Qiao Qi held Wu Shuang down for a thorough session of moral education, the theme being: rumors are born from foolishness, and die with the wise.

Learning the truth, Wu Shuang felt an indescribable mix of emotions, and didn’t even want to leave the break room—she just wanted to find a corner to face the wall and reflect on life.

Too lazy to deal with her further, Qiao Qi tossed out a “I’ve got things to do” and turned to leave the break room.

Whether it was because of the distraction with Wu Shuang adjusting her mood, or something else, running lines with the senior actor again this time went unexpectedly smoothly for Qiao Qi.

The senior actor smiled with satisfaction, and even teased her: “Did you secretly read some kind of manual?”

Before Qiao Qi could respond, a faint, drifting voice came from beside her. “Maybe she stole someone else’s skill.”

She didn’t need to turn around to know it was Liang Yan.

Too lazy to deal with him either, Qiao Qi turned and sat down nearby to wait for her scene.

Not seeing Wu Shuang anywhere, Liang Yan leaned in close to Qiao Qi and asked, “Where’s our little Wu Shuang?”

Qiao Qi paid him no mind, her head down, reading the script with great focus. Her swan-like neck curved with elegant grace; the wind occasionally lifted her hair, and the clear lines of her profile looked even smoother.

She’d gotten noticeably thinner since first joining the production.

Liang Yan stared for a few seconds, then suddenly asked, “Teacher Qiao, how much do you weigh?”

Qiao Qi’s fingers, mid-turn of a page, paused. She slowly lifted her eyes and looked at Liang Yan.

His face still bore the grimy bruise marks from before, but his eyes held an innate arrogance and nobility.

An aura like that was often a person’s very soul—something that couldn’t be hidden by a torn robe or a few layers of dirt.

Liang Yan met Qiao Qi’s gaze without dodging or flinching, as candid as if he weren’t asking about anything private at all.

He genuinely seemed to want to know.

Qiao Qi paused for a moment, then lowered her head again, looking at the black text on the white page of the script. She didn’t hide it. “Not sure exactly. Around ninety pounds, maybe.”

“And how tall are you?” Liang Yan asked again.

Qiao Qi still didn’t look up this time, but again didn’t hide it. “One sixty-seven.”

A blurry figure flashed before Liang Yan’s eyes. He tried to recall—he vaguely remembered that his ancestor of a sister was about the same height.

He just didn’t know if she weighed the same, or was that thin too.

Thinking of this, Liang Yan let out a soft sigh.

Qiao Qi: “?”

What kind of worried sigh was that?

Qiao Qi turned to look at him, baffled. “What’s wrong?”

Liang Yan shook his head, and, quite tenderly, patted Qiao Qi’s head. “Eat more.”

Qiao Qi: “…”

Why had this young master suddenly switched to playing the role of a doting father?

—

That night, they were shooting a rain scene. The heavens weren’t cooperating, so the crew had to bring in artificial rain instead.

During the day, Qiao Qi and Liang Yan had still been playing out the bickering-rivals routine, but that night, they were about to begin the scene of two lovers, hand in hand, facing the enemy together.

Tonight’s scene was the very part of the script that had first made Liang Yan stare off into space when he read through it.

Night, heavy rain, a deep alley.

Cheng Yanyun was locked in a struggle with a Japanese man, and just as she was about to take him down with her at the cost of her own life, a gunshot pierced the night sky.

The rain grew heavier, but hearts grew warmer.

Cheng Yanyun was pulled into Ming Yan’s arms. She felt his heartbeat, heard him say by her ear, “Yanyun, I’ve come to save you.”

…

“Hey, Sister Yanyun, if Young Master Ming hadn’t come to save you, would you really have gone down together with that Japanese man?”

Qiao Qi was adjusting her emotions when Guo Lingling suddenly leaned over to ask.

Qiao Qi startled slightly, shook her head. “I don’t know.”

That was the screenwriter’s job—she had no business figuring that out.

“Well, I did come save her, didn’t I.” Liang Yan suddenly spoke up.

He wore a fully custom black suit, his hair also styled to perfection. Standing to the side, half-lowering his eyes to straighten his lapel, the set lighting fell across half of his face.

His features were, as ever, exquisite, but the other half of his face, hidden in shadow, was somehow unsettling.

Whether it was his aura or something else, Liang Yan didn’t seem to be in a great mood tonight.

Combined with the fact that they were filming this particular scene, everyone was momentarily unsure whether it was Liang Yan or Ming Yan who was in a bad mood.

Guo Lingling felt a bit intimidated, glanced quietly at Liang Yan, then quickly looked away, and asked, feigning that she’d just remembered, “Where’s that girl Wu Shuang? Haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

Liang Yan lifted his eyes and said, lightly, “She got killed.”

Guo Lingling was clearly startled. “…W-what?”

Liang Yan glanced sideways at Qiao Qi, gave a soft scoff, and said nothing.

Qiao Qi felt deeply exasperated, but still said, “She should be in the break room.”

