Back in the capital, the air felt crisper—less dense with ancestral judgment, more breathable with the familiar hum of traffic far below their glass-paneled penthouse. Lin Xie stood barefoot on the balcony, her arms crossed loosely over a soft sweater, staring out at the skyline. The city looked nothing like Mingyuan Hall. Here, things made sense—gridded, geometric, efficient.
Inside, Shen Rui emerged from the kitchen holding two mugs of hot chocolate. Not coffee. Not tea. Actual chocolate. He looked somewhat smug about it.
"I added extra marshmallows," he announced.
She glanced at him. "Why?"
"Because you like it that way. You just refuse to admit it."
Lin Xie took the mug. "It is statistically more enjoyable."
He raised a brow. "That sounds dangerously close to a confession."
She sipped without answering.
A holographic countdown hovered in the living room—faint blue light ticking down the minutes to the official online release of Throne of Crimson. The movie had been the talk of the industry for months, helmed by the infamous Director Qi Yan, known for his sharp tongue, painful perfectionism, and penchant for casting people who terrified producers.
Lin Xie had played the main villainess.
Not a cold bureaucrat, not a machine, not a hacker. But a flesh-and-blood queen with a vendetta and an empire at her feet.
"Seven minutes," Shen Rui said, checking his phone. "Nervous?"
Lin Xie sat on the couch, drawing her legs beneath her. "No."
"You're lying."
"I performed with optimal accuracy. Whether audiences process it positively is irrelevant."
"Liar," he said again, amused.
She set her mug down. "Director Qi did not permit errors. He made me rehearse the death scene fifty-six times."
"Because you refused to blink."
"She would not blink in her final moment."
"I know. You scared the assistant director."
"He cried," she confirmed.
Shen Rui laughed and dropped beside her on the couch. "Do we have snacks?"
"I categorized everything into salt-based, sugar-based, and spicy categories."
"…You mean you ordered three flavors of popcorn?"
"Yes."
He reached for the bowl she'd placed on the coffee table—neatly divided into color-coded containers—and offered her the spicy one. "To celebrate your cinematic slaughter."
She took a handful.
The lights dimmed automatically at 8:00 PM sharp as the countdown ended and the screen flickered to life. The official premiere stream loaded with orchestral fanfare, gold lettering curling across the dark screen:
Throne of Crimson
A Film by Qi Yan
Opening sequence: sweeping drone shots of a crumbling empire. A palace caught in dusklight. Crimson banners torn by wind. A war-torn crown lying in a pool of water.
The main protagonist appeared first—a wide-eyed, reluctant prince turned rebel. Played by a popular rising actor. But Lin Xie didn't blink until her character appeared.
A slow pan up the steps of the obsidian throne. There she was—cloaked in black velvet and gold threading, a jeweled serpent coiled around one gloved wrist, her crown sharp as blades. Her first line came quiet, almost tender:
"Kindness is the first thing I unlearned."
The audience in the live chat lost their minds.
Shen Rui read them aloud between popcorn bites.
"'WHO is this actress??'"
"'She's giving villain AND mother AND deity??'"
"'I'd let her ruin my country.'"
"'Qi Yan cooked with this casting.'"
"'She blinked ONCE and I felt threatened.'"
"'She's not acting. That's just her.'"
"Accurate," Shen Rui said, glancing at her.
Lin Xie frowned slightly. "They are exaggerating."
"No," he replied. "They're afraid."
As the story unfolded, Lin Xie's character—the dethroned empress turned shadow puppeteer of the court—manipulated wars, seduced generals, and orchestrated a coup disguised as a peace treaty.
Every time she appeared on screen, the tone shifted. Lighting dimmed. The music grew colder. Her lines were sparse but weighted.
"I don't kill my enemies. I unmake their legacies."
"A crown is only heavy when it's not yours to hold."
"Let him win. Then I'll remind him what I let him have."
