The moment Qiao Qi received the film script, she knew it was more or less already locked in. Xu Lu was fairly bullish on this script, and to leverage Misty Pavilion‘s momentum, planned to bring Cheng Yuzhi back on board to helm it.

On top of that, Xu Lu herself expressed a strong hope that the original Misty Pavilion cast could reunite for the film.

That way, all the promotional buzz would flow together into one continuous stream, getting twice the results with half the effort.

Learning of this idea, Qiao Qi thought it over carefully — the entertainment industry seemed to have gone many years without this kind of nearly full-cast reunion production. The last time she’d seen the same cast reunite under the same director or writer had been back when she was a child.

In recent years, competition among actors had grown fiercer, and battles over billing order more intense — plenty of actors would play second female lead in one show, only to demand the lead role in their next project once they gained popularity.

It seemed the script itself no longer mattered much; the title attached to the role was what carried weight.

Thinking of this, Qiao Qi couldn’t help but think of He Nianyi.

She asked Xu Lu: Who’s playing second female lead?

Xu Lu quickly replied: He Nianyi, of course.

Oh.

Qiao Qi suddenly didn’t feel like looking at this script anymore.

Though He Nianyi hadn’t caused any trouble during the previous production, this time… Qiao Qi couldn’t shake a nagging unease.

After all, He Nianyi was now also signed with Xu Lu’s company; a single company’s resources were limited, and who ultimately got the good ones… really wasn’t something you could count on.

She was the female lead this time — would things go this smoothly again next time?

He Nianyi was currently building up audience goodwill; once she’d built it up enough, would she still be so willing to keep things “love and peace”?

Just thinking about it gave Qiao Qi a headache.

Mostly, it was a feeling of helplessness.

Because given her current standing, when it came to this kind of development, she had no choice but to accept it.

—

By late October, Misty Pavilion had been scheduled for an early November release, immediately followed by a string of press conferences, promotional events, interviews, and variety show appearances.

At the same time, Xu Lu announced the start date for the film The Cipher.

— Mid-November.

Before joining the production, Qiao Qi made time whenever she could to visit Maiya.

That was how she learned Liang Xumo had never actually been discharged from the hospital.

Made sense.

A hundred days to recover from bone and tendon injuries, as the saying goes.

In the hospital room, Qiao Qi set some freshly washed fruit on Maiya’s nightstand, then asked, feigning nonchalance, “So, have you said hi to your sister?”

Maiya, fully absorbed in the TV, didn’t answer.

The way she stalled told Qiao Qi the answer was obviously no.

Sigh. She had no idea what secret this pair — one grown, one small — was hiding from each other.

“Alright then.” Qiao Qi didn’t press her. “You keep watching, I’ll go bring some fruit to Sister Liang.”

The moment she heard this, Maiya turned unhappy, her lip pouting so hard it looked like it could hang a soy sauce bottle; she stopped looking at the TV. “Why do you have to go see her? It’s not like she’ll like you or anything.”

Qiao Qi paused at that, looking up to stare directly at Maiya.

True enough.

Liang Xumo really didn’t seem particularly fond of her.

Though Liang Xumo always maintained a warm, gentle demeanor, Qiao Qi — having grown up reading all kinds of people’s expressions — could still sharply sense it: Liang Xumo didn’t like her.

Honestly, she didn’t have particularly strong feelings for Liang Xumo either, but the woman was, after all, Liang Yan’s sister.

Even setting that aside, given that Liang Xumo had both given her a wrap gift and taken the initiative to visit Maiya at the hospital, it seemed right to go see her in return.

So Qiao Qi patted Maiya’s head and said, “Well, that’s just how the adult world works.”

Maiya frowned, declaring firmly, “I hate the adult world!”

Qiao Qi laughed, “So do I.”

“Then can you not go see her?” Maiya reached out her small hand to grab Qiao Qi’s. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

Qiao Qi said, “But if I don’t go see her, I need a reason.”

“Isn’t ‘you’ll be unhappy’ reason enough?” Maiya countered.

Qiao Qi paused.

Right.

Why did there need to be so many reasons.

That was probably the difference between the adult world and a child’s world.

Still, Qiao Qi was no longer a child; she patted Maiya’s head and said nothing more.

As for Maiya, right before Qiao Qi left, she said something rather odd: “So you definitely need a reason, then?”

Qiao Qi didn’t think much of it, figuring the kid was just being precociously clever as usual. She reached out and pinched Maiya’s cheek, unbothered, “Yep, so hurry up and find me one!”

With that, she gave Maiya’s head another good rub and turned to leave.

After Qiao Qi left, Maiya stared at her retreating figure for a long while before slowly lowering her eyes.

The weather had turned cold, and the child was bundled up more than usual, her little hands red from the chill, her face slightly dry.

She reached up with a chubby little hand to rub her face, accidentally rubbing it red in the process.

Tong Shuqu happened to walk in just then, and seeing this, laughed and asked, “What’s wrong? Is your face too dry? Haven’t been drinking water again, have you?”

Maiya tilted her little face up but didn’t answer, asking instead, “Brother Tonghua, I want to go home.”

