Qiao Qi slept straight through until early the next morning. She woke while it was still dark out, sitting up groggily, disoriented for a few seconds.

Only a small night light was on in the room, its faint glow falling across her face, making her expression look even more dazed.

After a long moment, Qiao Qi finally registered — oh, right, this was Liang Yan’s room.

Because she saw the chair across from the bed piled with men’s clothing.

A little more awake now, Qiao Qi looked around for her phone and finally found it under the pillow, nearly out of battery.

Only five o’clock.

The glow of the screen jolted her fully awake. She yawned, wiped away the involuntary tears at the corners of her eyes, and slowly got out from under the covers.

Not once did she wonder where the room’s actual occupant had gone.

She went straight into the bathroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world, unwrapped a new set of toiletries and a fresh towel, and five minutes later emerged clean and refreshed.

Back at the bedside, she sat down, expressionless, and pulled out her phone. She went into the group chat and messaged Director Cheng: I’ll be filming as normal today.

Naturally, Director Cheng hadn’t replied yet.

It wasn’t even light out yet, after all.

But the very next moment, there was a knock at the door.

As expected, Qiao Qi looked up, the corner of her mouth curving into a faint smile.

She got up and walked over with unhurried steps.

She opened the door. It was Liang Yan.

He was still wearing the same clothes as the night before, but even before he got close, Qiao Qi felt a cold, crisp draft coming off him.

Qiao Qi glanced at him, then let her gaze drop to what he was holding.

Breakfast.

“When did you go out to get this?” Qiao Qi asked.

Liang Yan didn’t answer with a time. “I figured you’d wake up around now, so I went ahead. It’s still warm. Want some?”

His expression was solemn as he said this, his tone perfectly ordinary — only with careful attention could one catch the faint edge of hesitance underneath.

This was his own room. Going out to buy breakfast before dawn should have been something worth praising, and yet somehow it felt like he was making it up to her.

What was he making up for.

Qiao Qi slowly moved her gaze back to Liang Yan’s face, watching him calmly, trying to see through those eyes that always carried a hint of a flirtatious smile, to find something underneath.

But there was nothing there.

He had chosen to hide it, and so no one could see anything.

Qiao Qi found it almost funny.

In just two short days, they’d somehow slipped right back to how things were half a year ago.

The man who’d once sworn he’d force his way into her life had chosen, now that her life was in shambles, to retreat instead.

The hallway heating was running plenty warm too, but Qiao Qi somehow felt cold all the same.

Maybe it was the chill she sensed coming off Liang Yan. She paused, withdrawing her scrutinizing gaze, and stepped aside to let him pass.

Softly: “I was too tired yesterday, fell asleep without meaning to. Sorry.”

The moment those last two words left her mouth, Liang Yan’s eyelids lifted at once.

When he wasn’t smiling, there was a natural, cold sharpness to him — especially now, with his eyes lifted directly, his gaze thin and sharp as a blade.

But Qiao Qi seemed not to notice at all. She really was hungry and didn’t want to fight her own body over it, so as she passed by Liang Yan, she paused. “Oh, this breakfast — is it for two?”

Liang Yan’s throat worked. Without a word, he pressed both the food and the room key into her hands.

His face looked terrible, and yet he still couldn’t help adding, “Drink some warm water before you eat.”

Qiao Qi hummed in response, not entirely sure whether she’d taken the hint or not.

Only once the door across the hall had opened and closed again did Liang Yan finally allow himself to stare straight at it.

He stared for a long while, then, looking terribly wronged, lowered his eyes. The hand at his side clenched weakly a couple of times before, in the end, he did nothing at all and turned back into his room.

Half a meter away, on the other side, Qiao Qi stood behind her own door, watching through the peephole as the man across the hall first looked expressionless, then visibly upset, and finally lowered his eyes, looking utterly wronged.

…You poor, wronged thing.

Qiao Qi didn’t feel great about it either. She looked down at the heavy breakfast bag in her hands and, after a long moment, let out a long sigh.

If he thought there was a problem himself, then she wasn’t going to help him solve it.

She might even, deliberately, make things easier for him.

For instance, by making herself scarce.

Qiao Qi followed through. All morning on set, she either read her script alone or made small talk with the other actresses.

She had several scenes with Lin Chu today too, and occasionally exchanged a few words with her. Though she still held some resentment toward Lin Chu personally, she tried her best to keep her personal feelings out of work.

After all, they were both currently serving the same production, The Cipher Key.

So all morning, everyone simply noticed that Teacher Qiao was very busy, without realizing that the female lead hadn’t had a single moment of interaction with the male lead, Teacher Liang.

