Because of that one line, the flame of anger Qiao Qi had only just managed to bank down flared right back up. Meanwhile, the other side, completely oblivious, kept right on rambling.

Liangou: And don’t you think she’s kind of plain-pretty?

Qiao Qi took a deep breath, no longer bothering to keep tossing and turning in bed. She reached up, switched on the lamp on the nightstand beside her, and sat up.

It was deep summer, hot out, and even with the AC running, Qiao Qi was dressed light in her room.

The dim lamplight fell across her narrow, slender shoulders and back like a thin veil of gauze, her shoulders small and rounded, collarbone faintly protruding, the straps of her camisole nightgown curving over her shoulders down toward her chest, a thin white blanket covering the rest.

Her two arms, pale and long, slender in a well-proportioned way, emerged from under the covers to rest atop the blanket; touched by the light, her skin looked even smoother.

Only the expression on her face was rather less pleasant.

The corners of her lips pressed down in obvious displeasure, her fingertip jabbing hard at the screen, half wishing she could reach through the network cable and drag the person on the other end right in front of her for interrogation.

Xiao Qi: What do you mean, “kind of plain-pretty”?

Xiao Qi: Aren’t “pretty” and “plain” contradictory?

He seemed to be mulling this point over too, staying silent for a long while without replying.

Qiao Qi thought to herself with a cold sneer, let’s see what kind of nonsense you can come up with for this. But the very next moment, that cold sneer froze on her lips.

The phone’s glow was a chilling shade of white, casting across her face, seeming to strip away whatever softness a person’s eyes ought to hold at this hour of night.

Qiao Qi silently widened her eyes, pupils dilating, filled with disbelief—

At the content reflected on the phone screen.

Liangou: Tacky.

Liangou: That kind of… tacky, you know?

Qiao Qi: “…”

I do NOT know!!

Qiao Qi felt her fingertips actually trembling as she jabbed at the keyboard.

Xiao Qi: You’re a grown man, why are you talking about a woman like that behind her back?

Xiao Qi: Are you her hater or something?

Liangou: …?

Liangou: No, weren’t you the one who asked me?

Liangou: I was just simply sharing my honest opinion?

Liangou: Ah shit… okay okay okay, my bad!

Right on its heels came a system notification:

[Liangou recalled a message]

[Liangou recalled a message]

Liangou: My bad!

Liangou: [voice message 3”]

Qiao Qi, expression thoroughly frosty, clicked the voice message open, hearing Li’ang say, voice muddled, several times over: “My bad, my bad, sweetheart, I really messed up.”

He’d probably already lain down for the night; his voice carried a lazy drawl, and even through the phone she could pick up on the faint, sticky slur to his consonants.

Something about it gave Qiao Qi a subtle sense of intimacy, like being curled up against a big lion with soft, fluffy fur—an inexplicable sense of security smoothing over her ruffled temper.

Unconsciously, she pursed her lips, tapping the screen to replay this short line over and over several more times.

She even carefully savored that sticky, slurred quality in his voice before finally arching an eyebrow, her eyes catching the scattered light from the lamp, the corner of her mouth curving upward.

Fingers moving, she replied with a single character.

Xiao Qi: Hmph.

Liangou: …

Liangou: Do you like her?

Liangou: Isn’t she a newcomer?

Qiao Qi, without missing a beat and completely composed:

Xiao Qi: I like her face.

Xiao Qi: I’ll be following the new show too.

Liangou: …Okay.

Liangou: The new show’s definitely going to blow up.

Liangou: You can rest easy as her newest fan.

Seeing this, Qiao Qi silently raised an eyebrow, somewhat intrigued, and shot back:

Xiao Qi: How are you so sure?

Liangou: Because the male lead is Liang Yan.

Qiao Qi: “…”

Oh.

Brow smoothing out flat, she replied with total indifference.

Xiao Qi: Okay.

Xiao Qi: Got it.

Xiao Qi: Mister Liang Yan boyfriend-fan.

Liangou: Go to sleep.

Liangou: Miss Qiao Qi’s newest fan, Liang Yan’s hater.

