When talking face to face, words spoken are like spilled water — there’s no take-back function, no way to unsend.

More importantly, Qiao Qi wasn’t about to give Liang Yan that chance anyway.

Hearing Liang Yan deny it, she felt no anger or resentment; her expression, if anything, carried a sense of expected calm.

She nodded lightly, smiling with an air of easy indifference, “Oh, I suppose I misremembered, then.”

Liang Yan’s brain short-circuited, and the words slipped out before he could stop them: “Misremembered with who?”

At this, the smile at the corner of Qiao Qi’s mouth deepened. She looked at him for a long moment, “Maybe with a—”

Liang Yan’s eyes filled with anticipation.

The next second, a gust of wind lifted Qiao Qi’s ponytail; she curved her lips into a smile and spoke two words: “Online friend.”

Then she stepped forward, brushing past Liang Yan.

Qiao Qi was clearly smiling, yet Liang Yan felt the temperature around them drop instantly, unmistakably.

His survival instinct kicked in, and he quickly grabbed hold of Qiao Qi’s wrist.

— But Qiao Qi, as though she’d anticipated exactly this, lightly raised her hand and slipped free of his grip.

Liang Yan froze.

Qiao Qi tilted her head, her words laced with thorns, “Teacher Liang seems to be putting his hands on me an awful lot today. Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?”

Liang Yan pressed his lips together.

Qiao Qi kept up that same unbothered, faint smile, giving a light “Hm?”

Truth be told, Liang Yan’s legs had gone a little weak.

Along with a fair bit of guilt.

His hand still hung in midair; he wiggled his fingers awkwardly, then withdrew it, instinctively rubbing his nose, “Well, uh…”

Qiao Qi smiled, “Teacher Liang really should think carefully before speaking.”

“…”

Damn it, they’d have to face this eventually.

Might as well die either way, better to give himself a clean death—

“Teacher Qiao! Over here!” someone suddenly called out from a distance.

Interrupting the hard-won courage Liang Yan had just worked up to “confess and accept punishment.”

The breath he’d struggled so long to gather lodged itself, most inconveniently, right in his throat; he choked, missing his last chance at “coming clean.”

Qiao Qi wasn’t foolish — by this point, even without full certainty, she understood roughly seven or eight parts of it.

Liang Yan, it seemed, had also recognized her.

She hadn’t dared acknowledge him because of the gap in their status — but what about him?

Was it because she wasn’t what he’d imagined 7 to be?

Was it because her beauty was too vulgar, too common?

Hah.

Qiao Qi gave a cold laugh and turned to walk away.

Liang Yan stepped forward in time, and this time caught Qiao Qi’s wrist precisely, without error.

“I’ll come find you to talk after tonight’s over.”

Qiao Qi didn’t answer him directly; instead, she pried his fingers off one by one, leaving him with a brief, cold laugh.

Liang Yan: “…”

Truth be told, in that single second, Liang Yan seemed to see his own corpse lying peacefully at the crematorium.

Goddammit.

He should’ve reserved a spot with that clinic owner back then.

—

That evening, the whole cast gathered — an informal kickoff dinner of sorts, mostly the same Misty Pavilion actors, so being among familiar faces, there wasn’t much need for restraint.

Still, the proper procedures had to be observed.

Those with some standing raised their glasses to give speeches; Director Cheng, feeling rather sentimental, repeated the line “life always comes down to fate” several times over.

Every time he said it, Qiao Qi could feel a pointed stare fixed directly on her from across the table.

She noticed, but pretended not to, casually making eye contact with every other actor at the table.

Deliberately ignoring only Liang Yan.

As a result, Liang Yan spent the entire meal tasting nothing, fidgeting restlessly.

Time and again he found excuses to glance over at Qiao Qi, only to be smoothly, effortlessly avoided each time.

The first to notice the delicate tension between them was Cheng Yueming. She hadn’t been paying attention to the two of them either at first, seated beside Lin Chu, occasionally leaning over to whisper in his ear during the meal.

Partway through, Lin Chu poured her some wine, and then, out of habit, poured some for Qiao Qi too — only then did Cheng Yueming notice Qiao Qi was drinking today.

