Qiao Qi was jolted awake by the group chat notifications. She’d muted the group before, but later realized everyone was too exhausted from the read-through sessions to chat idly, and only used the group for urgent announcements. Afraid of missing something important, Qiao Qi had turned the mute off.

As a result, today she got jolted awake.

She’d gone to sleep far too late last night. When her phone buzzed her awake, it felt like she’d only closed her eyes a minute ago. She frowned irritably and fumbled around by her pillow for her phone.

The temperature in Shanghai had been dropping these past two days. Though it hadn’t rained, the sky had stayed overcast the whole time.

With the gloom outside, the light inside the room was even heavier and dimmer. Gusts of wind kept battering the window, making people feel even drowsier listening to it.

Fighting off her sleepiness with effort, Qiao Qi found her phone. The moment she unlocked it, the unlit room was instantly filled with nothing but the glaring glow of the screen.

Qiao Qi had already been too sleepy to open her eyes properly, and now, stabbed by the phone’s glare, tears welled up in the corners of her eyes involuntarily. She let out a pained sigh—and then realized something was wrong.

Qiao Qi’s eyes snapped open. She raised one hand to her throat, trying to force out a cough, but failed.

Her pupils constricted sharply. All traces of sleepiness vanished.

She had lost her voice.

—

The commotion in the group chat started with Guo Lingling. Because of last night’s crawfish and barbecue, she’d woken up before dawn to use the bathroom, and scrolled through Weibo while she was at it.

That’s when she stumbled onto the big news.

Guo Lingling: MY GOD!!! Guo Lingling: [image][image][image] Guo Lingling: @Ming Yan, come get the tea, young master. Wu Shuang: … Wu Shuang: Did my house collapse? Wu Shuang: Ugh, I mean my sister’s house collapsed? Xu Ruou: @Everyone, stop sleeping. Xu Ruou: This is the closest we’ve ever been to the melon farmer—wake up already!

At that moment, Qiao Qi was in the kitchen boiling water, her expression grim. She plugged in the electric kettle, changed clothes quickly, and headed out with just her phone and room key.

The hallway was quiet, with only staff in matching uniforms cleaning the carpets and picking up trash.

This hotel had a courtyard layout—unlike modern hotels where you had to leave the building entirely to see daylight.

Here, you only had to step out of your room to see the sky.

The hotel had just five floors. Besides the elevators at each end of the hallway, there was a spiral wrought-iron staircase in the middle.

The staircase wasn’t far from Qiao Qi’s room, so she chose to walk down.

The hotel’s overall style leaned toward the Republican era aesthetic. Several French-style lounge areas sat in the central atrium. Looking down from the stairs, the view opened up wide, and it put one’s mind at ease.

The air on an overcast day was cold; breathing it in chilled her stomach. Along the way, Qiao Qi ran into a staff member, who pointed her toward the second-floor breakfast area.

Qiao Qi shook her head. She badly wanted to ask where the pharmacy area was, but helplessly, no sound would come out. She could only walk silently all the way to the front desk.

Just as she reached the front desk, she spotted the very melon farmer who should have been in the group chat—jogging back in from outside, dressed in a tracksuit, looking energized and refreshed.

Liang Yan had recently been growing his hair out—mainly because Ming Yan, the character he played, was extremely trend-conscious, with a different hairstyle every day, though always medium-length, and occasionally styled into a small topknot at the back of his head on a whim.

So Liang Yan had no choice but to grow his own hair out, to avoid having to fuss with removing a wig every single day.

With his hair longer, his bangs had grown out quite a bit too. Probably finding them a nuisance for running, he’d put on a cotton headband across his forehead—partly to absorb sweat, partly to keep his overly long bangs out of his eyes.

Liang Yan wasn’t particularly tall to begin with, and he was only twenty-five this year—right at the age of youthful vigor. He usually carried himself with a careless, footloose air, but dressed like this today, he looked like an undergraduate who hadn’t even graduated yet.

His clean-cut features were fully on display; his peach-blossom eyes were damp with sweat, his eyelashes soaked through and visibly clumped into fine strands when you looked closely.

With the headband covering his forehead, the high, elegant bridge of his nose stood out even more.

