Liu Ruòruò stood at the edge of the stage, the spotlight still on him. The audience hadn't dispersed, and murmuring sounds drifted over. He didn't look at Zhāng Wěishàn, nor did he respond to the host's awkward attempts to smooth things over. He simply pulled his hands out of his pockets. The heat in his palm was still there, like holding a freshly baked iron plate.He lowered his head to look at his right hand, the sleeve covering it, hiding the patterns inside. His previous words had already made Zhāng Wěishàn's expression change three times. But he knew it wasn't enough.
The charity gala had to continue.
He turned and walked down the steps, his pace unhurried. As he passed the service desk, he stopped and said to the staff member in uniform, "I didn't get to donate earlier, I'll make up for it now."
The staff member was taken aback. "You are... Mr. Liu?"
"If not me, then who else?" He took out a hundred-yuan bill and placed it on the table. "Aren't you always calling for 'love transmission'? I'll contribute one too."
The person quickly nodded and handed over a tray. "Please place the money in the donation box, there's a registrar over there to take photos."
Liu Ruòruò didn't take the tray, just the money, and walked towards the golden donation box next to the main stage. The box was quite elaborate, with carvings and gold plating. The front read "Love Transmission, Warming the World," and below it were a QR code and an electronic screen displaying the amount raised: eight hundred and thirty-six thousand two hundred yuan.
But the box was too heavy. Its four legs were embedded in the red carpet, as if welded. It had an electronic lock on the side, connected by a black wire leading backstage.
He narrowed his eyes.
Even a bank ATM wasn't this complicated.
He stood before the box, and the reporters around him started adjusting their lenses again. He knew they were waiting to capture a moment. He didn't rush to put money in. Instead, he raised his right hand and slowly brought it closer to the coin slot.
As his fingertips touched the metal edge, he paused. It felt wrong.
There was something inside the steel plate, stuck to the inner layer. A small protrusion with sharp edges, not like a screw. When he touched it lightly, he felt a faint vibration, as if it were electrified.
He pulled his hand back, making no sound.
Looking further into the coin slot, he saw a reflective point at the bottom of the gap, as thin as a needle tip, aimed directly at the opening.
A camera.
He smiled.
Zhāng Wěishàn does charity, and additionally installs surveillance? Is he afraid of people donating counterfeit money, or afraid someone will donate and then deny it?
He took a step back, raised his hand, and his voice, though not loud, could be heard by everyone. "Chairman Zhang, how come your donation box is more advanced than a bank ATM? Can it also do facial recognition, record fingerprints, and automatically trigger an alarm?"
The entire room went silent for a second.
Then, an uproar.
Reporters immediately turned their cameras, focusing on a close-up of the donation box. Someone started asking, "Chairman Zhang, may we ask if the donation box has surveillance equipment installed? Is it collecting donors' information?"
Zhāng Wěishàn, standing at the side of the stage, his face suddenly darkened. He forced a smile and walked forward. "This is a misunderstanding. This is a temporary device for technical debugging, it doesn't record anyone... We are preventing malicious damage..."
"Oh?" Liu Ruòruò interrupted him. "Then why is it aimed at the coin slot? Shouldn't it be aimed at people? Are you preventing damage, or are you preventing donors?"
Zhāng Wěishàn was struck speechless.
From below the stage, quiet murmurs began. "Isn't this voyeuristic filming?" "Using charity as a front to install surveillance in secret?" "Investigate who installed this device!"
Liu Ruòruò stopped looking at him. He crumpled the hundred-yuan bill into a ball and gently placed it on top of the box. Then, he took out a few coins from his pocket and arranged them, one by one, on the edge of the box, like a street vendor.
"I don't believe your box is truly clean," he said. "Why don't you open it now and let everyone see, what 'gifts' are inside besides money?"
Zhāng Wěishàn's expression finally changed. "Stop this nonsense! This is important equipment, it cannot be disassembled casually!"
"Nonsense?" Liu Ruòruò sneered. "When you drugged me, weren't you afraid of 'nonsense'? Now you dare not even open a machine?"
As soon as these words were spoken, the entire room became even more chaotic.
Reporters frantically recorded, flashes of light creating a storm. The host tried to intervene but was pushed aside by a cameraman. Someone had already started a live broadcast, with the title directly posted: "Charity Chairman Exposed for Using Donation Box for Voyeuristic Filming."
