Before joining the crew, Qiao Qi spent all her time studying the script; by the time she boarded the plane, she was so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open.

But she hadn’t expected the coincidence of running into Liang Yan on the plane.

Liang Yan hadn’t shown his face at first—he was dressed casually, with a black fedora covering his face to block the light.

Qiao Qi’s eyes caught the seven-figure watch on this slender-wristed man, and she immediately judged him to be someone extraordinary.

She didn’t know what his temperament was like.

Or whether he’d be grumpy if woken.

After hesitating for a moment, since the person beside her also needed to get past, Qiao Qi had no choice but to speak up. “Excuse me, sir.”

The gentleman remained asleep, with no reaction at all.

Qiao Qi frowned slightly, silently reached out with two fingers to pinch the brim of the man’s hat, and pulled it up slightly. Light poured into his field of vision, and the gentleman finally reacted.

He first raised his long-fingered hand to grab the hat, then a muffled, hoarse voice came out: “No autographs.”

As he spoke, he pulled the hat back down, revealing a pair of narrowed, alluring peach-blossom eyes, and continued: “No photos.”

Qiao Qi recognized those peach-blossom eyes at a glance. “…”

But Liang Yan clearly hadn’t recognized her; he continued, “A new fan? Don’t you know I don’t sign autographs or take photos in private? Why don’t you go learn the house rules on my fan forum?”

Qiao Qi: “…”

After two or three seconds of silence, she decided to introduce herself. “I’m Qiao Qi.”

Liang Yan paused, opening his eyes slightly. “Qiao Qi?”

Qiao Qi, expressionless, said, “I’m… the seat next to you.” (A deadpan pun—”aisle seat” sounds almost identical to “Li’ang” in Chinese.)

Liang Yan: “…”

—

Actually, it wasn’t Liang Yan’s poor eyesight to blame—it was mainly that Qiao Qi’s outfit today was completely different from what he’d seen before.

Qiao Qi had nothing much to do today—she wasn’t working, nor did she need to show the screenwriter or director whether she fit the role’s temperament. She was simply joining the crew, with no other task, so she hadn’t bothered to dress up, just throwing on a cotton green T-shirt, white casual pants, and sneakers.

She hadn’t styled her hair either, just tousling it a couple times after applying some skincare product following her morning wash-up.

Her hair wasn’t short, but not especially long either, falling loosely and languidly to around her shoulder blades, occasionally curling up in a lazy, half-hearted wave.

Perhaps because of her cool, fair complexion, her hair color was naturally lighter than most people’s, leaning toward chestnut—but not the chestnut color from hair dye.

The strands drifted along the contours of her profile, adding a touch of softness to her otherwise clean features.

This look and air were completely different from the previous two times when she’d worn a qipao and heels; with her eye makeup and red lipstick removed, her most natural features were revealed. Though her contours weren’t as sharp as when made up, the lines were still precise, beautiful and natural.

Especially her eyes—tinged with faint redness from fatigue and drowsiness. When she lazily lifted her eyelids, the corners of her eyes carried an unconscious allure.

But overall, her air remained cool and aloof.

Honestly, if Liang Yan hadn’t known that this script had been written years ago, he would have suspected that the character “Cheng Yanyun” had been tailor-made for Qiao Qi by Cheng Yueming.

Right now, Qiao Qi sat in the window seat, her brows cool as she looked at her phone, not sparing this “big shot” of his so much as a glance.

Liang Yan rubbed his nose, feeling a bit awkward.

7: Speechless.

7: Ran into a coworker on a business trip.

Liangou: What a coincidence.

Liangou: Same here.

7: …This is my first time in this kind of situation—mainly, I’m not close with him, so should I say hi?

Liangou: I’ve been thinking about the same thing.

Liangou: Wouldn’t saying hi come across as more polite?

7: ?

7: I don’t need to “come across” as anything—I’m already polite.

Liangou: Then… let’s say hi.

7: I also…

So in a corner of the plane, Qiao Qi and Liang Yan turned their heads at the same time, meeting each other’s eyes for just a second before quickly looking away.

As if nothing had happened.

7: I don’t like him.