His features were exquisitely handsome to an almost absurd degree, naturally drawing plenty of attention. There were probably fans of his nearby, but not one of them dared step forward to ask for an autograph or a photo.

Qiao Qi suddenly recalled the things he’d said when she’d run into him on the plane, and looked at the surrounding fans with belated disbelief.

Was this guy really that impressive?

Could he really get along that harmoniously with fans?

Weren’t idol stars supposed to have paparazzi-for-hire following them around?

Why didn’t he have a single one here?

At that moment, Liang Yan spotted Qiao Qi too. He switched off the music in his earbuds and strode over to greet her. “Morning.”

Qiao Qi narrowed her eyes, sensing intuitively that this man was in a very good mood today.

The internet was in an uproar over some trivial like he’d given, and yet here he was jogging around looking refreshed—and clearly still in a good mood on top of it.

What nerve.

“Have you eaten?” Liang Yan asked again. “Want to grab something together?”

Nearby, a fan muttered quietly, “Who is that?”

“No idea, never seen her before.”

“She’s really pretty though.”

“Her figure’s great too, oh my god!”

“Could she be… the one?”

“…Well now I think she’s ugly.”

Qiao Qi, whose voice was hoarse but whose ears worked perfectly fine: “…”

So she said nothing at all, and simply shook her head firmly.

Liang Yan wasn’t deaf either. Rejected, he didn’t get upset—instead he turned with a smile and leaned against the front desk, looking toward the fans at the entrance.

The moment he smiled, the fans nearly let out uncontrolled, muffled screams.

Liang Yan raised a long, slender index finger to his lips and gave a soft “shh.” The noise instantly died down completely.

Qiao Qi, noticing this, thought to herself with some feeling: so this must be what they call the idol effect.

“Don’t block the entrance, aren’t you tired standing here so early?” Liang Yan said without any restraint, stretching lazily to loosen up his muscles. As he moved, his shirt rode up, revealing the clean lines of his abs.

The fans nearly lost their minds on the spot.

Yet still, not one of them pulled out a phone to take a photo.

Qiao Qi marveled again: seems the fan-community house rules really are strict.

“Young Master Liang, about that Weibo post of yours…” someone finally couldn’t help but ask.

The moment this person spoke, the other fans all gasped, seemingly shocked that anyone would dare ask outright.

In fact, they even seemed somewhat angry that this person had asked.

Qiao Qi paused. No longer in a rush to ask about the pharmacy, she simply turned to the side, crossed her arms, and watched the show.

“Why would you ask that, are you insane?”

“Don’t you know Young Master Liang hates it most when fans meddle in his private life?”

Someone bold enough had already started apologizing. “Young Master Liang, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, sorry, sorry, we didn’t mean to ask.”

New fans might not know, but veteran fans all understood clearly: what Liang Yan hated most was fans interfering in his affairs.

Whether they identified as girlfriend-fans, older-sister-fans, younger-sister-fans, or even daughter-fans—whatever category of fan—none of them had any right to interfere with their idol’s life and decisions.

If you think he’s worth loving, then love him openly and honestly.

If you don’t think he’s worth it, then turn around and leave—see you around.

No one in this world should, just because they like someone, try to turn that person into someone they’d like even more, interfering with them or forcibly reshaping them.

“Young Master Liang, we won’t ask anymore, go eat breakfast. Work hard today!”

With that, several young girls started pushing each other along, about to leave.

At that moment, Liang Yan suddenly spoke up. “Wait a second.”

The fans all froze, turning back blankly.

Then they all heard Liang Yan say: “It’s nothing much, just that I’m getting older, and it’s about time I start dating—consider this an advance warning.”

The fans: “…”

That’s not a warning, what the hell!

That’s a knife straight to the gut, isn’t it?

Qiao Qi: “…”

She really couldn’t hold it in, and let out a silent “whoa” of surprise.

With the show over, she turned to go about her own business, when suddenly a fan cast a probing, appraising glance her way.

Sensing this, Liang Yan followed the fan’s gaze, turned back, and upon seeing Qiao Qi, curled his lips into a light laugh. “Don’t bother looking, it’s not her.”

