Since this concerned Liang Yan, and the “matter” itself was quite explosive, the trending topic stayed lodged high on the charts the whole time. Before Qiao Qi even made it back to set, the WeChat group had already exploded.

After all, while netizens couldn’t recognize Qiao Qi, the people on set could spot her instantly.

Cheng Yueming: You two…? @Ming Yan, @Cheng Yanyun

Xu Lu: Skipped late-night snacks just to go on a big-motorcycle date?

Cheng Yuzhi: Could’ve at least changed clothes first?

Ming Yan: …

Ming Yan: @Cheng Yanyun, you gonna answer?

Qiao Qi rubbed her forehead. Instead of replying in the group, she went straight to a private message.

Qiao Qi: Coming.

Yet he kept posting in the group anyway.

Ming Yan: Why private message? Makes it look like there’s actually something going on between us.

Ming Yan: Let’s just discuss it right here, to prove our innocence.

Qiao Qi: “…”

Exasperated, she clicked into the production group chat and replied with icy detachment.

Cheng Yanyun: Okay. [smile]

Ming Yan: Just come straight to my room later.

Cheng Yanyun: …

Cheng Yueming: Whoa.

Cheng Yuzhi: Whoa.

Xu Lu: Whoa.

Ming Yan: Don’t “whoa,” I’ll livestream it for you all later.

Ming Yan: To prove our innocence.

Qiao Qi: “…”

Too exasperated for words.

She simply stopped looking at the chat and didn’t reply.

On her other phone, Li’ang hadn’t been idle either.

Liangou: Ahahahahaha.

Liangou: That report is way too fake.

Qiao Qi, the actual person involved, obviously knew the report was fake—but wasn’t a bystander’s first reaction supposed to be enjoying the gossip?

Only a fan would deny it outright, wouldn’t they?

So Qiao Qi, entirely missing the point on purpose, said:

Xiao Qi: Stop denying it already.

Xiao Qi: You’re clearly a Liang Yan fan.

Xiao Qi: A boyfriend-fan, even!

Liangou: …

Liangou: I can tell you’re really “hating” on him hard.

Liangou: But I do need to explain something.

Liangou: I really am not.

Liangou: I swear.

Qiao Qi didn’t believe him.

Xiao Qi: Then how are you so sure the report is fake?

Liangou: Because I have a brain.

Xiao Qi: …?

Liangou: I recall Liang Yan’s only twenty-five this year, right? That little girl looked at least five. Liang Yan wasn’t even in the entertainment industry when he was twenty—if he really had a daughter, it would’ve come out long ago.

Xiao Qi: …

Xiao Qi: I didn’t even know Liang Yan wasn’t in the industry yet at twenty.

Before she could even send the words “you really are his fan,” the other side jumped in first, thoroughly worked up.

Liangou: That just proves you’re a failure of a hater!

Liangou: None of my business, old man’s out!

Xiao Qi: ?

Xiao Qi: Are you getting defensive because I caught you?

Liangou: …

Liangou: It’s late.

Liangou: I’m going to sleep.

Liangou: Night night.

Xiao Qi: You’re still dodging the question.

Liangou: …good night.

Liangou: [voice message 2”]

Qiao Qi paused, then tapped it lightly with her fingertip. The man’s voice came through slightly low, carrying a cool detachment and obvious exasperation.

“Good night, sweetheart, mwah.”

For some reason, this particular voice message today struck Qiao Qi with a fleeting, dizzying sense of familiarity.

She played it back several more times, listening carefully, and finally couldn’t help but ask.

Xiao Qi: Is your throat okay?

Liangou: Yeah, it’s fine.

Liangou: Why?

It felt a little different from the last time they’d talked on the phone.

In truth, Qiao Qi had already forgotten exactly what his voice had sounded like during that last call, and besides, that had been over the phone, which would naturally distort the tone somewhat.

But this voice message today… carried an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

Qiao Qi frowned and listened a few more times.

The sense of familiarity refused to fade, but she couldn’t place where it came from either.

After thinking it over, she simply replied.

Xiao Qi: Never mind.

Right then the taxi pulled up to the hotel. As Qiao Qi got out, Li’ang sent back a “Alright, going to sleep for real now, you get some rest too.” Qiao Qi, head down as she walked into the hotel, replied “okay.”

Who would’ve guessed that in those few seconds of walking with her head down, she’d manage to run into someone.

