in.
His worst fear had come true.
He tightened his grip on the script.
He couldn’t accept it. This was without a doubt the best work of his life, and he wouldn’t let it be tarnished.
Su Zhi was the most important piece of the puzzle. Without her, the whole show would lose its original character and become mediocre, bland, even laughable.
You Xin took out his phone and opened his contacts. Su Zhi’s name was right there.
He looked from her name to his villa, all clean lines and minimalist style. Then he glanced at the watch on his wrist and the car parked in the courtyard.
“Fine. Let them hate me. Let them pull their investment. I’ll sell everything I own and fill the gap myself. Su Zhi, you’re the one. I won’t settle for anyone else!”
But before he could press the call button, the phone dialed on its own.
No—that wasn’t right. He looked at the green call icon and realized it hadn’t dialed out.
Su Zhi was calling him!