At the climax, she stood surrounded by burning archives, sword in one hand, eyes unblinking. It was the scene she had filmed fifty-six times.
"Now," she whispered on-screen, "kneel."
Her final death was not grandiose. No screaming. Just a slow, calm descent to the marble steps, bleeding out with dignity as her empire roared around her.
The screen faded to black.
In the silence that followed, Lin Xie stared forward.
Shen Rui reached for the remote and paused the autoplay feature.
"I liked the part where you set fire to an entire fleet without blinking," he said.
"I had one take for that," she replied. "The explosion timing was critical."
"You looked terrifying."
"I was cold. The wind machine was malfunctioning."
He grinned. "The internet loves you."
"I do not monitor civilian feedback in real time."
He flipped his phone to show the top trending tags.
#QueenOfCrimson
#LinXieVillainEra
#QiYanMasterpiece
#SheDeservedTheThrone
#SheWasRightActually
"She's not even the protagonist and she stole the whole movie," Shen Rui quoted. "I think you just accidentally started a cult."
"I did not intend to."
"You rarely do. That's the problem."
They watched the credits roll in silence. Lin Xie's name appeared fourth in the cast—highlighted in elegant red font. Right after the main leads.
Shen Rui looked over at her.
"You're proud. Admit it."
Lin Xie was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "I did not malfunction."
He smiled. "You never do."
She picked up a marshmallow from the side of her cup and held it between two fingers. "It was… satisfying. The role. The precision. The discipline."
He nodded. "You played her like a chessboard."
"She wasn't a villain. She was necessary."
"You should do more roles like that."
"I will consider it."
She leaned back against the couch, head tilted slightly toward him. He pulled the blanket up over both their legs.
In the quiet glow of the screen, Lin Xie allowed herself a rare thing.
Not a smile.
But the tiniest flicker of contentment at the corner of her mouth.
It was enough.
She'd stolen the kingdom.
Now, she could enjoy the silence.
----
The morning after the premiere, Lin Xie opened her tablet at exactly 7:00 AM, fully intending to review her productivity metrics.
Instead, twenty-seven news alerts exploded across the screen like digital confetti.
"Throne of Crimson Sets Streaming Records in First Twelve Hours!"
"Who Is the Actress Behind the Villainess Queen? Internet Demands to Know."
"Qi Yan's Silent Empress: The Most Terrifying Performance of the Year?"
"#LinXie Trending Worldwide — Again."
She blinked once. "Again?"
Shen Rui emerged from the kitchen in a hoodie and sleep pants, sipping black coffee. "Yes. You broke the internet. Twice in one week."
"I have not posted anything."
"Exactly. That's why it's worse."
She turned the screen to him. "Why is this a trending meme of me holding a wine goblet with 'Queen Behavior' in Comic Sans?"
He leaned over to inspect the image. "Because you looked like you were about to sentence someone for breathing incorrectly."
"I was reading the treaty of surrender."
"The internet doesn't care."
Online, chaos had erupted. On one side: stunned praise. On the other: confusion, jealousy, and pure fan war madness.
TOP COMMENTS under the official film thread:
@CrownForHer
I came for the rebel prince and stayed for the villainess. SHE ATE. Left no crumbs. No particles. Not even vapor.
@ItGirlLanaFanbase
Wait why did this Lin Xie actress out-act everyone with three lines and a glare???
@Dramaholic33
She didn't even move in half her scenes and I was STILL terrified. Is she human??
@XiaoTianGFClub
Why is no one talking about how she made the male lead look like a soggy dumpling?? UNFAIR TO OUR BOY 😤
@GoldenLotusYue
Okay but respectfully, Wen Yifan should've had more screen time 😤 She bullied him IRL and now she's outshining him here??? Hello???
@TheaterSnobVicky
No way she's a first-time actress. That's MOVEMENT TRAINING from somewhere. I bet she studied abroad.
