Right at that moment, Zhou Jiaye sent a WeChat message.

[Young Master Liang doing well lately?]

Liang Yan, still feeling the ringing in his ears from Qiao Qi’s door-slam, couldn’t be bothered to type a reply to Zhou Jiaye and sent a voice message instead: “Are you sick in the head?”

Zhou Jiaye: ???

Zhou Jiaye: Which one of us actually graduated from Shaolin again?

Liang Yan didn’t understand a single word of that, and didn’t want to.

He tossed his phone casually onto the car seat, opened the door, and got out.

Backstage was pure chaos, people rushing back and forth — someone carrying an evening gown searching everywhere for a changing room, someone jogging by clutching a stack of scripts, and someone, unable to catch a makeup artist in time, was contorting themselves into ridiculous poses in front of a mirror to draw their own eyebrows and eyeliner.

Amid all this, Qiao Qi remained the calmest of everyone, calm to the point of looking rather difficult to approach.

Today she’d gone for a sharp, clean look — a black bodysuit base layer, wide-leg trousers, the waistline elongated, paired with heels; her long legs and slim waist showed to full effect, the outline of her legs flickering into view with every step.

Over it, she wore an oversized white blazer, an embroidered black-and-gold phoenix climbing up the collar, its tail feathers rendered lifelike.

This somewhat androgynic, minimalist styling only added a further layer of coolness to her already composed presence.

A fan who’d somehow snuck in nervously approached with pen and paper for an autograph; Qiao Qi didn’t offer any performative warmth or friendliness, simply nodding lightly and signing politely.

When the fan gushed with compliments, Qiao Qi merely said, evenly, “Thanks for the support.”

In a corner, someone murmured that Qiao Qi seemed aloof and hard to approach, possibly acting like a diva.

Just then, Liang Yan, also in a suit, pushed through the door, his assistant trailing behind carrying various milk teas and hot drinks.

As Liang Yan passed by the two people at the door, his gaze swept over their faces lightly, and then he said, “It’s cold today — Teacher Qiao and I are treating everyone to drinks. Thanks for your hard work, everyone.”

At that, quite a few people chimed in with praise, and someone even noted that the drinks were tailored — a spoonful of sugar here, half-sugar there — remarking how thoughtful that was.

Only the two who’d been whispering earlier — whether staff or people who’d snuck in, unclear — looked visibly uncomfortable and left without even accepting their drinks.

Having sent them fleeing with just a few offhand words, Liang Yan acted as though nothing had happened at all, saying, “Well, that’s Teacher Qiao being thoughtful, really.”

Qiao Qi, meanwhile, was being held in place by a makeup artist doing her eyeliner, and was suddenly capped with a hat, jolting her eyes open — the makeup artist, caught off guard, jabbed the eyeliner pencil right into her eye.

A sharp sting hit her; Qiao Qi hissed, instinctively squeezing her eyes shut.

This was the makeup artist’s first time working with Qiao Qi, and having already been nervous over her cool demeanor, this mishap sent them into a stammering panic, “S-sorry, s-s-sorry…”

Qiao Qi could have just kept one eye open and let it go, but before she could open the other, she caught a faint, cool scent drifting toward her.

The next second, a hand tilted her chin up.

Forced to lift her face, Qiao Qi finally opened her other eye —

— and found herself abruptly caught in Liang Yan’s sharply defined, flirtatious eyes.

Liang Yan had been blessed with an exceptionally striking pair of eyes; his lashes curved up along with the corners, and with every blink, ripples stirred in his pupils, drawing one in without meaning to.

Distracted, Qiao Qi momentarily forgot the discomfort in her eye entirely, and didn’t even notice tears welling reflexively at the corner of her eye.

Tainted by the eyeliner pencil, the tear ran black.

It trailed down along the edge of her eye, leaving a streak across her pale, cold-toned skin.

Liang Yan stared, brow furrowing, and tightened his grip, tilting Qiao Qi’s face up further.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly.

Qiao Qi instinctively went still.

Liang Yan turned to the still-frozen makeup artist, his tone none too pleasant, “Cotton swab.”

The makeup artist, momentarily locked in a stiff stare-down with Liang Yan, finally snapped to with an “oh, oh, oh,” and hurriedly handed one over.

Liang Yan took it and quickly refocused his attention on Qiao Qi’s face; being tall, and with Qiao Qi seated, the height difference forced him to bend down.

His breath and presence bore down on her at once.

Qiao Qi’s breathing caught for an instant before she heard Liang Yan say, “It’s not like I did more than crack a couple jokes with you — no need to self-harm out of spite over it, is there?”

…Pah!

What kind of nonsense was that.

Whatever small flutter had been building in Qiao Qi’s heart instantly went back to flat calm. Still with one eye open, she reached up to handle it herself, but Liang Yan shot her a look, stopping her, “I said don’t move.”

His tone brooked no argument, rare for him, presence radiating along with it.

But Qiao Qi had her pride too; stubbornly, she resisted, “Why should I listen to you?”