She rarely drank at gatherings like this.

Because she needed to stay clear-headed enough to go home and study her script.

Cheng Yueming was surprised, “Qiao Qi’s drinking today.”

Qiao Qi gave an “Mm,” “Nothing going on tonight.”

Liang Yan silently produced a question mark, “?”

What did she mean, nothing going on tonight?

Had he just been talking to himself earlier?

So he said, deliberately, “Nothing going on tonight for Teacher Qiao?”

Qiao Qi ignored him completely, blinking innocently, “Nope.”

“…”

Liang Yan understood now. She was doing this on purpose.

He couldn’t help staring directly at her; Qiao Qi blinked again, and, with an unmistakably provocative air, even raised her glass, toasting him across the table, “Cheers to a pleasant collaboration, Teacher Liang.”

Liang Yan gritted his teeth.

Qiao Qi added, “Not drinking, Teacher Liang?”

Liang Yan grabbed his glass and downed it in one go.

Cheng Yueming, an unwitting bystander who happened to catch every single detail, quietly raised an eyebrow; Lin Chu beside her had by now picked up on something rather telling too.

Under the table, Cheng Yueming quietly hooked a finger at Lin Chu; Lin Chu lowered his eyes and saw Cheng Yueming gesturing for him to check his phone.

Cheng Yueming: ?

Cheng Yueming: Is something going on between those two?

Lin Chu, remembering the incident in the back garden last time, went quiet.

The moment he went quiet, Cheng Yueming knew there was definitely something going on.

Cheng Yueming: You know?!

Cheng Yueming: Spill it!

Lin Chu: …Kind of.

Lin Chu: I mean… I saw the two of them together in the small garden once.

Cheng Yueming: !!!

Drawing on her feminine sixth sense, which rivaled the imagination of any screenwriter, Cheng Yueming reached a conclusion in a mere three seconds: Choose a Good Tree to Roost was real!

But this little couple was clearly in the middle of an argument today.

This simply would not do!

How could they be fighting on the very first, auspicious day of the new production! What a terrible way to start off The Cipher!

They absolutely had to make up before midnight!

So Cheng Yueming quietly took up the mantle of peacemaker, embarking on a noble mission of getting Liang Yan and Qiao Qi to keep drinking.

Alcohol was wonderful, after all.

Alcohol was a catalyst for love!

Come to think of it, she and Lin Chu had ended up together in the first place all because of a single drink!

The more Cheng Yueming thought about it, the more excited she got, and the more aggressively she pushed the drinks.

Qiao Qi accepted every glass without hesitation; watching her drink without pause, Liang Yan grew so frustrated it gave him a headache.

Distracted, he unknowingly ended up drinking quite a lot himself too.

Midway through, the mood took an inexplicable turn toward rowdy. Various actors showed off their range of skills — some singing, some dancing energetically.

Anyone who didn’t know better might’ve thought some kind of illicit activity was going on.

Eventually it was Director Cheng who put a stop to this impromptu mini rave — first having everyone pull out their phones and disable their lock screens, then leading a game based on a classic scene from The Cipher‘s script, and once that finished, having his assistant bring in a stack of matching phone cases, custom-made specifically for The Cipher.

With the director himself giving these out, how could anyone not switch?

By this point, Qiao Qi felt she’d gotten pretty thoroughly tipsy; propping her chin up with one hand, she fumbled around for a long while before finally locating her phone.

Her phone already had a case on it, and she struggled endlessly trying to pry it off.

Suddenly, a hand reached over from beside her and snatched both her phone and the case away.

A beat slow to react, Qiao Qi turned to chase the movement with her eyes, only then noticing Liang Yan had somehow ended up sitting right next to her.

She slowly looked him up and down, then, with hazy, unfocused eyes, tossed him a question mark.

Liang Yan had been fairly annoyed with her up to this point, but seeing her like this now, he found it rather adorable instead; he deliberately held a finger up in front of Qiao Qi’s eyes, “What’s this?”

Qiao Qi ignored him, reaching out to grab her phone back.

