After I died, they cried in the live studio

Chapter 188 Comeback
In her agent's private room, Sang Shuwan watched the surveillance footage of Sang Jiyue tearing up the paternity test results, and placed a thorny rose into a vase: "Remove all the negative trending topics under her name, and invest another 300 million in her new drama." Her assistant hesitated, "But she just bribed online trolls to post #SangShuwanVampireSister#." "She thinks she's stealing resources," Sang Shuwan twirled the thorny ring on her ring finger, forged from a rib fragment removed during Sang Jiyue's surgery, "but actually she's stealing from the version of herself that couldn't save her back then."

The final showdown took place backstage at the Golden Globe Awards ceremony. Sang Jiyue handed Sang Shuwan a glass of champagne laced with laxatives, but as the latter raised her glass, she suddenly knocked it over: "Sister's dress is stained with wine!" She frantically wiped it with her shawl, but the moment the fabric touched it, the heat-sensitive thorn pattern on Sang Shuwan's dress gradually became visible—a dark pattern woven from Sang Jiyue's DNA. Under the spotlight, Sang Shuwan held the Best Actress trophy, the thorn necklace and Sang Jiyue's thorny chain casting intertwined shadows on the stage: "This award belongs to everyone who dances in thorns, including that fool who always points the thorns at himself." The camera panned across the audience, where Sang Jiyue was tearing up a prepared press release "revealing Sang Shuwan's hidden illness," her fingernails still stained with skin flakes from the burn scars Sang Shuwan had left to protect her during the fire.

The paparazzi's telephoto lens captured the old Sang family mansion at three in the morning: Sang Shuwan sat under the rose trellis applying burn ointment to Sang Jiyue, who suddenly grabbed her wrist: "Why don't you expose me?" Moonlight filtered through the thorny branches, weaving a net-like pattern of light on their clasped hands. Sang Shuwan removed the thorny hair clip from Sang Jiyue's hair, revealing the small words "Live On" engraved on the inside: "Because our thorns, from the very beginning, pointed in the same direction." In the distance, at the alley entrance, the paparazzi pressed the shutter and saw Sang Jiyue gently rest her head on Sang Shuwan's shoulder, while the latter was deleting all the backups of damaging information about the two of them on her phone—including the surveillance video of her changing dressings, which was enough to ruin Sang Jiyue's reputation.

The entertainment industry's headlines are always fresh: the next day, #TheSangSisters'FratricideConfirmed# and #TheWomanBehindSangShuwan'sMoonlight# simultaneously trended on Weibo. But in the deserted rose garden, newly sprouted branches quietly entwine with old thorns, each tender bud bearing the marks of thorns, yet reflecting a shared light in the morning dew. Just like the note on the back of Sang Shuwan's makeup mirror: "Tenderness with thorns is not compromise, but turning each other's wounds into a reason for blooming."

(In the red carpet tunnel at the Berlin Film Festival premiere, as Sang Shuwan's thorny, gilded gown swept across the floor, a hidden pressure sensor suddenly triggered—hundreds of mechanical thorns sprang from the walls on both sides, their spikes only 0.5 centimeters from her throat. As screams erupted from the audience, Sang Jiyue's high heels paused for three seconds at the edge of the safe zone, her fingertips brushing against the miniature remote control on her earring: "Sister always says thorns are protection, why not try being pierced?")
On the set of "The Queen's Chess Game," Sang Jiyue deliberately cut two-thirds of Sang Shuwan's wire harness. However, when the aerial camera panned across the cliff scene, she suddenly lunged forward, using her body to shield the about-to-break wire. Blood packs burst open amidst their entangled figures. Sang Shuwan tasted the sweet, cloying pigment on her lips and heard her sister whisper in her ear, "This time, it's my turn to save you." Two contradictory hashtags simultaneously appeared on the trending topics list: #SangJiyueSacrificesHerSisterToSaveHerLife# #WireBreakHighlights#. Meanwhile, surveillance footage showed that Sang Jiyue had sneaked into the prop room the previous night to reinforce the rope.

