"What did you draw..." Chu Yanze turned to look and froze when he saw the card in Liang Zhiwei's hand.
Huh? Liang Zhiwei actually drew that one? It was the hardest solo task of the entire challenge.
Originally, the production team had prepared more task cards than the number of guests, meaning there was a chance no one would get this particular task—if they were lucky.
But who would’ve thought Liang Zhiwei would be the unlucky one to draw it?
Chu Yanze suddenly paused, glancing toward the distance where Gu Zhaoye had already left. If she hadn’t walked away, this task should’ve been hers. How could it be such a coincidence?
Liang Zhiwei’s mind went blank for a second. She stared at the task, unsurprised that it had somehow landed in her hands.
Numb. She was completely numb. Whatever. Her life had always been full of these inexplicable strokes of bad luck and accidents—she was slowly getting used to it. She’d even started thinking her luck had improved lately, but of course, the universe had to drop another hammer to remind her that her luck was still as terrible as ever.
She didn’t even have time to blame Gu Zhaoye. Based on her past experiences, this kind of divine-level misfortune had a habit of finding her.
The production team looked at her with a hint of guilt. If anyone else had drawn it, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but Liang Zhiwei was practically the biggest beginner here.
"I’ll do my best," Liang Zhiwei nodded.
No tantrums, no visible frustration—just a resigned acceptance, as if she’d long since made peace with her cursed fate. As for how she’d actually pull it off? She’d figure that out once she got there.
One by one, the group dispersed to their respective task locations.
Chu Yanze wasn’t assigned the same task as her, so they couldn’t team up.
Li Xunxi glanced at them, initially wanting to mock them with something like, "If you can’t handle these challenges, why even join the show?" But the moment she thought of the person she’d just seen—Gu Zhaoping—her lips snapped shut.
Weird.
Now, just the thought of Gu Zhaoping made them all feel a little uneasy.
She wasn’t the same person they used to look down on anymore. The current Gu Zhaoping would actually hold them accountable. Even Gu Zhaoye, who’d gone to their group to stir trouble, had gotten slapped by her.
She hadn’t spared Shen Yifeng any face either—she’d outright torn into him, publicly announcing the end of their engagement in front of everyone.
A person who fought back, who wasn’t afraid to escalate things, was someone you didn’t mess with.
Someone who dared to lose their temper, who openly called out conflicts—no matter how much they whispered behind her back, how much they despised or mocked her—when it came to actually confronting her, none of them had the guts to stand their ground.
Aggression made people wary. They instinctively shied away from provoking her.
Right now, Gu Zhaoping felt like a stranger to them. They didn’t know her limits, didn’t know what would set her off.
So whenever something involved her, they all unconsciously treaded a little more carefully—even backing down without realizing it.
It was the mindset of "better to avoid trouble than invite it."
After all, when status was equal, the one who lived more boldly was the one unafraid of confrontation.
And that was exactly what Gu Zhaoping wanted.
With people like these, there was no need for polite conversation, no need to win them over with charm. All it took was being impulsive enough, domineering enough—even using force to shut them down.
As long as the cost of provoking her was high, fewer people would have the audacity to act out.
A few more beatings, and they’d learn their lesson.
---
When Liang Zhiwei took the cable car up the mountain, the weather was decent—visibility was high, just as the forecast had predicted. A clear day.
She kept replaying the coach’s instructions and Chu Yanze’s tips in her head, but her palms were still sweating.
She glanced back at the production crew and the coach sitting in the cable car behind her, feeling slightly reassured—but only slightly.
Even with people watching, she still had to complete the task herself.
It was a real test of courage.
Still, she couldn’t shake her nerves. Right before reaching the summit, she couldn’t resist pulling out her phone to check if Gu Zhaoping had replied. Just seeing her name gave Liang Zhiwei a little more courage.
Gu Zhaoping had disappeared these past few days, probably busy with important matters. There’d been no sign of her anywhere.
Liang Zhiwei hesitantly sent their location to their group chat, along with a few photos of the scenery.
"[Zhaoping-jie], the view here is amazing! But I drew the hardest task… I’m kinda scared I won’t be able to do it /(ㄒoㄒ)/~~"
The cable car was about to arrive. Liang Zhiwei quickly put her phone away, rubbing her freezing hands together as she joined the queue. Surprisingly, there were quite a few people waiting—seems like challengers came from all over the world.
The line grew shorter, and her nerves grew tighter. Finally, it was almost her turn.