Liangou: I’m not interested in her.

7: Her?

Liangou: Him?

7: …

Liangou: …

7: Let’s not say hi after all.

Liangou: Same to you.

7: …

Liangou: …

Then the two of them both put their phones down—one tucking it into a pocket, the other into a bag—one pulling the fedora back over his face, the other taking out an eye mask, and both coldly drifted off to sleep.

—

Qiao Qi was woken by a sharp voice. Frowning, she was about to pull her eye mask down when a reminder suddenly came from beside her: “The window shade isn’t down.”

Meaning that if she suddenly pulled the mask down now, her eyes would definitely be uncomfortable.

Qiao Qi recognized Liang Yan’s voice. She pressed her lips together, said “thanks,” then fumbled to pull the shade down, and only after adjusting for a moment did she take off the mask.

Her vision blurred for a moment out of habit, and once it had mostly cleared, Qiao Qi turned her head to see the young master beside her holding a cup of water, looking toward the front-left with an amused expression.

Qiao Qi followed his gaze and saw a woman in a baseball cap arguing with a flight attendant.

After listening for a moment, she understood the situation: during turbulence, the woman had insisted on having water; the flight attendant reluctantly brought it, but the woman failed to hold it steady when taking it, spilling it all over her skirt, and then blamed the flight attendant entirely.

The flight attendant looked quite young, and her eyes had turned red from the unfair treatment, but she stubbornly held back, not letting a single tear fall.

Qiao Qi only watched for a few seconds before looking away; the whole scene was giving her a headache. Just as she was about to put her eye mask back on and sleep, Liang Yan suddenly said beside her, “Doesn’t that air seem familiar?”

Qiao Qi actually hadn’t gotten a good look at the unreasonable woman’s face, and didn’t find anything familiar about her.

Besides, even if she had found the woman familiar, how could Liang Yan possibly know that?

Puzzled, she turned to look at Liang Yan.

She saw Liang Yan raise an eyebrow and utter three words: “He Nianyi.”

…

He Nianyi was a supporting female character in Yanyun Pavilion, with a considerable amount of screen time—significant enough to be called an important supporting role. She was the youngest daughter of the He family, a wealthy Shanghai clan; the He family had many sons but not a single daughter besides her.

The He patriarch had only had a daughter late in life, near his fiftieth year, so the youngest daughter had been doted on and spoiled by the entire family growing up, her personality turning arrogant, domineering, and unreasonably pampered.

When He Nianyi turned eighteen, the He family threw an extravagant coming-of-age celebration for her, and used the occasion to select a suitable husband for the family.

In that chaotic era, Shanghai appeared peaceful and prosperous on the surface, but beneath it, various factions were locked in turbulent undercurrents, far from tranquil.

The elder Mr. He had a sharp eye all his life and had long predicted that Shanghai’s peace wouldn’t last, so he thought to send his youngest daughter abroad.

Leaving the country was easy, but settling abroad was not. To secure that bridge, the elder Mr. He set his sights on the young master of the Ming family who had just returned from studying overseas—Ming Yan.

Ming Yan was a pampered playboy, and He Nianyi was equally unrestrained. She had originally been unhappy about having her marriage arranged by her family, but then, once while disguised as a man mingling in Yanyun Pavilion, she got drunk and nearly fell victim to a group of ruffians.

Having studied abroad, Ming Yan’s thinking was far more open than that of the locals. Seeing what looked like a man being bullied by other men, he didn’t stand by gloating and watching the show like others might—instead, he casually hauled the drunk “young man” away, telling the ruffians, “It’s not that he can’t be had, but shouldn’t you get this young man’s consent first?”

Ming Yan thought he was simply playing the hero, rescuing a young man from trouble—but when the drunk’s cap fell off and a cascade of long black hair spilled out, he realized he had just played the part of a hero saving a damsel.

From then on, the beauty clung to her hero, determined to marry no one but him.

…

The character “He Nianyi” had strong dramatic tension and stood out well—though arrogant in personality, she thankfully didn’t commit any serious wrongdoing, and in the end even greatly propelled the romance between the male and female leads.

Based on current market feedback, this kind of character tended to be the most well-liked type of female supporting role.