“Just a colleague. Please support the new drama a lot, everyone.”

The fans didn’t believe it, muttering, “It’s really not her…?”

Liang Yan clicked his tongue, glancing sideways at Qiao Qi. “It’s really not.”

Whether to reassure the fans or out of genuine sentiment, he wasn’t sure himself—but after staring at Qiao Qi for a few seconds, he enunciated clearly: “Being brothers with her, sure. Dating her? No thanks.”

Qiao Qi: “…?”

Was he insulting her? Was he insulting her? Was he insulting her??

If he wanted to placate the fans, fine, placate the fans—why did he have to attack her personally while he was at it?

Qiao Qi shot Liang Yan a cold glance, then turned around, this time crisp and decisive.

The front desk clerk asked gently: “Is there something I can help you with?”

Out of habit, Qiao Qi opened her mouth to speak—and her throat felt like it was being torn apart. The pain instantly brought a layer of sweat to her forehead.

Her face went pale in an instant.

Noticing something was wrong with Qiao Qi, the front desk clerk asked hurriedly: “Are you feeling unwell?”

Hearing this, Liang Yan walked over, looked Qiao Qi over, and realized something really was off. “What’s wrong with you?”

Qiao Qi, helpless, could only pull out her phone and type into the notes app: Where’s the pharmacy?

Upon seeing this, the front desk clerk immediately gave the address, then asked with concern: “Would you like me to have someone escort you there?”

“Where?” Liang Yan asked.

The front desk clerk: “The pharmacy.”

Liang Yan looked at Qiao Qi. “Gone mute now too?”

Qiao Qi: “…”

This man’s way of talking was unbearable.

How on earth did he have fans, anyway?

Qiao Qi was genuinely curious.

“I’ll take you there,” Liang Yan said. “I happen to be heading to breakfast anyway—I’ll drop you off on the way.”

Ah.

Breakfast was the main event.

Seeing a doctor was just a side errand.

Qiao Qi no longer even felt like complaining.

She was grateful she’d lost her voice today.

The two of them walked toward the elevator, one in front of the other. Even inside the elevator, Liang Yan couldn’t stay quiet, asking idly: “Practiced your lines too hard, huh?”

Maybe. Qiao Qi nodded.

“Wrong method. This isn’t school where you recite a textbook passage and see who’s loudest.”

Mm-hmm.

Got it, got it.

“Cheng Yanyun’s voice tends to be calm, but with a girlish crispness to it. You need to lower your throat a bit, like this—” Liang Yan suddenly delivered one of Cheng Yanyun’s lines. “Young Master Ming Yan sure has some nerve.”

Qiao Qi’s head snapped up, her eyes full of disbelief.

This… how could he…

Though it was still clearly a male voice, the inflection genuinely carried Cheng Yanyun’s flavor.

Seeing the usually cool and aloof Qiao Qi wear such an expression, Liang Yan’s mood improved, and he smirked. “Making a big deal out of nothing.”

Just then the elevator reached the floor. Liang Yan raised a hand, pointing in a direction. “Third door, that’s it. I’m off to breakfast, bye~”

Qiao Qi: “…”

So he really had just been dropping her off on the way after all.

…Fine, then.

Walking alone toward the pharmacy in silence, her phone suddenly buzzed again with group messages. Feeling a bit irritated, Qiao Qi switched her WeChat over to her alt account.

It happened that Li’ang had sent a ten-second voice message.

“Morning…”

For the first second, that was all there was—his voice clear and bright, not as hoarse as yesterday.

Qiao Qi, as if she’d forgotten she herself was still voiceless, curled her lips into a smile. Before the smile could fade, two more words suddenly popped out in the voice message.

“Liang Yan—”

Not Li’ang’s voice.

Someone else’s voice.

The smile on Qiao Qi’s lips froze. She stopped in her tracks at once.

She looked down, thumb swiping across the screen, and saw the system notification: [Liangou recalled a message]

Liangou: …

Author’s Note: And so, ever after, whenever the CP fans got active, the solo-loyalist fans would always show up to say: being brothers is fine, but dating is out of the question.

Liang Yan: …fuck.

Probably going behind the paywall next chapter.

New story launching.

Thanks for the support.