Tong Shuqu paused, “Which home?”

“Don’t I only have one home?” Maiya said. “Mingtian.”

Belatedly, Tong Shuqu went “Oh,” “You want to go with the Seventh Princess, then?”

Maiya shook her head decisively, “No!”

Only then did Tong Shuqu notice — this time, the look in Maiya’s eyes wasn’t longing or anticipation for going home, but something else entirely… anxiety?

—

Just as Qiao Qi left Maiya’s room, she received a WeChat message from Liang Yan.

The last time they’d seen each other had been at that event; counting it out, it really had been a few days since they’d met in person.

But thinking it over again, it somehow felt like they saw each other every day.

Probably because of all their “online chatting.”

Like right now.

Liangou: Cold cold cold cold cold.

Liangou: Why doesn’t the south have heating!

Liangou: Why why why!

Qiao Qi: “…”

If she remembered correctly, in his last magazine interview, when asked about his views on heating, this man had answered: Too drying, and besides, it’s not really necessary — a grown man shouldn’t be so afraid of the cold.

With heating it’s too dry, without it he’s cold. How was he so hard to please?

Grumbling to herself internally, her fingers still tapped out a reply.

7: Then wear more layers.

Liangou: ?

Liangou: Wow.

Liangou: How dismissive.

Liangou: You care about me less and less.

Qiao Qi: “…”

Isn’t that just because you get more and more melodramatic by the day?

Liangou: Why?

Liangou: If you don’t care about me, what do you care about? Hulunbuir?

7: ?

7: It really is oddly cold.

Both the joke and the weather were oddly cold.

—

Outside it was cold, and honestly the hospital wasn’t much better, but Liang Xumo was staying in the VIP wing, where the heating was going full blast.

Qiao Qi hadn’t brought anything special — mostly she’d just picked up some of Maiya’s favorite fruit while visiting her, and now, going to see Liang Xumo, she wasn’t quite sure what else besides fruit would be appropriate.

When she arrived at Liang Xumo’s room, Liang Xumo was in the middle of a video conference on her laptop; seeing Qiao Qi come in, she raised a hand in greeting.

Qiao Qi nodded back, sensing her timing might be off, standing there awkwardly, unsure whether to leave or stay.

In the end, she simply sat and waited for Liang Xumo to finish.

The moment the meeting ended, Liang Xumo went straight for water — presumably her health wasn’t great, since she couldn’t tolerate cold water at all and kept a thermos within arm’s reach at all times.

Qiao Qi made small talk: “You work so hard.”

Liang Xumo joked, “Well, it’s such a big company, and Liang Yan likes to play around, so I have to be the one working hard.”

Qiao Qi sensed something slightly off about this framing; she frowned faintly, “He doesn’t like to play around.”

Liang Xumo, still handling work at the moment, heard this and her hand slipped, sending an unfinished message flying off. The recipient, confused, sent back a question mark, and only then did Liang Xumo snap back to attention.

She stopped dealing with work and looked up at Qiao Qi instead.

Qiao Qi met her gaze steadily, without flinching.

Liang Xumo’s fingers, gripping her phone, unconsciously whitened at the tips; after a moment, she smiled as though just now catching up, “I was just saying it offhand — that brat’s always been so cheeky around me.”

“He’s your colleague, and your senior — he should be much more composed around you,” Liang Xumo added. “Men care about their image, after all.”

Qiao Qi stared at Liang Xumo, and suddenly, Maiya’s eyes appeared before her, and that line echoed in her ears: Isn’t ‘you’ll be unhappy’ reason enough?

Actually, it was.

Qiao Qi gave a flat “Mm,” without much emotional shift, which served as her response to Liang Xumo.

She stood up, about to say “I’ll head out then,” when, before she could get the words out, Liang Xumo asked, “You two must be pretty busy lately, right?”

Qiao Qi said, “Not too bad.”

“I see.” Liang Xumo sounded a little disappointed. “I thought you two were really busy. That brat Liang Yan hasn’t come to see me even once.”

Qiao Qi felt a bit surprised — most of their recent events had been in Shanghai; though there was some distance to the hospital, surely not enough to justify never coming at all?

“Ah,” Qiao Qi said, not entirely sure why, instinctively finding an excuse for Liang Yan, “He’s a bit busier than me.”

“I suppose.” Liang Xumo smiled. “Are you heading back to a production soon?”

“Yeah,” Qiao Qi said. “Probably next week.”

“So you probably won’t have time to see Maiya either, then?” Liang Xumo said. “Speaking of which, when the caregiver took me out for some air a few days ago, I actually saw her. The little one seems to have quite the personality, though.”

She didn’t say it outright, but Qiao Qi understood exactly what she meant.

“She’s a little shy around strangers,” Qiao Qi said.

“Understandable,” Liang Xumo said. “It’s all about what you’ve been through.”

At that, she paused, then let out a light, airy laugh, “Same for me, too.”

Qiao Qi’s body went stiff; she lifted her eyes to look at Liang Xumo.

