Yuncheng. She's back.
Five years haven't dulled the sharp edges of this city—the neon lights still burn too bright, the air still thick with grime. Shen Qingxian stood by the window, instinctively holding her breath, as if every breath of polluted air carried the scent of old blood, debts long unpaid.
She closed the thin, almost transparent curtains, shutting out the glittering cityscape. The room inside was sparse—just a bed, a table, and a wardrobe. But the walls, they were another story. Covered in photos, newspaper clippings, handwritten notes—all tangled in one name:
Gu Jingming.
The heir to the Gu Corporation, Yuncheng's most notorious playboy, and the man she would never forgive.
For five years, she'd lived like a shadow, surviving on odd jobs, selling off old belongings, but her true obsession had never wavered—collecting everything about Gu Jingming.
His license plate, the clubs he frequented, his preferred suit brands, the pattern in his string of girlfriends… She even knew that he stirred his coffee with his left hand, exactly three and a half times. All written down on yellowing sticky notes, pinned to the wall.
It was obsession bordering on madness, but it ran deeper than blood.
Her gaze drifted to the calendar on her desk, a red circle marking the date. Tonight. The Gu Corporation's charity gala.
She'd prepared for this moment for three months.
She'd traced the event's catering supplier, forged a resume, and, through an agency, secured a spot as a server.
Now, she opened her old laptop. The event floor plan was on the screen, lines of red and blue outlining security blind spots and patrol routes.
She knew Gu Jingming would slip away to the third booth on the left during the halfway point of the event, to handle "private matters." Conveniently, that booth sat in the junction of two blind spots.
Her lips barely moved as a cold gleam flashed in her eyes.
She stood, picking up the cold cup of water from the table and pacing slowly through the cramped room. Suddenly, her foot slid—
The glass flew from her hand, crashing against the wall.
The spill pattern, the angle, the spread—exactly as she had rehearsed in her mind a hundred times.
Her phone buzzed. It was the head waiter, calling her to report.
She answered with a soft voice, laced with the perfect amount of nervousness: "Hello, Li Jie... It's me. Sorry, I'll be right there. It's my first time doing this, I'm a little scared…"
She hung up.
The fear melted away, leaving a cold, frozen calm in its place.
She moved to the wardrobe, pulling on the cheap server's uniform—white shirt, black vest, black trousers. Ordinary, unremarkable—just another face lost in the crowd.
In the mirror, she neatly pinned up her hair, exposing a delicate, almost innocent face.
Her large, clear eyes—innocent and fragile, as if untouched by the world—were her weapon, her perfect mask.
Her fingers brushed against the cold, snake-shaped pendant in her pocket. Her father's only keepsake.
The chill of the metal pierced into her heart.
Dad. Mom. Wait for me.
Tonight, the first debt will be repaid.
She glanced one last time at her reflection—the harmless face that had become like a second skin.
The door creaked open. She stepped out, vanishing into the night.
Behind her, Yuncheng's lights burned brightly, but ahead of her, she had set her trap.