Chapter Seventy-Five

In a lavish private club, the grand, resplendent hall was thick with a licentious atmosphere. Torn clothes and undergarments were strewn across the floor. A girl, her body covered in bruises, lay weakly on the ground, her expression vacant, a foolish smile lingering on her lips. Beside her, a man, satisfied, elegantly donned his discarded trousers, spared her a final indifferent glance, and swaggered away like a dissipated young master.

The heiress of the Wu family had been assaulted in a private club. Given the Wu family's standing, this was a disgrace to be swallowed in silence. Wu Yuxin stared obsessively at Li Yingming’s retreating figure, until finally a foolish smile broke on her face, tears blurring her vision. “Li Yingming, you’d best keep your promise to me,” she murmured.

Dragging her exhausted body, Wu Yuxin returned to the Wu residence, swaddled tightly in a heavy coat. Her mind was adrift, and the household bustled anxiously around her, terrified that something might befall their delicate young lady, lest they face punishment.

“Yuxin, why did you come back alone? Where is Li Yingming?” Wu Tianxiong asked in a deep voice, taking in his granddaughter’s disheveled state. Their family’s fate was tied to that young master; she could not afford to ruin it.

Wu Yuxin’s downcast expression lifted slowly, her eyes swollen and red as walnuts, her exposed neck mottled with bruises. The once spirited heiress now resembled a battered plantain, utterly wretched. Wu Tianxiong started inwardly but quickly masked his concern. To achieve greatness, one must overlook the small things. The bolder Li Yingming acted toward his granddaughter, the higher the price he would pay in the end.

“Grandfather, don’t worry. Li Yingming has agreed to cooperate. I’m tired; I’ll go rest now.” Her voice was hoarse and frail as she trudged toward her villa.

Wu Tianxiong’s gaze grew cold, his former tenderness replaced by severity. His hawk-like eyes swept the room. “If word of today gets out, don’t blame me for being ruthless.” He issued his gag order; the Wu family’s reputation had to be preserved at all costs.

Fragrant Hill Villa boasted top-notch security, yet recently Rong Qing noticed she was being followed—by an amateur at that. Every time she returned, a burly figure in black, sporting a green vintage military cap and a striped scarf obscuring his face, trailed her. Sometimes he pretended to be a passerby, sneaking glances as he walked by; other times, he crouched clumsily in a flowerbed, peering about furtively, making it impossible not to notice.

One morning, jogging along the mountain path, Rong Qing again sensed a looming black shape behind her. Though some distance away, the oversized clothes could not hide the labored breaths and awkward shuffling. Whenever Rong Qing seemed about to slip from sight, the black-clad figure would rally and chase after her, panting heavily.

Amused, Rong Qing deliberately alternated her pace, always accelerating just as the pursuer neared, leaving him further behind. She glanced back to see him stomping his feet in frustration, delighting in the little game.

“Whew… whew…” Beneath the bulky coat, a sturdy elderly man was gasping for breath. Damn it! In his youth, this distance would have been nothing! He watched as the girl sped away and, panicking, shouted, “How can she run so fast?” Defeated, the old man collapsed onto the ground.

A group of bodyguards following behind saw him sit down and immediately rushed over, alarmed.

“What the hell are you all doing here? Keep up and don’t lose her!” the old man barked, kicking at those crowding too close. “Hurry… hurry… don’t get spotted!”

A troop of robust soldiers crept after her, taking up the ignoble task of surveillance. If word got out, their unit would never live it down. The old man caught his breath, sipped some tea, nibbled some snacks, and then ambled after them. Late September at Fragrant Hill was fresh and pleasant; the morning air invigorated him, and he felt more energetic for all the exertion. Indeed, at his age, a little exercise did wonders, making him feel young again.

As he caught up, the soldiers were huddled furtively under the grove, looking nothing like a disciplined force. The old man gave them a sharp kick.

“Where is she?”

The team leader, face long and aggrieved, replied respectfully, “She’s gone inside, sir.” He pointed, and the old man looked over.

