Chapter 47

"I was photographed and posted online."

Tan Jing handed over the phone, the screen flashing with a cold light. The sulfuric acid incident was on the headlines, and the comments included people taking sides, rational people, and endless speculation.

Tang Yuchuan looked at the contents on his phone and then looked at Tan Jing.

Her face is quiet and gentle, with delicate features and fair skin, but her eyes are as dark as the deep sea, as if they can swallow all light and waves.

He realized that these words and comments were like cold fingers, digging into the wounds of her past.

"Don't be afraid. It'll be fine." Tang Yuchuan's voice was steady, like the calm surface of a lake at night, yet it could suppress the restlessness in the air.

No matter how sharp the online public opinion was, it couldn't outweigh the worry deep in his heart: what she needed was real protection, not just words of comfort. However, he couldn't completely shield her world from harm, and he suddenly felt powerless.

"Didn't you say before that you wanted me to go abroad to relax? I agree." Tan Jing's voice was soft, but with a determination like an undercurrent in the sea, which made people feel nervous.

Tang Yuchuan's heart trembled and his eyes fell on her.

"Are you... sure?"

He tried to keep his tone calm, but his fingers were shaking slightly.

Going abroad can indeed free one from the troubles of public opinion to a certain extent. As for the unfamiliar environment, Tang Yuchuan does not think it is a problem for Tan Jing.

But he couldn't help but worry, perhaps because she had been hospitalized twice in less than a year for attempted suicide. Her emotional and psychological state made him feel more dangerous than any external threat, and being abroad meant he couldn't react immediately, let alone prevent potential extreme behavior.

Tan Jing clearly noticed his hesitation. The corners of her mouth curled up slightly, but her voice was as cold as winter ice: "Don't you have a manor in Switzerland? I'll go there as my first stop."

Tang Yuchuan was silent, as if thinking.

Although it was quiet over there, there was no medical care, and there was a lack of familiar people and surroundings. He reached out, his fingers tapping unconsciously on his leg, as if calculating every unknown variable.

"What? Are you reluctant to let me live in your territory?" Her voice was slightly provocative, as if she was deliberately provoking me.

"No." Tang Yuchuan responded in a low voice. His voice was steady, but it was like a taut string vibrating. "If you want to go, I will definitely help you arrange it."

Tang Yuchuan agreed, feeling he couldn't find a reason to refuse. Was he afraid she'd commit suicide abroad? He was worried about her mental state. He didn't know how to talk to her about death.

The moment he agreed, Tang Yuchuan felt a strange sense of emptiness, as if he had let go of her, yet couldn't hold onto her safety. He knew that going abroad meant he would be powerless to intervene if she had any dangerous thoughts. Those corners he couldn't reach, the unexpected events he couldn't control, the unpredictable psychological state...all made him anxious.

He tried to calm himself down and told himself that he could make as many arrangements as possible: medical care, life, itinerary, safety measures... every detail should be designed to minimize loopholes.

But he knew that no matter how careful the plan was, it would be useless if she really had that thought...

Back home, he had someone constantly watching over her, even on days when she wasn't feeling well. But she was an independent individual, and there was no such thing as absolute constant companionship. She needed her own space.

But his inner vigilance did not diminish, but Tang Yuchuan told himself that he had to accept this feeling of powerlessness, and could not make any demands on her or restrict her. At the same time, he had to make her world as safe as possible within the possible scope.

Tension, worry, and powerlessness intertwined, flooding my heart like a tide, but there was no wave to vent, and I could only let it flow silently in my chest.

Tan Jing sighed softly, her voice calm, still able to see through him at a glance: "Yuchuan, if I want to die, I will always find a way. You can't stop me."

Tang Yuchuan was silent for a moment, his eyes falling on Tan Jing, as deep as the sea.

He knew that the world wasn't as beautiful as it seemed. Even now, online violence could seep from the screen into reality, pouncing on him and her at any time.

His heart was tense, but he still hoped that she could feel warmth and hope.

Tang Yuchuan looked at Tan Jing with a tolerant and warm gaze. "I can't say there's no darkness in this world, nor can I guarantee there's no harm. But I hope you can find a moment of peace on this trip abroad. If you encounter any difficulties, feel free to call me or the doctor. As long as you're alive, everything can be solved. There is darkness and light in this world, but light always illuminates darkness, and problems can always be solved."

He paused slightly, his tone softer, "The world isn't perfect, but that doesn't mean there's no warmth to hold in your hands. I'll arrange your trip abroad as soon as possible, and I'm looking forward to hearing your good news."

"Good news? What is good news? I feel like this word has nothing to do with me anymore." Tan Jing's eyes were cold and deep, as if there was an unreachable layer of water between them, but the words she spoke were sharp, as if to cut through the tenderness he gave.

Tang Yuchuan looked at her quietly, his expression unchanged, but the calmness in his eyes could not be ignored: "Yes. If you can tell me that you have found happiness, that would be the best news I can hear."

As the words fell, the air seemed to freeze for a moment.

