`Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The heat from the first macro trailer had not yet faded when the Reverse Scale official Weibo dropped two more “deep-water bombs,” releasing the second and third character perspective trailers one after another.

This time, the camera no longer surveyed the entire chessboard from above. Instead, it cut into the minds of the two main players, promoting the story from the perspectives of Zhou Mu and Chen Shouzhuo, one retreating, one advancing, one light, one dark, like two sides of fate, together piecing together an inevitable ultimate showdown.

Zhou Mu’s trailer used a creatively “rewind” narrative technique.

The camera began at a damp morning in a vegetable market. At this moment, Zhou Mu looked like an ordinary man, holding a wriggling live fish in his hand, smiling and exchanging greetings with neighbors. Then, his steps went backward, and the timeline started to rewind—the lonely figure when demoted to the grassroots, the suppressed grief at a comrade’s funeral, the breakdown upon learning of his mentor’s death, the youthful glory of entering the police academy, and back to the poor, studious boy from a small town. Zhou Mu had once been sponsored by Vice Mayor Chen, which led to his connection with Chen Shouzhuo. The final frame froze on young Zhou Mu, wearing a police uniform, his determined eyes swearing under the solemn national emblem.

“One fish to start, the story depends on the reverse!”

“The male lead Liu River? Looks reliable, I’ll follow.”

“Liu River’s acting is flawless; Zhou Mu’s character arc is massive. Ordinary actors couldn’t handle it.”

“Dragon-slaying boy with a heart of ashes? Twenty years later, no light in Zhou Mu’s eyes…”

“Looking forward to Zhou Mu rising from the bottom and setting everything right with his own hands!”

In contrast to Zhou Mu’s “rewind” style, Chen Shouzhuo’s trailer was in “progress mode.” The video used fast-paced montage to show how a born winner gradually fell, and how he built a dark order amidst his decline.

The camera began with Chen Shouzhuo’s decadent adolescence as a second-generation official. Naturally high-IQ, he carried a void and melancholy inside. Late-night street racing, lingering in gambling halls, entangling with different female companions, seeing through the world yet acting lawlessly. As he grew older, he wore tailored suits, appearing restrained, yet secretly built a massive criminal empire. He adopted a daughter to place his “humanity” and assumed the role of “father.” At the trailer’s end, Chen Shouzhuo lounged at his desk, a still-unlit cigar between his teeth, patiently combing Chen Xiang’s long hair—a complex image of a “cultured villain” instantly established.

“Uncle Liang’s first time playing a villain! Elegant yet insane vibe! Domestic villain ceiling secured!”

“Surface is a good father, behind the scenes is a godfather—this contrast is perfect.”

“My uncle, top-tier mature Alpha, no substitute for his inner depths, Ferrari old or not, still a Ferrari.”

“Why do I feel Chen Shouzhuo and Chen Xiang are a bit pseudo-incestuous…”

“Same, pseudo-incest +1, big gray wolf taming little white rabbit? I’m in! I’m all in!”

In Chen Shouzhuo’s trailer, Shi Yin appeared as a blurred background for a few seconds. Her side profile while doing homework looked obedient and serene, completely different from the cold, deadly heiress in Jian Kang Storm.

Yet at this moment, all attention focused on the two male leads’ superb acting and the luxurious supporting cast. Discussions about her were sparse.

On February 14, the twenty-seventh day of the twelfth lunar month, Xu Qingsui waved his hand and gave everyone time off. Tian Tian had bought her ticket, preparing to return home.

Before leaving, she lingered at the door with her suitcase, worry in her voice: “Are you sure I don’t need to accompany you? I feel uneasy leaving you alone in Tan City for the New Year…”

“No need,” Shi Yin pulled out a thick red envelope like magic and handed it to Tian Tian. “Here, year-end bonus. Go home and spend time with uncle and aunt. Show them your prowess in the village, let them know what you might have accomplished out there!”