She took a deep breath, glancing back at the cameraman following her before steeling herself to begin.
---
Meanwhile, in the woods at the foot of the mountain…
Ruan Nian and Gu Zhaoye stood together. Earlier, while gathering materials, Ruan Nian had been startled by a small animal darting past. She’d taken off her gloves to pick something, leaving her fingers exposed to the biting cold—now red and scratched from branches and thorns.
Gu Zhaoye cradled her hands in his, warming them as he frowned at the cuts.
"Why did you take your gloves off?"
Ruan Nian looked up timidly. "I had to pick things, so I took them off."
"From now on, you’re not allowed to hurt yourself without my permission."
"Okay, I won’t do it again," Ruan Nian shook her head hurriedly, her expression pitiful.
The cameraman nearby: "…"
What kind of melodramatic nonsense is this?
This is a show task. What are you two acting for? Can’t you take anything seriously?
"Not allowed to hurt yourself without my permission"—good lord, what kind of domineering CEO line is that? If you want to protect her so much, why even let her join the show? Just keep her at home as your little canary, your delicate little wife!
Seriously, you signed up for this yourselves. It’s just a simple gathering task, and you’re already crying about it? The cameraman had a million complaints bubbling inside.
Chu Yanze’s task is way harder than yours—he has to photograph five different natural landscapes and technical maneuvers. And the other group? They have to hike up the mountain for snow condition assessments.
And then there was Liang Zhiwei, who had it the worst. Speaking of Liang Zhiwei, she had to take on the most difficult solo skiing route and also scout the terrain. "You guys already got the luckiest task out of everyone, so what are you crying about here?"
The cameraman cautiously chimed in, "President Gu, are you still going to draw a task card?"
Gu Zhaoye frowned. He had no interest in filming this show whatsoever—he had only come here to carve out some time to visit Old Master Gu.
But whatever. Since he was already here, and with so many people around, he couldn’t just go back on his word. Gu Zhaoye casually picked a card at random—snow condition assessment. He frowned. Not exactly an easy task, and a huge waste of time.
"Is this final?" Gu Zhaoye held up the card and asked the production team, half-wondering if they’d assigned him the most troublesome job just because they thought he could handle the most responsibility.
The director: "..."
He took a deep breath. He’d long since grown tired of these two. "Yes, President Gu."
"Let me switch. This one doesn’t suit me," Gu Zhaoye said offhandedly.
He had always operated outside the rules, especially in environments where his status and influence far outweighed everyone else’s. There was no need for him to follow the same guidelines as everyone else, so switching tasks was no big deal.
The director: "Of course."
He quickly handed Gu Zhaoye the last remaining card in his hand, as if eager to get rid of it, and immediately directed the camera crew to follow. "Quick, everyone! President Gu has voluntarily requested a task change. Hurry up and capture his heroic figure—it’s bound to be dashing, absolutely dashing!"
More like a total pain in the ass.
Gu Zhaoye took the card, frowned, and then froze. What was this?
"Other Guests’ Safety Assurance"?
The task required him to monitor the progress of the other guests and provide assistance whenever needed. If any danger arose, he had to immediately contact the production team or even the rescue squad.
It wasn’t particularly difficult, but the guests were scattered all over the place. If he needed to reach them, sometimes the signal wouldn’t even work, forcing him to physically track them down.
And if any guest requested help, he had to show up right away.
Meaning he’d have to go up the mountain.
If something happened, he might have to come back down.
And if someone on the mountain called for him again, he’d have to go back up.
Gu Zhaoye fell silent, almost disbelieving.
He seemed about to say something, but the director was already staring at him with eager anticipation, and the cameras were all trained on him. He swallowed his words. He’d already switched once—doing it again wouldn’t look good. So he gritted his teeth and resigned himself to this nuisance.
"Fine. If any of the guests need help, they can come to me. I’ll handle it."
He delivered the line coolly, but no one was moved, and no one found it impressive.
In just one short episode, the production team had already seen through Gu Zhaoye’s facade.
What kind of domineering CEO was this? Some CEO who couldn’t solve any problems, ran a restaurant at a massive loss, threw a tantrum when he lost, made excuses for himself, and even got slapped by his own sister?
What kind of joke was this?
Unaware of their thoughts, Gu Zhaoye simply sat in the spot prepared by the production team and waited.
But there was one silver lining—the person who sought his help the most was Ruan Nian.
