CHAPTER 117: CHAPTER 117; FIRST STEP IN REVENGE (E)

The countdown continued its inexorable march.

Fifty-eight minutes until they faced the world.

Fifty-eight minutes until Lu Zeyan either salvaged his reputation or watched it burn to ashes on live television.

Millions would be watching, eager to condemn or grant mercy based entirely on how convincingly he and Shuyin sold their performance.

And Shuyin simply smiled and waited, patient as stone.

Because she knew something Lu Zeyan didn’t, something that made her willing to stand beside him and play this part and accept his money and his villa and his public display of contrition.

The press conference wasn’t going to save him.

She could feel that truth in her bones with the certainty of prophecy.

It was going to destroy him more thoroughly than any courtroom ever could.

All she needed was patience.

The trap was set.

The bait was taken.

All that remained was waiting for the moment when Lu Zeyan would finally understand exactly how completely he’d been outmaneuvered.

And by then, it would be far too late.

The Press Conference

The press room at Lu Group South was packed beyond capacity by one-forty-five in the afternoon, bodies pressed together in a space that had never been designed to hold this many people.

Every major news outlet had sent their best people, the sharks, the ones who could smell blood in the water from miles away and knew instinctively how to go for the throat with their questions.

Regional reporters jostled for position alongside national network correspondents, and even a few international journalists who’d caught wind of the story had made the journey, sensing that this wasn’t just another corporate scandal but something more significant, the kind of cultural moment that would dominate headlines and trending topics for weeks to come.

Camera crews fought for the best angles, their equipment creating a dense forest of tripods and boom microphones that made navigation through the room nearly impossible.

Photographers lined the walls like sentries, their long lenses ready to capture every flicker of emotion, every telling gesture, every moment that might become the defining image of this story.

The air conditioning system wheezed and struggled against the body heat of so many people crammed into a space meant for half this number, and the temperature kept climbing despite the mechanical protests.

Behind the stage curtain, Lu Zeyan could hear the murmur of the crowd, hungry, anticipating, ready to tear him apart or build him back up depending on how the next hour went, their collective attention a physical force that pressed against him even through the barrier of fabric separating them.

Wang Jing appeared beside him like a general inspecting troops before battle, her hands moving efficiently to make final adjustments to his tie, tugging it straighter with the precision of someone who understood that every detail mattered, that the smallest imperfection could become a headline.

"Remember," she said, her voice low and intense, "you’re remorseful but not broken. Apologetic but not weak. You made mistakes, but you’re here to make them right. Clear?"

"Clear," Lu Zeyan replied, his throat tight with the kind of anxiety that made breathing feel like work.

She turned to Shuyin, who stood perfectly still a few feet away, her hands folded in front of her in a pose that managed to convey composed dignity without seeming rehearsed. "You’re the heart of this. The forgiveness angle only works if people believe you mean it. Can you sell it?"

"Yes." Shuyin’s voice was soft but certain, no hesitation in the single syllable.

"Good." Wang Jing checked her watch with the habitual gesture of someone who lived by the clock’s tyranny. "Sixty seconds. Feng Ting, are the planted questions ready?"

"Three friendly journalists confirmed," Feng Ting said, scrolling through his tablet with practiced efficiency, the blue light casting shadows across his face. "They’ll ask about the investigation timeline, about Shuyin’s feelings on being released, and about future plans. Softballs that let us expand on the narrative."

"What about hostile questions?" Lu Zeyan asked, needing to voice the concern that had been gnawing at him since they’d finalized the plan. "Because you know they’re coming."

"We deflect to the ongoing investigation," Wang Jing said with the calm of someone who’d war-gamed every possible scenario. "Anything about criminal culpability, we say it’s being reviewed by authorities and we can’t comment. Anything about your relationship status with Shuyin, we keep it vague, you’re working through things, taking it slowly, focusing on justice first. Anything about money, we spin it as restitution, making amends. We’ve been over this."

"I know, I just...."

"Thirty seconds," one of the assistants called out, her voice cutting through his attempted protest.

Wang Jing gripped Lu Zeyan’s shoulders with surprising strength, forcing him to meet her eyes, her gaze boring into him with an intensity that demanded complete attention. "You can do this. You’ve negotiated deals worth billions. You’ve faced down hostile boards and cutthroat competitors. This is just another negotiation. You’re selling a story. That’s all this is."

Lu Zeyan nodded, drawing in a deep breath that didn’t quite fill his lungs the way it should have, the oxygen seeming thin and insufficient.

Wang Jing released him and turned to Shuyin, her expression softening fractionally. "Remember, you’re the victim who chooses grace over vengeance. That’s your role. Play it perfectly."

"I will," Shuyin said, and something about her tone made Wang Jing pause for a fraction of a second, like she’d heard something beneath the words that she couldn’t quite identify, some note that didn’t fit the melody.

But there was no time to analyze it, no time to question or have second-guess. "Ten seconds!" someone shouted, and the backstage area erupted into organized chaos. "Places, everyone!"

The curtain started to rise with mechanical smoothness, and the lights hit them like a physical force, bright, hot, blinding in their intensity.

Camera flashes went off in a staccato rhythm that would have been completely overwhelming if Lu Zeyan hadn’t been mentally prepared for it, each burst of light leaving afterimages dancing across his vision.