Chapter 86: Kneeling in Apology!

On the screen, what was supposed to be a heartwarming montage of Luo Shui and Han Ziyu’s daily life together—meant to cement their relationship in the public eye and win over the fans’ trust—abruptly shifted. In an instant, the scene devolved into an explicit, sordid film, the star of which was none other than Han Ziyu himself, the very subject of this press conference.

Words spoken in the video sent the entire venue into chaos. Had Han Ziyu’s public persona always been a façade? Had he worked his way through many of the women in his company? Had everyone been played for a fool by him? The moment these revelations surfaced, the crowd erupted into a frenzy.

“What’s going on? Turn it off, now!” Han Ziyu roared, but hundreds of cameras on site captured his every expression, every second broadcast and recorded in real time. In a heartbeat, every live broadcast across Jiang City was hijacked, all showing Han Ziyu’s private scandal. Within minutes, the footage and news swept across every social platform, the disgraceful acts of Han Ziyu spreading like wildfire.

“Mr. Han Ziyu, is the content in the video true?”
“Mr. Han Ziyu, is your private life really so depraved?”
“Han Ziyu—”

Reporters surged forward, microphones nearly pressed to his face, desperate for a reaction. Han Ziyu’s face turned deathly pale. He hastily called for security, who forced a path through the crowd, shielding him from the onslaught and escorting him backstage. There, he drove away anyone who tried to question him, snatched up his phone, and dialed Fang Huahui’s number.

The only people who had copies of these videos were Han Ziyu himself and Fang Huahui, the man in charge of collecting information for the darknet. But when he called, the line was busy—no one answered.

“What the hell is going on!” Han Ziyu muttered furiously, refusing to give up as he kept redialing Fang Huahui’s number. The release of these videos alone was enough to ruin him. His only hope now was to mobilize online trolls to drown out the scandal, claiming that the videos were forged by rival companies. After all, most of the footage was shot in dimly lit places like KTVs and nightclubs, with flashing neon lights obscuring details—fabricating such scenes wouldn’t be hard. If he could weather the initial storm, his company could quietly bench him for a few months, and then he could make a public statement to clear his name. That should be enough to resolve the crisis.

Yet for a star at the peak of his fame, even a few months in the cold could be crippling.

After dozens of calls, the line finally connected.

“Fang Huahui! Did you leak those videos? Are you insane?!” Han Ziyu exploded the moment the call went through.

But the voice on the other end didn’t answer right away. After several seconds, it came, slow and cold. “Consider this a gift from Luoshui—a little surprise. Enjoy.”

“You bastard, it was you?” Han Ziyu instantly recognized the voice as Qin Mu’s, every word dripping with hatred.

“Where’s Fang Huahui? Why do you have his phone?” Han Ziyu’s brow furrowed. Something was wrong. Hadn’t Fang Huahui vanished since last night?

“Don’t worry. This is just the beginning. The real show is yet to come.”

“What show?” Han Ziyu was caught off guard.

“You’ll see when you step back out there,” Qin Mu replied, his tone airy, almost amused.

“You think a few videos can bring me down?” Han Ziyu spat, hung up, and stormed out to the front.

He’d already ordered people to hire online trolls to help whitewash his image in real time. As soon as he left the room, he heard people around him whispering.

“Did you see what they’re saying on the forums? The guy in those videos isn’t Han Ziyu. Someone’s just trying to mess with him.”

“I knew it, my Ziyu would never do something like that!”

Han Ziyu nodded in satisfaction. He’d weathered plenty of storms in his decade-long career—the entertainment industry was full of these petty scandals.

Returning to his seat, Han Ziyu composed himself, ready to explain everything to the journalists. But just then, someone stumbled forward, seemingly shoved into the room, nearly collapsing beside the interview table.

Han Ziyu’s eyes widened in shock. Wasn’t that the old man who called himself the Peach Blossom Immortal?

The old man was shaking uncontrollably, his mind replaying what had just happened minutes ago—being dragged out of the foot massage parlor, brought to the Jiang City Daily office, and forced to witness Fang Huahui’s corpse.

“Sir, may I ask who you are?” a reporter asked, puzzled.

The old man started at the sound, then blurted out, “I—I’ll tell you everything! Back at the flower market, Han Ziyu paid me to act for him! The photographer was hired by him, too! I even have proof of the money he transferred to me! If any reporters want it, I’ll cooperate fully—I swear it’s all true!”

Without hesitation, the old man spilled everything.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Han Ziyu, seeing his chances of turning the tide dashed by this meddling old fool, flew into a rage and kicked the old man to the ground.

That single kick sent the entire press conference into uproar.