Tian Tian held the heavy red envelope, tears instantly welling: “This is too generous…”

“You deserve it.” Shi Yin patted her shoulder. “Travel safely, send me a message when you arrive. Next year, keep working hard for me.”

After sending off Tian Tian, who kept looking back, Shi Yin asked Master Cheng to take her back to Tan City.

The van stopped steadily under the residential building. Shi Yin took her luggage from the trunk but didn’t leave immediately. She walked to the driver’s side window, smiling as she handed a red envelope.

“Master Cheng, thank you for your hard work. Happy New Year in advance. See you next year.”

Master Cheng chuckled: “Happy New Year, Miss Shi. May you rise step by step. I’ll pick you up again when work resumes.”

Pushing open her long-uninhabited home, a cold air hit her.

Shi Yin turned on the living room lights and placed her suitcase in the entrance. She didn’t rest immediately but rolled up her sleeves, opened the windows for ventilation, watered the plants, and quickly wiped the thin layer of dust off the furniture. Only after this did the home regain some life.

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Shi Yin dialed Wen Jinhe.

“Sister Wen, I’m home.”

On the other end, Wen Jinhe’s voice carried the relaxed tone after a busy day: “Good, just settle in. By the way, remember to post a Weibo to promote. Tonight at 7:30, Reverse Scale premieres. Watermelon Peach Video is giving very good treatment this time, with homepage and opening-screen promotion. Reservations have increased a lot; we need to ride this wave of heat.”

“Okay, I’ll post it now,” Shi Yin replied.

She logged into Weibo, first reposting the official Reverse Scale premiere announcement, then edited an original post with a stock “Chen Xiang” selfie—wearing a soft off-white sweater, mimicking the beckoning cat pose, with two small golden ingots edited into her palms. The caption read: “Meow meow meow? Heard that tonight’s little cuties watching Reverse Scale will be blessed with good luck and wealth! 7:30 PM, Watermelon Peach Video, don’t miss it!”

Seconds later, notification sounds chimed.

“Ahhh your girl is so cute! Whose kitten is this [heart][crazy]?”

“Mine! Taking her immediately!”

“Wife! Happy New Year! Tonight I’ll watch TV just for you!”

“Coming from Fog Walker, seeing my little sister doing so well now, mom is so proud [tears]. This time I’ll definitely support Chen Xiang too!”

Shi Yin refreshed the page. Looking at these vivid and warm comments, the corners of her mouth couldn’t help but curl up.

She now had 330,000 followers. Wen Jinhe hadn’t bought fake followers for her. Though the number wasn’t huge, nearly all were real people. Among them were those who followed purely for her looks—“appearance fans,” those moved by her acting in Fog Walker—“acting fans,” and the largest group were “character fans,” who loved the role of “Lin Yutong” deeply and filtered their affection through that lens. Most of them were mellow in temperament, not obsessed with metrics, more like discovering an unpolished gem, quietly following and supporting with a nurturing mindset.

Night, 7:25 PM.

Shi Yin had just settled on the sofa with her sukiyaki hot pot when her phone dinged. The originally scheduled 7:30 PM premiere of Reverse Scale unlocked five episodes five minutes early.

“Watermelon Peach really knows how to stage a surprise attack,” Shi Yin muttered, quickly activating her membership and casting the screen to the TV.

The opening theme began. Heavy symphonic music combined with fast-cut character silhouettes, full of an impending storm’s lethal tension.

Meanwhile, the barrage of live comments had already arrived, densely covering the screen:

“Here it comes! The annual anti-crime drama!”

“Premature release? Even the production team’s donkeys aren’t this diligent!”

“Liang Yicheng, your troops are here!”

“Ye Peiqian, your troops are here too!”

“Why are they all ‘troops’? Maybe you two armies should fight first (dog head)”

“Here for Liu River! Can’t wait for the tough cop!”

“This opening feels cinematic, love it!”

The main story began—

“Doo—!”