The most dramatic twist occurred on the anniversary of the fire at the Sang family's old house. During a live stream, Sang Jiyue displayed a "childhood memory box," but the moment it was opened, hundreds of medical reports spilled out—all records of Sang Shuwan's emergency heart attacks over the years. "It turns out the person who really needed a heart transplant was my sister," she said, holding up the informed consent form from years ago. Sang Shuwan's handwriting on the signature sheet was blurred by tears: "Voluntarily donating my heart to my adopted sister, Sang Jiyue." The live stream crashed instantly. Meanwhile, Sang Shuwan was in the emergency room, her heart being kept alive by an implanted pacemaker. On her phone screen was a message from Sang Jiyue: "This time, it's my turn to be your thorn."

The media frenzy erupted on the day the Nobel Peace Prize nominees were announced. Sang Jiyue's team bribed hackers to tamper with the donations to Sang Shuwan's charity foundation, but during the data transfer, they accidentally triggered a hidden folder—containing the "Thorn Heart" charity bank, established by Sang Shuwan with all her earnings from acting, where each donation corresponded to a child awaiting an organ transplant. Even more chillingly, Sang Shuwan's medical records revealed that she should have received a heart transplant five years prior, but to allow Sang Jiyue to focus on her career, she deliberately delayed until she was terminally ill.

Outside the heart transplant operating room in Switzerland, Sang Jiyue, clutching Sang Shuwan's thorny earring, rushed into the restricted area, only to be stopped by the doctor: "The donor has been matched; it's a donor who wishes to remain anonymous." In the last moment before the operating lights came on, Sang Shuwan used her last strength to tear off her thorny earring and place it in her palm: "Remember to help me guard the Rose Garden." Meanwhile, in the morgue, the donor number affixed to the refrigerated cabinet was the volunteer ID that Sang Jiyue had secretly registered last year.

Three years later at the Oscars, Sang Jiyue wore a thorny dress woven from Sang Shuwan's surgical sutures to accept the Lifetime Achievement Award on behalf of her deceased sister. As she removed the ring to reveal the "twin thorns" engraved on the inside, the camera panned to the audience, where the butler of the Sang family's old mansion was wiping away tears—it turned out that the fire years ago was not an accident at all, but a deliberate act of arson by a collateral branch of the Sang family to seize the inheritance rights, and that Sang Shuwan had not only rescued her adopted sister but also silently shouldered all the accusations.

The paparazzi's cameras captured the last glimpse of the Sang family's rose garden: Sang Jiyue kneeling before the tombstone, burying two thorn rings in the soil. A spring breeze rustled the newly sprouted vines, and two metal plaques were faintly visible among the leaves: one engraved with "Sang Shuwan," the other with "Sang Jiyue," but both bearing the same Latin inscription at their roots—"Our thorns are each other's armor." Meanwhile, the entertainment headlines had long since shifted, and only in late-night forums did fans still debate: how many unrevealed, thorny truths were hidden within the fire that changed their destinies?

(The camera pans across the media wall at the Cannes Film Festival. Sang Shuwan's thorny diamond brooch reflects a cold light under the flashes of the cameras. The back of her haute couture gown is adorned with rose thorns made of three thousand butterfly wings. Sang Jiyue steps into the frame almost simultaneously, deliberately catching the mechanical thorns on her skirt around her sister's train. Amidst the clicks of the reporters' shutters, she smiles: "Sister, your wings are so beautiful, aren't you afraid of getting pricked by the thorns?" The miniature camera on her earring is transmitting Sang Shuwan's instantly tense shoulder line to the marketing accounts.)
On the judges' panel of the "Supernova Acting Competition," Sang Shuwan was demonstrating a crying scene to a contestant. The thorn ring on her ring finger gleamed coldly—it was made from the pulp of a script given to her by the director who won her the Palme d'Or. Sang Jiyue suddenly pressed the stop button, her fingertips tracing over the contestant's script: "You've used this kind of layered sense of fragmentation three times in 'Blood Rose,' haven't you?" As she turned around, the newly dyed silver-gray in her hair was exactly the same as Sang Shuwan's classic look from ten years ago. Backstage surveillance showed that she had just had her stylist destroy all her black hair wigs that morning.

The fiercest battle for resources erupted at the audition for the drama "Dynasty." Sang Jiyue had bribed the props department beforehand, sewing itching powder into Sang Shuwan's audition costume. However, she saw her sister, covered in red rashes, complete the crucial scene of kneeling on broken glass on the monitor. When the director made the decision on the spot, Sang Shuwan lightly touched the bloodstains on her knees with her fingertips: "For a true queen, scars are medals on her crown." The recording hidden on her phone was a conversation between Sang Jiyue and the producer the night before, negotiating the role—a deliberate slip-up to make the other party believe that victory was in their grasp.

