Zhou Yining picked up some cold medicine and a jar of bruise ointment at the late-night pharmacy. As she handed over the cash, the girl at the counter couldn’t help but stare.

“Aren’t you… Zhou Yining?”

Zhou Yining stuffed the meds into her backpack without answering, simply smiling as she handed over a couple of hundred-yuan bills. She pocketed the change and turned to leave without another word.

The walk back to her building was still a few blocks away. She figured she’d stroll—it was late, and the night air helped her think.

The man who had been leaning under a streetlamp lit another cigarette and followed, keeping a careful distance. His eyes locked onto her backpack. As he moved, he scanned the area—he knew this neighborhood like the back of his hand. Which corners had cameras, which alleys didn’t—he had it all mapped out.

It was late. The streets were quiet. Autumn wind swept fallen leaves down the curbs. Harsh white light from the few working lamps spilled across empty sidewalks. Shops had shuttered. No one lingered.

He’d loitered around here all evening without much hope, but now—what luck.

Zhou Yining.

The same woman who’d trended on Weibo days ago.

Her background had been dragged into the light. Someone had doxxed her, plastering her family history and personal details online. What stuck in everyone’s memory was her bizarre habit—always carrying around a fat stack of cash. Add to that a striking face, sharp features that set her apart. She was easy to recognize if you looked.

The man grinned through a puff of smoke.

Damn lucky night.

Zhou Yining paused mid-step. Her instincts tingled. She turned slightly, just enough to catch him in her peripheral vision.

The same man from earlier.

She quickened her pace.

He sped up, too.

She knew it instantly: He’s targeting me.

Just ahead, the alley’s only streetlight flickered, then died.

As she passed the corner, she heard fast footsteps behind her. She whipped around just in time to see the man lunging for her bag—his hand yanked the strap hard. Then, in a flash, he pulled out a fruit knife.

But Zhou Yining reacted first.

Crack!

She stomped down with all her weight—high heels and all—right onto the top of his foot.

The man’s face twisted in agony. His grip faltered, and the knife in his hand trembled. Still, he raised it, lips curled back into a snarl.

“Give me the bag, bitch!”

Zhou Yining let out a cold laugh and hurled her backpack straight at his face.

Thwack!

The knife slipped from his fingers, clattering to the pavement.

In the next breath, she lunged, grabbed his wrists, and wrenched his arms behind his head. He struggled, nearly tossing her off, and her heel caught in a drain cover, twisting her ankle with a sharp flare of pain.

She didn’t flinch.

Her other hand snatched his index finger and snapped it back.

“Aaargh!”

The scream ripped from his throat. His face went bone-white.

“Broken—it’s broken—!”

From behind them came the startled voices of passersby.

“What’s going on over there?!”

“There’s a knife on the ground!”

The man hadn’t expected her—someone who looked so delicate, so soft—to be this ruthless. He’d lost the upper hand the moment she’d turned around. By now, it was too late to fight back.

Zhou Yining kept going. She kicked. She punched. No hesitation, no mercy.

Every hit was precise and brutal. The man howled, curling up, and she finally turned toward the startled couple on the sidewalk.

“Call the police.”

From two onlookers, the crowd quickly grew to seven or eight. A few men stepped forward to help restrain the would-be thief.

“Damn, that girl’s fierce.”

“She didn’t even flinch!”

Zhou Yining said nothing. She’d faced worse.

Once you’ve stared real fear in the face, shadows like this no longer shake you.

People only grow harder, one scar at a time.

A few minutes later, police arrived on motorcycles. Zhou Yining gave the man one last savage kick.

“I hate robbers.”

A flashlight beam swept across her face, blinding her momentarily. She raised a hand to block the glare.

The officer stared in disbelief, glancing between the whimpering man on the ground and her.

“You did this?”

She brushed the dust off her palms. Her long hair clung to her cheeks, strands caught on her lips, but she didn’t bother fixing it.

“Mm.”

She bent to grab her bag and turned to leave. Her ankle throbbed sharply. She gritted her teeth.

“Wait a moment,” the officer called after her. “Miss, please come to the station to file a report.”

“No need. Nothing was stolen.” She replied, slowly making her way towards the exit

“Who called the police ?”

“I did,” said a man. “She asked me to. Honestly, I’ve never seen someone beat a thief like that. That guy was screaming like a pig—she’s stronger than half the men I know.”

Another voice chimed in, low and amazed: “She broke two of his fingers. She’s no joke.”

“I got a video! It’s dark though—her hair’s all over, can’t see her face. But damn, she’s cool. I wish I had her guts.”

“Lemme see… yeah, can’t tell what she looks like. But that body—mm!”

“If every girl could fight back like her…”

Zhou Yining’s ankle only grew worse with each step. Eventually, she gave up and took off her heels, dangling them from her fingers as she walked barefoot.

Slowly.

Painfully.

A sleek black car pulled up behind her.

Inside, Amin squinted through the windshield. “Is that Miss Zhou? Didn’t she head home ages ago? Something’s off—her walk looks weird. She’s barefoot…”

He thought back to the time he crashed while driving Ji Dongyang to a shoot—both of them got off with scrapes, but the scolding from Yang Xun had nearly cost him his job.

Since then, if there wasn’t a deadline, Amin drove like an old man.

Ji Dongyang looked out the window and frowned. “It’s her.”

“Pull over.”

Amin blinked. “Oh! Right!”

He rolled the window down. “Miss Zhou, everything okay?”

She froze, glancing over. Her eyes lit up for a split second, then quickly masked the surprise. She lifted her heels and waved.

“I’m fine.”

Amin didn’t buy it for a second.

“You’re not fine! Come on, get in. It’s still a long walk.”

