Feifei gazed at Gongsun Qing, who had already shot up into the clouds. She didn't feel the slightest sense of danger—in fact, for some inexplicable reason, she felt like laughing.
She had said before that men couldn't hear songs, nor could they hear wailing—unless you made them cry themselves. And now, firing a shot at the place where the Grand Commander was standing was a method she'd never even considered. It should work pretty well, too.
But she could immediately tell that this wasn't the work of the striking workers' union, nor of the Sons of Loha or Mr. Guimo. Someone was clearly taking advantage of the strike to fan the flames.
"Such incredible nerve! Fine, you want to kill the Grand Commander—but did you forget I'm here? Did you forget that everyone on this film crew is loyal to me?"
Feifei brushed a hand over the spatial pouch hidden on her wristwatch, but didn't take out her ink sword. Instead, she pulled a small, specially made plastic pistol from her handbag.
Well, as a director responsible for a thousand or so staff, wasn't it perfectly reasonable for me to carry a weapon for self-defense?
To be fair, the Grand Commander's security detail wasn't as professional as one might expect. At the very least, they hadn't even searched Director Fei's carry-on bag. If Director Fei had been an anti-establishment activist, she'd had at least a hundred chances during the shoot to turn the Alliance's head of state into Swiss cheese.
...Of course, they were just as lax when it came to Miss Gongsun Qing. If the director could come up with a hundred ways to exploit an opening, the leading lady could dismember the Grand Commander in nine different ways—at least nine!
Naturally, the security bureau had plenty to say