Xiao Qi: Oh.

Xiao Qi: Night.

Liangou: Night.

Liangou: [heart shooting.jpg]

Qiao Qi had figured that after all this back-and-forth, she’d have trouble falling asleep—but seeing the sticker he sent, she couldn’t help but curve her lips into a smile.

Her fingertip still hovering over the phone screen, staring at this scattered, on-and-off chat log, her mind drifted, unbidden, to that rainy night, and the glimpse of a high, elegant nose bridge and sharply defined lips she’d caught in the darkness on the other end.

Qiao Qi’s eyesight wasn’t actually all that good to begin with, and on a rainy night like that, she’d have seen even less. By any reasonable measure of eyesight, there was no way she could have clearly made out the other person’s profile.

Not even just the outline of his lips.

And yet certain traces of that memory simply refused to fade—if anything, rather than blurring with time, they’d only grown sharper and more vivid in her mind.

Probably… because she didn’t want to let it go.

After all, that had been their only encounter.

Qiao Qi thought about this, letting out a soft sigh.

Her fingertip brushed lightly over the contact name she’d saved for him at the top of her chat list; a few seconds later she locked her phone and set it aside.

She turned off the lamp, and the room plunged into darkness at once.

She slowly slid down into the covers, adjusting her position as her eyes adapted to the dark.

The only bright spot in the room was the window, a faint sliver of moonlight seeping through behind the fluttering curtain.

Qiao Qi stared at that patch of light, lost in thought, and found herself reaching up to touch her own face without meaning to.

Did he genuinely think her face looked tacky?

If so, he’d probably be disappointed when they finally met in person.

A long while later, drowsiness finally began creeping in. Right before drifting off into sleep, Qiao Qi thought, with a mix of regret and wistfulness: guess I’ll just have to work hard and become more outstanding, then—once enough excellence has stripped away that layer of tackiness, she could meet him then.

After all, she couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing him.

—

With Liang Yan’s public statement on Weibo, the trending topic surrounding Qiao Qi soon died down, and the production returned to its normal filming routine.

To keep up with the schedule, the crew always had three units filming simultaneously. Qiao Qi and Liang Yan shared a lot of scenes together, and were usually grouped into the same unit, only occasionally splitting off for a day or two at a time.

Today happened to be one of those rare days they were filming apart. Pinned down in the makeup room getting her look changed, Qiao Qi kept her head bowed over her script without a moment’s distraction.

The script’s black-and-white pages were filled edge to edge with her annotations in various colored ink.

Suddenly, she sensed a breath drawing close beside her ear; Qiao Qi, sharply attuned, jerked her head aside without regard for the makeup artist still in the middle of arranging her hair accessory—

It was that very motion that caused the earring the makeup artist’s left hand had been about to insert into Qiao Qi’s left earlobe to scrape against the base of her ear instead.

Qiao Qi’s earlobe skin was thin and delicate, and combined with the earring’s sharp edge, the cut immediately drew a thin line of blood.

It took a moment for Qiao Qi to even register the pain, letting out a delayed hiss; Lin Chu’s voice came from beside her ear.

“Sorry, sorry.” Lin Chu hadn’t expected his small joking gesture to cause this kind of result, and fumbled a tissue out of his pocket in a panic. “I…”

Saying it wasn’t intentional was a bit late at this point, so Lin Chu simply kept apologizing.

Seeing him about to practically brand the word “sorry” onto his own forehead, Qiao Qi laughed it off without much fuss: “It’s fine, I know you didn’t mean it.”

Today’s schedule had a scene between Qiao Qi and Lin Chu—their first scene together since he’d joined the production.

In the drama, Lin Chu played a member of a warlord faction; his parents were part of the so-called upper class, and he’d inherited their mantle, working directly for the government.

Lin Chu’s features carried an upright, honest air—thick brows, large eyes—and though his features were a touch rugged, that only added a certain grounded presence to him.

He’d already changed into costume—standard military-warlord attire, collar neatly buttoned, black leather boots.

