Qiao Qi froze; her first reaction was that her mind went blank.
Just then the taxi stopped for a red light, and the breeze that had been gently brushing her face through the window seemed to stop as well.
The driver grumbled, “Ugh, this awful weather—looks like it might pour tomorrow.”
The voice pulled Qiao Qi’s thoughts back. Her blurred vision gradually cleared, and the words “I’m back in the country” on her phone screen grew larger and larger.
Her breathing slowed.
Her heart pounded violently.
He was back?
He’d come back to the country?
Which city was he in?
Would he… suggest meeting up?
In just a few seconds, countless questions surged into her mind, like transparent yet powerfully present threads crisscrossing and wrapping tightly around her.
She felt as if she’d developed a heart condition. The hand gripping her phone loosened and tightened, tightened and loosened, her knuckles turning white from gripping too hard.
Finally, she managed to let out a long breath, exhaling all her nervousness and inexplicable excitement, then tapped the screen with stiff fingers.
7: When did you get back? You never mentioned it.
Her reply hadn’t come particularly fast, but Li’ang didn’t rush her, nor did he immediately claim he’d been joking the way he usually did when she didn’t reply right away.
It was as if he, too, was waiting.
Waiting for her response, waiting for her attitude.
In her mind, she pictured a handsome man, having shed his formal composure, leaning back on a sofa—unhurried, even resting his head on one hand, fingers tapping lightly against his temple.
Like a hunter waiting patiently by a tree stump for prey to come to him.
Confident of victory.
And she was the rabbit.
Even though she knew this was all just her own imagination, Qiao Qi still couldn’t help but blush at the tips of her ears.
The corners of her mouth curved up into an irrepressible smile.
Ah, women.
She stared unblinkingly at her phone screen, then received his reply.
Liangou: Aren’t I reporting to you right now?
Liangou: Are you upset I didn’t report in immediately?
Qiao Qi’s smile deepened, but her words said the opposite as she pretended not to care.
7: Tch.
7: What does that have to do with me.
Liangou: Tsk.
Liangou: You’re not even grateful.
Liangou: Let me tell you, don’t get too cocky. I’m not that far from you right now—watch out, I might fly over and beat you up tomorrow.
Normally, Qiao Qi would have focused on the “beat you up” part, but today her mind was full of: fly over to you… fly… over to you…
Qiao Qi unconsciously bit her pearly teeth into her red lips. Her fingers hesitated as she typed out “if you dare, come fly here” in the message box, but she didn’t send it for a long time.
—
“Knock knock knock—”
Three knocks pulled Liang Yan’s thoughts back.
Liang Yan’s attention had been entirely on his phone; he was so nervous that all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat. So when the knocking suddenly came, it startled him.
“Dinner’s ready.” Liang Xumo pushed the door open and poked her head in. Seeing her younger brother looking so nervous, she couldn’t help teasing him, “What are you being so secretive about?”
Liang Yan clicked his tongue. “Sis! I’m an adult, you know. Next time, could you get my permission before pushing the door open?”
Liang Xumo said readily, “Fine, fine, our young master here is all grown up.”
As she spoke, she walked in and sat down beside Liang Yan. Seeing him take his phone out from his chest with a complicated expression, she couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong?”
Liang Yan hadn’t wanted to say, but he thought that even though Liang Xumo had never dated anyone, she was still a girl after all. So his eyes darted around, and he sat up cross-legged.
Then he spoke with a serious expression, “Sis, let me ask you something.”
Seeing him so serious, Liang Xumo couldn’t help but drop her joking tone as well. “What is it? Ask away.”
“If an online friend wanted to meet you in person, would you be willing?” Liang Yan continued, “The kind of online friend you’ve never video-called or talked to on the phone with.”
“…Um.” Liang Xumo really had no experience with this. She thought about it. “Why don’t you ask your group of friends instead?”
“Forget it, they’re even less reliable than I am.” Liang Yan waved his hand, giving up on getting any useful advice from Liang Xumo. “Never mind, never mind, I’ll handle it myself.”
“What, the girl doesn’t want to meet you?”
“What girl.” Liang Yan jabbed hard at the “baby” avatar on his phone screen. “She’s my ancestor!”
Liang Xumo burst out laughing. “Alright then, why don’t you eat first before you go communicate with your ancestor?”
Liang Yan stared at the chat page where the message still hadn’t been replied to, sighed, and got up from the bed. “Fine.”
—
It wasn’t that Qiao Qi didn’t want to reply—she’d finally worked up the nerve to send “if you dare, come fly here,” but the next second, her work phone buzzed with several notifications.
It felt like being rescued right at the moment of hesitation. Qiao Qi immediately tossed her personal phone aside as if it were a hot potato.
She told herself, deceiving no one but herself: it wasn’t that she wasn’t replying, she just wanted to handle work first—it would be fine to reply later.
Then she opened her work WeChat and saw a message from Cheng Yueming.
Cheng Yueming: Reporting to the crew the day after tomorrow, Shanghai Film City.
Cheng Yueming: See you there~
Qiao Qi: “…”
Alright, no need to hesitate anymore.
So she quietly took a screenshot, blurred out the key words, and sent it to her private alt account.
Then she forwarded it from her private alt account to Li’ang.
7: [Image]
7: …What a shame.
The other side was quiet for a long while before replying.