“Sorry—” Qiao Qi looked up and saw, of all people, Zhou Suiyu.

“Who’s this, watch where—eh? Qiao Qi?” Zhou Suiyu flipped her attitude like turning a page, her anger instantly replaced with a smile, even reaching out as if to grab Qiao Qi’s hand.

Qiao Qi dodged without any regard for her feelings, saying flatly, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Zhou Suiyu’s face visibly stiffened for a moment, but it passed in an instant, and she smiled. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

She could tell at a glance that Qiao Qi was still in costume. “So late already—did you just wrap?”

“Something came up.” Qiao Qi had no intention of chatting further with her, nor did she bother figuring out whether Zhou Suiyu even knew about the trending topic. Just as she was about to walk past her, Zhou Suiyu’s smile deepened. “We’ll be working together soon, Teacher Qiao.”

Qiao Qi paused, gave an “mm,” and kept walking straight toward the staircase without stopping.

Left behind, Zhou Suiyu watched Qiao Qi’s figure vanish into the elevator with a calm expression, then coldly rubbed her hands together, thinking to herself: what an attitude.

—

Qiao Qi didn’t head straight to Liang Yan’s room, choosing instead to go back to her own room first and shower. She took her time, unhurried, as though nothing at all had happened.

Once she’d towel-dried her hair halfway and, slippers on, was about to head back to her room to change into something comfortable, someone suddenly knocked on the door.

Assuming it was Liang Yan, impatient, Qiao Qi tossed her towel aside carelessly, cinched her robe collar, and went to answer the door with her hair still a mess.

Standing outside was Cheng Yueming.

Qiao Qi: “?”

Cheng Yueming smiled with obvious awkwardness. “So, um… Brother Liang Yan is waiting for you.”

Qiao Qi said “oh” flatly. “I’ll head over now.”

Cheng Yueming didn’t leave.

Qiao Qi, puzzled, asked, “What is it?”

Cheng Yueming rubbed her nose. “He said to hurry up…”

Qiao Qi frowned. “What’s the rush? Why doesn’t he come here himself?”

“He’s worried about paparazzi staking him out,” Cheng Yueming said.

Qiao Qi took a few seconds to process this, then shot back: “He’s not worried about me getting photographed?”

Cheng Yueming: “…uh.”

Fair point, actually.

“Got it, I’ll head over in a bit,” Qiao Qi said.

Cheng Yueming asked, “Do you need anything else?”

Qiao Qi reached up and pinched her own robe collar. “Go knock on his door wearing a bathrobe?”

“…” Cheng Yueming smiled and gave a thumbs-up gesture. “See you there.”

Qiao Qi shut the door behind her.

—

Liang Yan had fallen into a mood that was somehow both guilty and restless. He sat cross-legged on the living room sofa, staring fixedly at the phone in his hand, frowning now and then.

Late at night, the room’s lights weren’t all on—just a single warm-toned pendant lamp left glowing.

The light fell across Liang Yan’s freshly washed and dried hair, down onto his face, his soft bangs half-covering it, his features half-hidden in shadow.

Under the warm glow, though, his eyes carried a cold, glassy sheen.

His lips pressed down at the corners—not exactly displeasure, but something like conflicted irritation.

Xu Lu rolled her eyes silently at Cheng Yueming beside her, and eventually Cheng Yueming worked up the nerve to ask: “Brother, are you looking at Weibo?”

Liang Yan looked up, casually raking a hand through his hair, revealing his dark eyes, and shot back with a frown: “Why would I be looking at Weibo?”

Hm?

“Then what are you looking at?”

Liang Yan paused, setting his phone aside, straightening up somewhat, looking at Cheng Yueming, and after a few seconds of hesitation asked: “Have you seen any of my film and TV work?”

“I have,” Cheng Yueming said. “I actually really liked that movie of yours from a while back.”

Truth be told, Cheng Yueming was something of a half-fan of Liang Yan’s; if she hadn’t known him personally, she might well have become a die-hard.

“So how was my voice acting in it?” Liang Yan asked suddenly.

“Really good.”

Liang Yan hadn’t come up through a proper formal training program—he’d only entered the industry after finishing university. His command of dialogue delivery might not be as solid as those professionally trained actors, but industry opinion of him was still quite high.

Especially when it came to mimicking accents—he had a real gift for that.

“That’s it?”