"Okay. If there is good news, I will be the first to tell you." Tan Jing's lips curled up slightly, but the smile was like a stroke painted on, light and restrained, lacking warmth, but it made people feel more distressed about the emptiness in it.

At that moment, Tang Yuchuan looked at her, his heart feeling like it was being pricked by fine needles. Even though he agreed to all the arrangements, the worry in his heart still could not be dispelled.

As the sun and the moon alternate, time is like a door that is silently pushed open.

Half a year has passed. Winter has come back to the city, and the New Year is approaching.

Tan Jing had gone to Switzerland, occasionally sending brief messages of just a few words. Zou Ping was still in France, busy with work, like a shadow always on the move in the distance.

Tang Yuchuan continued to keep busy. Although he had resigned as president and transferred his shares, he hadn't truly been idle. He helped Tan Jing manage company affairs at Hongsheng and found time to devote himself to Jingchuan's research and development. His days were filled with one task after another, as if nothing had changed from before.

During the past six months, he was not completely out of the matter.

The sulfuric acid-throwing incident fermented, and the reporting videos of the victimized girls were reposted in various ways on the Internet. Marketing accounts began to analyze the videos from various angles.

The most intense cyber violence occurred in the first month.

In just a few days, the Internet became a huge court, his father died, and he became the one put on trial.

Countless strangers typed out sharp verdicts on the screen, unraveling every aspect of his past and every family relationship, piecing together some inexplicable charges, even if the facts were vague and the logic was inconsistent.

"Heh, not getting arrested? That's hilarious, he must have a strong backer! If it were an ordinary person, they would have been in jail long ago."

"Like father, like son. There can't be any innocent people in this kind of family."

"He's pretending to be a good guy now, but I don't know how many disgusting things he's done behind the scenes."

"The victims suffered so much, but he can still continue to live so decently. Why?"

"Capitalism is all about protecting its own people. It's disgusting."

…

"Don't even bother washing it off. The son has to pay for his father's debts. He will be the victim's nightmare for the rest of his life."

"Haha, just wait and see. Something bad will happen sooner or later. People like this won't have a good ending."

"As soon as public opinion wanes, he can get away with it. This society is truly sick."

"He says he's innocent? What a joke. How could a truly innocent person end up in such trouble?"

During that time, everyone involved was being torn apart: his father, him, and even the victims were all dragged into the emotional turmoil. As long as there was an angle to attack, someone would be willing to point a finger.

The abuse didn't just stay on screen.

Some people dug out his school photos and even found the social media accounts of his old classmates to prove the so-called "personality disguise."

Some people even checked the industries under his name and maliciously pieced together a "chain of interests" to use as a footnote to the conspiracy theory.

What's even more outrageous is that someone posted the gym he often goes to on a human flesh forum, and even posted photos of his neighborhood, reminding netizens that "if they are lucky, they may meet him by chance."

These pieces of information seep into reality from the virtual world sporadically, like needle-like grains of sand, occasionally embedding themselves into peaceful days.

He also felt unbearable when alone late at night, as if he was sucked into an invisible vortex.

But calming down, he realized this was simply a habit of society. Spectators always need someone to vent their discontent and anger. The process is too slow, justice too far away, so they substitute emotion for judgment, using their keyboards as gavels. Without such an outlet, anger has nowhere to go, turning into disappointment with society as a whole.

And this storm never lasts forever.

Just as Tang Yuchuan expected, as long as he can get through the most difficult days, everything will be fine.

A month later, a hot young actor in the entertainment industry was exposed for his chaotic private life. The news was like a ignited fire, instantly capturing everyone's attention. The media, online, and even offline discussions were all one-sidedly focused on it.

A new "public trial" quickly unfolded, and netizens found a new outlet for their emotions. Condemnation, analysis, revelations, and following the trend... the entire process was identical, as practiced as some kind of recurring script.

Tang Yuchuan's name quickly fell off the trending searches, replaced by a new focus. The flood of criticism suddenly subsided, and his life returned to a semblance of peace.

But he knew it was just another person blocking the wind for him. It seemed as if the social order needed one sinner after another to appease collective discontent. Today it was him, tomorrow it could be someone else. A single shift in the wind would rewrite the name of the prey.

Tang Yuchuan does not want to discuss whether the online violence he suffered was unfair.

During that month, he became the target of millions of people, all the anger and resentment looking for an outlet on him. But he knew in his heart that those voices were not only directed at him, but also at his father.

The wrath that should be directed at the sinner often drowns out any name that could be implicated.

His father died, taking with him all the evidence and responsibility that the law should hold him accountable. He died peacefully, cleanly, and even honorably. But the accusations and curses that should have fallen in the coffin instead fell on him, like part of his inheritance.

Death became the ultimate shield, and all blame stagnated and dissipated. With nowhere to vent anger, it naturally shifted to him.

People need a living substitute, a living target to yell at and spit on, even if that person has done nothing.

Tang Yuchuan couldn't completely deny this anger. He even felt that, in a sense, the accusations of the onlookers were reasonable.

