Source Star.
Quan Heng’s secretary stood behind the holographic projection, drenched in cold sweat. His gaze darted back and forth between the dying Quan Heng on the screen and Shen Ning.
His boss was about to die inside the instance.
Miss Shen still had no intention of recalling Quan Heng.
She and her team now controlled the instance design and access channels for Fu Songcheng and Yu Huaiting. If Quan Heng’s people wanted to save him, they’d have to get her approval first.
“Miss Shen, are we really not going to bring President Quan back…? If President Quan has an accident in Death Party, we won’t be able to answer to the board…”
Shen Ning sat with her legs crossed, lounging lazily against the sofa back.
Hearing the secretary’s plea, Shen Ning didn’t even shift her posture—just tilted her head slightly and spoke unhurriedly, as if telling a story.
“You know, there’s a type of person who especially loves to think themselves clever.”
“If the situation favors him, he’s high and mighty, looking down on all creation, doing as he pleases, as if he really were some imperious god. But the moment the situation turns against him, he shows every ugly face—just like your President Quan now, worse off than a dog.”
The secretary opened his mouth but couldn’t produce a single word of rebuttal.
Shen Ning gently swirled her wine glass, her gaze returning to Quan Heng’s wretched face on the holographic screen, her voice pleased. “First he swindled my investment, and the moment he gained the upper hand he got cocky, ignoring my protests. Then, short on money, he came groveling to me to keep investing, accepting my terms.”
She paused, then scoffed.
It was contempt and disgust for the incompetent.
“In a game he designed himself, facing the Child Star consumables he considers lowest, I gave him the chance to rewind infinitely—my intent was to make him give up. Instead, he wanted to kill a popular player and replace him, and in the end got counter-killed. A fool like this making it to today really is a rarity.”
The secretary’s legs gave way; he nearly dropped to his knees.
Yet Shen Ning suddenly smiled faintly, raised her hand, and tapped lightly in the void.
“Didn’t I save him?”
Shen Ning said softly, as if bestowing a great favor. “[Quit While You’re Ahead].”
The moment Shen Ning’s words fell, a man’s voice came through her private encrypted audio on Source Star.
“Miss Shen, long time no see.”
Fu Songcheng’s voice.
As she wished, he’d used [Quit While You’re Ahead], and together with Shen Ning—one from the instance, one from Source Star—they sat at opposite ends of the negotiating table.
Shen Ning’s eyes curved slightly, as if meeting an old friend. She set down her wine glass without hesitation and turned to her assistant.
Before Shen Ning even needed to speak, the assistant, with great perceptiveness, waved a hand. Several security guards immediately stepped forward, hoisted Quan Heng’s secretary up, and mercilessly dragged him out of the office.
Her assistant then withdrew as well, leaving the entire Death Party control center to Shen Ning alone.
The surroundings were so silent only the faint hum of instruments remained.
Shen Ning adjusted to a more comfortable sitting position. “Here to negotiate a deal?”
“Mm.”
Fu Songcheng’s answer was extremely brief.
Shen Ning’s fingers tapped lightly on the sofa armrest, making a rhythmic tap-tap sound.
“Thought about what you want to trade Quan Heng’s life for?” Shen Ning tossed out the bait—Quan Heng was the chip, Fu Songcheng was the seller, and she was the buyer; she was waiting for Fu Songcheng to name Quan Heng’s price.
“I want a channel to freely enter and exit instances and Source Star, just like you.”
Shen Ning chuckled softly. The sound carried through the item to Fu Songcheng. Hearing that laugh, he wasn’t angry—he even smiled along with it, which made Yu Huaiting’s blood boil.
“Quan Heng’s life can’t buy that. You’re too greedy.”
Fu Songcheng had overestimated Quan Heng’s value. If Quan Heng died, he died—to Shen Ning, it was nothing more than losing an early investment. Death Party could easily find another proxy to keep operating.
How could the life of a waste possibly pry open the channels between two planets?
However, Fu Songcheng’s next words froze the smile at the corner of Shen Ning’s mouth instantly.
“No,” Fu Songcheng’s voice remained even, even carrying a hint of gentleness—but that gentleness was more lethal than a poison-quenched blade. “I’ll trade the entire Death Party instance for it.”
“With Yu Huaiting’s prestige and strength among the players, plus our current connection to Dawn—Miss Shen, do you think that if we now directly announce Source Star’s existence to all surviving players—”
Fu Songcheng paused, his tone taking on the cunning and delight of a prank successfully pulled off.
“How long do you think it’d take before everyone in the entire instance knows?”
Watching Fu Songcheng’s expression, Yu Huaiting couldn’t help but laugh silently too.
Shen Ning stopped talking.
Fu Songcheng had never intended to use Quan Heng’s life to threaten her. What he intended was to flip the entire gambling table.
Once the truth was exposed, Blue Star’s players would go berserk, start livestreams, and Source Star’s viewers would all learn that Death Party had leaked Source Star’s existence to a Child Star. At that point, everyone would demand the project be destroyed.
But without starting livestreams, Death Party would have no revenue at all. This popular live-action instance broadcast project, now—thanks to all sorts of controversy—was black-red and red-black on Source Star’s network.
Death Party wasn’t a simple game; it was Source Star’s most promising entertainment industry at present, bound to Shen Ning’s interests. Once the livestream was cut, all her early investment to date would go down the drain—let alone the later profits she had her eye on.
Either the game shut down and all the projects came to nothing; or, to stabilize the situation, she satisfied Fu Songcheng’s demands.
But Shen Ning understood Fu Songcheng.
Fu Songcheng would absolutely not let her off easily. Even if Shen Ning and Fu Songcheng had once been on the same side at certain stages, the moment Shen Ning yielded this time, it was equivalent to personally handing a knife into Fu Songcheng’s hand.
He’d grip that knife and press it dead against her throat, carving out bone and marrow bit by bit. Give him a sliver of hope, and he had the ability to steer things toward the situation he wanted.
Shen Ning took a deep breath.
“Do you know that I deserve some credit for you being alive this long?”
Yet what came through the communicator was an extremely soft, extremely cold scoff.
“So what, Miss Shen.”
There was not a shred of gratitude in Fu Songcheng’s voice—only a nobility and pride carved into his very bones.
“By saying that, you’ve already lost. You can’t haggle down the price I’ve named, because the goods I’m selling, you cannot refuse.”
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