A long cargo ship horn cut through the night, the river wind howling, the skyline of Jian Kang City sparkling in the background. Several hulking shadows dragged a fully limp, blood-covered man across the dim deck, leaving two sticky blood trails on the floor.

The camera cut to the stern, where several industrial cement barrels stood half the height of a person. The bound man, seemingly sensing his fate, struggled fiercely, letting out muffled cries from his blocked throat: “Help…me…please…”

A man in black grinned, roughly prying open his mouth with a tool: “Next life, open your eyes a bit wider.”

Another raised a cement scoop, ready to force-feed him.

At that critical moment—

“Attention cargo ship ahead! Stop immediately for inspection!”

A coast guard ship approached rapidly, its massive searchlight beams like swords exposing the cargo ship. Boarding the vessel, the lead captain scanned every corner sharply. At last, his steps stopped in front of the cement barrels, his flashlight wavering over them: “What’s inside?”

A “fisherman” beside him rubbed his hands with a naive expression: “Just ordinary cement, helping a construction company transport some goods, earn a little hard money.”

The captain tapped the barrel, the hollow thud echoing through the night. Yet he didn’t notice that on the opposite, shaded side of the ship, a body recently molded in cement silently sank into the river, quickly swallowed by the murky waves.

“Vuuum—”

Inside a quiet, ancient Buddhist temple, the bell tolled in the distance.

Chen Shouzhuo, solemn, held three incense sticks and slowly inserted them into the censer.

His subordinate, Wang Zhaoan, hurriedly burst into the temple, face clearly panicked. Chen Shouzhuo didn’t lift his eyelids, only impatiently glancing over, the eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses cold as blades. Wang Zhaoan felt like falling into an ice pit, words stuck in his throat, standing respectfully with hands at his sides.

“What’s the matter?”

After placing the incense, Chen Shouzhuo slowly put on black lambskin gloves and took a brocade pouch from the presiding monk, inside of which was a “Blessing for Academic Success from Guanyin,” just consecrated.

“Brother Zhuo, the Provincial Party Organization Department… received an anonymous tip-off, reporting you and Ding Sheng Group.” Wang Zhaoan reported cautiously.

Chen Shouzhuo’s father, now acting mayor of Jian Kang City, was in the critical “confirmation” evaluation period. Any slightest ripple could ruin everything.

Chen Shouzhuo paused slightly as he adjusted his gloves, his voice unreadable: “Reported for what?”

“…Smuggling and trafficking. That batch from customs was just seized.”

Chen Shouzhuo slowly lifted his head, a subtle, inscrutable curve forming on his lips: “Look at you, scared. Who’s handling the case?”

“…Zhou Mu.”

Hearing the name, Chen Shouzhuo let out a light laugh, carefully placing the academic charm he had requested for his daughter into his bosom, and said casually, “Find a time, invite Officer Zhou out, let’s have a meal together.”

The live comments erupted in excitement:

“Holy crap! The opening is already this intense? Sealing a body in cement?!”

“Wow, the scene transition is insane, the splash into water connecting to the bell toll—goosebumps!”

“Uncle Liang’s gaze is amazing, seamlessly switching from gentle praying to ruthless big boss.”

“And he got an academic charm for his daughter?? What complex villain charm is this!”

“Zhou Mu! Come out and work!”

Shi Yin picked up a piece of beef soaked in broth, but her eyes were glued to the screen, fully immersed in the tense and thrilling plot.

The pacing of the first episode was fast, yet every plot point interlocked. Shi Yin fast-forwarded through the first day’s five episodes, still feeling unsatisfied.

There was no denying it—realistic drama was indeed Gu Jizhou’s comfort zone. His visual language was sharp and precise, the storytelling steady and sophisticated; every investment could be seen in the texture of the visuals and audio details, exuding a blockbuster quality.

As Shi Yin savored the plot, the long-awaited system notification finally chimed clearly:

【Side Quest “Do You Have New Chop Order? Please Check” Completed】

【Reward: Wing Chun (Intermediate)】

Similar to when she acquired Sanda (Beginner), a warm current immediately surged through her body, countless key techniques imprinting in her muscle memory.

