When innocence dies, something far sharper is born.
AiLi wasn't the same girl who arrived in the Deng estate trembling in silk.
That girl had believed in fairy tales.
This one was about to write her own legend — in ink, in fire, in blood.
She sat across from Huang Yifeng once more, the stolen documents between them.
"These names," she whispered, "they're still alive?"
Huang nodded. "And still dangerous. The Dengs are only one claw of the dragon. The rest hide beneath governments, banks, charities."
"And you want me to expose them?"
"I want you to choose," he said. "Burn the paper. Walk away. Or carry the blade."
She looked up at him. "I'm already the blade, father. They forged me when they threw me to the wolves and expected me to die."
Back in Shanghai, Zhou was learning that the wolves had fangs of their own.
Li Chen burst into the room, phone in hand. "We intercepted chatter from one of Mei Ling's contacts. It's not AiLi they're targeting."
Zhou's head lifted. "Then who?"
"You."
A pause.
"They've ordered a hit. On you. Within 72 hours."
Zhou stared at the floor — not surprised.
Just… quiet.
"They know she's slipping from their grip," he said. "And if I protect her, I'm the liability."
Li Chen leaned forward. "What's the plan?"
Zhou turned, eyes glinting with something dark. "We let them come. Then we show them why the devil still wears a crown."
Mrs. Deng lit incense in her private shrine — the scent of lavender and ash curling around her.
"She's dangerous now," she murmured.
Behind her, Mei Ling stood poised, arms folded.
"She's a child."
"She's his child. And now… his wife. That makes her unpredictable. That makes her powerful."
Mei Ling's eyes narrowed. "Then we break them apart."
Mrs. Deng smiled faintly. "No. We break him. When Zhou falls, she'll crumble. Love is always the easiest weapon."
The first attempt came at dusk.
Zhou and AiLi were leaving a secluded restaurant when the gunshot shattered the quiet.
Zhou moved fast — pulling her behind a car, shielding her body with his own as bullets slammed into concrete.
Li Chen's team took two of the shooters down. One escaped.
Zhou grabbed him before he could flee.
"Who sent you?" he growled, holding a knife to the man's throat.
The man bled from the shoulder, shaking.
"I don't know names. Just orders. The woman in white. The one with red lips."
Mei Ling.
Later that night, AiLi pressed an ice pack to Zhou's bruised ribs.
"You could've died," she whispered.
He caught her wrist. "I didn't."
"But you could have."
His grip softened. "That's the cost of protecting you."
She stared at him — then kissed him, not out of romance, but desperation. Survival. Fire. Her lips trembled, but she didn't pull away.
Zhou kissed her back like a man fighting fate — and losing.
When they broke apart, she whispered:
"If they want to kill you… they'll have to go through me first."
Zhou smirked, brushing hair from her cheek.
"Good. Let them bleed for it."