Cheng Yueming blinked, testing the waters. “You want me to compliment you more?”

Liang Yan gave a cold laugh. “In that case I might as well just go check my DMs directly.”

Cheng Yueming: “…Sure, go ahead.”

Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Liang Yan and Cheng Yueming exchanged a glance; Liang Yan glared. “What are you looking at me for? Go open it!”

Cheng Yueming huffed. “I’m going to get your scenes cut down for this!”

“Thanks.”

Cheng Yueming choked with frustration, but there was nothing to be done about this young master, so she stomped off deliberately loudly to answer the door.

The door swung open to reveal someone standing outside fully bundled up—long sleeves, long pants, a hat, and a face mask.

“…Qiao, Qiao Qi?”

“It’s me.” Qiao Qi tilted her face up slightly, a pair of calm, indifferent eyes visible through the gap between her hat brim and mask.

Cheng Yueming hurried her inside, then stuck her head out to check for any prying eyes before shutting the door.

The moment Qiao Qi stepped in, she pulled her mask down. She wore no makeup, her bare face clean and fair, and even in the lamplight her eyes as she looked at Liang Yan showed only a faint, light shade of tea-brown.

“Sorry about today’s incident.”

Liang Yan raised a hand—this had genuinely been unexpected, though not exactly serious either, given they were currently filming and could easily use that as a cover story.

Still, he respected Qiao Qi’s opinion, and asked: “Do you and your side have any solution for this?”

Qiao Qi: “We?”

Liang Yan, confused: “You and your management company.”

Qiao Qi went “oh.” “I don’t have a management company.”

Liang Yan looked a bit surprised. “You’re not signed with anyone?”

“Mm.”

Qiao Qi had run into a few companies wanting to sign her before, back when she did ad shoots and print work, but given her circumstances at the time, the companies she’d attracted weren’t exactly big names—some of them downright untrustworthy.

Blatantly running scams, or worse.

Qiao Qi knew her own worth well enough, and had never seriously considered a career in entertainment, so she’d turned down most of those offers without a second thought.

Without a management company, this would actually be easier to handle. Liang Yan asked: “So you’ll just leave it entirely to me?”

“Okay.”

Qiao Qi wasn’t about to take on a job she wasn’t equipped for, and besides, however you looked at it, Liang Yan was the one taking the loss here—she wasn’t about to play coy when she was the one benefiting.

“When’s the production planning to make an official announcement?” Liang Yan turned the question toward Cheng Yueming. “This is a great opportunity for publicity.”

Cheng Yueming didn’t understand entertainment marketing, so she turned to look at the resident professional, Xu Lu, who thought it over and suggested: “Not yet, let’s hold off for now.”

Liang Yan’s lips curved up. “Wait until we can’t hold it back anymore before releasing it, is that it?”

Xu Lu spread her hands. “Can’t be helped—I have to think about the show’s buzz. Things have already gotten to this point—surely Young Master Liang isn’t about to play the noble hero now?”

Liang Yan let out a scoff, lazily crossing his legs, one long arm draped along the sofa back, tilting his chin up with a hint of arrogance.

By now Liang Yan had already showered and changed too—likely having anticipated a meeting to discuss things. He wasn’t in a robe, but a simple white T-shirt and black casual pants.

The simpler the outfit, the cleaner it made his face look. His medium-length hair, blown soft and full, occasionally caught on his thick, dark lashes; he blew it lightly away, lifting his lids to reveal dark eyes touched with his habitual smile.

He had his own natural, effortless way of dealing with people. “I’m not playing hero—I mean, isn’t buzz basically what I am?”

Xu Lu didn’t deny this fact—she wasn’t unreasonable either—she just didn’t understand why, if they were going to capitalize on it eventually anyway, he was fixating on this particular point.

The atmosphere in the room turned briefly tense.

Cheng Yueming and Liang Yan were practically childhood friends, while she and Xu Lu were old classmates and close confidantes—now, with Liang Yan and Xu Lu at loggerheads, she, caught in the middle, was the one suffering.

Just as she hesitated over whether to smooth things over, Liang Yan suddenly said: “I don’t care what happens going forward, but this time there’s a kid involved—that’s a no.”

Qiao Qi looked at Liang Yan with some surprise.

In truth, the photos that had been leaked hadn’t shown Maiya’s face at all—she’d had a helmet on, after all.

