A real killer playing a villain; the guy surnamed Zhen in Detective, run!

It's 6:30 in the morning. There is no natural light in room 630.

Lu Yuan was woken up precisely by his biological clock, which he had developed over many years. He stretched on the hard bed, feeling surprisingly good. Ha! He had earned a cash difference of 1,200 yuan on accommodation.

He tore open the plastic packaging and squeezed out a shovelful of meat paste. Old Liu, dragging his splint that had just been changed, came over and ate it with loud smacking noises.

Separated by a wall.

Jiang Yan slid down from the corner of the bed and sat on the carpet. She took off her noise-canceling headphones, shook her numb arm, and saw bruises under her eyes from lack of sleep.

She listened intently for twelve hours straight last night. She tried her best to extract any usable sound signatures from the exhaust fan noise, such as the frequency of turning over, the length of breathing, and the path of movement. There was no electronic communication signal input, no friction of the springs used for concealed gun maintenance, and not even the ticking sound of a miniature explosive's countdown.

The only sounds were the cat scratching at the litter box and the steady breathing of the extremely dangerous target who had fallen into a deep sleep.

He was on the verge of a mental breakdown and had gained nothing.

10:00 AM, Shed No. 5 in the suburbs.

The entire cast of "Black Gold" went through makeup and costume fittings. The schedule was packed, and the cold air blew straight down from the overhead air conditioning vents, creating an excellent cooling effect.

The center of the venue was adorned with crisscrossing lights. The core makeup area had already been cleared out and sealed off.

The male lead, Zhao Xiujie, lay sprawled on a few upholstered sofas pieced together, his fingers tapping on a low marble table. An assistant, trembling, held up a high-end designer suit worth just over 70,000 yuan.

"The cuffs are half a centimeter narrower! You dared to use such a terrible detail without thoroughly inspecting it?" Zhao Xiujie pulled up his collar and confronted the stylist. "What I want to show is my watch and my figure. If I can't fit into it, whose fault is it?"

The assistants bowed their heads and endured the insults, while a few die-hard fans who were allowed to visit the set were holding up light boards and shouting.

The side door of the greenhouse was half-opened.

Lu Yuan carried a plastic bag containing two freshly fried dough sticks. He strolled in unhurriedly, wearing worn-out canvas shoes with broken soles. As he passed the door, he glanced at the side pocket of his shoulder bag and pressed down on Lao Liu's outstretched, flailing hand.

After changing his clothes, Zhao Xiujie stood in the spotlight. The pure black fabric was adorned with subtle gold embroidery patterns, and with the interaction of four sets of top lights and floor lamps around him, he exuded an arrogant air.

The clothes rack on the sidelines was pushed closer.

Zhao Xiujie turned his lower face to the side, his gaze fixed on the greasy plastic bag in Lu Yuan's hand.

The costume designer was holding the collar with both hands, handing Lu Yuan a custom-made suit with a pure dark patterned peak lapel, costing over 30,000 yuan.

"Haute couture is extremely picky about body shape." Zhao Xiujie raised his voice, which was amplified by the high ceiling. "It's a waste of fabric to put a 30,000 yuan design on someone dressed in cheap clothes. Don't let the shoulder line collapse; it'll look like a monkey wearing a monk's robe, which would be a ridiculous joke."

The fans who came to visit the set laughed and joked. Several stagehands who were moving the tracks also stopped what they were doing and stared at the scene.

Lu Yuan didn't care about the noise at all.

He turned to the costume designer, looking at her with utmost seriousness: "Sister, this fabric is slippery. If I accidentally snag a splinter or pull a snag, I won't have to pay for it myself, right?"

The costume design guide is stuck.

"I only have this much money left in my card for food, not enough to cover dry cleaning and repair costs," he even spread his hands, adding.

The costume department manager smirked, "No, you don't need to pay for it. The production team will report the damage."

Upon hearing this, the man breathed a sigh of relief, pinched the least wrinkle-prone part of the back of his suit with both hands, and quickly turned into the fitting room where there were no security cameras.

