You never get used to the sound of a thousand camera shutters erupting at once. It’s like a sudden storm. Sharp, metallic, relentless. Tonight, it fills the marble-floored lobby of the Shanghai International Innovation Center, ricocheting between glass pillars and polished chrome. Flashlights burn white spots into your vision, and every step feels like walking through lightning.

And beside you, holding your hand with fingers laced tight, is Lei Ling, China’s rising superstar, her face on billboards and metro screens, her name whispered like a blessing and dissected like a scandal.

She looks breathtaking tonight: white and blue silk dress flowing like storm clouds, long silver earrings swaying like blades. Her dark hair is braided back with delicate pearls, the light catching on each strand. She holds herself tall, shoulders squared, chin lifted. A true hero carved from wind and discipline. But you feel the tremor in her hand. You feel the coldness of her palm.

None of the cameras will ever catch that.

“Stay close,” she whispers without moving her lips, voice barely audible over the chaos. Her thumb strokes the back of your hand once, quick and hidden from every angle.

Then someone shouts from the crowd: “Aero! Is it true you’re dating the foreign speedster?!” Another shout crashes over the first: “Rumors say you’re engaged, care to comment?”

Lei’s jaw tightens. You feel it before you see it. The air around you warps like the atmosphere preparing to storm.

“It’s fine,” you whisper. “Ignore them.”

But ignoring is impossible. Screens everywhere display sensational headlines that cycle like a carousel:

AERO: SECRET LOVER?

NEW POWER COUPLE OR MEDIA LIE

WHO IS THE MYSTERY PERSON SEEN BY AERO’S SIDE?

Photos – grainy, stolen moments – flash across monitors. A blurry picture of you touching Lei’s cheek after a mission. Another of you entering the same hotel a minute apart. Paparazzi shadows behind trees. You feel exposed, dissected, unreal.

The event coordinator ushers you forward, and the roar of voices swells. Lei releases your hand because she has to; on stage, heroes don’t hold hands. Heroes don’t need anyone. Heroes live above ordinary human longing.

You swallow the ache like a secret.

She steps up to the podium, posture perfect, expression calm. Wind stirs around her subtly, curling the curtains and spinning the dust in a slow spiral. The audience gasps, the visual hint of her power is always enough to silence a crowd.

She begins speaking: polished, diplomatic, distant.

“Our responsibility is to protect peace,” she says. “Rumors and distractions will not deter us from serving the people.”

The crowd eats it up. Cameras snap like fireworks.