A Meeting with the Devil

The ballroom was dazzling—gold chandeliers casting a soft glow over silk-draped tables, the murmur of polite conversation mingling with the clinking of crystal glasses. Everything was choreographed, from the way the waiters moved between guests to the laughter that never quite reached anyone's eyes.

These were Beijing's elite, gathered under one roof: actors, politicians, corporate moguls—the ones who pulled the strings from behind the curtain. It was the kind of event where everyone smiled too much, spoke in carefully measured tones, and pretended they weren't constantly calculating their next move.

It was also the last place Song Rui wanted to be.

She adjusted the simple black dress she had thrown on for the occasion, her press badge tucked discreetly into her clutch. This wasn't an official interview. This was a hunt.

And her prey was Lin Cheng.

She had spent months chasing him. Tracking his lies. Uncovering his secrets. She had followed the trail of buried scandals, missing people, and silenced voices, only for the truth to keep slipping through her fingers.

Not tonight.

Lin Cheng was here somewhere, among the elites, playing the role of the beloved actor, the untouchable golden boy. But Song Rui had seen behind the curtain. She knew what he was.

A liar. A manipulator.

A monster.

Her pulse thrummed as she scanned the room. Where are you?

Then—

She spotted him.

Lin Cheng stood near the center of the ballroom, surrounded by people who hung onto his every word. He wore a sharp black suit, his dark hair styled just messy enough to appear effortlessly charming. His laughter rang out, warm and disarming, as he exchanged pleasantries with industry giants and political figures alike.

He fit in perfectly, as if he belonged in their world.

But Song Rui knew better.

She wasn't the only one watching him. Even in a room filled with powerful people, he was the brightest flame, and everyone else was drawn in like moths.

And then—

As if he had sensed her gaze, he turned.

Their eyes met.

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Lin Cheng's expression.

Amusement? Recognition?

And then he smiled.

A slow, practiced smile that had charmed millions.

A smile that made people believe he was good.

But I know better.

Song Rui forced herself to walk forward, each step steady, controlled. No hesitation. No fear.

Lin Cheng greeted her before she could speak.

"Miss Song," he said smoothly, tilting his head in mild curiosity. "I don't believe we've officially met, though I've certainly read your work."

His voice was warm, his posture relaxed. To anyone watching, this looked like nothing more than a casual conversation between a journalist and a celebrity.

But Song Rui knew the game.

She didn't return the pleasantry.

"Then you know why I'm here."

His lips twitched, as if amused by her directness.

"A journalist always chases a story, don't they?" He took a sip of his champagne. "But what is the story, exactly? Because if I recall, the last article you wrote about me was… how should I put it? Lacking context."

Her fingers tightened around her clutch.

She had spent months piecing together fragments of his past—whispers of scandals, names that had quietly disappeared, crimes that had been erased from history.

And yet, Lin Cheng stood here, unshaken.

That was what made him dangerous.

"I think the missing context is that you've spent years covering up crimes," she said. "And I plan to expose them."

Lin Cheng stilled for half a second—so brief that anyone else would have missed it.

Then, he laughed.

Not forced. Not nervous.

Amused.

"That's quite the accusation," he murmured. He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough so only she could hear. "But tell me, Miss Song… are you absolutely sure you have the truth?"

Something inside her turned to ice.

Because for just a moment—just one—there was doubt.

Not because she lacked evidence. Not because she wasn't certain of what she had uncovered.

But because Lin Cheng was too good at this.

He exuded confidence, as if the very idea that he could be guilty was laughable. His presence was carefully calculated, his words chosen with the precision of a man who never lost control.

And for one terrifying second, she thought—what if I'm wrong?

Lin Cheng watched her closely, as if reading her thoughts.

Then, ever so gently, he reached out and adjusted the strap of her dress, a calculated move designed to look harmless.

But she knew what it was.

A reminder.

He could touch her world. He could slip past her defenses, turn reality upside down, make her question everything she thought she knew.

But Song Rui refused to let him win.

She stepped back, forcing herself to keep her voice steady.

"I don't need to be sure," she said. "I just need to keep digging."

Lin Cheng studied her for a moment, then let out a soft, almost approving hum.

"Then dig," he murmured. "But be careful, Miss Song. Some things are buried for a reason."

And with that, he walked away.

Song Rui stood frozen for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest.

Lin Cheng had revealed nothing. Admitted nothing.

And yet—

Somehow, he had still managed to rattle her.

She clenched her fists, inhaling sharply.

This was far from over.

She turned, heading toward the exit. The ballroom's golden glow felt stifling, the air too heavy, the laughter too fake.

As she reached the doorway, a waiter passed by, setting a fresh glass of champagne onto a nearby table.

Her eyes flickered to the glass.

Something about it—

Wait.

She stopped.

The waiter hadn't been there before.

And the champagne glass… it was placed right where she had been standing moments ago.

A single droplet of liquid clung to the rim.

Something felt wrong.

She turned her head slightly—just enough to catch a reflection in the glass surface of the nearby table.

A man was watching her.

Not a guest.

Not a waiter.

Someone else.

And the moment their eyes met, he disappeared into the crowd.

Her skin crawled.

She had made a mistake.

She hadn't just come here to confront Lin Cheng.

She had walked into his territory.

And now, he knew.

The cold night air hit her as she stepped outside, her heart still hammering.

She had been careful. She had covered her tracks.

Hadn't she?

Her mind raced, replaying every step she had taken to get here.

But Lin Cheng had known she would come.

He had been waiting for her.

And that meant only one thing.

She was running out of time.