The media storm began at the "Rose Night" charity auction. After Sang Jiyue won the bid for Sang Shuwan's first-generation thorny bracelet, she suddenly smashed the exhibit during the live stream: "Sister's charity, shouldn't it first pay off the stunt double's work injury compensation?" The trending topics were instantly flooded with "Sang Shuwan's stunt double's blood and tears history," but no one noticed that when she smashed the bracelet, she deliberately avoided the "charity donation number" engraved on the inside. Three hours later, Sang Shuwan appeared in the live stream, followed by thirty extras she had previously sponsored, each wearing the same red thorny rope on their wrist: "My thorns only ever pierce the high walls that my own people can't reach."

In a hidden compartment of the agent's office, Sang Shuwan looked at Sang Jiyue's "blacklist" and sneered—from falsifying academic credentials to hiring a murder plot, each item was marked "to be activated." The assistant cautiously reminded her, "Miss Jiyue has bribed your stylist; the thorns on her red carpet dress tomorrow might..." "Let her think the thorns will hurt me," Sang Shuwan twirled her custom-made bulletproof thorn brooch. "After all, she doesn't know I've plated each thorn with the gold of a PR press release."

The final showdown took place on the stage riser at the annual gala. Sang Jiyue had anticipated that Sang Shuwan's wire harness would break during the climax and had tampered with the safety rope beforehand. However, at the moment of impact, her sister pulled her into her arms—the two crashed together onto the stage covered in rose thorns. A tear in Sang Shuwan's dress revealed a thorn tattoo identical to Sang Jiyue's, and a miniature voice recorder hidden between her teeth was playing a recording of herself standing up for Sang Jiyue when she was bullied. The hashtags "#SangSistersBloodRedRose" and "#SameTattooChildhoodTruth" exploded on social media. Surveillance footage leaked from backstage showed that Sang Shuwan had reinforced all safety equipment a week prior.

The paparazzi's telephoto lens captured the old Sang family mansion at four in the morning: Sang Jiyue huddled under a rose trellis, clutching Sang Shuwan's old diary, one page soaked with tears: "Today Jiyue said she wanted to be a star, so I'll be her stepping stone first." Sang Shuwan's figure emerged from the shadows, placing a thorn necklace with a sirens emblazoned on her neck: "Next time you want to kill someone, remember to use my PR team." In the morning light, their shadows overlapped on the thorny flower wall, forming a complete rose—the petals representing Sang Shuwan's gentleness, the thorns representing Sang Jiyue's sharpness.

The entertainment industry's headlines are always fresh: the next day, #SangShuwanShieldsSisterFromKnife# and #SangJiyueRisesToDarkQueen# both topped the charts. But in the empty dressing room, Sang Jiyue removed her false eyelashes in front of the mirror, revealing a beauty mark at the corner of her eye that was exactly the same as Sang Shuwan's—a mark she had secretly added using her sister's eyeliner when they were children playing makeup games. Meanwhile, a new to-do item was added to Sang Shuwan's phone notes: "Talk to Jiyue for a dual-female lead role in her new drama; thorns need another thorn to support the flower stem."

(At the Oscar nomination reception, Sang Shuwan's thorny diamond bracelet suddenly emitted a sharp electrical crackling sound. She staggered half a step under the spotlight, the outline of an implanted pacemaker faintly visible beneath her exposed skin. Sang Jiyue steadied her waist, her fingertips gently pressing on the chip sensor on the back of her neck—the GPS tracker Sang Shuwan had implanted three years ago to save her. "Sister's heartbeat seems two beats slower than last time?" Her whisper, mingled with the bubbling champagne, traveled through a miniature microphone to the paparazzi lurking in the corner.)
At the board meeting of the Sang family's entertainment empire, Sang Jiyue, along with several collateral shareholders, suddenly launched an attack, demanding the removal of Sang Shuwan's CEO authority using a forged mental health assessment report. When the lawyer presented the "evidence" video, Sang Shuwan was speaking to thin air in the video—yet no one noticed that the video had been AI-generated and the original footage was a clip of her recording bedtime stories for autistic children. Sang Shuwan twirled a thorn-patterned paperweight on the corner of the table; the scanner inside had already cracked all the forged documents: "Do you all remember? The seats in every Sang family cinema are studded with thorny rose brass nails—that's a reminder that the audience's eyes are sharper than any medical report." She pressed a remote control, and a holographic screen popped up with the black files of all the shareholders, each document ending with the Thorn Virus symbol.

