Chapter 1

Chapter 1: 100% Compatibility

When she was eighteen, Chen Songyu did the only rebellious thing in her life.

She stood alone in the empty laboratory, in front of the measurement machine, and secretly opened a genetic report that no one had ever seen.

“Chen Songyu's matched partner: Chi Yan”

“Compatibility: 100%”

The dim glow of the screen lit up the girl's youthful face. The corner of her mouth curved slightly in a mocking smile, her eyes full of apathy beyond her age.

She deleted the report.

“Please confirm: Once deleted, the data cannot be recovered. The matched partner will be permanently removed from the database.”

She pressed “Confirm” without hesitation.

This was the greatest secret of her life.

That perfect marriage partner had never existed in her world.

She only wanted to make films.

At twenty-six, Songyu was already one of the most outstanding directors of her generation.

She had made five films. Her debut was nominated for the Newcomer Award at the Interstellar Film Festival. The next three films were both critically acclaimed and box office successes, ranking in the top ten domestic films of the year.

But so what?

Her most recent film flopped, and she was immediately back to the miserable grind of a regular worker.

Even on her days off, she had to be called in by her boss to work overtime—traveling all the way to Star S to shoot a documentary for a completely unknown rookie band.

Originally, the shoot was assigned to her colleague Achun, who suddenly quit to go get married.

What made it worse was that Achun dropped the job at the last minute and still acted totally justified.

“My genetic compatibility with him is 75%!” she boasted. “Why waste my youth in this trashy film company?”

75% really was a high number.

According to the annual report from the Genetic Testing Center, the average genetic compatibility for citizens of the Capital Planet was only 55.85%.

Everyone else in the office was extremely envious of Achun for finding such a dream partner.

Only Songyu never took part in these discussions.

Because Songyu was called in at the last moment, by the time she hurried to the set on Star S, another colleague was already helping set up the equipment.It was a young female intern named Ji Wen.

Songyu stood not far behind her, watching as she fumbled alone, about to step forward to help—only to realize Ji Wen was on the phone.

Ji Wen was wearing a pair of smart glasses with video call functionality, and she said in a low voice:

"Yeah, Mom, you know Chen Songyu, right? Yes, yes, that pretty well-known female director, she’s also in our company. Gosh, she really had momentum back then, but ever since that new film flopped two years ago, look at her now—no projects, no say in anything, just cleaning up messes for her coworkers..."

Songyu leaned against the wall without making a sound.

In the reflective glass panel of the corridor, she saw her own figure.

Still standing straight, thin as a sheet of paper.

But the scattered daylight broke her reflection into countless indistinct shadows among the blue sky and white clouds.

Only after Ji Wen kept chattering on, drifting into unrelated small talk with her mom, did Songyu lightly curl her knuckle and tap the wall.

A dull sound echoed off the glass surface.

Ji Wen jumped in shock, then quickly turned around and gave Songyu a bright, sunny smile. “Ms. Chen, you’re here!”

She turned back and tapped her glasses. “Mom, I’m hanging up. Your idol’s here. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely get you an autograph!”

After hanging up, she stuck her tongue out playfully at Songyu. “Ms. Chen, my mom is a fan of yours.”

Songyu looked at her with a half-smile, clearly understanding Ji Wen was testing her—how much had she overheard just now?

But she couldn’t be bothered to fuss over a little girl’s schemes. She didn’t even respond to the comment and said flatly, “Mm. Let’s get started.”

Ji Wen awkwardly pointed at the pile of equipment in front of her, which she had assembled into a complete mess. “Uh, Ms. Chen, do you know how to put this together?”

It was an old-fashioned camera she had hauled all the way from Capital Planet—too clunky and heavy to transport assembled, so it had to be put together on-site.

In fact, with current tech upgrades, most filming gear was designed to be extremely lightweight and discreet. Ji Wen had never even seen such an ancient piece of equipment, and couldn’t believe the boss actually gave her this to use—proof enough of how little he cared about this shoot.

Songyu sighed. “If I’d known you were using this, I would’ve brought my own camera.”

Ji Wen was quick on her feet and immediately admitted fault. “Sorry, Ms. Chen, I didn’t clearly write out the shooting plan... I forgot to include the equipment model.”

Songyu: “Forget it.”

She squatted down without hesitation.