Yes, the one with the easiest task had the most emergencies.
"What’s that animal over there? Is it a hedgehog? I need to pick that thing, but will it prick me?"
The cameraman: "..." That hedgehog isn’t even the size of your fist. Just push it aside—it can’t run faster than you, can it?
In the end, Ruan Nian clenched her teeth, put on a determined expression, and crouched down to step over it, as if making some grand sacrifice. She reached out to pluck the mushroom hidden behind the hedgehog.
Then the hedgehog twitched, its spines pricking her hand. Ruan Nian shrieked, staring at the tiny drop of blood welling up on her skin.
The production team received the distress call and immediately sprang into action, thinking something serious had happened.
Then they saw it was from Ruan Nian.
Gu Zhaoye’s pupils constricted. He rushed forward, his coat flapping dramatically in the wind, looking as frantic as if he’d been longing for her.
When he arrived and saw Ruan Nian crouched on the ground, a speck of blood on her hand, his expression darkened further.
"I told you not to do anything that could hurt yourself without my permission. Why don’t you ever listen?"
Ruan Nian held back her grievances. "I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal."
The cameraman: "..."
Are you two done?
If we’d arrived any later, the wound would’ve healed on its own.
Can I go film another group?
Throughout the morning, Ruan Nian had one minor crisis after another. The other groups also needed help here and there—tools had to be delivered, extra hands were needed to carry gathered supplies, or someone got lost and needed directions.
But those issues were resolved quickly. It wasn’t until nearly noon that the director finally remembered to check in with Liang Zhiwei’s cameraman. "Where’s Zhiwei? Did she reach the summit? Has she started skiing yet?"
On the other end, the howling wind nearly drowned out the response. At such high altitude, it took a while for the cameraman to receive the message. When he did, his voice was frantic, bordering on hysterical.
"Director!! You finally contacted me!! I lost track of Liang Zhiwei—she’s gone!!"
The director shot to his feet, his voice cracking. "What?!"
The entire crew turned to look. The director’s face paled to a shade whiter than a corpse that had been dead for three days. "You’re not joking, are you? Where are you? How could you lose her?!"
"We were at the summit. We started skiing down the mapped route, but suddenly there was a fork that wasn’t on the original map. Liang Zhiwei took the wrong path, and now I can’t find her! I tried to follow, but there are multiple routes ahead—I don’t know which one she took!"
The sky was falling.
It felt like a thunderbolt had struck. The director nearly collapsed on the spot.
This ski route was already high-risk. If you stuck to the designated path, it was manageable—most accidents happened to those showing off their skills.
But no one had accounted for someone taking a wrong turn and disappearing! They’d all studied the map and trained for this. Liang Zhiwei wasn’t the type to be careless—how could she have gotten lost?
"Quick, quick, quick! Contact the rescue team immediately!" The director's legs gave out as he leaned on the table, slamming his palm down and shouting. Only then did the staff around him grasp the severity of the situation.
"What? Liang Zhiwei is missing?"
Chaos erupted among the production crew. The director finally turned to the cameraman, demanding, "Why are you only telling us now? How long has she been missing?"
The cameraman, struggling under the weight of his equipment, defended himself breathlessly, "I already called for backup from the production team earlier! But we only just got your response. Director, you're way too slow!"
What backup call? He hadn’t even heard any distress signal before reaching out…
The director froze for a moment before his gaze snapped toward Gu Zhaoye.
Gu Zhaoye was currently holding Ruan Nian’s hand, carefully applying medicine to her wound, his face full of concern. The work phone assigned to him lay ignored beside them.
The director’s pupils constricted as a horrifying realization struck him. He strode forward and snatched up the phone—sure enough, multiple missed calls flashed on the screen.
The director felt like the sky had collapsed. He stared at the two oblivious faces in front of him, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to slap them senseless.
"President Gu, why didn’t you answer the calls?!" The director was on the verge of a breakdown, but there was no time to argue. He immediately mobilized the team to contact the rescue squad, then geared up to join the search party himself. If he stayed here any longer, his heart wouldn’t survive the stress. If anything happened to the show, he’d be the first to pay the price.
Gu Zhaoye finally looked up from Ruan Nian’s injury, frowning. "Ruan Nian is hurt. She needs attention right now. Other matters can wait—her wound can’t afford to worsen."
A classic domineering CEO move—dropping everything for the woman he loved, rushing to her side without hesitation. Such devotion was the stuff of fantasies, the kind of romance countless people yearned for.