Today, Rong Qing wore a blue Vienna tracksuit and her hair in a ponytail, exuding freshness and vitality. Her manners and poise during conversation were pleasing, befitting her upbringing. Old Man Huo Zhen nodded in satisfaction—her appearance, her bearing, even her lively spirit, all were to his liking. “You have to admit, she’s just like on TV, isn’t she?” he said proudly, his prejudices gradually dissolving.

The soldiers all nodded in agreement. For them, the chief’s word was law.

While they watched, two tall security guards emerged from the control room, electric batons in hand, striding towards them menacingly. Out of their sight, Rong Qing’s eyes narrowed, a sly smile curving her lips—she looked every bit a cunning little fox.

“Who are you?” the two security guards demanded, their presence imposing even in the face of a dozen soldiers.

Huo Zhen immediately realized this was the little fox’s prank and felt a pang of regret. She wasn’t even married into the family yet and was already as devious as his useless grandson! Still, despite being tricked, he felt a faint pride.

As chaos erupted behind her, Rong Qing patted the dust from her clothes and went home.

Two days later, the old man, recently expelled from Fragrant Hill Villa, reappeared as an official resident, swaggering right up to his door as if he were on a sightseeing tour. Gone was his full disguise; he now leaned on a dragon-headed cane and wore a loose brocade robe, the perfect image of a grand old lord. Rong Qing’s eyes sparkled with amusement at his imposing, proud demeanor. What an adorable old man!

If the famously stern Old Huo had left Rong Qing with an impression of “adorable,” he’d probably want to crawl into a crack in the ground—how could he ever assert authority over this troublemaker in the future?

“Hmph!” Old Huo grunted heavily and, cane in hand, circled past her door.

Rong Qing just laughed and shook her head before driving off in her car. Watching her go, Old Huo muttered, “If only she weren’t an actress!” Clearly, after these days, he had grown fond of the girl—mischievous but measured, steady in temperament, an ideal match for his grandson.

That night, Rong Qing lay in bed recounting her encounters with the eccentric old man to Huo Lingtian. Hearing her, Huo Lingtian’s expression turned odd, his raised brows making him look even more like the old man. He simply advised her to be kind to him—after all, he was old, his children gone, his eldest son lost young; there was a loneliness about him.

From then on, Rong Qing looked upon the old man with greater kindness and pity. For all his imperial air, he was ultimately a solitary, aging figure in his villa, his son’s disgrace forever tainting his half-century of military glory.

The film “Splendid Years” had brought Rong Qing sudden acclaim. Offers and scripts poured in, both good and bad. After much deliberation, she declined big-budget productions, instead accepting a role in an urban inspirational film, written and directed by an obscure director. Compared to the formulaic romances and chaotic action scripts from others, she wanted to show the audience another side—her true, resilient self, an authentic portrayal of struggle and perseverance.

Yan Lin supported her unconditionally. As her manager, she never schemed to boost her popularity, but instead taught her how to be a truly good actress. This bold choice might risk all her previous efforts, but without the courage to challenge herself, her acting would remain boxed in, never progressing.

Soon, Yan Lin negotiated with the director, Fang Ziqing, who was overwhelmed with gratitude—stars riding high rarely gave unknown directors the time of day, and when they did, their fees were exorbitant. Seeing this newcomer’s poise and dedication, Fang Ziqing was full of admiration.

As Rong Qing prepared for her new film, she faded from the airwaves; apart from her advertisements, she was nowhere to be seen. Rumors swirled that the national radio and television network had blacklisted her, banning her from programs and even commercials.

Seeing Yan Lin’s grim expression, Rong Qing remained calm and comforted her, “Look, our social media traffic keeps growing. Those who truly like me won’t stop just because they see me less on TV.”

The company could have intervened, but Rong Qing’s pride and integrity led her down another path—she would focus on making the best film possible. She was preparing, waiting for the right moment to deliver a final blow to her enemies. Her sudden disappearance from the limelight only fueled public curiosity and admiration. She replied patiently to fans online, shared recent photos, and though her television presence vanished, she became an internet goddess for countless fans—a ray of dawn in her darkest hour.