The most brutal form of media assassination occurred during Sang Shuwan's birthday livestream. Sang Jiyue's team bribed hackers to infiltrate the livestream system and cut the camera to a hotel room—where "Sang Shuwan" was lying on the bed, physically confronting the producer. The chat was instantly flooded with accusations of "unspoken rules" and "capital puppets," but ten minutes later the tone shifted dramatically: the "Sang Shuwan" on screen suddenly removed her mask, revealing the face of an AI android from a rival company of the Sang family, while the real Sang Shuwan was feeding thorny rose hips to stray animals in the livestream: "I heard someone gave me a 'thorny gift,' so I'll reciprocate with a public lecture on bionics." On the screen behind her, the transaction records between Sang Jiyue and the hacker were scrolling in real time.

In the Golden Globe Awards voting room, Sang Jiyue used her diamond thorn earring to pry open the ballot box's seal, only to find that all the ballots bore Sang Shuwan's thorn logo. She crushed the earring to retrieve a miniature camera; the footage showed Sang Shuwan distributing custom-made thorn pens to the judges—the pen caps concealing miniature magnetic field generators capable of interfering with brainwaves. "Sister knew all along," she smiled at the monitor, "I bribed the judges with black cards; the PIN was your birthday." Meanwhile, backstage, Sang Shuwan was adjusting her gown; the inner lining of the skirt was sewn with a thorn map woven from the addresses of Sang Jiyue's haters over the years.

The final power struggle unfolded in a holographic courtroom within the Sang family's old mansion. Sang Jiyue presented a forged paternity test to prove she was the true heir of the Sang family bloodline. However, before the judge could deliver the verdict, Sang Shuwan's lawyer presented a restored fire surveillance video: young Sang Jiyue was locked in the fire, and when Sang Shuwan risked her life to rescue her, she clutched the genuine paternity test report—showing the two were half-sisters. "So what you're fighting for isn't the inheritance," Sang Shuwan said, removing the crown and placing it in her palm, "it's the only thorny rose branch my mother left me." A miniature screen suddenly popped out from inside the crown, playing a video of her birth mother's dying moments: "My two daughters, one a rose, the other a thorn; without either, the flower cannot bloom fully."

A paparazzi drone captured astonishing footage on a stormy night: in the rose garden of the Sang family's old mansion, Sang Shuwan and Sang Jiyue were burning all the files containing their incriminating evidence. Sang Jiyue threw a forged award certificate into the fire, while Sang Shuwan threw in a notebook containing all their schemes. As the flames consumed the last page, Sang Jiyue suddenly pointed to the sky and laughed: "Look, the smoke from the burning thorns looks like the thorn crown you wore when you first won Best Actress." In the instant lightning flashed, both of them simultaneously reached for the thorn necklaces around their necks—each containing the other's first gray hair and first baby tooth.

The next day, the entertainment headlines became #TheHolographicTruthOfTheSangSistersInCourt# and #TwinRoseofThorns#, but at the press conference for Sang Family Entertainment's new film, when the host asked if the two had reconciled, Sang Shuwan gently touched Sang Jiyue's newly tattooed thorns: "Our war was never about winning or losing, but about proving that thorny roses always bloom longer than greenhouse flowers." The camera panned across their intertwined wrists, and Sang Shuwan's thorny chain and Sang Jiyue's tattoo perfectly formed a closed rosebud.

(On Lido Island at the Venice Film Festival, Sang Shuwan's thorny lace gloves lightly brushed against the Golden Lion trophy, her fingertips pausing on the "Best Director" plaque—a work she had commissioned to support Sang Jiyue's directorial debut. During a group interview, Sang Jiyue lifted her sleeve, revealing a newly tattooed thorn motif: "My sister always says directors are gardeners, but a gardener's shears are sometimes sharper than thorns." Simultaneously, her smartwatch sent a location scan; twenty minutes later, paparazzi captured a blurry silhouette of Sang Shuwan having a private conversation with a married producer on the beach.)
At the finals of the talent show "Queen of Thorns" on the streaming platform, Sang Jiyue, as the initiator, deliberately gave a red light to a contestant from Sang Shuwan's team. A holographic projection of a thorn barrier blocked the girl from advancing: "There's no murderous intent in your eyes, like a pruned bonsai." A hacker's confirmation came through her earpiece: "The scoring system has been hacked, and the data of your team's contestants has been tampered with." However, when the final results were announced, the dark horse contestant from Sang Shuwan's team suddenly raised a thorny rose: "Sorry, my thorns only listen to the true gardener." The stage lights suddenly changed, and the thorn badges of all the contestants projected the code stream of Sang Jiyue's data tampering, and the audience erupted in shouts of "data fraud."