But at this moment, it only made the director see black.
Worsen? How much worse could a tiny cut get? A band-aid would’ve been more than enough—her "wound" probably wouldn’t even exceed the size of the adhesive!
"Forget it. Stay put. Both of you, just stay here. We’re going to rescue Liang Zhiwei now. Please, don’t cause any more trouble, alright? I’m begging you."
The director had no energy left for further explanations. He turned and sprinted after the rescue team.
Gu Zhaoye, however, stiffened. His pupils shrank as the words finally registered.
He flung the cotton swab aside, knocking over the medical supplies next to him, and grabbed the director’s shoulder. "What did you say? Who’s in trouble?"
Interrupted yet again, the director nearly punched him. He snapped, "Liang Zhiwei! Liang Zhiwei! She took a wrong turn and disappeared! That’s why we’re scrambling to find her now. Understood, President Gu? If you do, then go back to playing nurse!"
Gu Zhaoye tried to stop him for more details, but the team had already rushed off.
He turned back, snatching up the phone—dozens of missed calls glared back at him.
A jolt of electricity seemed to shoot through his entire body. Something intense surged within him, a sudden, gripping panic seizing his chest.
How could this be? Were these her calls for help? Had she been in danger this whole time, and he’d ignored it? How did this happen?
When he looked back at Ruan Nian, he caught a flicker of guilt in her expression—as if even she hadn’t expected things to escalate like this.
But in that instant, Gu Zhaoye’s vision swam. Dizziness washed over him as he stared at Ruan Nian, struck by how unfamiliar she suddenly seemed.
What was happening? Why had his first instinct been overwhelming concern for Liang Zhiwei? He didn’t even like her, did he?
And how could this be a coincidence?
They came to film a skiing segment, and someone just happened to go missing—Liang Zhiwei, no less. And it just so happened that he’d missed the calls because of Ruan Nian. The odds of all this aligning were impossible. It couldn’t be real.
Coincidences in this world followed probability. There was no way so many factors would overlap at once—
Ruan Nian was panicking. She frantically asked her system, [System, what’s going on? How did Liang Zhiwei suddenly vanish? Was her mission really that dangerous? How is this possible?]
After a pause, the system replied, [Nian, remember what I warned you? All energy is conserved. Just as others’ favorability toward you rises, granting you charm points to enhance yourself, the opposite is also true. If favorability drops, you lose those points—sometimes even more than you gained. The same applies to luck.]
Ruan Nian still didn’t understand. [How does luck work the same way? What else could I lose?]
[Luck is a zero-sum game. If you gain fortune, someone else must bear the cost. Imagine total luck is 10—originally split evenly at 5 each. If you take 8, the other person is left with 2. If you demand 12, they’re pushed into -2.]
The system’s tone was eerily calm. [This maintains equilibrium. I’ve always said I’m a fair exchange system—capable of granting any wish, at a price.]
Ruan Nian’s pupils dilated in horror.
So her boosted luck had come at someone else’s expense? She was the reason Liang Zhiwei was in danger?
She didn’t know what to do. Even if she couldn’t be certain Liang Zhiwei’s disappearance was directly tied to her, even if she wanted Liang Zhiwei to lose to her completely—she could never live with herself if a life was on the line!
Especially because…
A chilling thought struck her. Gu Zhaoye had missed the calls because he was tending to her wound. She’d assumed this would be a moment to thrill their fans, but if it meant ignoring Liang Zhiwei’s distress signal… the consequences were unthinkable.
This was bad. Really, really bad.
Ruan Nian’s legs trembled as she cried out, "We have to find Liang Zhiwei, now!"
But Gu Zhaoye didn’t spare her another glance.
After a beat of hesitation, he turned and ran after the rescue team.
Meanwhile, at Huaxing Entertainment’s headquarters…
Sister Li settled into her new workspace, her first order of business being a meeting with the CEO. He shook her hand warmly. "So, which area will you be handling with us?"
"Liang Zhiwei," Sister Li answered without hesitation.
Before the other party could react, she had already swiftly spread out a pile of documents on the boss's desk. These included her observations and research on Liang Zhiwei, future career plans for her, and even a meticulously prepared proposal placed at the very end.
The boss picked them up, stunned. He wasn’t particularly familiar with Liang Zhiwei—she had only become one of his artists after his recent acquisition of the agency she was signed to.