By rights, shouldn’t these two practically be inseparable?

That’s how it used to be — sure, Teacher Qiao always acted like she couldn’t stand Teacher Liang, but anyone with eyes could tell she was actually quite happy about it.

Women, you know.

More than a little “mouth says no, body says yes.”

By the time lunch was called and staff started handing out boxed meals as usual, one of them ran into Liang Yan’s assistant and handed over two boxes.

“The one on the bottom is for Teacher Qiao.”

Liang Yan’s assistant hummed and immediately hurried back to Liang Yan’s side.

Liang Yan only glanced up once to see that his assistant was holding a box for Qiao Qi too, and instinctively turned to look toward where she sat not far off, chatting with Cheng Yueming.

Laughing and talking.

Looking to be in pretty good spirits.

Liang Yan suddenly felt something catch in his throat.

Not noticing anything off, the assistant said, “I already delivered this one to Teacher Qiao.”

Liang Yan didn’t even look up. “Put it down.”

The assistant said, “Huh?”

Liang Yan repeated, “I said put it down.”

His tone was distinctly unpleasant.

It was at this moment that people around them started to sense something was off about the atmosphere on set today.

Like the fact that no one had heard the usual playful bickering between Liang-Wood-and-Perch all day.

It was also partly their own fault for having taken yesterday off — with the set quiet all day yesterday, everyone had needed the morning today just to readjust, and by afternoon and evening they’d gotten used to the quiet again.

So even with the two leads back, the mood stayed subdued, and nobody thought anything of it.

It was only now, hearing the displeasure in Liang Yan’s voice, that people belatedly realized: oh, maybe this little couple had had a fight.

Everyone had always pictured Young Master Liang as easygoing, always smiling — but his assistant knew better than anyone just how difficult this young master could be when he was genuinely upset.

So he immediately, nervously, set the boxed meal back down where it had been, not daring to make a peep, and scurried off with his own food.

Everyone else pretended to busy themselves too, though every eye was sliding sideways, every ear pricked up, terrified of missing a single scrap of news.

Liang Yan himself noticed none of it, his mind entirely occupied by Qiao Qi not far away.

It was only then that Qiao Qi realized she didn’t have her own meal either. She asked Cheng Yueming, who was happily eating beside her, “Where’s mine?”

Cheng Yueming said matter-of-factly, “Shouldn’t it be with Young Master Liang?”

Qiao Qi paused, only now remembering that her meals had always been brought to her by Liang Yan.

Before, he’d always used discussing the script as an excuse to stick close to her, so naturally the meals fell to him too.

Over time, she’d developed the habit of not bothering with anything besides acting itself.

Looking back now… that hadn’t been a great habit to fall into.

Qiao Qi bit her lip, thoroughly convinced this man was doing it on purpose.

Scheming against her!

Without thinking, she turned to glance at Liang Yan, only to find herself locking eyes with him directly.

The two of them, in this huge, chaotic set, each clearly going about their own business, and yet somehow always managing to find each other’s direction first.

They said their eyes weren’t on each other, but really, everything was in their peripheral vision.

Realizing she hadn’t been quite as composed as she’d wanted to appear, Qiao Qi suddenly felt embarrassed and flustered. She put down her script in a huff and stood up to leave.

The whole set had its eyes on these two leads, and the instant one of them stood and walked off, everyone else sucked in a collective breath, their attention shifting, as inconspicuously as possible, to the other lead.

After waiting three seconds, Liang Yan stood too.

And, in passing, picked up both boxed meals.

Once the two of them had disappeared from view one after the other, the set fell quiet for a beat, and then everyone let out a collective breath of relief, murmurs breaking out from every corner:

“Alright, alright, they should be making up now.”

“My god, I’m more invested in this than my own love life.”

“Anyone posting to Weibo? Go update everyone at home!”

“This Woodpecker reporting in!”

Woodpecker — the fan nickname for Liang-Wood-and-Perch shippers.

Apparently the fandom had originally wanted to call themselves “the Nest,” but the fan club thought that name was a bit too embarrassing, so they switched to Woodpecker instead.

At least Woodpecker was cute.

【Aaah it looks like the two of them are in a cold war today! The young master’s gone to coax his princess now! Reporting complete, this bird is signing off!】

【? Cold war? Isn’t that a couple thing?】

【? Wake up, sister, this is shipper paradise, not a real-life couple — are they siblings?】

【Whoa, sudden step-sibling vibes】

【Bring that up and I won’t be sleeping tonight】

……

Online, everything looked peaceful and cheerful — but the makeup room was eerily quiet.

