A Journalist on the Edge

Song Rui's fingers tapped an erratic rhythm on the desk, her mind racing through the tangled mess of evidence before her. The dim glow of her desk lamp illuminated stacks of papers, old financial records, and articles with highlighted passages. The blurry photographs of Lin Cheng—the nation's most beloved actor—stared back at her.

Perfect. Charming. Impossibly flawless.

But Song Rui knew better.

For weeks, she had been peeling back the layers of Lin Cheng's fabricated image, uncovering secrets buried beneath expensive PR campaigns and hushed legal settlements. She wasn't dealing with a typical celebrity scandal. This wasn't about a cheating controversy or a messy breakup.

This was bigger.

Darker.

Every piece of information she found led to more questions. Why did Lin Cheng's scandals disappear overnight? How did every accusation against him dissolve without consequence? And why did anyone who spoke out against him seem to vanish from the public eye?

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. This case wasn't just a career risk—it was a personal one.

She had been warned.

Threatened.

Followed.

But that only meant one thing—she was getting close.

The email had arrived at exactly 3:12 AM two weeks ago. No sender name, no reply address. Just a short, cryptic message:

"You want the truth about Lin Cheng? Start with Haiwen Entertainment. Look into what happened in 2021. Follow the money. And if you're smart… don't trust anyone."

It was signed with a single letter.

X.

The tip had led her to Haiwen Entertainment—the agency that had launched Lin Cheng into superstardom before shutting down abruptly in 2021. The official statement cited "internal restructuring," but the whispers painted a different picture.

A missing financial officer.

A police investigation that was silenced before it could begin.

Former employees who had packed up and vanished overnight.

Something had happened. Something too big to be swept away without power and influence.

Song Rui had spent the last two weeks digging through every financial record she could find, tracing bank transactions, cross-referencing news articles. She had spent sleepless nights connecting dots that were never meant to be connected.

And tonight—at exactly 2:14 AM—she had found it.

The missing link.

A financial ledger from Haiwen Entertainment, dated late 2021. Buried among hundreds of routine transactions was a single, unexplained transfer of 30 million yuan.

The recipient?

A private account under the name Cheng Yilong.

A fake name.

But Song Rui had already done her homework. Cheng Yilong didn't exist.

However, Lin Cheng's birth name?

Lin Yilong.

A sharp breath left her lips as she stared at the screen. It wasn't just a coincidence. Lin Cheng had been moving money—laundering it, hiding it, covering something up.

But what?

Her fingers moved over the keyboard, tracing the transaction back to its source. The account had been registered under an offshore banking firm, one that had been linked to multiple financial scandals.

Was Lin Cheng involved in something deeper than celebrity corruption?

She exhaled, her pulse quickening. She was close.

So close.

The threats had started as whispers. A blocked number calling her at night, the distorted voice on the other end saying only four words before hanging up.

"Drop the story, Song Rui."

The next warning had been more direct. Her apartment had been broken into. Nothing stolen. No valuables missing. But her research files had been tampered with—papers shuffled, evidence moved.

And then, last night—

A car.

Following her.

For two hours, she had tried to lose it. Five different routes home. A detour through a crowded subway station. Doubling back through a convenience store.

But the car had never left.

They weren't just watching.

They wanted her to know she was being watched.

Song Rui clenched her fists, jaw tightening. Fear threatened to creep in, but she shoved it down. Fear was the enemy. Fear was what they wanted.

And she refused to give them what they wanted.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, words pouring onto the screen as she drafted the article that would tear Lin Cheng's carefully crafted empire apart.

Then—

A knock.

Soft. Measured.

She froze.

It was late—far too late for visitors. The walls of her small apartment suddenly felt thinner, the silence around her stretching endlessly.

The knock came again.

Her phone vibrated. A message.

Unknown Number: "Open the door, Song Rui. We need to talk."

A chill crawled down her spine.

She looked at the wall, at the articles, at the tangled web of secrets she had uncovered.

She knew this was coming.

She just hadn't expected it to come so soon.

For a moment, she considered not answering. But then—silence. No more knocking. No more messages.

Slowly, cautiously, she moved toward the door, peering through the peephole.

A man stood outside.

Dressed in black. Face partially shadowed. His posture was relaxed, but something about the way he stood told her he wasn't just some late-night visitor.

Song Rui hesitated, fingers tightening around the door handle.

She could pretend she wasn't home. She could call the police. She could—

The man spoke, voice calm.

"If you don't open this door, you won't get another chance to hear the truth."

She exhaled, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. Every instinct told her not to trust him.

But another instinct told her something else.

Whoever he was…

He knew something.

And if she wanted to finish this story, she needed answers.

With steady hands, she unlocked the door.

And stepped into the unknown.

The man's eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable.

"You've been digging in places you shouldn't, Miss Song."

Song Rui folded her arms, masking her tension. "And you're standing in my hallway at 2 AM for what? To threaten me in person?"

He smirked. "If I wanted to threaten you, I wouldn't have knocked."

"Then what do you want?"

His expression turned serious. "To give you a choice. You can keep chasing this story and end up like the others… or you can listen to what I have to say."

Something about the way he said the others sent ice down her spine.

She should turn him away. Call the police. Shut the door.

But instead—

She nodded.

"Talk."

The man stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

And with that, Song Rui's life would never be the same.