What happened next was almost magical.

Ji Wen watched in stunned silence as Chen Songyu, like performing a magic trick, assembled the odd, mismatched pile of scrap metal piece by piece into a complete, fully functional large camera.

Her movements were fluid, precise, and calm. Even cool.

Ji Wen couldn’t help but say awkwardly, “Ms. Chen, I didn’t expect you to know how to put this together—that’s amazing.”

Songyu didn’t even look up. “Back in film school, when I borrowed gear from the university to shoot class projects, I often had to use this kind of camera.”

Ji Wen: “QAQ”

She immediately felt a bit ashamed.

Especially since she had just been mocking her behind her back.In their line of work, there was always a subtle, unspoken hostility toward attractive women. Ji Wen had never interacted with Chen Songyu before, and had assumed that the reason Director Chen was once held in such high regard was simply because she had an exceptionally beautiful face.

But she hadn’t expected that this face, when wearing such a serious expression, could be even more captivating.

Her eyes shone with brilliance—clear and focused—with a rare classical elegance and the charm of a mature woman.

It was impossible to look away.

Besides, Ji Wen had met plenty of male directors at the company before. Regardless of their status, they all exuded that overbearing, paternalistic air—always standing high on set, issuing commands from above.

But Chen Songyu had no such airs at all.

A celebrated director, dragged in mid-project to fill a gap, and being held back by an inexperienced intern like herself—yet she calmly knelt on the floor to assemble the camera without a hint of complaint.

Ji Wen felt the balance within her slowly tipping.

On impulse, she blurted out, “Ms. Chen, let me tell you a bit of gossip. My mom said, even though this band is made up of rookies, the lead singer actually has quite the background. His father is…”

She leaned in mysteriously and whispered in Songyu’s ear, one word at a time: “An. Imperial. Duke.”

Songyu looked at her in surprise.

But said nothing.

She had never cared about celebrity gossip.

“My mom said not to spread it around, so I’m only telling you,” Ji Wen said in a small voice, a little shyly. “So don’t think this trip was a waste… Who knows, if the duke’s son takes a liking to you, you might just shoot to the top.”

Songyu couldn’t help but laugh.

At last, she understood what this intern had been circling around to say: she was actually trying to comfort her.

“Thank you,” she said.

Songyu’s voice was sincerely warm.

That smile of hers lit up her whole face even more.

Ji Wen actually blushed a little.

She quickly turned her head to look up at the second floor, as if to distract herself, and spoke hastily: “Look upstairs! Maybe there’ll be some VIPs tonight.”

Unlike the performance stage on the first floor, the VIP area was arranged to be private and dimly lit. Aromatherapy candles burned quietly on velvet-covered tables, and a few bouquets of biomimetic flowers cast long shadows on the softly glowing walls.

Ji Wen let her imagination run wild. “I wonder if we’ll get to see any big shots from Star S? It’s the duke’s son’s concert—someone’s bound to show up to support him, right?”

Songyu adjusted the camera casually. “Doesn’t matter who comes, as long as the footage looks good.”

She had no idea how prophetic those words would turn out to be.

Once the performance officially began, the atmosphere on-site was unexpectedly electric.

Their genre was psychedelic rock. The supposedly well-connected lead singer didn’t seem like some rich kid playing around—he actually had an incredibly powerful and penetrating voice. The guitar and bass arrangements were dazzling. The notes were ignited by the cool-toned neon lights, and everything pulsed with a dreamlike frenzy and chaos.

Even though most of the audience was hearing their music for the first time, they still danced wildly, screamed hysterically, shouted “badass” at the top of their lungs, and kept egging the singer and guitarist to take their clothes off.

Songyu gradually got swept up in the energy too. Standing at the edge of the stage, her camera movements grew bolder, cutting back and forth rapidly, doing her best to capture the flashing illusions of light and sound.But that was when everything changed.

A man suddenly kicked over the barricade and charged onto the stage. Songyu thought he was just an overzealous fan—she saw the bassist smiling as he stepped forward to greet him, only for the smile to freeze instantly on his face.

The young man collapsed to the ground with a thud, blood gushing from his chest in great spurts, staining the bluish glow of the floor lights.

“BANG!!!”

The man raised a gun hidden in his sleeve and fired, blasting the drum kit to pieces.

