"What's going on here?"
"What was that sound? Was there an explosion nearby? Or maybe an accident?"
"Doesn't seem like it. There's no sign of an explosion or anything."
The guests whispered among themselves, suspecting something had gone wrong with the filming crew.
Yet the explosion hadn't caused much panic—it hadn't seemed like something dangerous or worth alarming over.
"Sian, Sian, can you hear me? Look at me."
Lan Qisheng cupped Sian's face, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"Lan Qisheng," Sian murmured, his voice trembling. But no one could tell whether it trembled from fear... or a deep-seated hatred.
"We need to get out of here."
"Now."
Sian's dark, sharp gaze turned dangerous. His voice—hoarse and rough—sent a chill down Lan Qisheng's spine, as though it scraped against something deep in his soul.
"What do you mean 'get out'? Sian, explain first. We need to understand before we act. You're not alone—you can rely on us, even a little."