“Listening to your senior — that’s an unwritten rule in this industry,” Liang Yan said, knowing full well he’d successfully diverted her attention, his hands never stopping their work as he leaned in and gently blew on her eye.

Just as Qiao Qi was about to argue back, the sudden puff of air made her blink uncontrollably, over and over.

Tears streamed down in a rush.

Liang Yan pressed his thumb pad against her eyelid, his voice dropping even lower, gentle and careful.

“Bear with it a bit,” he said.

“I can’t bear it anymore!”

Qiao Qi’s voice leaked an unwitting note of grievance.

Seeing her eyes red-rimmed, like a wronged little rabbit, Liang Yan found her both pitiful.

And adorable.

“Just a bit more, just a bit more.” Liang Yan coaxed like she was a small child. “There, there, all done — huh? All done!”

Qiao Qi grumbled aloud, but hearing him say this, blinked trustingly all the same.

The discomfort really had eased considerably.

But that didn’t mean she was ready to forgive him for putting his hands all over her, so she said coldly: “…Let go.”

Liang Yan: “?”

Still holding a grudge from the car incident, Qiao Qi raised a hand to strike his wrist, muttering self-deprecatingly, “I’m just the type who kicks the ladder down after crossing the bridge, apparently.”

“Tsk.” Liang Yan withdrew his hand just in time, and watching her stubbornly putting on a brave face, couldn’t resist hooking a finger under her chin as he released her face.

The gesture came and went quickly; before Qiao Qi could fully react, Liang Yan had already stepped back, putting distance between them.

A careless smile hung at the corner of his mouth; meeting his amused eyes, Qiao Qi suddenly felt her eyes and chin both flush hot.

Liang Yan’s eyes curved into a smile, “Oops, sorry about that, didn’t mean it.”

“You—!”

Qiao Qi felt like something was lodged in her chest, unable to go down or come back up, leaving her genuinely stifled with frustration.

She frowned, clearly displeased, “Liang Yan, what exactly are you—”

Liang Yan cut her off, throwing out a completely non-sequitur reply: “You’re welcome.”

Then he turned to the makeup artist, “Please touch up Teacher Qiao’s makeup, if you would.”

Only then did Qiao Qi fully register she was currently in a makeup room, one bustling with constant foot traffic.

She fell silent, glancing up at Liang Yan.

Liang Yan, with a faint smile, pressed a cup of milk tea into her hands, then turned and walked away, looking every bit like a man who’d accomplished his mission and was gracefully exiting the scene.

Watching his broad shoulders and narrow waist, neatly wrapped in the suit, and the effortless ease in his stride, Qiao Qi suddenly, inexplicably, felt a subtle intuition rising from somewhere deep inside — that he knew she was 7.

Could it be… he really knew?

—

Some thoughts, once entertained, can’t just be dismissed. Once the idea broke through to the surface, clues began flooding in as though a floodgate had reopened.

Right up until she went on stage, Qiao Qi kept turning over the question: “Does Liang Yan actually know I’m 7 or not?”

First, she could be certain that back during the Misty Pavilion production, Liang Yan hadn’t known.

So if he did know now, when had he found out?

Once he knew, what changes would that bring, would he… Qiao Qi’s eyes suddenly lit up, a key point striking her.

— Li’ang’s shift in attitude toward “Qiao Qi.”

What had he said to her back then?

Love spilling over onto what’s dear to someone else?

Why hadn’t there been any of that before?

Why had it suddenly appeared?

He must have discovered something.

But… discovered what, exactly?

Qiao Qi sank into thought.

“Sister Qiao, you can head to the stage now.” A staff member came over just then.

Qiao Qi snapped back, “Oh,” and took the microphone the staff member handed her. Just as she was about to head onto the stage, she suddenly thought of Liang Yan and instinctively turned back to look.

Right at that moment, Liang Yan, in the corner, was being held in place by a makeup artist fixing his clothes and hair; perhaps sensing her gaze, he lifted his eyelids and looked over.

Across the distance, their eyes met.

Liang Yan was visibly caught off guard, not quite reacting in time, as he watched Qiao Qi curve her lips into a stunning, breathtaking smile.

Her styling had been designed to give her a more unified, cohesive look — her long hair was pulled into a ponytail, her entire face fully exposed, her features striking and bold; under the cool lighting, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Even in dim light, she lost none of her impact.

Her lips were painted a vivid red, and when she curved them into that smile, it landed on Liang Yan’s heart like a heavy blow.

Then, just as lightly, she withdrew the smile and stepped onto the stage in her heels.

Liang Yan, caught utterly off guard by the flirtation, “…?”

The stylist, noticing Liang Yan had gone rigid, asked, “What’s wrong?”

Liang Yan glanced once more in the direction Qiao Qi had gone, then silently shook his head.

Nothing, really. Just a sudden cold sweat breaking out across his back.

…Oddly terrifying.