He wasn’t short to begin with, and the outfit made him look even more imposing.

Someone this tall and imposing kept bowing apologetically, which struck an odd note. From the moment Qiao Qi had first seen Lin Chu today, she’d already unconsciously slotted him into the male second lead role in her mind.

A man of the military, usually so proud and upright, shouldn’t be so meek and cautious like this.

Qiao Qi smiled and said: “It’s fine, just a tiny scratch, don’t dwell on it too much.”

Lin Chu was still quite apologetic. “Should we get a tetanus shot?” he asked the makeup artist with real concern. “Was that earring disinfected beforehand?”

As if that would ever have been disinfected—the crew was slammed busy every single day, who was going to pay attention to a detail like that?

Qiao Qi turned to look at herself sideways in the mirror, reaching up to touch the cut on her ear as she checked—just a tiny scratch, and once the blood was gently wiped away, it wouldn’t bleed further.

She casually wiped it with an alcohol pad and turned to tell the makeup artist: “It’s fine, keep going.”

Lin Chu seemed a bit dissatisfied with this careless treatment of the wound. Qiao Qi, helpless, said: “It really is fine. If this ends up delaying the shoot, then you’ll really have something to feel guilty about.”

Fair point.

August’s sun baked people into irritability, and Shanghai’s temperature had been hovering above ninety-five degrees these past few days. The makeup artists practically followed the actors around at all times, ready to touch up their makeup at a moment’s notice.

Delay a single minute in this heat, and hundreds of people would suffer for it.

Lin Chu understood this logic too, and could only scratch his head, apologetic but unsure how else to make it up to her. “Then let me treat you to late-night snacks once we wrap tonight.”

“Please, spare me,” Qiao Qi said, half-joking. “With that many cameras on me all day, how would I ever dare eat late-night snacks?”

“Good point.” Lin Chu sighed. “Then I’ll treat you to iced drinks instead.”

Qiao Qi nodded. “That, I can do.”

The makeup artist chimed in with a laugh, “In this heat, Teacher Lin might as well just treat the whole crew.”

Lin Chu agreed readily. “Sure, why not.”

“Let’s split it,” Qiao Qi said. “Give me a chance to treat the crew too.”

Lin Chu wasn’t one to fuss over such things, and laughed. “Well then, pleasure working with you, Teacher Qiao.”

Qiao Qi smiled, pulling out her phone to order everyone a round of iced drinks from a well-known brand.

—

The drinks arrived just as Qiao Qi and Lin Chu wrapped their first shot of the day—a scene where Cheng Yanyun is followed on the street, and Lin Chu’s character, Shi Yanzhuang, sitting nearby at a teahouse, spots the tail and swiftly apprehends the man.

Only, Shi Yanzhuang has no idea this is a carefully staged “chance encounter”—the organization’s plan is precisely for him to catch the follower and rescue Cheng Yanyun, thereby giving her a natural pretext to get closer to him.

Entirely unaware of any of this, and hoping to win the beauty’s favor, Shi Yanzhuang goes out of his way to drag the man before Cheng Yanyun personally.

The man has a gun holstered at his waist, his presence commanding attention; he looks down at her, yet his expression carries no hint of coercion—in fact, he asks, with considerable gentlemanly courtesy, what she’d like done with the culprit.

Cheng Yanyun, unimpressed, glances at the pale-faced stalker and says, flatly: “Turn him over to the authorities, I suppose.”

Shi Yanzhuang laughs and waves a hand, ordering his men to haul the man off. Only then does Cheng Yanyun lift her chin slightly and smile at Shi Yanzhuang: “Deputy Officer Shi truly has the people’s welfare at heart.”

Shi Yanzhuang smiles faintly still. “Just doing my duty.”

Cheng Yanyun nods, and as she brushes past him, says: “I have no grand sum to offer as thanks for saving my life today, Deputy Officer Shi—but if you find yourself with time to spare, do stop by the Baile Gate.”

“On my tab.”

…

“Whoa, Sister Yanyun’s paying!” someone in the crowd, cradling an iced drink, called out.