“Wow!” Shi Yin exclaimed in delight, immediately setting down the hot pot and leaping off the sofa. She instinctively assumed a stance and, fluidly as flowing clouds and water, performed a set of Wing Chun. Her fists moved like the wind, techniques tight—Chain Fist, Bridge Searching, Index Point… every move precise, powerful, the sound of slicing air faintly audible.

Completing the set, Shi Yin slowly withdrew, feeling fully refreshed, body and mind clear.

The first-day metrics of Reverse Scale were impressive: CCTV-8 viewership rating broke 2%, market share reached 16.8%, ranking first in its timeslot; on Watermelon Peach, its heat index surpassed 10,000, topping the overall chart, with single-day views exceeding 200 million—already showing potential as the year’s breakout drama.

With such high expectations, the character “Chen Xiang,” played by Shi Yin, finally officially appeared in the sixth episode aired the next day.

Her entrance was handled with great creativity by director Gu Jizhou, using a reverse narrative shot. First, a close-up of the academic charm that Chen Shouzhuo personally obtained, hanging on her backpack, then time rewound, revealing the fateful first encounter between them:

In the VIP room of a private casino, Chen Xiang’s father, at that time Boss Zhao, knelt like a heap of mud on the ground, forehead striking the carpet with a muffled thud, voice hoarse and desperate: “Please give me a few more days! Just a few days! The house, the car… it’s all gone. I really… can’t produce a single penny!”

“Boss Zhao, you know the rules. Debts at the gambling table are still debts,” the debt-collector subordinate sneered, threatening him.

Chen Xiang’s father suddenly lifted his head, tears streaming, eyes darting around in despair, finally landing on the slender figure in the corner.

“I… I still have a daughter! Master Chen, look at my daughter, she’s young, pure… Can I use her to repay the debt? Is that okay?”

The camera slowly pushed to the corner, cutting to a close-up.

The girl, Chen Xiang, huddled in the shadows, her washed-out school uniform hanging empty on her, fragile as reeds in the wind. Her father’s words stabbed like an ice pick; she shivered, incredulous, lifting her head.

That one lift of her head made the live comments freeze for a moment.

Shi Yin’s face, through Gu Jizhou’s lens, displayed an unembellished yet heart-stopping beauty. Almost no filters were used—the delicate texture of her skin, the tear droplets on her lashes, the interwoven fear, shock, and bone-deep betrayal in her clear eyes—all emotions vividly present.

Gu Jizhou, though seemingly a straightforward male coder, was unexpectedly skilled at capturing the fragile qualities in young girls. At this moment, Chen Xiang perfectly embodied the sense of “shatteredness.”

Chen Shouzhuo’s gaze casually swept over, but abruptly paused the instant it touched Chen Xiang’s face.

He raised his hand to stop his subordinate and slowly walked to her, his tall figure almost completely enveloping the petite girl.

Chen Shouzhuo squatted, trying to make his voice less harsh: “How old are you?”

Chen Xiang shrank back, voice tiny as a mosquito: “Th… thirteen.”

Chen Shouzhuo looked at her terrified expression; a complex, indescribable emotion flickered in his eyes. He reached out, fingertips not touching but brushing away strands of hair wet with tears, stating firmly: “From now on, stay with me.”

His gaze locked onto her moist eyes: “Call me Daddy.”

Chen Xiang’s eyes widened in panic, glancing at the man who controlled everything, then at her father on the floor, bowing in mercy. A coldness of being abandoned by the whole world swept over her. In this desperate moment, only the man in front offered a lifeline, unrefusable and unknown in its future. Her lips trembled violently, struggling for a long moment before a faint whisper emerged: “…Da…Daddy.”

“Take the young lady back,” Chen Shouzhuo said indifferently.

“And her father…?”

“Tell him, the debt is cleared.”