“Doing what in the break room?” Guo Lingling asked, curious.

“No idea.” Qiao Qi said just as lightly. “Facing the wall to reflect on her sins, probably.”

Guo Lingling: “…”

What was actually going on?

—

Wu Shuang had spent the whole afternoon without coming to any conclusions, and had even happily read a few fan fiction pieces, only realizing when Zhou Suiyu pushed open the break room door that she’d somehow spent the entire afternoon in here.

Zhou Suiyu hadn’t expected anyone to be there. Seeing it was Wu Shuang, she asked casually, “Why are you here? Not running lines?”

“Ah, I’m not in this scene,” Wu Shuang said. She didn’t have great feelings about Zhou Suiyu and rarely interacted with her much. With no one else around in the break room, she didn’t want to share the space with Zhou Suiyu either, so she found an excuse and slipped away.

On her way out, she happened to run into a low-key but elegant-looking woman. The woman wore a long-sleeved floral chiffon dress with a pale lilac cardigan draped over it. Her hair was long, her demeanor gentle and refined, and when she smiled, the corners of her lips curved up just slightly, in a soft, perfectly balanced arc.

Her voice was pleasant to the ear too. “Hello there, little sister, could you tell me where Unit C is filming?”

Wu Shuang, thoroughly charmed by this gentle sister, pointed toward Unit C’s direction without a second thought, and was rewarded with a gentle head-pat from the gentle sister.

“Thank you.”

Wu Shuang, thoroughly dazed, grinned foolishly. “Sis, are you also an actress on this production? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m not,” she said with a smile. “I suppose I’d count as… family of one of the actors?”

Wu Shuang made a few “oh-oh-oh” sounds, and just as she was turning to leave, suddenly remembered something and asked, her expression shifting slightly, “Um… may I ask which actor?”

“Probably one of the leads.”

Oh. A lead.

Hm? A lead?!

Young Master Liang?!

Wu Shuang’s realization hit her all at once, her eyes silently widening as she stared at this sister for a long while before suddenly snapping back to alertness.

Holy crap!

That’s probably Young Master Liang’s girlfriend!!

Looking at this woman in front of her, whose looks and aura were the complete opposite of Qiao Qi’s, Wu Shuang finally had to admit that her own house had collapsed.

Her expression became indescribably complicated, and her feelings even more mixed. In the end, she chose to bow before beauty, curving her crescent-moon eyes and calling out crisply, “Hello, sister-in-law!”

Without waiting for the other party to explain, she turned and ran, but ran only halfway before turning back. “Oh, and I’m headed to Unit C too—sister, you can come with me.”

Liang Xumo watched this energetic little girl and sighed, thinking she’d just let it go for now—there’d be a chance to explain later anyway.

Wu Shuang jogged along, leading Liang Xumo to Unit C. She didn’t dare speak to her along the way, afraid of accidentally revealing she was a shipper.

By the time the two arrived at Unit C, filming had already started.

The set was crowded with staff, and the artificial rain had brought some relief to what had been a stuffy, hot night.

Liang Xumo stood at the edge of the crowd watching them act, asking casually, “What are they filming?”

Wu Shuang, always eager to answer any question, immediately began explaining from the start—like a play-by-play commentator, pointing out Qiao Qi and Liang Yan in the scene, explaining the plot clearly and thoroughly.

Just as she finished explaining the setup, the most intense part of the scene began.

—Qiao Qi’s qipao was torn open by the Japanese man and she was pinned against the wall, heavy rain pouring down from above, her emotions amplified to the extreme.

Fear, helplessness, and the ruthless resolve to take her enemy down with her.

Qiao Qi captured these subtle expressions extraordinarily well; quite a few people on set found themselves growing tense along with the scene. Wu Shuang clenched her small fists, holding her breath, staring at Qiao Qi with her heart in her throat.

Just then, a crisp sound suddenly came from behind her.

The sound wouldn’t have drawn much attention amid the noisy set, but Wu Shuang subtly caught it.

Because along with that crisp sound, Wu Shuang also seemed to hear someone stifling their breathing.

Pulled abruptly out of the scene, she turned back curiously, only to meet Liang Xumo’s face, nearly deathly pale.

Liang Xumo felt as if her throat was being strangled; her pupils dilated involuntarily, filled entirely with fear. Though she was nearly suffocating, her gaze simply could not tear itself away from Qiao Qi’s face.

Without meaning to, her heel slipped on a stone, twisting her ankle slightly, and a cold sweat instantly broke out across her back.

Seeing her face grow even paler, Wu Shuang hurriedly reached out to support her. “S-sister-in-law? What’s wrong?”

But Liang Xumo reacted as if she’d been pricked by a needle, letting out an extremely intense gasp. She raised a hand to knock away Wu Shuang’s support, her whole body like a fragile piece of glass, and collapsed straight toward the ground.

Wu Shuang cried out too.

At this, the sudden, sharp yet barely perceptible commotion finally drew others’ attention.