Whoever could play this role well, even if it didn’t make them a huge star, would at least earn a wealth of goodwill from the first wave of viewers.

As Qiao Qi thought this over, she narrowed her eyes and glanced at the woman again, roughly understanding what Liang Yan had meant by “familiar.”

“That’s some real-life arrogance and domineering right there—wonder if Cheng Yueming can find someone suitable for the role in the industry.” Liang Yan drawled lazily, still in his idle posture after finishing his water, his left ankle crossed over his right leg.

Qiao Qi glanced over casually and saw his slender ankle and the protruding anklebone, every inch of skin pale, his posture casual, his frame delicately boned—giving off a kind of “weightless allure.”

It was a subtle feeling.

Eye-catching.

Yet also distancing.

Qiao Qi thought of Young Master Ming Yan from Yanyun Pavilion, and in that instant, she suddenly understood why Cheng Yueming had insisted on casting Liang Yan for this role.

Probably not for the sake of Liang Yan’s own popularity and traffic.

But because there really was a shadow of Ming Yan in him.

—

Things developed rather suddenly.

Qiao Qi and Liang Yan were arranged onto a sofa in a hotel suite, while beside them, Cheng Yueming chatted casually with producer Xu Lu, holding a stack of resumes.

These were resumes of actors auditioning for supporting roles. In the entertainment industry these days, newcomers sprouted like chives—no heavy rain needed, just a couple drops of water and a whole new batch would grow.

Fresh faces came in wave after wave, but most were much the same, and with photos deliberately photoshopped to perfection, both Cheng Yueming and Xu Lu were left with pounding headaches.

The two of them couldn’t settle on choices from the resumes; occasionally when they did pick someone, they’d disagree over it. Finally, once Qiao Qi and Liang Yan arrived at the hotel, Cheng Yueming simply grabbed Liang Yan to be a third interviewer.

Qiao Qi, meanwhile, joined the audition as a reference for opinions.

Qiao Qi herself was a newcomer, so she felt she wasn’t really qualified to judge others, but since Cheng Yueming had asked, she couldn’t very well be overly modest about it either—she could only try to keep a low profile.

And do some research online beforehand about the newcomers coming to audition.

From ten to twelve, they saw if not eighty then at least fifty newcomers. Some resumes were exaggerated—looking impressively rich on paper, but once the person stood in front of the interviewers, they couldn’t even speak clearly.

Some photos were over-edited, making the nose and eyes look pretty and well-proportioned, but when the person actually arrived—ugh! Their freshly done double-eyelid surgery hadn’t even healed yet!

Qiao Qi hadn’t slept well to begin with, and now she was even more worn out by these unreliable applicants, her head aching.

Seeing her looking exhausted, Cheng Yueming asked, “Didn’t get good rest on the plane?”

“Mm.” Qiao Qi didn’t bother with pleasantries, answering very honestly.

Cheng Yueming smiled and said, “Then why don’t you go back and rest for a while?”

Qiao Qi indeed wanted to go back—mainly because she wasn’t of much use here anyway. She said “mm” and slowly stood up.

Just as she’d steadied herself and was about to leave, the hotel room door was pushed open.

The next applicant had arrived.

Qiao Qi instinctively looked up and found herself face to face with this applicant.

Both of them froze for a second.

Compared to the other applicants, this one was clearly dressed far too casually—a plain white T-shirt, light blue jeans, and a denim-blue baseball cap.

It was the unreasonable young woman from the plane.

Qiao Qi narrowed her eyes, her lips parting: “Zhou Suiyu.”

“Who?” Cheng Yueming, sitting right beside Qiao Qi, heard her murmur the name and asked, “You know her?”

Qiao Qi sneered inwardly, but before she could speak, Zhou Suiyu spoke first.

“Qiao Qi? What are you doing here too? What a coincidence!”

Beside them, Liang Yan, who had been lazily curled up on the sofa, laughed at hearing this. He stretched, glancing meaningfully at Qiao Qi. “Quite a coincidence indeed.”

Author’s Note: Fan forum: There are countless idols in showbiz, but our Young Master Liang is the most capable of them all!