—

Plenty of fans had turned out for this event; the host was surprisingly up to date, apparently well aware of the “Choose a Good Tree to Roost” ship, and had already cued it several times within the first half hour.

Every time the host brought it up, the fans below erupted into another round of screaming.

Shippers thrilled, solo stans devastated.

The host clearly wasn’t concerned with which faction of fans was reacting — as long as the atmosphere stayed lively, that was enough.

“I’m sure fans would love to see how in sync you two are — why don’t we play a little game of Guess the Gesture?”

“Guess what?” Liang Yan asked. “Hand hearts?”

Qiao Qi: “………….”

Unable to hide her disdain, “Where did you steal that cheesy pickup line from?”

“You can’t call it cheesy just because it wasn’t said to you,” Liang Yan said, entirely straight-faced. “That’s unfair to the line.”

Qiao Qi turned to look at him, expression flat.

Liang Yan smiled faintly, deliberately acting coy.

The two of them were, in fact, arguing — yet the fans below watched with flushed faces and hearts racing, screaming nonstop.

The host thought to himself, at this point why even bother with a game? Just give them two chairs and let them chat.

Qiao Qi didn’t get it.

Didn’t understand what young people today were even looking for in love anymore.

But Liang Yan understood perfectly well, because within the industry he’d always been known for being “effortlessly smooth” and “treating every actress with perfect neutrality” — so openly bantering with Qiao Qi now indirectly signaled their relationship was anything but ordinary.

The solo stans watching this iconic moment felt their hearts shatter, and amid the heartbreak, still couldn’t resist blaming Qiao Qi for not giving Liang Yan enough face. Qiao Qi’s solo stans, meanwhile, thought — wasn’t it your own idol chasing after our girl?

So not long after the event ended, fans on-site, armed with a handful of photos and video clips, sent the two of them trending once again.

The trending topic drew plenty of attention — “Liang Yan Chasing After Qiao Qi.”

When Qiao Qi herself saw this trending topic, her expression was hard to describe; Liang Yan, on the other hand, didn’t seem to feel embarrassed at all — if anything, he used the opportunity to tease her further.

“Thanks for the hard work, Teacher Qiao. Should I bump up your appearance fee a little?”

Qiao Qi smiled without warmth, lowering her voice in warning, “Liang Yan!”

Liang Yan, like a delinquent who’d just discovered a new source of entertainment in his female deskmate, completely ignored her warning and continued, “Teacher Qiao really does have quite the temper.”

Qiao Qi suddenly stopped being angry, saying as though it were nothing, “Didn’t I already tell you my temper’s bad? It’s not like this is news to you.”

“News, my ass, at least you’re self-aware — I only just found out on day—” Liang Yan’s eyes flickered, catching a slight stiffness in Qiao Qi’s hand hanging at her side; puzzled for a moment, he suddenly realized something and swiftly redirected the sentence, “—I really only found out about this today, is what I meant. Back when we worked together on set, wasn’t Teacher Qiao’s temper perfectly pleasant? Humble and eager to learn, what’s not good about that?”

Qiao Qi, gaze unblinking, kept looking at him, “Is that so? Then maybe I remembered wrong. Didn’t I tell you before?”

At this, Liang Yan was certain — Qiao Qi wasn’t misremembering or misspeaking.

She was doing this deliberately.

She was testing him.

Liang Yan’s pupils tightened, and he narrowed his eyes, smiling, “Nope, you must be misremembering.”

“Is that right.” Qiao Qi said, “I really haven’t been feeling well lately, Shanghai’s too cold, guess I can’t quite adjust to the lack of heating here. Teacher Liang probably can’t adjust either, right?”

“Hm? Me?” Liang Yan said, unfazed, “I’m fine, really. Men shouldn’t be afraid of the cold, should they?”

This was nearly word-for-word what he’d said in that previous interview.

Qiao Qi’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Was she just being paranoid?

Was she being too sensitive?

But… something still felt distinctly off.

Remembering something, she made one final probe: “Oh, right, I almost forgot Teacher Liang studied abroad before. It must get even colder abroad, and the rainy season’s probably annoying too — you didn’t live on campus either, right? Must’ve been quite a hassle commuting back and forth.”

This time, Liang Yan didn’t manage to deflect it smoothly.

Because, as everyone well knew, Liang Yan himself never brought up his past personal life in front of cameras.

His university years came up even less often than that.

With this single question, Qiao Qi might as well have written it across her forehead in giant letters: Liang Yan! I know you’re Li’ang!

Liang Yan raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.

Hm?

She knew?

Since when?

The realization hit him so suddenly that, momentarily overwhelmed, his first instinct was to deny it: “Hm? Didn’t live on campus? I did live on campus, who told you I didn’t?”

The moment he said it, Liang Yan realized: denying it now meant he’d been lying to 7 this whole time.

……………Between these two problems, which one was worse?

Liang Yan froze completely, mind blank.

Author’s Note: Don’t rush me…

It’s coming, it’s coming.

Orz