The makeup room had actually had people in it, but the moment Qiao Qi walked in with a cold expression, more than half the room cleared out; by the time Liang Yan followed behind with an equally cold face, the whole room was empty.

Qiao Qi knew Liang Yan had followed her, but she pretended not to notice, sitting down on the sofa nearby and looking down at her phone.

Until a hand swept past the edge of her vision, and a boxed meal landed on the glass coffee table.

Only then did she look up, feigning surprise. “Oh? Teacher Liang’s here too.”

Liang Yan stood in front of her, looking down at her from above.

He didn’t answer.

Since he wasn’t talking, Qiao Qi didn’t push either. She curved her lips into a smile and played dumb. “Are you eating here? Then I’ll head out first.”

With that, she stood to leave.

As she swung her arm, her wrist was caught, gently, by his hand.

Qiao Qi paused, stopping in her tracks, but didn’t turn around.

Behind her came Liang Yan’s low voice. “This is for you.”

His tone carried an unmistakable note of grievance, of something pitiful.

Qiao Qi let out a sudden laugh. Without much effort, she pulled her hand free and turned around, her gaze cool.

Liang Yan’s hand grasped uselessly at empty air, and the sight brought back the image of him at the hotel door that morning.

Just like then — as if she were the one who’d wronged him.

As if she were the one who’d made him feel hurt and grieved.

Wasn’t she the one who was actually the most wronged here?

From the time she was old enough to understand things until now, she had never once had a life that truly belonged to her.

She hadn’t even dared to let him get to know her real identity and life.

After all, wasn’t he the lofty young master of the Liang family?

Wasn’t he the top idol adored by millions of fans?

And what did she have?

She only had a messy, chaotic life.

And an experience into which she’d poured nearly everything she had, only to end up with a wretched, broken ending.

So what right did he have to be the one feeling wronged here.

The makeup room was so quiet it seemed like only the two of them’s breathing remained, drifting through this enclosed space, gradually merging into one.

This strange, subtle “reunion” set Qiao Qi’s emotions churning; she couldn’t hold it back, her eyes swelling instantly, wetness spreading, red creeping into every part of her irises.

Her throat tightened, and after a long moment she managed, painfully, to swallow all that grievance back down.

The weight of these emotions pressed so hard against her chest it ached, and she looked at Liang Yan, finally forcing out one sentence: “You don’t want to say it, do you.”

At the sound of her voice, Liang Yan’s whole body seemed to sway; he lifted his eyes and met Qiao Qi’s gaze, red as a rabbit’s.

He froze. “You…”

Qiao Qi said fiercely, “What me. What are you feeling so wronged about?”

Liang Yan’s mind was a tangled mess. Watching Qiao Qi’s tears nearly spill over, he fumbled clumsily for the tissues on the table.

He pulled several sheets in a row, balled them together, wanting to wipe her tears but afraid she’d mind. His hand hovered in front of her eyes, circling back and forth several times, never quite landing.

Qiao Qi was almost driven to laugh out of sheer frustration at him.

Where had all that glib, easy confidence from before gone?

Playing the innocent little puppy now, of all times.

Qiao Qi snatched the tissue from him and, without caring about her eye makeup, pressed it straight to her eyes and wiped, her voice thick and muffled. “Forget it if you don’t want to say it.”

With that, she turned and walked out.

The door slammed shut behind her with a bang.

Left standing there, hit with that gust of cold air to the face, Liang Yan slowly pulled out his phone and texted Yu Min.

Liang Yan: I need to see her.

He had to find out for certain whether she had anything to do with what happened to Maiya, whether she had ever hurt her.

And whether he could, in good conscience, still stand by Qiao Qi’s side.

As for outside the room, plenty of people saw Qiao Qi walk out with red-rimmed eyes; this time, Liang Yan didn’t chase after her.

A good chunk of the crew, all fans of this ship, exchanged glances and sighed collectively, expressing disappointment in Liang Yan.

Even the Weibo super-topic had people stirring things up.

【Mr. Liang, you have truly let us down】

【???】

【What happened? Did the young master mess up again?】

【Sigh. No idea. All I know is the princess came out with red eyes】

【…】

【Wasn’t the plan to coax her in person! I waited and waited for you two to meet up, and this is what you give me?】

That whole day, the Liang-Wood-and-Perch super-topic felt like it was hosting some grand, indescribable ceremony, with everyone posting the same line:

【Sigh. So disappointed!】

Author’s note: I just realized… why has nobody been talking to me?

[timidly peeks head out to test the waters.jpg]