Winter hospital rooms were all cold, sterile light; the already stark white room felt even more desolate. Though Liang Xumo was in the hospital, her hair and makeup remained impeccable, even her outfit fully coordinated.

She held an almost oppressive standard of rigor toward life.

She seemed to chase perfection relentlessly.

But to Qiao Qi, all this perfection felt surface-level.

Like a layer put on for others to see, or perhaps a self-soothing gesture for one’s own meaningless comfort… a mask.

Qiao Qi thought back to what Liang Xumo had been through, pressed her lips together, and sat back down at the edge of the bed.

She wasn’t exactly pitying Liang Xumo — she just felt that, in a situation like this, if it were Liang Yan, he would probably stay too.

Seeing Qiao Qi sit back down, Liang Xumo showed no awkwardness or discomfort at being pitied — if anything, she smiled with more open ease, looking at Qiao Qi, “I’m fine.”

Qiao Qi wasn’t sure what to say, so she simply echoed with a “Mm.”

Liang Xumo’s smile faded. “I say that to everyone.”

Qiao Qi paused.

Liang Xumo continued, “And everyone, just like you, plays along and pretends to believe me.”

“Well,” Liang Xumo said with a bitter smile, “I really can’t say I’m fine.”

She asked Qiao Qi, “People who’ve been through those kinds of things probably can’t just casually say they’re fine, right?”

“Qiao Qi.” Liang Xumo suddenly called her name.

Qiao Qi looked over.

Liang Xumo looked back at her equally intently, “I heard you also grew up in an orphanage.”

Qiao Qi gave a low “Ah” in response.

Liang Xumo said, “Then you must have been very lucky, to have avoided all those strange, terrible things.”

Qiao Qi wasn’t sure “lucky” was the right word for something like that.

“Actually, that’s just how life goes — go through some kinds of harm, and you’ll receive some other kind of favor in return,” Liang Xumo said. “If your path stays smooth the whole way through, you’re bound to inadvertently miss out on certain so-called opportunities elsewhere.”

“No one can walk a flat, easy road forever, right?” Liang Xumo looked at Qiao Qi, as if quietly waiting for her to answer the question.

Did she really need to answer this?

Qiao Qi’s brow furrowed subtly; she said nothing.

But Liang Xumo pressed again: “Hm?”

Qiao Qi was silent for a few seconds, then answered honestly, “I don’t know.”

Liang Xumo seemed a little surprised Qiao Qi had actually answered her seriously.

But Qiao Qi felt, for some reason, that she needed to state her position on this question, and said, “Everyone’s life is different. I don’t believe in Buddha, or anything else really, so I don’t think anyone else holds the deed to my life. As for luck, or anything like it — it’s all relative, really.”

“Get some rest. I’ll head out first.”

Qiao Qi turned to leave, but Liang Xumo called after her: “Qiao Qi!”

Qiao Qi stopped.

Liang Xumo said, “Next time you see Liang Yan, tell him to make time to come visit me. I miss him.”

Qiao Qi said sure.

After leaving the room, Qiao Qi wasn’t in a hurry to head back to Maiya’s room; instead, she wandered around the garden for a while.

Halfway through, she suddenly remembered she’d been chatting with Liang Yan earlier.

She pulled out her phone and, sure enough, he’d sent a whole flurry of messages.

Liangou: ?

Liangou: Look at you, all worked up again.

Liangou: ?

Liangou: What’s this, one word you disagree with and you just ignore people?

In Qiao Qi’s head, a mental bullet-comment scrolled by: People? Whose people?

Liangou: Sigh.

Liangou: Fine, fine.

Liangou: I’m not cold anymore.

Liangou: Strong and healthy, can climb eight floors in one breath.

Liangou: …What are you doing? Seriously ignoring me?

[Liangou poked you]

[Liangou poked you]

[Liangou poked you]

Qiao Qi: “…”

She really wanted to drag this man straight into the block list.

7: .

Liangou: Tsk.

Liangou: Being dismissive again.

Liangou: What are you doing?!

Liangou: Why won’t you answer my question directly?

Liangou: Am I really going to have to go sell hats at a street stall? The green kind?

7: …Already fired from the barbecue business that fast?

Liangou: Don’t talk nonsense.

Liangou: Your humble servant has already crowned himself king.

Liangou: Just retiring gracefully at the peak.

Liangou: Don’t change the subject!

7: …At the hospital.

Liangou: ?

Liangou: What’s wrong? Not feeling well?

Whatever else might be said, a person’s first instinct never lies.

Qiao Qi’s heart warmed a little, the tension at the corners of her mouth softening considerably.

She smiled, and only then did her fingers move to reply.

7: No.

7: Visiting someone.

Liangou: Who?

As if possessed by some outside force, Qiao Qi pressed her lips together and replied.

7: Family.

Just then, the sunset was sinking low, red light pouring down, tinting Qiao Qi’s ears and cheeks red.

Some flickers of girlish longing, it seemed, could quietly sprout even amid the biting cold of winter.

Author’s Note: I originally meant to ask why you’ve all been ignoring me lately.

Then I looked back at this chapter’s content.

“…”

Oddly guilty feeling.