Social processes can sometimes be slow, and his father's death completely eliminated punishment. Emotion then became the sole verdict. But when this verdict fell upon him, it was clearly not justice.

He thought of the actor again. He wasn't completely innocent; he had indeed made mistakes, hurting those around him and his fans. But Tang Yuchuan still felt something was wrong.

If a person commits a crime, he should be punished by the law, not by everyone else.

Ten thousand people collectively raising stones to smash one person to pieces may seem like justice, but in reality it is a new form of violence. True punishment should come from a calm, clear investigation and judgment, not the carnival and shouting of an anonymous crowd.

He knew in his heart that this was the paradox of online public opinion: on the one hand, it revealed the truth that should have been covered up, leaving the criminals nowhere to hide; on the other hand, it dragged some innocent people into the water and created new victims.

Justice and violence are often separated by only a thin shell, which, once broken, becomes confused with each other.

The world always seems to be searching for a culprit. Today it's him, tomorrow it could be someone else. Whether that culprit is truly guilty, or to what extent, is often irrelevant. What matters is that anger needs an outlet, and the masses need a victim.

"Didn't you say you would give me a long vacation after I finish these tasks?" Zou Ping lowered her voice, a little anxious.

Zou Ping pushed open the heavy glass door of Maison Clairvoix and walked into Isabelle Fournier's office.

The interior still maintains a simple and calm style: abstract paintings are hung on the light gray walls, and sunlight shines in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the wooden floor warm and clean.

Isabelle sat behind her desk, her fingers tapping lightly on the pen, her eyes raised from the computer screen, with her habitual gentle politeness, but also with a sense of authority that could not be ignored.

Isabelle raised her eyebrows slightly, a faint smile in the corner of her eyes, but she didn't let the atmosphere relax. "I remember the timeline we discussed very clearly, Zou Ping. You finished faster than expected, but you can't completely relax now."

Zou Ping bit her lip, a stubborn spirit igniting within her. She knew that if she backed down now, the enthusiasm she had built up over the past few months would dissipate.

She wanted to strike while the iron was hot, arrange the matters at hand, and then go back to see Tang Yuchuan. She always felt that their relationship should not end here, and just stop at separation after the quarrel.

Moreover, she still liked him. A year later, the surging love in her heart reminded her that she couldn't forget him.

"I know, but—" Her voice was low, but with a firmness that could not be ignored.

Isabelle raised her eyebrows slightly, her tone carrying a touch of trained gentleness. "Opportunities are reserved for those who can shoulder responsibilities. Maison Clairvoix is ​​no ordinary studio. Every project and every work requires your full commitment. The tasks at hand are not burdens, but rather a stepping stone for your growth."

Zou Ping's hands were slightly clenched, and her knuckles turned white.

A ladder of growth? To her, it was more like an endless runway. Work piled up one after another, her contract restricted her movements, and her rest time was squeezed to the bare minimum, as if even breathing counted as part of her workday.

The vacation that was promised at the beginning did not come true. Every task assigned to her made her fall into a brainstorming session. Gradually, she no longer felt that what she was doing was related to art.

She wanted to say "no," to throw the papers back on the table, to shirk all responsibility, even if only for a moment. But every time she looked up at Isabelle, the calmness and authority honed by years of work made it impossible for her to truly refuse.

"I understand your efforts and I know you want a break." Isabelle reached out to tidy up the documents on the table, her voice still calm. "But opportunities are rare. Maison Clairvoix has given you a stage to showcase your talents. If you want to be seen in this world, you must bear its weight."

Zou Ping lowered her head, feeling as if her chest was being tightly strangled, making it difficult for her to breathe.

On the surface, she accepted the explanation, but inner fatigue surged like an undercurrent.

She understood that this so-called stage and opportunity was actually carefully packaged exploitation - her freedom, her rest, and her private time were all silently hollowed out.

The sunlight shone obliquely into the office, reflecting on the light gray wall and on Zou Ping's slightly trembling shoulders.

She bit her lips, as if forcing herself to swallow the heavy burden, telling herself to be patient and it will pass one day.

Isabelle's eyes softened, but she didn't let up the pressure. "I know this isn't easy, but I believe you can do it. You're capable, and you deserve this trust."

Zou Ping could only nod, feeling as if her heart was locked up and struggling.

When she turned and left the office, her steps were as light as the wind, but the burden behind her was so heavy that it was suffocating. She felt like a gear in an overspeed salt brick. Who said that working abroad has strict working hours?

After arriving at Maison Clairvoix, Zou Ping gradually realized that not all foreign companies strictly adhere to the so-called working hours, and not all domestic companies arbitrarily exploit their employees.

She thought of Tang Yuchuan, but it seemed that his employees were also working overtime, and he himself was also working overtime.

Do all jobs in the world require overtime?

Zou Ping thought about it and suddenly sighed.

There are no absolute rules in this world, only relative order. This isn't a simple matter of right or wrong; it's the result of a negotiation between each individual and their environment. Some choose to accept, while others resist; some find strength in pressure, while others find it suffocating. Opportunity often comes with a price, and freedom never implies a lack of responsibility.