Someone else chimed in, “So when’s Sister Yanyun treating us at the Baile Gate?”

Cheng Yanyun played along with the joke: “Once the Baile Gate gets renamed House of Smoke and Mist, you can all sleep in there all day and no one will stop you.”

Everyone laughed, and with iced drinks to soothe the crew as well, the previously wilting set quickly perked back up again.

Qiao Qi and Lin Chu were currently in Unit A; Units B and C were shooting elsewhere, so the two of them, once they had a moment free, took the remaining drinks around to hand out to Units B and C.

Units B and C were currently filming a crowd scene and a scene between Liang Yan and Zhou Suiyu, respectively. Compared to Unit B, Unit C was clearly the bigger draw.

By the time Qiao Qi and Lin Chu arrived, Liang Yan and Zhou Suiyu were in the middle of a scene of the young lady character throwing a tantrum, rolling on the ground, clinging desperately to the young foreign-educated young master.

Qiao Qi had never actually seen Zhou Suiyu act before—all she knew was that this woman couldn’t even deliver her lines smoothly in a commercial. Was this really someone Cheng Yueming had taken a liking to?

Thinking this, Qiao Qi came to a stop at the edge of the crowd, holding a cup of iced drink, straw between her lips, teeth idly worrying at it.

Not until the straw’s tip had worn down to a thin, flattened sliver, making it harder to sip through, did she realize she’d been watching Liang Yan and Zhou Suiyu’s scene rather intently.

…

The scene itself wasn’t much—just Ming Yan lost in a night of pleasure and failing to come home, sneaking back the next morning only to get caught red-handed by his father, who thrashes the wastrel with a wooden cane before pointing at his nose and scolding: “Where the hell were you fooling around this time? Can’t you make your old man proud for once? Don’t you dare go straight to bed once you’re back in your room—Elder Brother He’s come by to visit.”

True to his upbringing amid all this mess, Ming Yan, even with an arm nearly wrenched and a leg practically limping, still cranes his neck to talk back to his father: “What’s Elder Brother He coming by got to do with me? The man’s nearly fifty this year—am I supposed to swear brotherhood with him or something?”

Old Master Ming is so furious his beard practically bristles, half-wishing he could shove this rotten brat straight back into the womb for a full re-do!

Fortunately, Madame Ming arrives clutching her handkerchief just in time to rescue her son from the beating—since time immemorial, mothers dote on their sons, and seeing her youngest boy so exhausted and taking a beating on top of it breaks her heart instantly.

Old Master Ming jabs the cane at the two of them in turn. “The both of you, spoiled rotten!”

Seizing the chance, Ming Yan slips away upstairs, tears off his clothes back in his room, and burrows straight into bed to catch up on sleep.

Only to have the blanket yanked off him halfway through his nap.

Ming Yan is so startled the dark circles practically vanish from under his eyes; in a panic he grabs the blanket, pressing it to his chest like some browbeaten young wife, and once he finally registers who’s standing there, frowns: “He Nianyi?”

“The one and only, missy!” He Nianyi says, utterly unbothered, and rather than looking away at the sight of Ming Yan’s bare shoulders and back, narrows her eyes with a grin instead. “Ming Yan, how are you paler than a woman?”

Ming Yan, thoroughly exasperated, shouts for his personal attendant to come in.

There’s a bit of foreshadowing here—Ming Yan’s personal attendant is secretly working undercover for the new government, and Ming Yan is normally extremely careful around him, but today, caught off guard between two crises he can’t juggle at once, he ends up letting the attendant see his bare, unmarked shoulders and neck.

How could a man who’d supposedly spent the whole night indulging in pleasure possibly look that clean?

The attendant, while ushering Miss He out, sneaks a couple more glances at Ming Yan, expression unreadable.

Once Ming Yan finishes dressing and opens the door, sure enough, Miss He is still right outside, sparring verbally with the attendant.

Ming Yan is truly at a loss. “You’re supposed to be from a good family—do you have any shame at all?”