But if this wasn’t stopped now, in this era of the ever-thorough internet, it wouldn’t be difficult for people to identify her from her clothing alone.

Still, Qiao Qi hadn’t expected Liang Yan to actually care about Maiya.

A child he’d met only once.

“A kid? Who?” Xu Lu asked.

Qiao Qi wasn’t in a position to fully disclose Maiya’s identity, so she simply said: “A child in my family.”

“I see.” Xu Lu nodded, understanding. “Then handle it however you two see fit.”

For some reason, though Xu Lu and Liang Yan had been at odds this whole time, Qiao Qi wasn’t the least bit worried.

As though she trusted him completely.

This spoiled young master had, at some point she couldn’t quite pin down, already planted a seed of reliability in her heart.

She thought about this, turning her head, somewhat unable to define the feeling, to look at Liang Yan sitting on the sofa. He’d adjusted his posture, sitting cross-legged in one corner of the sofa, and as he lowered his head to fiddle with his phone, the light traced along the top of his head.

Something about it inexplicably conjured up a sense of quiet obedience.

Qiao Qi found herself staring, lost in a brief daze; perhaps sensing her gaze, Liang Yan looked up, meeting her eyes, and, not understanding why, sent back a confused, “?”

Qiao Qi startled, belatedly realizing she’d been staring blankly at Liang Yan the whole time, an unnameable emotion suddenly spreading through her entire body.

Composed on the surface, she frowned slightly and slowly looked away.

Liang Yan grew even more confused. “???”

The moment Qiao Qi looked away, her eyes met Cheng Yueming’s by accident. Cheng Yueming had apparently also noticed her staring blankly at Liang Yan; her eyes held both shock and a distinct layer of gossip-hunger.

Qiao Qi had no choice but to turn boldly and look at Liang Yan in front of everyone, pressing her lips together, and ask: “Did you post on Weibo?”

Liang Yan went “oh” and handed his phone over. “Want to see?”

Qiao Qi actually wasn’t especially interested—after all, Liang Yan was the veteran in this industry, and something like this, he should know how to handle better than she did.

But things had already reached this point, so Qiao Qi could only steel herself and take the phone. Yet the phone somehow felt like a hot potato in her hands—she felt like she couldn’t hold onto it at all—so she quickly scanned the caption Liang Yan had drafted, then immediately handed the phone back to him.

Not meeting his eyes at all, she said: “You decide, that’s fine.”

Liang Yan noticed nothing off about Qiao Qi. His attention was fully on the Weibo caption; he read it over carefully two more times, confirmed there were no issues, and hit send.

Once it was posted, Young Master Liang immediately started ushering everyone out.

He set the phone down, looked up at everyone present, thin lips parting to say just two words: “Good night.”

Everyone in the room: “…”

Not the least bit polite about it, was he.

Qiao Qi turned to leave first, not forgetting to put her hat and mask back on before stepping out.

Cheng Yueming and Xu Lu followed close behind; the two of them watched Qiao Qi’s tall, slender figure walk away, exchanged a silent look, then walked hand in hand back to their own room and slammed the door shut with force.

Xu Lu immediately grabbed Cheng Yueming and shouted: “Didn’t you say Qiao Qi wasn’t the type to get too method-acting-invested?! What was that look on her face just now?!”

Cheng Yueming was equally stunned, stammering: “I… I mean… but…” A few seconds later, she gave up trying to explain. “I don’t know either… maybe Ming Yan and Cheng Yanyun’s romantic entanglement just runs too deep…”

Xu Lu sighed. “Ah, what a shame, what a shame.”

Cheng Yueming asked, “Shame about what?”

Xu Lu shook her head in exasperation. “Have you forgotten your brother already has someone? Qiao Qi’s little crush is doomed to come to nothing.”

Cheng Yueming, catching on belatedly, slapped her thigh. “Oh right! What a shame!”

“It’s fine, as they say, unlucky in love, lucky in career—” Xu Lu only got halfway through.

But Cheng Yueming didn’t follow. “So?”

Xu Lu rolled her eyes. “So I’ll be the one to give her that career luck. I’m signing her! Mingchen Entertainment has every type of female talent under the sun—except someone with her look, that seductive appearance paired with that cool, aloof air.”

“Ohh, ohh, ohh.” Cheng Yueming nodded. “Good luck with that, then.”

Xu Lu narrowed her eyes. “Why do you seem so… uninterested?”