The sound of the gunshot clashed with the instruments, creating a terrifying, muffled roar. The drummer behind the kit dropped to the ground, covering his head in panic.

Everything happened so fast it was impossible to react.

Songyu was the closest to the stage. She witnessed it all with absolute clarity—bloodshed, violence, and the overwhelming stench of death.

Her pupils contracted. Every hair on her body stood on end. Her instincts screamed for her to run. She scrambled down the steps, trying to pack up the camera.

But that was when she saw the shot.

Just a glance. Just one look… and it completely changed her fate.

She saw the stage through the viewfinder.

A perfect composition—like something out of a noir film. Neon lights and a killer, adrenaline and death.

The next second, almost without realizing what she was doing, she hugged the heavy camera close and silently hid in the blind spot under the steps.

Then, with great skill, she aimed the lens at the stage from a sharp, concealed angle.

The director’s instincts had taken over her body in that moment. She didn’t turn off the camera.

The killer on stage moved like a cornered beast.

While continuing to fire into the audience, he roared in a coarse, hoarse voice: “Everyone get the fuck down! Anyone who stands up gets a bullet to the head!!”

Panic erupted in the audience. At first, people screamed in terror, scattering in all directions, blindly rushing toward the theater exits.

But all the doors were locked. Only then did they realize that the venue’s security guards were already lying unconscious on the ground.

A chilling silence spread through the air.

A bloody severed hand hung off the edge of the stage. A row of jagged bullet holes in the metal scaffolding looked like it had been torn by a shark’s teeth. The camera slowly panned, capturing the suffocating horror of the scene.

Songyu’s mind was racing.

Was she scared? Of course.

But her hands were steady, and her posture was completely focused—no different from how she was on set.

Of course, she knew just how much danger she was in. She was too close to the stage. If the killer spotted her, a bullet would go straight through her heart.

But—if the lead singer really was the duke’s son…

Then maybe this was a meticulously planned terrorist attack.

And she had captured a critical piece of evidence.

The other three band members had already been shot. They lay collapsed on the ground, unconscious.Only the lead singer remained, kneeling in his bandmates’ blood, a cold gun barrel pressed against his temple. His head hung low, half of his handsome face still delicate and pitiful.

The killer stood behind him, fingers twitching slightly from overstimulation. Like a beast out of control, eager to tear out this bird’s throat and pluck off his precious feathers one by one.

Silently, Songyu panned the camera away from the stage, trying to check if any audience members were injured.

Suddenly, she seemed to catch something at the edge of the frame—

The second floor. The VIP section.

Behind the curtain, a man slowly stood up.

Between light and shadow, the first thing the camera captured was a tiny spark.

He still held a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers.

The flickering candlelight cast his silhouette onto the dusky yellow drapes. A massive shadow rippled across the wall, like a ferocious beast crouched in the dark, stretching out its claws with terrifying patience.

Then she heard a faint popping sound.

A sharp object slicing through air.

She quickly cut the camera back to the stage.

In an instant, everything was over.

The killer was dead. He lay twitching on the ground like a pitiful worm.

A bullet had struck him clean between the brows—quick and precise.

The lead singer had collapsed to one side, trembling, eyes wide as he stared at the corpse.

The man on the second floor still leaned against the railing, composed and unbothered, holding a silenced pistol in his left hand.

He looked at the young singer and gave a slight nod.

He was dressed to perfection—suit, black bow tie, a rose in his breast pocket.

It should have been the picture of civility, but the word “civilized” had nothing to do with him.

Because he was born with a wild, untamable face—features sharp as blades, like a leopard, every muscle taut to the extreme. So devastatingly handsome, one dared not look directly at him.

He pulled the rose from his chest and gave it a soft sniff near his nose. Then turned, and without hesitation, tossed it aside.

The pointed toe of his leather shoe crushed the expensive synthetic flower.

The soft, delicate petals were ground to pieces and floated gently down from the second floor—like cherry blossoms falling on a spring night.

Suddenly, the man seemed to sense something and turned his gaze directly toward the camera.

Songyu’s mind flashed with an old proverb from Mumbai—

“If you dare to meet the tiger’s eyes, you might escape with your life.”

Her heart gave a fierce jolt.

A strange, dangerous shiver swept through her body like an electric current.