In the corner, Jiang Yan crossed her arms.

Her brain's image library frantically retrieved photos of cartel leaders, oligarchs, and armed scavengers in suits.

Those killing machines that use living people to fill the sea, no matter how expensive their disguise, cannot hide the wariness in their every move, the stiffness in their shoulders and neck from long-term strain, or the predatory feel in their gait. The bloody smell of a suit-wearing thug is the biggest flaw in their disguise.

This is a fatal flaw in the opponent's deception chain.

The door hinges turned, and the fitting room opened.

Lu Yuan walked out. His shirt collar was not buttoned up, and he was holding a dark tie in both hands.

Begin by wrapping the tie around the back of your neck.

Extremely subtle skeletal deformations occurred within every inch of his muscle tissue. The languid curve that was originally meant to fit his street-smart identity was completely straightened, his shoulder and neck muscles were slightly taut, and the angle of his jawline was precisely increased to a downward viewing position.

The instincts of the Joker, the former top con artist of the underworld, completely took over his body as a tie tightened.

The cheap, relaxed feeling around us was completely eradicated.

He possesses only an extremely cold-blooded, arrogant demeanor, with absolute control over all situations. Simply by standing there, he has become a monstrous tycoon who controls massive amounts of leverage and can casually crush the lives of thousands.

Shen Yibai, a Wall Street financial thug.

Zhao Xiujie's prepared sarcastic remarks were forcefully rejected, and he couldn't utter another word.

Producer Chen Tong, sitting in the back row of the monitor, stared blankly, his chest heaving rapidly.

Lu Yuan walked towards the center of the halo.

The director of photography, his lips dry, offered a suggestion: "Mr. Lu, try to give him a bit of the villain's oppressive aura, but don't overdo it."

Lu Yuan lowered his eyelids. He held his left wrist with one hand, adjusting the obsidian cufflink.

Without warning, it drew attention.

It swept across the area in front of the studio with utter indifference, without lingering on anything, like examining a living target whose major artery had been slashed on a chopping board.

A lighting technician working on set happened to be standing at the point where the light would fall.

Instinctive fear triggered muscle rigidity and spasms in the arm.

With a thud, the heavy, large diffuser detached from its bracket and slammed straight onto the hardwood floor.

The audience was silent.

Su Qinghan suddenly grabbed the support frame of the track vehicle, leaning forward, her eyes almost bloodshot: "Yes! Yes! It's him! Shen Yi has lived in vain! Start filming!"

The photographer, holding the camera, wanted to press the shutter, but his index finger simply wouldn't obey. The rapid throbbing of his capillaries caused a high-frequency tremor, causing him to completely avoid the eyes in the center of the viewfinder that could peel away a person's skin.

Fueled by her excitement, Su Qinghan grabbed the metal megaphone: "Xiu Jie! Go film the two-person confrontation! Show your full power! You have to hold your nerve!"

The male lead took a step. His steps were unsteady.

The spotlight turned the two of them into statues.

Lu Yuan stood silently beside Zhao Xiujie, only slightly tilting his neck.

The clash of the two auras resulted in a complete massacre. Cold sweat poured down Zhao Xiujie's back; after being sliced ​​by that icy gaze, his entire body tensed like a wooden board. His carefully crafted arrogant expression completely collapsed, revealing only extreme panic.

He couldn't catch even the slightest bit of the aftershocks from the other side.

Ten meters away, in front of the secondary video screen.

Jiang Yan gritted her teeth. Such a condescending, life-and-death maneuvering, such an ingrained, crushing style—even ten years at Hengdian World Studios couldn't produce someone like this. Watching movies and imitating them would never capture the essence.

Turn around and walk to the whiteboard, then remove the pen cap.

The comment in the "Pending Confirmation" column reads: "Highly likely a high-level fraudster/cleaner employed by overseas black market operations. Request access to Interpol's case files on unsolved financial crimes from the past five years."