Chen Xiang’s father scrambled out of the room, rolling and stumbling, while Chen Xiang was escorted outside. As she passed her biological father, she didn’t glance at that incompetent man again.

Just as she was about to be placed into the car, Chen Xiang suddenly stopped, mustering her courage, and looked back at the man who would decide her future. The evening wind lifted stray strands of hair from her forehead; her eyes, which moments ago had been full of fear and timidity, now faintly held a clarity beyond her years.

Her voice was very soft, but her words came out distinctly: “…Is there any way… to make him… never… never gamble again, never hurt others?”

Chen Shouzhuo replied indifferently, “Simple. Chop off his hands.”

Under the night sky, neon lights shifted and glimmered, casting across Chen Xiang’s pale yet gradually resolute face.

Shi Yin’s naturally youthful features, combined with the deliberately minimized styling for this scene, made her look like an innocent little flower, or a lost fawn in the forest.

Her performance seemed effortless, but every subtle tremor, every timid lift of her eyes or bow of her head, was imbued with strong emotional resonance through Gu Jizhou’s cinematography.

Gu Jizhou’s filming was subtle and restrained, and Shi Yin’s acting was strictly confined within the scope of a daughter’s dependence on a “father,” never intending to provoke any taboo. Yet this “non-crossing” approach left enormous room for imagination. Its effect split the audience perfectly: older viewers immersed in the main plotline, while younger, more perceptive audiences were precisely hit by the delicate tension.

At some point, the live comments began to take on a strange tone:

“Gu Jizhou knows exactly what we love to watch…”

“I’m simultaneously shipping them and praying, jumping along the moral edge.”

“What are you even talking about? Something feels weird… Chen Shouzhuo isn’t adopting this girl?”

“Everyone, come watch! There’s an honest man here!”

“(Just explaining the plot) Maybe it’s because she looks like Chen’s deceased younger sister?”

“Stop trying to fill in upstairs! Fanfiction corner assemble! Any writings?”

Responses varied across platforms: CCTV-8 audiences focused on plot logic and character fate, while on the youth-heavy Watermelon Peach platform, premium members displayed a “rebellious” psychology—normally they would be praising the law-abiding side in romance dramas, but in a plot-light serious drama, the subtle tension walking the edge of taboo became the inspiration for their “wild shipping.”

The next day, the hashtag #RoseNurturedByTheBoss swept across short-video platforms like wildfire, including derivative videos appearing like mushrooms after rain, their editing precise, atmosphere intense, shooting straight to the top of platform heat charts.

Popular video: “Forbidden Love | Cult CP | Elegant Gentleman (Fallen) vs Pure Jasmine Flower”

The video hit exact points, interweaving Chen Shouzhuo’s extreme gentleness while combing Chen Xiang’s hair with his absolute cold ruthlessness in the dark, set to a fate-heavy BGM, maximizing the forbidden tension of this pseudo father-daughter pairing.

Top comments went completely insane:

Likes 22,000 [@ShouXiangForeverFan]:

“Everyone knows it’s a twisted start, but who understands! He gives her the only light in a dark life; she’s the last lock in his cold world. This feeling of mutual salvation yet mutual imprisonment—I’m shipping them to death! [Rose]”

Likes 18,000 [@MoralityTemporarilyAbsent]:

“My rational mind: This is wrong, unhealthy!

My actual state: Mouth and sun shoulder-to-shoulder, twisting in bed like a worm!

The rose nurtured by the boss himself blooms only for him, this setup is literally dancing madly on my XP!”

A few days later, when Shi Yin’s breakout index slowly climbed to Lv2, she finally saw these “masterpieces” on the heat charts.

Seeing herself timid on screen, cut alongside the dominantly portrayed Liang Yicheng in all sorts of bizarre edits, and reading the comment section’s fiery “carnival,” her expression became indescribable, corners of her mouth twitching slightly: “…Ah?”

What’s wrong with this generation of netizens? They can ship this too?! No, Uncle, we’re not shipping this!!