The most lethal viral marketing campaign occurred at the press conference for Sang Family Entertainment's new film. Sang Jiyue prematurely leaked the outline of the script for "Rose Assassin," starring Sang Shuwan, only to discover a more complete leaked version on a pirated online novel website—each key plot point marked "This scene has been modified." She sneaked into Sang Shuwan's editing room that night, only to find three hundred different endings on the hard drive, each ending featuring an assassin wearing a different mask, including herself. On the day of the press conference, Sang Shuwan pointed a laser pointer at the thorny storyboard on the giant screen: "A true assassin never lets the enemy guess where their blade is hidden." The camera panned across Sang Jiyue's stiff smile, and she suddenly realized that she had already become "living marketing material" for her sister's new film.

As the public outcry intensified, Sang Jiyue bribed an anonymous whistleblower on the Deep Sea Forum to use AI to generate a video of Sang Shuwan assaulting a staff member. While the hashtag #SangShuwanTyrantOnSet# was trending, Sang Jiyue discovered a hidden dashcam in Sang Shuwan's dressing room—recording the entire process of Sang Shuwan hiring someone to stage the scene. Even more suffocating was the fact that the video file was created three years prior, meaning Sang Shuwan had anticipated her every move. That evening, Sang Shuwan showed the video clips during a live stream, deliberately blurring the faces of key figures: "A thorny rose needs a natural enemy, but not a manipulated puppet."

In a secret room of the Sang family mansion, Sang Jiyue finally deciphered her mother's encrypted diary, only to discover that Sang Shuwan was not her biological sister—years ago, her mother had switched the infant Sang Jiyue with Sang Shuwan to protect the true heir. "So you are the one who should sit on the throne." Sang Shuwan placed the thorny scepter, a symbol of the Sang family's power, in her palm. Suddenly, the ruby ​​at the top of the scepter cracked, revealing her mother's last image: "The true heir is not the one with blood, but the one who can make thorns bloom." Sang Jiyue's tears fell onto the scepter, triggering a hidden mechanism—the wall slowly rose, revealing all the evidence of assassinations Sang Shuwan had shielded her from over the years.

The final showdown took place at the listing ceremony of Sangjia Entertainment. Sang Jiyue, wearing her mother's thorny crown, walked onto the stage, but during her speech, fluorescent liquid suddenly seeped from the thorns of the crown—the slow-acting poison she had accidentally ingested the night before. Sang Shuwan rushed onto the stage to remove the crown for her, running her fingertip over the thorns; the fluorescence on the test card showed "non-toxic": "I blunted all the thorns beforehand, including the poisoned wine you gave me." She turned to the camera, revealing a miniature syringe at her collarbone: "These three months of 'late-stage cancer' news were to lure the snake out of its hole." In the live broadcast, Sang Jiyue's last expression before fainting was a bitter smile, a mixture of relief and resentment.

Before dawn, paparazzi drones captured a shocking scene: in the rose garden of the Sang family's old residence, Sang Shuwan carried the unconscious Sang Jiyue into an ambulance, clutching a paternity test result—they were indeed half-sisters. Hospital surveillance footage showed Sang Jiyue murmuring in her unconscious state, "Why don't you hate me?" Sang Shuwan covered her with a blanket and turned off the media monitoring screen in the ward: "Because our thorns all point in the same direction—to live."

