After seeing Cheng Yueming off, Qiao Qi didn’t immediately turn her attention back to the script. Instead, she pulled out a cushion to tuck under her waist and lay back lazily on the sofa, her long legs propped up on the armrest at the other end, holding her phone to chat with Li’ang.

The two of them hadn’t had a proper chat in a while. She herself had been busy, with almost no time to touch her phone during the day, and she had to work overtime at night too, so by the time she was ready for bed it was already deep into the night.

She could sense that Li’ang had also been busy lately, at least busier than before, so usually by the time she was about to sleep, she didn’t reply to his messages much anymore.

For fear of intruding on his personal time.

Today, as luck would have it, their timing happened to align.

Liangou: You’ve been so busy lately.

Liangou: Made a lot of money, huh?

That remark was dripping with sourness.

Qiao Qi couldn’t help but curl her lips into a smile. Her skin was naturally good—despite the constant late nights, it remained fair, smooth, and luminous, looking even more radiant under the lamplight.

It also made the dimple by her lips look even softer.

This was a sight very few people ever got to see from her.

7: It’s alright.

7: No matter how much I make, I can’t even spend it.

7: Mainly because no coworker’s invited me out to have fun, and there’s no Peony or Jasmine worth spending money on.

Liangou: …

Liangou: What are you up to?

7: ?

7: That topic change was a bit clumsy, my dear consort.

Liangou: This humble consort simply wanted to ask whether the emperor is busy—and if not, might I be granted a phone call to redeem myself?

Qiao Qi froze upon receiving the message, and before she could react, he had already called her.

Her mind, exhausted from the long day, went blank for a few seconds; once she came to, Qiao Qi fumbled to pick up.

Even knowing full well he couldn’t see her, she instinctively sat up from the sofa.

Sitting up even somewhat stiffly straight.

Like a kindergartner waiting for the teacher to come check their posture.

She sat there under the light, her eyes flickering with a hint of unease, her fingers idly picking at the hem of her bathrobe resting on her knee, until her nail accidentally grazed a bruise on her knee, and she inevitably sucked in a sharp breath.

The other end of the line, which had been quietly silent, immediately spoke up. “What’s wrong?”

His voice carried obvious concern.

Qiao Qi withdrew her fingers, the tips of her ears trembling along with it.

In a spot she couldn’t see herself, right where the light shone directly, the tender, soft skin of her earlobes instantly flushed a deep red.

The thin layer of skin there was almost translucent, the bright light illuminating the fine web of blood vessels beneath.

The fingers gripping her phone trembled uncontrollably; Qiao Qi even felt a slight ringing in her ears.

After a long moment, feeling both exasperated at herself and keenly aware of her own hopelessness, she pressed a hand to her forehead and replied in a low voice, “It’s nothing.”

Then, unable to stop herself, she added, “I scraped my leg a couple days ago, just bumped it by accident.”

“Tsk.” He sounded thoroughly displeased, his tone deliberately dramatic, “The emperor really doesn’t take his own imperial health seriously at all.”

Qiao Qi couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

He fell silent for a moment, perhaps also realizing his line sounded a bit overdramatic, and asked flatly, “What are you laughing at.”

“Nothing, just thought…” Qiao Qi could no longer hold it back, covering her eyes with her palm, her lips curving up as she laughed and said, “That’s really funny.”

The sound of her voice wasn’t far off from what he’d imagined—clear enunciation, with a soft, sweet trailing tone at the end of her sentences characteristic of southerners.

But…

“Are you catching a cold?” Liang Yan narrowed his eyes, the question posed with an air of composure, but the fingers tapping in an orderly rhythm on his laptop betrayed his unease and nervousness.

“Huh? No, I’m not.”

That trailing tone was like a small pebble dropped into the lake of Liang Yan’s heart—the already unsteady surface of that lake instantly rippled uncontrollably.

Liang Yan couldn’t help curving his own lips as well; he lowered his lashes, a trace of tenderness settling at the corner of his eyes.

He parted his lips and spoke: “If you’re not, you’re not—what are you being all coy about.”

His low chuckle was full of obvious teasing; the sound hit her ears and Qiao Qi’s eyes instantly reddened. She widened her eyes slightly, the moisture welling up from the emotional turbulence tinting inexplicably red.

Flustered and embarrassed, she snapped, “I wasn’t even…”

The next word was too embarrassing to say aloud.

Even more embarrassed and angry, she said, “Are you asking to get beaten up!”

Liang Yan hadn’t meant to imagine anything more, but her voice was simply too subtle and evocative—an image of a pair of beautiful eyes, flushed red from being teased, uncontrollably surfaced in his mind.

Like a rabbit.

As he thought this, his smile deepened further, and finally he couldn’t help but pull the phone away, tilting his head slightly, fist pressed against his lips.

The amusement in his eyes grew ever deeper.

Qiao Qi didn’t hear him laugh, but she instinctively sensed that he was, and asked, awkward yet forcing herself to sound composed, “Are you secretly laughing?”

Liang Yan pressed his lips together, coughed lightly twice, and said with a straight face, “No.”

What “no”!

It was so obvious he was laughing!

“You’re clearly laughing right now!” Although Qiao Qi acted fierce, her own eyes and lips were also brimming with laughter.

“Alright, alright, sorry, I won’t laugh secretly anymore,” Liang Yan said. “I’ll laugh openly instead.”

Having grown accustomed to being coddled by him, Qiao Qi momentarily forgot they were on a call and let out a blunt “Hmph.”

The moment she’d hmphed, she realized they were on the phone, and he’d heard that “hmph” perfectly clearly. She was instantly mortified, burying her face in her hands.