Zhou Yining hesitated, limping over.

“Aren’t you afraid of paparazzi catching this?”

“This is a new car,” Amin grinned. “They don’t know it yet. Hurry.”

The backseat window rolled down.

A cool, clipped voice drifted out. “If you keep stalling, someone will catch it.”

From her angle, she could only see his lips set in that usual disapproving line.

Zhou Yining rolled her eyes at the night sky, then climbed into the front seat.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, tossing Amin a polite smile.

“No trouble at all,” he replied. If Ji Dongyang hadn’t silently allowed it, he wouldn’t have dared let a female socialite into the car. The gossip would explode.

As he started the engine, Amin glanced sideways again.

“Miss Zhou, what happened? Did you twist your ankle?”

Before she could answer, he noticed the tear in her bag.

“Wait, is that… a knife cut? You didn’t get mugged, did you?”

He slowed the car.

Zhou Yining looked down and finally noticed the damage.

The blade must’ve nicked it during the scuffle. A tiny slit gaped near the top, revealing a thick pink wad of cash.

She said nothing.

Amin’s eyes widened. “So it was a mugging!”

“Miss Zhou, you can’t keep carrying that much cash around! Ever since that Weibo post, every lowlife in town’s had their eye on you! What’s the point, huh? It’s 2025—every corner shop takes mobile pay!”

Zhou Yining smirked. This assistant didn’t know when to shut up.

Still, it was oddly comforting. His chatter filled the air, lightened the mood.

She glanced toward the backseat, wondering if Ji Dongyang was annoyed.

“I’m fine,” she said. “My bag’s not easy to steal.”

Amin shot her a tired look. Not the point.

The car glided into the garage.

Ji Dongyang hadn’t said a single word throughout the entire ride.

Amin parked. Zhou Yining grabbed her heels and opened the door. The moment her right foot touched the ground—

Sharp pain.

She hissed.

Ji Dongyang, who’d stepped out ahead of her, glanced back.

Her feet were small, delicate. She wore size 35. Her pale toes gleamed with light polish, now smudged from the walk. Dust clung to her skin. Her ankle—red and swollen.

He jerked his chin toward her foot. “Can you walk?”

She retorted. “Yes.”

Then she hobbled toward the elevator like a stubborn cat.

Amin quietly came to Ji Dongyang’s side. “Dong-ge…”

“No need to come up,” Ji Dongyang said.

Amin nodded and stepped back.

As the elevator doors slid closed, Ji Dongyang stepped in beside her.

She stared at her foot, then her torn bag.

Great. Another night of looking pathetic in front of him.

Ding—

The doors opened. Zhou Yining hopped out, trying to keep her dignity intact.

I must look like a damn circus act.

Ji Dongyang watched her wobbly silhouette.

She never asked for help. Never said “please.”

With two quick strides, he caught up.

Then he scooped her into his arms like it was nothing.

Lifted her like a cat.

Zhou Yining gasped, flailing. “What the hell are you doing?! Put me down! Don’t think just because I twisted my ankle, you get to manhandle me!”

She squirmed like a feisty kitten, all claws and fury.

Ji Dongyang said nothing and just walked.

A few seconds later, she stopped struggling.

…Is it possible I’ve gotten used to this from filming?

At her door, she grumbled, “Alright, you can put me down now.”

He glanced down, then dropped her—not gently.

Her foot hit the ground.

Sharp sting. “Tch—!”

She limped toward her door.

Behind her, Ji Dongyang called out, “You got medicine? Tomorrow’s filming day. Don’t slow down the entire crew.”

Zhou Yining spun. “Can’t you find a more creative way to insult me?!”

He punched in his own passcode.

“Come inside,” he said flatly. “Let’s deal with it.”

She hesitated, then bounced after him like an injured rabbit.

Inside, he pulled out a medical kit. She plopped onto his couch and bounced a few times.

“Nice couch.”

“Picked by Amin.”

“…He’s got taste.”

Ji Dongyang peeled off his suit jacket, tossed it aside. Loosened his tie.

Zhou Yining stared. “Why are you undressing in front of me?”

He ignored her, heading into the kitchen. He rummaged through the fridge, grabbed some ice, and wrapped it in a towel.

Back at the couch, he lifted her leg and pressed the ice to her ankle.

She stiffened, her face going pale.

“Hold it yourself,” he said.

She obediently took over.

Then he opened the first aid kit, uncapped the bottle of medicinal wine.

Zhou Yining wrinkled her nose. “That smells awful. Can’t we use something else?”

He reached for her foot again.

She pulled back. “Let me wash it first!”

She hopped off to the bathroom.

When she came back, he was waiting with the medicine.

He took her foot again, pressing into the bruised flesh with practiced fingers.

She bit her lip. “Could you maybe be a little gentler?”

He looked up, twisted her ankle a little. “Does this hurt?”

She grit her teeth. “It’s fine…”

He poured the liquid and began to rub it in. She didn’t make a sound, though her face stayed tight with pain.

After ten minutes, he set her foot down. Then his gaze drifted.

“Is that from the mugger too?”

She followed his eyes—down to her waist.

A vivid purple bruise peeked out between her cropped sweater and jeans.

Zhou Yining smirked.

“That one?” she said sweetly. “That’s your doing, Film Emperor.”

Ji Dongyang: “…”

Translator’s Notes:

[1] Weibo — Chinese microblogging platform, similar to Twitter. Celebrities often trend here during scandals or viral moments.

[2] Fruit knife — A small, commonly available blade, often used as a weapon in street robberies in urban China.

[3] Medicinal wine  — Traditional Chinese herbal alcohol used to treat muscle pain, sprains, and bruises. Strong smell, common in martial arts and sports settings.