Liangou: Then do you want to meet me?
Qiao Qi: “…”
Why was he suddenly asking so bluntly.
Liang Yan also felt he’d asked too bluntly. He sat at the dinner table, a rib bone caught between his teeth, staring unblinkingly at his phone screen.
Until his father leaned over curiously beside him. “What are you staring at?”
Liang Yan instantly recoiled as if avoiding a snake, gripping his phone tight and dodging away, eyes widening slightly. “What are you looking at?”
His father shot him a disdainful sidelong glance. “Like I care?”
Liang Yan didn’t have time to bicker with his father; his attention was entirely on his phone.
Until he received a message.
7: Yeah, I want to.
Two words, one punctuation mark.
Liang Yan stared at it for a long time, and only after confirming his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him did he slowly curl his lips into a smile.
His father, unable to hold back anymore, rapped his chopsticks against the back of Liang Yan’s hand. “Eat properly instead of smiling like a weirdo!”
For once, Liang Yan didn’t yelp when he got hit—instead he raised a hand to touch his own face, his smile deepening. “Weird?”
He turned off his phone screen and used it as a mirror, looking at his own reflection from different angles, and gave a highly biased assessment: “Isn’t this pretty handsome.”
His father: “Are you eating or not? If not, get lost!”
When you’re in love, even water fills you up.
Liang Yan felt he wasn’t hungry at all right now, so he nodded, got up and left the table. “Okay! Bye bye.”
After Liang Yan left, his father looked utterly baffled. “What did he say?”
His mother chimed in, “886.”
“What does 886 mean?” His father turned to ask Liang Xumo.
Liang Xumo hadn’t expected that on top of Liang Yan having an online romance, he’d also use such outdated internet slang. She hesitated for a long moment before saying, “It means goodbye.”
His father had thought it was something novel, and looked disappointed. “Nothing but flashy nonsense! I told you he shouldn’t have gone into show business! He needs discipline!”
“Alright, alright, does he have to be disciplined during dinner?” his mother complained. “Have you seen how thin he’s gotten! And you won’t even let him eat a proper meal.”
His father, exasperated with disappointment, said, “You’ve spoiled him rotten!”
Liang Xumo had no choice but to smooth things over. “Come on, his career is doing well, isn’t it? Show business isn’t that bad. Dad, just leave him be.”
“If I don’t discipline him, he’ll get carried away. He’s just riding on his youth in show business anyway—won’t he have to come back eventually?” his father said. “And another thing, you’re just a young girl, and he really has some nerve, just leaving the company for you to struggle with.”
Liang Xumo paused, poking her rice a couple times with her chopsticks, and said with a smile, “It’s not hard, Dad. He’s been used to freedom since he was little—let him do what he likes.”
Her father knew his daughter had always had this mild, easygoing temperament, and that nothing he said would change her mind, so he could only sigh. “You’ve had it hard.”
“Not hard at all. Here, Dad, have some ribs.”
“Alright! Thanks, daughter!”
—
After sending “yeah, I want to” to Liang Yan, feeling all kinds of awkward, Qiao Qi’s work WeChat buzzed with another pile of messages.
She casually picked up her phone to look and saw that Cheng Yueming had added her to a group chat.
Probably the cast group for the production.
Qiao Qi was curious about who the other actors were, so she clicked to check the group members and found that everyone had already updated their group nicknames to their character names.
So far, only minor supporting actors had joined; the major supporting roles were probably still being cast, or those actors hadn’t joined yet.
Qiao Qi glanced over it and then changed her own group nickname to Cheng Yanyun.
After changing it, she went back and saw the latest message in the group was a system notification.
[“Liangshan Hero” changed the group name to: “Loyal and Patriotic Yanyun Pavilion”]
Qiao Qi: “…”
Between this WeChat nickname and the group name, she didn’t even know which to mock first.
Looking again, sure enough, someone else in the group was already complaining.
Xu Ruou: What a terrible group name.
Wu Shuang: I’m speechless.
Guo Lingling: This nickname caught my attention too.
Liangshan Hero: …I’ll remember you all.
Guo Lingling fit her sharp-tongued character in the script very well.
Guo Lingling: Would you please update your nickname on your own?
Ming Yan: Okay.
Guo Lingling: …
Xu Ruou: …
Wu Shuang: …
The next second, system messages popped up.
[Guo Lingling recalled a message]
[Guo Lingling recalled a message]
[Xu Ruou recalled a message]
[Wu Shuang recalled a message]
Guo Lingling: Hahahaha, so it’s Young Master Ming!
Xu Ruou: Young Master Ming is truly cultured, no wonder—a young master fresh back from studying abroad!
Wu Shuang: Yes, yes.
Having watched this display of adults flip-flopping right before her eyes, Qiao Qi: “…”
On her personal WeChat, Li’ang sent a message.
Liangou: What are you up to?
Qiao Qi thought for a moment, then replied.
7: Reflecting on life.
Liangou: ?
7: So people really can flip their attitude as easily as flipping a book page.
Liangou: ?
Liangou: They really can.
Liangou: Haven’t you already mastered that skill to perfection?
7: …?
Author’s Note: 7: Let’s meet, let’s meet! Right now! I’m going to show the crime news exactly what “don’t casually meet up with online strangers” means! [pulls out a large sword.jpg]