The next day, the entertainment headlines became #ShockingReversalOfTheSangFamilyInheritance# and #TwinRedemptionOfTheThornQueen#, but outside the intensive care unit, Sang Shuwan opened Sang Jiyue's phone and found that the lock screen wallpaper was a photo of the two of them under a rose bush when they were seven years old. The caption read: "My light, and also my thorn." She gently stroked the screen. The sunlight outside the window pierced through the thorny branches, weaving a complete rose in their overlapping shadows—the petals representing forgiveness, and the thorns representing growth. (On the red carpet at the Cannes Film Festival closing ceremony, Sang Shuwan's thorn-embellished gold gown suddenly malfunctioned, its built-in sensors sprang out, and hundreds of mechanical spikes ripped from the hem, leaving bleeding marks on her ankles. At that moment, Sang Jiyue's first-aid kit "accidentally" fell out, revealing a hemostatic spray whose ingredients perfectly matched Sang Shuwan's list of drug allergies. She held up a blood-stained handkerchief to the camera: "My sister always says thorns are medals of honor, but a true queen shouldn't let blood taint the starlight." The trending topics #SangJiyueFirstAidKitConspiracy# and #SangShuwanMechanicalSpiritsOutOfControl# simultaneously topped the charts, and surveillance footage showed that the equipment's fault code matched the ID of the special effects programmer for Sang Jiyue's new film.)
At the annual shareholders' meeting of Sang Family Entertainment, Sang Jiyue, in conjunction with Hollywood Capital, suddenly proposed an acquisition. The thorny logo on the voting machine gleamed coldly under the lights. Sang Shuwan turned the ring inlaid with rose seeds from the old Sang family mansion. The miniature projector inside the ring suddenly started, and the holographic screen displayed the overseas asset transfer records of all shareholders: "Do you all know why the popcorn buckets of Sang Family Cinemas are printed with thorns? Because every grain of rice should know who made them bloom in the high temperature." She pressed the top of the ring, and the voting machines collectively short-circuited, revealing the metal nameplate at the bottom that read "Sang Shuwan holds 67%"—the hidden thread of her ten-year, dispersed acquisitions.

The most ruthless media attack occurred at the premiere of Sang Shuwan's directorial debut. Sang Jiyue bribed film critics to give her a collective bad review, only to discover on Rotten Tomatoes that all the negative reviews shared the same IP address—a PR team from a rival company of the Sang family. Even more devastating, surveillance footage of her dealings with the critics was suddenly played at the premiere. In the footage, Sang Jiyue was wearing the same thorny earring as Sang Shuwan, and the earring's built-in recording function was playing on a loop: "I'll let her know that being a director is just as painful as being a target."

At the Oscar nomination banquet, Sang Jiyue deliberately replaced Sang Shuwan's prepared speech with her own, but when Sang Shuwan opened her mouth, she discovered that the voice had become her own—the voiceprint mimicry chip that Sang Shuwan had implanted beforehand was working. "This is your original voice from last year's Golden Globe feud," Sang Shuwan said, raising the microphone to the astonished audience. "Actually, I've always wanted to learn what it feels like to say 'I admit defeat' in your tone." Sang Jiyue, sitting in the audience, suddenly realized that her phone was automatically sending an apology letter to the entire internet, every word precisely hitting the public's emotional triggers.

The final trust crumbled on the anniversary of her mother's death. Sang Jiyue discovered the real will in the urn, but triggered a bomb mechanism during fingerprint recognition—a miniature explosive device was hidden inside the urn, with a countdown showing three minutes remaining. Sang Shuwan's voice came from the monitor: "This is the final test my mother left for her heir." She watched as the rose mural on the wall slowly parted, revealing a secret room filled with weapons, each gun engraved with Sang Jiyue's name. "Choose one," Sang Shuwan's projection appeared in the pool of blood, "Kill me, or die together."

The paparazzi's night-vision cameras captured the ruins after the explosion: Sang Jiyue carried the blood-covered Sang Shuwan out of the fire, clutching a thorn pendant salvaged from the urn. The pendant shattered, revealing a lock of her mother's hair and a note: "My two children, the true moment to inherit the throne will come when you learn to fight back-to-back with thorns." In the hospital's disinfectant odor, before losing consciousness, Sang Shuwan ripped off Sang Jiyue's false eyelashes, revealing the thorn birthmark they had tattooed together as children—all the hatred had begun with a tampered paternity test.

On the third day, the entertainment headlines became #TheTruthAboutTheExplosionAtTheSangFamilyHouse# and #ThornSistersBoundToLifeAndDeath#, but in the monitoring room of the intensive care unit, Sang Jiyue held Sang Shuwan's hand and gently said, "Next time you set up a trap, remember to replace the bomb with rose petals." Sang Shuwan's fingertips twitched, and she wrote in her palm: "Actually... the explosive device was fake." The morning light shone through the hospital blinds, casting a net-like shadow on their intertwined hands, much like the thorny branches on the rose wall of the old house—seemingly intertwined thorns, but actually working together to resist the wind and rain.

