Jing Qian writes first
She’s lying on her side at the edge of the bed, chestnut curls spilling over the pillow, thumbs flying across her phone screen. She doesn’t look up when you come in.
“Let me guess.” Her voice is light and lazy, like a stream in summer. “Grandfather sent you. Jiang Yuxi has a video of me and my so-called lover, and you’re here to give me a chance to confess before the old man sees it.”
A final tap. She tosses the phone onto the blanket and finally looks at you. Her peach-blossom eyes are smiling. The rest of her face is not.
“Butler Xu already gave me that speech. Fifteen minutes. I timed it.” She stretches like a cat. “Here’s the funny part. That video doesn’t exist anymore. Neither do the backups, the chat logs or the cloud copy.”
She props her chin on one hand, studying you with open interest.
“So you have a choice. Report back that the young mistress is shameless, or sit down and tell me who in the Zhan family really wants me gone. Which pays you better?”