As he leafed through the materials, he was shocked. Sister Li seemed to know Liang Zhiwei better than the woman knew herself. Some of the information dated back years—how had she gathered it all in such a short time? Was she some kind of FBI agent?
Sister Li smiled faintly.
The person who knows you best might not be your parents. Some parents and children have barriers between them, leaving the parents oblivious to their child’s true self, seeing only the surface.
It might not be your friends either. Around friends, people often hold back, masking their true selves, revealing only what aligns with their companions.
Nor might it be a lover, a child, or anyone close to you. Instead, it could be someone who’s been watching you all along…
An enemy.
As Ruan Nian’s biggest rival over the years, Sister Li had collected every possible detail on Liang Zhiwei—her dossier was the most comprehensive in the industry.
Even Liang Zhiwei’s own lackadaisical agency likely didn’t know her as thoroughly as Sister Li did.
Fearing that Liang Zhiwei’s career trajectory might obstruct Ruan Nian’s path, Sister Li had mapped out various routes for her, simulating how Liang Zhiwei might progress. Yet, Liang Zhiwei’s luck had always been poor, and her agency’s incompetence had consistently led her down paths even worse than Sister Li’s most pessimistic predictions.
The boss looked up, dumbfounded. Sister Li handed him another file and said, “Right now, Liang Zhiwei is in the middle of a scandal—everyone’s saying she interfered between CEO Gu Zhaoye and Ruan Nian, right?”
“I can turn this around for you immediately.”
“Just trust me.”
The boss was speechless. After a long pause, he finally blurted out, “What’s in it for you?”
Their company wasn’t even offering the best terms, and Sister Li hadn’t made any demands.
“Nothing,” Sister Li replied calmly. “I just feel like I’ve been on the wrong path for the past ten years. It’s time to get back on track.”
For me. And for her.
Just then, the boss’s phone buzzed on the desk. He picked it up—it was a message from a subordinate about Liang Zhiwei.
The assistant accompanying Liang Zhiwei to the filming location was now in a panic.
“What? Liang Zhiwei is missing? How could she just disappear like that?”
The boss jumped to his feet, then immediately turned to Sister Li. They had just been discussing Liang Zhiwei—how could something happen to her so coincidentally?
Sister Li’s expression turned grave as she took the phone from him.
“Where are you now? Did this happen during filming? Does the production team have contingency plans? Where have they searched so far? Has the rescue team been dispatched? Are the media aware?”
The boss watched as Sister Li strode out of the office, phone in hand, swiftly delegating tasks to everyone.
The staff weren’t familiar with Sister Li, but her reputation preceded her. They stared in bewilderment as she emerged from the boss’s office, unsure why she was suddenly here.
One by one, Sister Li assigned roles to each person. Seeing their hesitation, she clapped her hands and said, “Move quickly—get to work!”
The team snapped into action, following her instructions without question, as if under a spell.
Even the boss was stunned.
In the blink of an eye, Sister Li had taken full control of Liang Zhiwei’s affairs. She gathered all available information from the assistant and began preparing countermeasures and clarifications.
Setting the phone aside, she put on her headphones, settled at a workstation, and started typing rapidly, reaching out to her network of writers and influencers.
“So, Gu Zhaoye was the one in charge of preparations and rescue coordination for the show, right?”
“Ruan Nian got injured, so Gu Zhaoye was busy tending to her and missed the distress call, which is why the production team only found out now?”
“Got it.”
Before Liang Zhiwei was found, this situation needed to escalate—the bigger, the better.
Sister Li clicked “send.”
Online, the scandal about Liang Zhiwei’s alleged interference was still raging.
Then, a new bombshell dropped.
Rumors spread that Liang Zhiwei had gone missing during filming.
The internet short-circuited.
What kind of twist was this? They’d just been debating whether Liang Zhiwei was a homewrecker—now she’d vanished? How does someone disappear during a shoot?
It wasn’t like they were filming in some remote country—how could a chartered flight be this unreliable?
Some skeptics speculated: Is this some PR stunt to shift focus? Make everyone worry about Liang Zhiwei’s safety so they forget about the affair scandal? Once people are just relieved she’s okay, the cheating allegations lose steam, and she gets a clean slate?
Yeah, otherwise, why would this happen so conveniently? Too weird.
Missing out of nowhere? There are so many crew members around, and celebrities always have bodyguards. If they can vanish this easily, aren’t regular people in even more danger?