@SpyCamFan999
WAIIIIIT isn't that the mysterious girl who was spotted with CEO Shen Rui last month??? SAME HAIR. SAME FACE. SAME... horrifying aura?? 😨😨
@IAmARoachInLove
CONFIRMED!!! Her name's Lin Xie, she's like some hidden tech genius AND she acts??? She's the final boss.
On Weibo, things escalated faster.
#LinXieVillainEra was neck-and-neck with #ShenRuiNewGirlfriend.
The bickering began instantly.
@FanOfTheLeadPrince
Okay but she stole the spotlight TOO hard. Give my boy his moment!!!
@XieXecutioner
Sorry your boy acted like wet cardboard. She breathed and gave range.
@ShenYueSupremacy
Y'all just jealous our Yue gege got EMBARRASSED IN REAL LIFE and STILL SHOWED UP ON SCREEN 💅
@FrogFanYan
As Shen Yan's official plushie supplier, I approve of her future sister-in-law.
@AnonymousShipper69
WAIT. You're telling me the terrifying queen from the movie is the same girl who made Shen Rui smile in that ONE blurry candid??? I'm not okay.
@DeluluFan32
I'm telling y'all, this is fake. AI-generated. No woman looks like that AND plays 4D chess with her eyes.
@TacticianTrash
She's giving "final boss in a dating sim who secretly controls the economy."
@NoOneAsked123
Am I the only one who HATES her?? She barely emoted. What's the hype??
@YesOneAsked456
No you're just used to actresses crying in HD. She blinked and declared war. Respectfully sit down.
Even Director Qi chimed in—briefly—on his private alt.
@qi-not-qi
I cast her because she made me nervous. You're welcome. #LinXieWasRight
Lin Xie scrolled through the chaos without reaction, but Shen Rui watched her from across the breakfast counter.
"You're not going to comment, are you?"
"I have no comment to provide."
"They're threatening war over you. One account started a religion."
"That is unnecessary."
"They named it 'Church of Cold Majesty.'"
"…That is excessive."
He chuckled. "You should trademark it."
She set down her tablet. "How are you this calm?"
"I'm used to it. You're just joining the club."
"I do not want to join a club."
"Well, you're now the internet's queen of ice, wrath, and slow blinks. Congratulations."
She frowned slightly. "Is this permanent?"
He smirked. "Depends. Want to do a sequel?"
"…I will consider it."
Across town, marketing departments were losing their minds. Paparazzi were combing through old photos, fan accounts were compiling clips with dramatic edits, and reaction videos had already reached millions of views.
One popular streamer played a side-by-side:
"Okay y'all, here's her first scene. She doesn't move. Doesn't blink. Doesn't SMILE. I felt personally hexed. 10/10."
Underneath, someone commented:
"I showed this to my mother. She stopped chewing."
And still another:
"She's my Roman Empire now."
By noon, the war had spilled into every fandom.
Lin Xie now had her own official fan nickname: Queen Lin.
Unofficial one? That Scary Smart Girl Who Dates the CEO and Could Kill You with a Look™
Her haters formed an anti-club that only made her more famous.
And through it all, Lin Xie simply resumed her tasks for the day—calibrating a new drone prototype in the study while Shen Rui handled investor emails.
She did pause once, however, while reviewing security feeds.
"…Is this one account really trying to trace my school transcripts?"
"Yes," Shen Rui replied without looking up. "Do you want me to sue them?"
"No. I encrypted the wrong file path."
She tilted her head.
"They'll end up with ancient Mongolian poetry and a sound file of a goat."
He looked over. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
She sipped her tea. "It's a low-level deterrent."
He shook his head, amused. "You're terrifying."
"I'm trending."
"Same thing, apparently."
And somewhere online, another fan just posted a thread titled:
"Why Lin Xie Could Outwit Batman, Run a Fortune 500, Win an Oscar, and Still Look Bored"
The internet had found its new obsession.
And Lin Xie was—whether she liked it or not—their reigning queen.