At the Berlin Film Festival premiere, Sang Shuwan's holographic virtual idol suddenly malfunctioned, its mechanical spikes turning towards the audience. Sang Jiyue, taking advantage of the chaos, handed her "emergency medicine," which was actually a nerve blocker. However, when Sang Shuwan swallowed it, she discovered the capsule contained vitamins—her sister had already switched it using AI face-swapping technology. Backstage monitoring revealed that the virtual idol program had been implanted with Sang Jiyue's brainwave frequency. Trembling, she reached for the chip behind her ear—Sang Shuwan's hidden "emotional synchronizer," transmitting her palpitations and pain to the other.

Sang Shuwan's pupils reflected the out-of-control virtual idol, the mechanical spikes gleaming with a cold metallic sheen under the stage lights. Amid the gasps from the audience, she suddenly remembered three years ago in the secret room of the Sang family's old house, when Sang Jiyue had held the same mechanical spike to her throat—the thorn pendant from that time contained her mother's recording, repeatedly playing her last words, "Sisters united."

"Activate the emergency plan." She growled into the headset, her fingertips rapidly tapping on the holographic screen inside the ring. A nanometer-level electromagnetic pulse device suddenly popped out from the virtual idol's neck, blue arcs of electricity dancing between the mechanical spikes, and the metal parts emitting a painful hum. This was her backup plan against Sang Jiyue; all the devices had a built-in dual control system, and at this moment, they were performing data cleaning at a rate of millions of times per second.

Sang Jiyue's fingertips dug deeply into her palms. The palpitations transmitted by the emotional synchronizer grew stronger, and she could even feel the veins in Sang Shuwan's temples throbbing. Three months ago, the nanobots she had implanted in Sang Shuwan's coffee were now converting brainwaves into pain signals, but the other party seemed to be enjoying this torment—her breathing became more and more steady, and her pupils dilated with excitement.

“Sister, you lost.” Sang Jiyue raised her manicured nails adorned with thorn patterns, a faint red glow emanating from the chip behind her ear. The virtual idol’s mechanical spikes suddenly changed course, heading straight for Sang Shuwan’s heart. The Hollywood producer in the front row of the audience instinctively covered his eyes, only to witness a shocking scene amidst the ear-piercing metallic clang: Sang Shuwan opened her arms, the mechanical spikes stopping abruptly three centimeters from her heart, all their tips frozen by some kind of transparent force field.

"Holographic projection?" Sang Jiyue's pupils contracted sharply. The real Sang Shuwan was standing at the edge of the stage, holding a quantum remote control. Dozens of nanomechanical arms extended from the hem of her gown, manipulating the holographic particles in the air. Meanwhile, the core program of the virtual idol had been remotely connected to Sang Jiyue's brainwave frequency—a Trojan horse she had implanted after the Oscar nomination party.

Sang Jiyue staggered backward, and the chip in the back of her head suddenly began to vibrate wildly. The image of Sang Shuwan appeared in her vision. The other person was sitting in a secret room in the old Sang family mansion, and her brainwave spectrum was jumping on the holographic screen in front of her.

"Do you remember your mother's last gift?" Sang Shuwan's voice boomed in her head. "This chip can not only synchronize emotions, but also read your memories." As she spoke, Sang Jiyue's childhood memories flashed by like a revolving lantern: being pushed off a swing by Sang Shuwan in a rose bush when she was five years old, being exposed for cheating in front of everyone at a family banquet when she was ten, and discovering the truth that the paternity test report had been tampered with when she was fifteen.

"You think I tampered with the test results?" Sang Shuwan sneered. In the holographic image, she suddenly removed her thorny earring, revealing a rose birthmark behind her ear identical to Sang Jiyue's. "The real Sang family bloodline consists of the two of us, while you are nothing more than my father's illegitimate daughter with his mistress."

Sang Jiyue's body trembled violently. She remembered her mother's last words as she held her hand before she died: "Learn to fight back to back with thorns." It turned out that all the conspiracies and betrayals were lies woven by Sang Shuwan to protect her.