She shouldn’t have called today at all!

No, wait, she should never call at all, ever!

Wasn’t texting good enough!

Liang Yan, guessing she was embarrassed, thoughtfully—for once—changed the subject. “If you’re not catching a cold, why does your voice sound a bit hoarse?”

Qiao Qi could hardly tell him it was from practicing her lines, so she deflected. “I’ve had too much work these past few days, talked too much.”

“Drink more water,” Liang Yan said.

“Mm, drink more hot water,” Qiao Qi said, out of habit deflecting further.

Then she realized once again that they were on a call, and smacked her own forehead in frustration.

Liang Yan let out a soft laugh, got up, and walked toward the kitchen; in his slippers, the sound of his footsteps carried clearly to Qiao Qi’s ears.

She lowered her eyes and asked, “Where are you going?”

Liang Yan said meaningfully, “I’ve been busy these past few days too, my throat’s a bit hoarse as well, going to drink some hot water.”

Qiao Qi was momentarily choked by that, but not willing to be outdone, gave a small smile. “Alright, drink plenty, drink it scalding hot.”

“Trying to murder your own husband, are you.” Liang Yan casually poured himself a cup of warm water and turned to lean against the edge of the kitchen counter.

He held his phone in one hand and the cup of water in the other, tilting his head slightly to look out at the scattered specks of light against the black night sky outside the window. After a moment, he curved his lips. “Can you see outside from where you are?”

Qiao Qi went “huh,” “What outside?”

“Dummy,” Liang Yan said. “A window or something.”

“Of course I do.” Qiao Qi got up as she spoke, walking toward the window. “I’m staying at a high-end hotel, you know.”

“Wow, that impressive, huh.” His tone sounded like he was humoring a small child.

Qiao Qi felt like she’d never really gotten to be a child in her whole life, but in that instant, she tilted her face up, letting the cool, mild breeze wash over it.

She narrowed her eyes, gazing up at the same sky he was, and then a smile slowly curved at the edge of her lips as she said “mm”—”That impressive, yes.”

“Then would this impressive person be willing to give me a chance to clear my name?” Liang Yan set down his cup, saying it unhurriedly.

“Sure.” Qiao Qi was generous about it.

In truth, Qiao Qi wasn’t even upset about it anymore—Li’ang had already explained things thoroughly at the time, and she knew he wouldn’t lie to her.

Pretending to be angry had just been… flirting, that’s all.

But there was no way Qiao Qi would ever admit to that intention, so she settled in to listen attentively to Li’ang’s explanation.

The content didn’t matter much—she just wanted to hear more of his voice.

After all… that low, hoarse voice of his was rather nice.

As Qiao Qi thought this, the corner of her mouth lifted, and she felt a whole day’s worth of exhaustion melt away considerably.

Li’ang’s explanation was much the same as before, but compared to reading it as text, hearing him lay out, word by word over the phone, the full story of his coworker’s joke was clearly far more reassuring.

The night grew later, and the phone began to grow warm from use.

As Qiao Qi walked toward her bedroom, she casually glanced at the clock on the wall and was startled to see it was almost 3 a.m. “It’s almost three already!”

Liang Yan, realizing this belatedly too, yawned without much ambition left in him. “What time do you start work tomorrow?”

Qiao Qi had originally planned to work overtime tonight so she could sleep in two extra hours tomorrow—now it seemed she’d have to get up two hours earlier instead.

With her hard-won rest time slipping away, Qiao Qi couldn’t help feeling a bit down. “Six.”

“Six?” Liang Yan frowned. “Why didn’t you say earlier you had to get up early—go to sleep quickly.”

“Okay.” Qiao Qi pouted, reached up to switch off the living room light. The whole suite fell into darkness, and Qiao Qi felt her way into the bedroom, kicked off her slippers, and climbed into bed.

The rustling sound of blankets being pulled up filled the line; once she was fully settled under the covers, Liang Yan said softly, “Good night.”

Qiao Qi held her phone a little tighter and closed her eyes. “Mm.”

Good night.

—

Liang Yan couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, unable to drift off, and finally ran a hand through his hair a couple times and sat up.

He didn’t turn on the light; the room held only the faint moonlight seeping in, thin as gauze, draping over the sharp, defined contours of his face.

Only once his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness did he unerringly pick up his phone, open Weibo, log into his alt account, and scroll for a long while.

His alt account followed a number of amusing bloggers—some skilled at collecting and sharing netizens’ love stories, others who posted a themed prompt on Weibo at set times, with netizens telling their own stories in the comments.

Perhaps it was simply that late nights always stirred up people’s emotions—Liang Yan’s thumb scrolled across the screen for a long while, and in the end he couldn’t help but switch his Weibo account over to his main one.

Then, without so much as a blush or a quickened heartbeat, he used his main account to like the latest post from a blogger who shared little love stories.

At that moment, it wasn’t even five in the morning yet.

The sky hadn’t lightened, no rooster had crowed, no dog had stirred—only a handful of dedicated night owls happened to catch Young Master Liang’s mysterious act.

And then his fans lost it, the related topic feed instantly filling up with a row of question marks.

Some fans with especially wild imaginations didn’t even need marketing accounts to stir things up—they spiraled all on their own.

[………help!]

[Whaaaat?! What does this mean?]

[Is this laying groundwork for an official announcement??]

[@Liang Yan, get out here and explain yourself!!]

Liang Yan himself watched with his own eyes as the related hashtag feed filled with wailing, then set down his phone, gave a slow yawn, and drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Author’s Note: Liang Yan: Seeing you all lose sleep over this suddenly makes me sleepy. Good night.

Fans: …???