Zhāng Wěishàn raised his hand to signal security, his voice low. "Remove the equipment, seal it immediately!"
Two men in black quickly stepped forward to move the box.
However, Liu Ruòruò reached out first and placed his hand on top of the box. "Wait."
Everyone stopped.
He looked at Zhāng Wěishàn. "This box is now evidence. No one can touch it. Unless... you want to destroy it?"
Zhāng Wěishàn gritted his teeth. "What exactly do you want?"
"I don't want anything," Liu Ruòruò said, withdrawing his hand. "I just want to know, does every cent you receive go into the foundation's account? Or, by chance, have you also recorded everyone's face to sell for other purposes later?"
No one answered.
Liu Ruòruò scanned the room, finally looking at the nearest cameraman. "Interested in checking the procurement records for this box? It was sourced from an anonymous overseas company, and the payment account is in the Cayman Islands."
The cameraman froze, then nodded.
Liu Ruòruò didn't say anything further and turned to leave.
He walked through the crowd, his back straight. The murmuring behind him grew louder, with some people shouting his name and others chasing after him with their phones. He didn't look back, nor did he quicken his pace.His right hand remained hidden in his sleeve, the heat in his palm still present, the patterns slightly warm, as if reminding him – this matter wasn't over yet.
He walked out of the banquet hall into the spacious lobby, the crystal chandeliers blindingly bright. His phone vibrated in his pocket, one buzz after another. He took it out and glanced at it. The number one hot search was: "Liu Ruòruò Appears at Charity Gala, Denounces Donation Box for Hidden Camera."
Below it was a picture of the donation box in close-up, with an arrow pointing to that inconspicuous reflective spot.
He put his phone back and headed for the staff corridor.
He hadn't changed out of his work uniform yet, and his shoes were dusted with the lint from the red carpet. He knew he was the focus of everyone's attention, and Zhang Wěishàn's thorn in the side. But he didn't care.
As he reached the corner of the back corridor, he stopped and leaned against the wall for a moment. His breathing was steady, his mind clear. That move had peeled off one layer of the opponent. But what lay beneath that skin still needed to be dug out.
He looked up ahead. The door to the locker room was ajar, and the light was on. There should still be staff inside cleaning up.
Just as he was about to step forward, he suddenly heard a movement behind him.
He turned around and saw a technician-like person walking hurriedly towards him, carrying a toolbox. A work ID hung on his chest, and he was bowing his head, walking quickly. As he passed Liu Ruòruò, the person paused for a moment, his eyes swept over Liu Ruòruò's face, then quickly moved away.
Liu Ruòruò didn't move.
The person quickly walked towards the back door of the banquet hall and swiped his card to enter the equipment room.
He stared at the door for a few seconds, then turned and walked towards the locker room.
He pushed the door open. No one was inside. A few dirty work uniforms were piled on the bench, and there were water stains on the floor. He walked to his locker, entered the password, and pulled the door open.
The clothes were still there.
He reached out to take them, and as his fingertips touched the fabric, he suddenly stopped.
In the corner of the locker, a small bottle was lying on its side, the label facing down.
He remembered putting it upright when he placed it in this morning. He slowly turned the bottle over.
The label read the name of a medicine, his usual painkiller. But this bottle... it contained more than usual.
He unscrewed the cap and poured out one pill, placing it in his palm.
Its color was slightly dark, the edges uneven, unlike factory-made medicine.
He stared at the pill, not speaking.
Footsteps could be heard from outside the corridor, approaching.
He put the pill back into the bottle, screwed the cap on tightly, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his work uniform. Then he took off his jacket, draped it over his shoulder, and prepared to leave.
As he opened the door, he bumped into a server carrying a tray.
The other person almost dropped the tray and quickly apologized, "Sorry, sorry! I didn't see you!"
Liu Ruòruò waved his hand and stepped aside.
The server hurried away with their head down, a fresh scratch on the back of their neck.
He stood at the doorway, unmoving.
A few seconds later, he turned back into the locker room, placed the bottle of medicine in the innermost drawer, and locked the cabinet.
Then he took out his phone, opened the camera, and aimed it at the drawer's lock, taking a photo.
Just as the photo was saved, a news alert suddenly popped up on his phone screen.
The title read: "Liu Ruòruò Appears at Charity Gala, Denounces Donation Box for Hidden Camera."
After reading it, he put his phone back in his pocket and zipped up his work uniform.
In his right palm, that heat surged again.