Stop feeling sorry for her—worry about yourself first.
The staff glanced nervously at Sister Li. “Should we clarify this, Sister Li?”
Normally, they’d issue a statement, but they barely knew Liang Zhiwei. Without clear details or a dedicated manager, PR took time.
Worse, the other party involved was Gu Zhaoye—a figure of his stature meant they couldn’t risk contradicting him publicly without coordination. And they certainly weren’t in a position to negotiate with him directly.
“Not yet,” Sister Li said firmly, her expression unreadable. “Let this blow up. It needs to blow up.”
Making this scandal explode was Liang Zhiwei’s only chance for a reputation reversal.
The sudden disappearance baffled many, but with the production team focused on the search, no further updates emerged.
Those not on-site knew nothing.
As Sister Li monitored the online frenzy, though confident in her strategy, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety for Liang Zhiwei.
She felt more guilt toward her than anything else. After all, personally speaking, she had no grudges against Liang Zhiwei. It was just that, from Ruan Nian’s perspective, she had done many terrible things.
There wasn’t much she could do to atone, nor did she know how to apologize. Perhaps what Liang Zhiwei needed more was to clear the slander from her name and return the life that rightfully belonged to her.
Sister Li had been feeling strangely unsettled lately. Ever since her falling out with Ruan Nian that day, it was as if a fog had lifted from her eyes.
She even found herself questioning why she had become Ruan Nian’s manager in the first place—she hadn’t planned to take her on initially.
And for some reason, when she started handling Liang Zhiwei’s affairs, everything felt oddly familiar, as if she had been doing it all along.
She couldn’t help but sigh deeply. Liang Zhiwei, I hope you’re safe.
On the snowy slopes, Gu Zhaoping finally pulled out her phone to check her messages after skiing down the mountain.
Theodore, standing beside her, remarked, "That was quite the adventure today. If you hadn’t stepped in, that person might’ve been in real danger. Your skiing skills are incredible—I’m impressed."
"Not bad," she replied, though she hadn’t pushed herself today.
The weather had worsened toward the end, forcing them to hurry down the mountain. For Gu Zhaoping, it had barely been a warm-up, but after so long without skiing, it was still an enjoyable experience.
It would’ve been even better if the weather had held.
Theodore chuckled at her indifferent tone, about to say something else when he noticed Gu Zhaoping freeze abruptly, her fingers pausing mid-scroll.
She seemed both puzzled and surprised.
Gu Zhaoping zoomed in on the photo, then glanced at the wooden sign nearby—it was unmistakably the same angle.
A quick check of the location confirmed it: No way. They were skiing on this very mountain today?
Objectively, it made sense. This ski resort was world-famous, and if they were scouting locations for a show, it would naturally be on their list. Still, she hadn’t expected such a coincidence—the timing and place aligning perfectly.
She typed a brief message in the group chat: [Stay safe.]
Then she continued forward.
Before long, she spotted a crowd gathered in the distance.
Though their faces were obscured by heavy winter gear, their frantic movements and the equipment they carried made it clear they were part of a production crew.
Gu Zhaoping slowed, stopping nearby to observe them. Theodore followed suit, confused.
Among the group, Su Yubai and the others had just finished their tasks and returned to base camp, only to find everyone gone.
They were stunned. "What? How could she go missing? Wasn’t the crew following her? There were cameras, and the routes were fixed—how did this happen?"
The staff member they surrounded was frantic. "We don’t know what went wrong. The map we used had an error—one of the paths didn’t match the plan. Now they’ve gone separate ways, and this mountain is huge and dangerous. We have no idea where Liang Zhiwei is!"
Su Yubai’s expression darkened.
He and Zhaoping had skied here often in the past, so he knew the terrain well. Straying from the designated routes here was unthinkably risky.
Especially since Liang Zhiwei was a complete beginner—she had no way to protect herself if something went wrong.
Even worse, if she lost signal…
Just then, two passersby hesitated nearby.
Su Yubai glanced over, and something about the woman in full ski gear struck him as eerily familiar.
But before he could place her, she accelerated away.
Gu Zhaoping called the director.
"Miss Gu," the director answered, startled. He was in the middle of searching for Liang Zhiwei, and her call made his heart skip—he hadn’t even briefed her yet.
Of all times.
But to his surprise, the howling wind echoed through Gu Zhaoping’s end of the line as she spoke calmly, "Are you looking for Liang Zhiwei?"