Relying on being relatively more sober, Liang Yan lifted his arm out of reach, even deliberately arching an eyebrow in provocation.

Qiao Qi’s hand grasped nothing but air; she swiped at it a couple more times, frowning in irritation.

Before Liang Yan could get out a taunt, the next second he saw Qiao Qi’s hand reaching toward his own face.

Assuming he’d successfully riled her up enough to slap him, Liang Yan instinctively tilted his head back.

— Which, quite conveniently, offered his collar right up to the little tipsy troublemaker.

The little drunk grabbed hold of Liang Yan’s collar in one fist and yanked, hard, forcing Liang Yan in close.

Her wine-soaked breath was hot against him.

Caught utterly off guard, Liang Yan found himself only a fist’s width from Qiao Qi, their breaths nearly tangling together.

In the chaotic private room, this one small corner felt as though God himself had deliberately staked it off, sealing it away from the rest.

Liang Yan looked at Qiao Qi’s eyes, faintly flushed red from the alcohol, and unconsciously felt his throat bob; his voice dropped, turning rough and hoarse.

He said her name softly. “Qiao Qi.”

Qiao Qi’s temper flared, “Don’t say my name!”

Liang Yan wasn’t angered by this; he gave a light “Tsk,” neither retreating nor advancing, savoring the way Qiao Qi’s breath washed over his face.

“Give me my phone back,” Qiao Qi said.

“Why?” Liang Yan deliberately baited her. “Got secrets in there?”

As though she’d been caught out on something, Liang Yan caught a flicker of red spreading up to the edges of Qiao Qi’s ears.

This particular flush was different from the one caused by alcohol.

It was the color of a girl’s secret feelings.

Liang Yan had only meant to tease the little drunk, but ended up teasing himself into a corner instead.

He felt his own breath visibly catch, his heartbeat quickening along with it.

The habitual mischief on his face had, without him noticing, quietly faded, replaced instead by an unmistakable intensity and warmth.

His gaze traveled slowly, inch by inch, across every inch of Qiao Qi’s face; passing over her lips, flushed and glistening from the alcohol, he paused briefly before quickly looking away.

A few seconds later, his eyes drifted casually back.

He pressed on: “What secrets?”

Qiao Qi, once she’d had a drink, tended to grow slow to react; with Liang Yan this close now, her whole field of vision was filled with his striking, exceptional features.

She swallowed silently, saying nothing.

Liang Yan lowered his voice further, a soft “Hm?”

Qiao Qi felt, inexplicably, the grip her fist held on Liang Yan’s collar going slack.

“Sure you don’t want to tell me?” Liang Yan pressed again.

Qiao Qi parted her lips, about to say something, when someone nearby suddenly let out a loud “hey-yo,” and launched into a folk song.

Liang Yan: “…”

Jolted sharply back to her senses by the outburst, Qiao Qi noticed just how close she and Liang Yan were, and her first instinct was to let go, raise a hand, and shove his face away.

“…”

Liang Yan, hit squarely in the face, shut his eyes tightly, deeply convinced the heavens were deliberately conspiring against him today.

“Give me my phone!” Qiao Qi hadn’t forgotten the matter at hand.

Liang Yan, now equally out of patience, said, “Fine, fine, once the case is on I’ll give it back!”

Qiao Qi eyed him suspiciously, “Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

Liang Yan, exasperated, pulled out his own phone in a couple of quick motions and tossed it to her, “Returning the favor.”

Liang Yan’s phone had no case on it; taking it, Qiao Qi instinctively put the case on for him.

Only after doing so did it belatedly occur to her: what favor was there to return over a mere phone case?

Besides, she hadn’t even been the one to give him this case in the first place.

Just as Qiao Qi was about to toss his phone back to him, Cheng Yueming suddenly swooped in and snatched the phone right out of Qiao Qi’s hand, “Stop fiddling with that, come dance.”

“?”

“Hey? Wait, that’s not my—” Before she could even finish, Cheng Yueming had already dragged her off.

Sing?

There was no way Qiao Qi would sing.

Even half-drunk, there was no way she’d sing in front of everyone.