It also caught the attention of Qiao Qi and Liang Yan, who were in the middle of an embrace—because of the angle, Liang Yan was the first to spot Liang Xumo.

Seeing Liang Xumo sitting helplessly on the ground, Liang Yan’s face changed drastically, and almost without thinking, he pushed Qiao Qi out of his arms.

Qiao Qi couldn’t keep her footing; barefoot, she stumbled backward toward the wall, her back slamming directly into it. The skin that had been exposed by her torn qipao scraped harshly against the rough wall, and she gasped sharply, sucking in a breath of cold air.

But no one noticed.

Everyone’s attention was fixed on Liang Yan and Liang Xumo. Rain streamed down Qiao Qi’s face, her eyelashes soaked into damp clumps, her vision badly obscured; she could only wipe a hand across her face.

Before she could see clearly, she heard Liang Yan’s voice, tinged with fury, cut through the noise: “Everyone back off!”

Instantly, no one dared approach.

Liang Yan pressed his lips tight, brows furrowed deeply, and scooped Liang Xumo up into his arms, not even sparing a thought for his own clothes, soaked through by the rain.

His voice trembled slightly. “Sis…”

Liang Xumo gripped Liang Yan’s clothes tightly, burying her face in his chest. The coolness against her skin seemed to bring her back to her senses somewhat.

But her face was still very pale, and her voice came out very small. “Liang Yan, I’m fine, really, put me down first.”

Liang Yan said nothing, and didn’t put her down either—instead he walked straight toward the break room, kicking the door open.

Inside, Zhou Suiyu, who was in the middle of a video call, was startled, letting out a shriek. “Who’s there!”

She turned, met Liang Yan’s face, cold with fury, and all sound instantly stopped.

“L-Liang…”

Liang Yan’s eyes were very wet, his irises deep black, but a red rim had begun to form around them.

He stared at Zhou Suiyu and spat out a single word: “Get out.”

—

The set was left with a group of people who had no idea what had happened. Wu Shuang was the most bewildered of all, with everyone staring at her, clearly asking: Didn’t you bring her here? What’s going on?

Wu Shuang was on the verge of tears. “I don’t know either, she said she was Young Master Liang’s girlfriend.”

Not far off, Qiao Qi was stretching her arm, and paused at the sound, looking up to see the direction Liang Yan had carried the girl away.

So she’s his girlfriend.

No wonder he was so anxious.

Thinking this, the scrape on her shoulder seemed to hurt even more. Qiao Qi lowered her eyes and quietly withdrew her gaze.

She drifted apart from the crowd, returning to her own resting spot instead of running off to join the commotion like everyone else. She pulled out her phone, stared at the person pinned to the top of her WeChat for several seconds, then finally sent a message.

7: Inside info.

7: Your idol’s girlfriend came to visit the set.

Not long after she sent the message, Cheng Yueming hurried past her, heading straight for Wu Shuang. “Did Sister Xumo come?”

Wu Shuang had never heard the name Xumo before, but guessed it must be the woman from before, and said, “You mean Young Master Liang’s girlfriend? She’s, um, in the break room.”

Before leaving, Cheng Yueming tossed back a sentence: “What girlfriend! That’s his sister!”

Wu Shuang: “…”

Qiao Qi, who happened to overhear this: “…”

As the crowd dispersed, Wu Shuang turned back to Qiao Qi, looking aggrieved, pouting. “Sister Qiao Qi, you were right, I’ll never spread rumors again, boo hoo.”

Qiao Qi said nothing, lowering her head to look at her phone, staring at the message she’d just sent, feeling an indescribable mix of emotions.

After a good while, she moved her fingers.

7: Ah.

7: Sorry about that.

7: That was a rumor.

7: [reflecting against the wall.jpg]

Wu Shuang, still steeped in her own guilt, suddenly recalled that Sister Xu Lu had mentioned once that the Liang family had invested in this production, Mist and Cloud Pavilion.

That must be Young Master Liang’s sister.

This was bad.

Would she get replaced now?

“Boo hoo, Qiao Qi, will Young Master Liang’s sister get me fired?” Wu Shuang was full of regret. “I really didn’t mean it, I just… boo hoo, what do I do.”

Qiao Qi stared at Wu Shuang’s tearful, helpless expression for a while, then asked with utmost sincerity, “Aren’t you supposed to be a fan of the Qiao Qi and Liang Yan pairing? Why did calling someone else ‘sister-in-law’ come so naturally to you?”

Wu Shuang: “…?”

Well, between the two of you, one has a boyfriend and the other has a girlfriend!

What am I supposed to do about that!

Author’s Note: Completely rewrote it.

You all should reread it.

The word count doubled, but you don’t need to pay again—just refresh the page.

(This is my apology for taking an unannounced day off yesterday, reflecting-against-the-wall.jpg)

I’m home now!

Updates will be stable from here on!

Go to bed early, everyone, I’ll keep writing.

Next chapter, I’ll announce the update schedule going forward.