He Nianyi, scolded, neither cries nor throws a fit—if anything, she’s utterly unbothered. “Nope! I want you!”

Ming Yan, a grown man, nearly flushes red from a woman’s boldness; finding her utterly unreasonable, he turns to walk away, but He Nianyi refuses to let him, breaking into a jog and leaping straight onto his back.

Ming Yan is stunned. “What are you doing?!”

He Nianyi, paying him no mind at all, wraps her arms tight around his neck, even leaning in to sniff carefully at his neck, complaining: “What is this cheap cologne? You studied abroad and this is your taste?”

“This IS my taste!” Ming Yan snaps back, cursing outright, his face flushing with anger. “Get down!”

He Nianyi hums twice, defiant. “No! I won’t! Not only do you have to carry me—you have to carry me for the rest of my life!”

…

By this point in the scene, there wasn’t a single flaw to be found. Zhou Suiyu performed excellently, her lines flowing smoothly, her expressions and bearing entirely natural.

Plenty of people on set watched, transfixed; even Lin Chu praised her: “Zhou Suiyu’s acting is really natural.”

A staff member nearby couldn’t help but chime in: “Right?! She’s got real talent! Such a good fit for He Nianyi! Even Young Master Liang praised her acting.”

Was that so.

Qiao Qi’s gaze, without a flicker of expression, swept across Liang Yan.

Beside a white bounce board, Liang Yan wore a white shirt tossed on carelessly, the collar buttons not yet all fastened; as he moved, the collar gapped slightly open, revealing, beneath the smooth lines of his neck, the straight line of his collarbone.

Under the sunlight, even his throat looked strikingly attractive.

Liang Yan’s command of his lines was, of course, beyond question. Usually, the young master Ming Yan carried a lazy, languid drawl in his voice; today, harassed by He Nianyi, his tone had suddenly turned sharp and stern instead.

Generally speaking, on set, as long as the lines were delivered correctly and the tone was roughly right, that was considered good enough.

Details would get fixed in post-production dubbing anyway.

But Liang Yan handled it flawlessly live, on set, every single time. He seemed to have a natural talent for nailing vocal tone and delivery consistently.

Cheng Yueming and Director Cheng could never praise him enough for it.

“Liang Yan’s line delivery really is impressive,” Lin Chu remarked, genuinely admiring.

Qiao Qi, rare for her, agreed. “Mm.”

Once that was said, there wasn’t much more to watch.

In any case, Zhou Suiyu clearly hadn’t landed on this production purely through luck—she genuinely had the chops for it.

As for how she’d managed such improvement in just half a year, well, that wasn’t Qiao Qi’s business to worry about.

Just as Qiao Qi turned to leave, someone called out to stop her. She turned back to see a young girl with a crew badge around her neck—evidently a staff member.

She, too, was holding an iced drink, and rather bashfully held out paper and pen, asking for Qiao Qi’s autograph.

Qiao Qi was the one taken aback, flattered. She signed one, then a few more people came up right after.

One autograph, or two, it was all the same, and with time still to spare, Qiao Qi figured she might as well find a spot to sit and hold an impromptu autograph session right there on set.

—

By the time Liang Yan’s scene wrapped, he noticed the little autograph session happening nearby. He’d just finished, his mouth parched, and was about to go find something to drink when something occurred to him, and he looked up toward Qiao Qi, surrounded by the small crowd.

He watched for a moment, thinking it over, then crooked a finger to call his assistant over, leaning in to say a few words in his ear. His assistant looked surprised at first, then glanced at Liang Yan a couple more times, puzzled, before finally getting sent off with a nonchalant kick from Liang Yan.

Once the assistant had gone, Liang Yan leisurely settled into his rest chair, chewing on his iced drink’s straw, positioned at just the right angle to see the crowd around Qiao Qi.

He watched with unhurried ease for a while, then pulled out his phone with a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips, sending a message to the person pinned at the top of his WeChat.

Liang: I’ll show you a big treasure tonight.

Liang: Guarantee you’ll want to marry me on the spot after seeing it.

Author’s Note: Qiao 7: ?