Cheng Yueming scratched her head. “I can’t quite put my finger on how I feel—I just have this sense that… Qiao Qi might not actually say yes.”

“She’s a newcomer who hasn’t even fully entered the industry yet—is Mingchen Entertainment not good enough for her?” Xu Lu couldn’t believe it.

“Sigh, that’s not what I mean, it’s just… ugh, I don’t know, you two work that out between yourselves, don’t ask me, don’t ask me.” With that, Cheng Yueming turned and headed for the bedroom, pretending to be both sleepy and exhausted, giving a lazy yawn. “I’m off to bed, no staying up late tonight, night.”

Xu Lu, unenthusiastic, gave a half-hearted acknowledgment. Rather than rushing back to bed herself, she flopped onto the sofa instead, pulled out her phone, and logged onto Weibo.

The “Liang Yan illegitimate daughter” trending topic had already been replaced with “Liang Yan’s New Drama.”

She clicked in on impulse and saw the Weibo post Liang Yan had made ten minutes earlier.

@LiangYanV: There’s nothing going on. Just a new colleague working with me. No rush, we’ll announce it officially in due time. @QiaoQi

With Liang Yan’s tag, in the span of just ten minutes, Qiao Qi’s Weibo follower count had already jumped from four digits to five, and the latest post’s comments had already broken four digits themselves.

Xu Lu thought it over, hit follow, and, on impulse, gave Qiao Qi’s latest post a like too.

—

It wasn’t until right before bed that Qiao Qi discovered her Weibo had blown up. Never mind the swarm of new followers—her DMs were nearly overflowing too.

Most of the content ran along the lines of: “Sis, you’re so pretty! Please post more behind-the-scenes and selfies from set!” “Wahhh treasure girl! I’m obsessed!” “Go get ’em, sis!”

Of course, no matter how high-quality a fanbase, there were always a few bad apples mixed in.

Things like: “Ugly B,” “Warning you to stay away from our Young Master Liang, or we’ll expose you online!” “Whoa, nice rack, who’s touched those?”

Qiao Qi, expressionless, scrolled through these DMs and set the phone down—no retweeting Liang Yan’s post, no following him back—simply logging off as though she’d never even been on Weibo at all.

After logging off, she’d meant to go straight to sleep, but ended up tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Finally, she pulled her phone out from under her pillow and messaged a certain male fan of Liang Yan’s.

Xiao Qi: …

To her surprise, he hadn’t gone to sleep yet either, replying almost instantly.

Liangou: ?

Liangou: Why aren’t you asleep yet?

Xiao Qi: [angry face]

Liangou: ???

Liangou: What’s wrong?

Xiao Qi: Got scolded.

Xiao Qi: [pouting]

Two seconds after she sent that, an incoming voice call popped up on her screen.

Qiao Qi’s hand slipped and she accidentally declined it.

“…”

Liangou: ?

Feeling guilty, Qiao Qi made up an excuse.

Xiao Qi: Too late, let’s not do a call.

Liangou: Oh.

Liangou: Someone with you?

Xiao Qi: No.

Xiao Qi: Just a bit tired, don’t feel like talking.

Liangou: Alright.

Liangou: So who scolded you? Why? Call the police, get an officer to help.

The hell kind of thing was that to say, call the police.

Qiao Qi laughed despite herself, and the restless irritation that hadn’t been all that heavy to begin with vanished on the spot.

Something occurred to her, and, rare for her, she brought it up on her own.

Xiao Qi: Your idol posted on Weibo, you know.

Xiao Qi: New project coming up.

Liangou: Tch.

Liangou: I already told you he’s not my idol.

Xiao Qi: Who is?

Liangou: …

Liangou: You’re really deep into your scheming tonight, sweetheart.

Qiao Qi couldn’t help but laugh out loud on her end. Recalling that Liang Yan’s post had tagged her specifically, she messaged Li’ang with a hopeful little dig.

Xiao Qi: Did you see the actress he’s working with?

Xiao Qi: She’s pretty good-looking.

This time, he didn’t reply instantly. A full minute passed before Qiao Qi got her answer.

Liangou: Eh, she’s alright.

Liangou: Not really my type anyway.

Qiao Qi: “…”

Oh.

Author’s Note: Liang Yan: I’m just that kind of elite man who’s too good for anyone! [hands on hips]

Qiao Qi: Oh.