Blood Pact: The Thorn Sisters' Ultimate Declaration
The Berlin Film Festival red carpet was stained crimson. Sang Shuwan walked towards Sang Jiyue, stepping over the shards of mechanical spikes scattered on the ground. Her gown's hem automatically reassembled, the thorn patterns gradually transforming into rose totems. The spotlights in the audience flashed wildly, but no one noticed that a holographic screen backstage was broadcasting their conversation live.

“It’s time to end this.” Sang Shuwan pressed the quantum remote control against Sang Jiyue’s temple. “Either we die together, or… I’ll help you become the true queen.”

Sang Jiyue suddenly laughed. She ripped the chip off her ear, and blood flowed down her neck, meandering like a river on the thorn totem. "You think I'm afraid?" She grabbed Sang Shuwan's wrist, and the point where their skin touched suddenly glowed with fluorescence as nanobots began exchanging data in their blood vessels.

As the morning light pierced through the glass dome of the Berlin Film Festival, holographic projections of the Sang sisters simultaneously appeared on screens in cinemas worldwide. Sang Shuwan raised the thorny scepter, while Sang Jiyue held the rose codex. Behind them was a holographic image of the Sang family's old mansion, with roses and thorns intertwined on the ruins to form a blood-red crown.

"From today onwards, Sang Family Entertainment will be reorganized into the Thorn and Rose Alliance." Sang Shuwan's voice resonated across the globe via live broadcast. "The assets of all traitors have been frozen, and all lies will be exposed to the light of day."

Sang Jiyue's fingertips traced the thorny birthmark on Sang Shuwan's face, their blood mingling on the stage to form a butterfly shape. "Our mother left a final will: when thorns and roses coexist, the Sang family will usher in a true golden age." She raised a blood-stained handkerchief to the camera. "Now, let's begin the hunt."

Final Chapter: A Crimson Waltz of Thorns and Roses
The official Weibo account of the Berlin Film Festival suddenly crashed at 3 a.m. The hashtag #ThornSistersCenturyUnity# was refreshed millions of times per minute, and the stock price of Sangjia Entertainment instantly hit the daily limit at the opening bell. Meanwhile, in a secret room in the Sang family's old mansion, Sang Shuwan inserted the Thorn Scepter into the wall, and a hidden compartment slowly opened, revealing a box filled with their childhood memories.

"Want to see?" Sang Jiyue held up her mother's diary, its yellowed pages interspersed with childhood photos of them. Sang Shuwan shook her head and placed her mother's thorn pendant around her neck. Outside the window, the roses were growing wildly, enveloping the entire old house in a blood-red fortress.

“Next time you set a trap, remember to replace the bomb with rose petals,” Sang Jiyue suddenly said, her fingertips tracing across Sang Shuwan’s palm. The latter chuckled and wrote in her palm: “Actually, the explosive device was fake.”

Thorns and roses sway in the morning light, as if telling an ancient fable: when two souls embrace each other with thorns, the wounds will eventually blossom into the most magnificent medals.

At the Berlin Film Festival premiere, as the out-of-control holographic virtual idol's mechanical spikes rained down on the audience, Sang Shuwan's nanomechanical arm silently extended from the hem of her gown. Those silken silver tentacles wove a transparent force field in mid-air, solidifying all the deadly spikes into a suspended ring of metallic thorns. Before the screams from the audience had subsided, she had already stepped onto the edge of the stage with a quantum remote control in hand. Holographic projection technology projected three overlapping images of herself behind her—the central image facing Sang Jiyue, her bloodied lips curling into a smile.

“Three years ago, when you held a mechanical thorn to my throat in the secret room,” Sang Shuwan’s voice was tinged with the buzzing of electromagnetic pulses, “my mother’s thorn pendant was playing ‘Sisters United.’ You thought it was irony, but you didn’t notice the 0.3-second infrasound code hidden in the recording intervals.” She lightly tapped the remote control, and a blue spark suddenly burst from the chip behind Sang Jiyue’s ear. Childhood memories flashed on her retina like a shattered holographic screen: when she fell from the swing at age five, Sang Shuwan rushed to shield her from the weight of the rose thorns; at the family banquet at age ten, the cheating code that was exposed was actually a mirror image data forged by a hacker; at age fifteen, the altered paternity test report had “Protect her” written in lemon juice by her mother hidden in the paper’s texture.