So she listened to Cheng Yueming sing instead, and as she listened, sitting back in a chair, she gradually grew drowsy.

Her ears filled with a jumble of noise, and Qiao Qi, unable to hold on much longer, forced her eyelids open, searching for a familiar face.

Eventually, she spotted Liang Yan in a corner, being cornered by Director Cheng, who was lecturing him on the philosophy of life; Liang Yan hadn’t drunk that much to begin with, but after a few minutes accompanying Director Cheng, he’d had a bit too much.

So by the time everyone was leaving, stumbling their way back to the hotel, only Qiao Qi and Liang Yan were still preoccupied with each other’s phones.

The phone mustn’t be lost.

There was still an online relationship to maintain, after all.

Supported by Cheng Yueming, Qiao Qi mumbled, “Where’s my phone? Where’s my phone?”

Cheng Yueming went, “Oh,” “It’s right here, right here.”

She waved the phone in front of Qiao Qi.

Qiao Qi squinted, looking at the unfamiliar phone case, “That’s not mine.”

Cheng Yueming said, “It’s the case the director handed out! This is your phone.”

Qiao Qi belatedly remembered, going “oh oh oh” a few times, and only then felt reassured enough to take the phone in hand and walk off with Cheng Yueming.

Before leaving, Cheng Yueming remembered to tell Lin Chu to grab Liang Yan’s phone too; Lin Chu asked, “Where’d he leave it?”

Cheng Yueming had no idea either, “Go look for it, wasn’t he drinking with my dad earlier? Should be around there somewhere.”

Lin Chu went and searched, and sure enough, found it.

Two phones, identical cases, identical models — no one thought anything seemed off.

Not until each of them had retreated to their own rooms with phones in hand, both sleeping soundly until deep into the night, when they woke from thirst after drinking too much, their mouths parched.

After drinking some water, unable to stand the lingering smell of alcohol on themselves, both went to shower.

Once showered, they were both fully sober.

Once sober, Liang Yan first sat at the edge of his bed, dazed, for a long while, before suddenly remembering the conversation he’d promised Qiao Qi that evening.

…Had he stood her up again?

At this, Liang Yan snapped fully alert; he hurriedly grabbed his phone to message the other party.

Out of habit, he opened WeChat. Out of habit, he tapped into the pinned chat.

Somewhere in the process, a vague sense that something was off nagged at him, but he couldn’t quite pin down what.

Next door, Qiao Qi happened to be going through the exact same routine as Liang Yan.

Waking up thirsty, drinking water, showering, sobering up, remembering the promised conversation, grabbing her phone to message him.

Same as always, she opened WeChat, tapped into the pinned chat.

Before she could send anything, she received a message from him first.

7: …Headache.

Qiao Qi replied without thinking.

Liang: Same here.

7: Who’s been messing with my phone? I always use the 24-key keyboard.

Qiao Qi yawned, and then it hit her too — something was off.

Liang: I was about to ask the same thing — who’s been messing with my phone? I always use the 9-key one.

7: ? My profile picture’s wrong too.

Qiao Qi narrowed her eyes at her own profile picture, and noticed it was, indeed, off.

Familiar enough, sure.

But it wasn’t her profile picture!

And, on top of that—

Liang: Why does my chat wallpaper look like…

Qiao Qi pulled the phone closer, staring hard at it for several seconds, and suddenly froze.

Then, slowly, slowly, her eyes went wide.

…Wasn’t this… the photo she’d sent Li’ang before?!

Holy shit!!!

Who had switched this for her?

Wait.

Hold on.

This phone…???

Qiao Qi’s mind went completely blank.

On the other end, the person seemed to have arrived at the same realization at that very moment, and after a long stretch of silence, sent a flood of ellipses.

7: …

7: ……….

7: …………..

7: Does this… still even require a conversation?

Staring at her own WeChat account sending her a message, Qiao Qi weighed the strangely heavy phone in her hand and sank into an eerie silence.

This… didn’t quite match up with how she’d imagined meeting her online boyfriend in real life… at all…

Author’s Note: Liangou: One might ask — whose imagination ever did match up, in the end?

🙂