The director froze. How does she know?
"There’s a fork on this mountain—either sabotaged or misplanned. Someone nearly skied off a cliff there earlier. Liang Zhiwei might’ve been misled by it too."
Gu Zhaoping continued, "She left me a message before heading up. There’s a gap in this area where you can cut through. If we follow it, we should find her tracks—"
Suddenly, the line crackled, the wind drowning out the director’s voice. Gu Zhaoping frowned, pulling the phone away—no signal.
She redialed patiently, but the connection remained spotty. After two attempts, it failed entirely.
Next, she contacted the rescue team.
The team leader sounded harried. "Understood, Miss Gu, but we’re stretched thin right now. A storm’s rolling in, and we’re evacuating stranded tourists from the summit. It’ll be difficult to—"
Gu Zhaoping fell silent for a moment.
"So you’re short on manpower?"
She looked up at the murky sky, the sun’s light barely piercing the gloom.
Then she lowered her gaze.
"Fine. Focus on the evacuation."
Tucking her phone securely into her chest pocket, she turned to Theodore, who had pieced together the situation.
"Your assessment’s right," he said. "If we don’t find her soon, things could get much worse."
"Yeah." Gu Zhaoping watched the stream of evacuees before suddenly asking, "Do you have a helicopter?"
"Get one here."
Without another word, she sped toward the gathering storm.
He froze for a moment, instinctively reaching out to grab, but missed.
What was she trying to do?
The production crew gathered nearby also paused in confusion, unsure why anyone would head up the mountain against the incoming wave of descending tourists.
And now, only the woman had left, while the man remained standing there, seemingly dazed for a long moment before hurriedly pulling out his phone to make a call. No one could tell who he was trying to reach—he wasn’t speaking English, and none of them could understand him.
The weather was worsening, the snowfall growing heavier. The director and the others were eventually forced to retreat down the mountain, leaving only the professional rescue team to remain.
Where was Liang Zhiwei?
Amid the confusion and chaos, another figure tumbled down the slope—a blur of bright-colored ski gear.
The young man in the eye-catching contrasting ski suit finally managed to stop himself!
Staggering to his feet, he scanned the crowd before his gaze abruptly locked onto Chu Yanze among them.
“Holy shit, Chu Yanze! What are you doing here?!”
Then it hit him—if his sister was here, of course Chu Yanze would be too. Gu Zhaosi swallowed his frustration and grabbed Chu Yanze, demanding, “Chu Yanze, where’s my sister?! Where is she?!”
Hearing that long-unfamiliar voice, Chu Yanze was momentarily disoriented. His first thought was whether he’d been recognized by a fan—he should’ve kept his goggles on, but he’d been too preoccupied with searching for someone.
Then it dawned on him—no, this guy clearly knew him. What sister was he talking about?
Gu Zhaosi, still dizzy from the fall, shook him. “Cut the act! My sister must’ve come with you guys for the show—I watched it! Where is she?! Tell me! She saved me up there but refused to acknowledge me as her brother. She must be pissed—I need to talk to her!”
Chu Yanze remained bewildered, eyeing the young man with suspicion.
But the next second, the man roughly yanked off his goggles, revealing his face—and Chu Yanze’s pupils constricted in shock.
Wasn’t this Gu Zhaosi, his undergrad classmate?
The guy was good-looking, sure, but famously weird and reclusive.
Suddenly, it clicked—the connection between the two names. His head snapped up toward the darkening clouds and snow on the mountain, then back to Gu Zhaosi. “Your sister is Zhaoping-jie?!”
Gu Zhaosi finally exhaled in exasperation. “So you didn’t know?!”
At that moment, Su Yubai, standing among the crowd, stiffened.
He whipped his head around—that figure from earlier?!
Amid the silence, he suddenly shouted, “Zhaoping-jie went up there just now!”
The others froze.
Gu Zhaosi didn’t recognize him, squinting skeptically through his goggles.
Su Yubai immediately pointed in the direction where the woman had vanished. No one had time to question why he called her “Zhaoping-jie.” “That was her just now!”
He remembered those goggles.
Everyone was stunned.
What the hell??
Why was Zhaoping-jie here? And why would she go up into the storm?
Chu Yanze’s breath hitched. Su Yubai added urgently, “There’s no time—no one else could’ve found her!”
“She went to look for Liang Zhiwei!”
“What?!”
Zhaoping-jie?? Gu Zhaoping??
