Pouring out his troubles turned out to be nowhere near as bitter as Qiao Qi had imagined, because Teacher Liang himself stood in the wind for a long while and only managed to squeeze out a single sentence.

“Is it really not okay to vent to a woman who isn’t your girlfriend?”

Qiao Qi: “…”

It wouldn’t be okay with anyone else. What difference does it make with you?

And here she’d genuinely spent a moment thinking about how to comfort this wounded, fragile young master.

“Hm?”

Qiao Qi silently exhaled, her feelings impossible to put into words, her face utterly blank. She turned to look at him with lifeless eyes, and after several seconds finally managed, “…Should be, I guess?”

“Should be?” Liang Yan sounded uncertain. “Guess so?”

Qiao Qi thought it over and unconsciously shifted a little closer to Liang Yan, the distance between them suddenly shrinking. A small light was on behind Liang Yan, its glow shining directly into Qiao Qi’s eyes, lighting up her normally unreadable eyes until they gleamed.

There, entirely, was Liang Yan’s reflection.

Because she was wearing heels, Qiao Qi no longer had to tilt her head all the way back to look up at the much taller man; she only needed to lift her chin slightly to gaze into his eyes, curled lashes framing a night sky reflected beneath them.

In those eyes, she saw herself.

For one impulsive moment, Qiao Qi almost told him — maybe she really was his girlfriend.

But just as she was still wavering, Liang Yan suddenly turned his head away, looking back out at the boundless sky, and after a few seconds curled his lip into a light laugh. “Never mind — I’ll save it for her instead.”

“Maybe she’ll actually feel bad for me, right?” Liang Yan said, winking at Qiao Qi. “Good for strengthening our relationship as a couple.”

Before Qiao Qi could react, Liang Yan had already turned to leave, then paused midway as if remembering something. “Oh, right — best wishes for a smooth career ahead, Teacher Qiao.”

He didn’t look back again, walking straight toward the hall.

In truth, Liang Yan had originally intended to talk to Qiao Qi about something. After all, now that she’d overheard everything, having to tell someone else, retelling the whole story from the start, would honestly have been difficult.

More importantly, he needed someone who, going forward, would have no further overlap with him.

Once Misty Cloud Mansion wrapped, before the drama aired, they wouldn’t have another chance to meet.

The entertainment industry wasn’t so large, but wasn’t so small either — plenty large enough to turn the two of them into strangers.

If he was honest, there was nothing more fitting than confiding in a stranger.

But Qiao Qi’s words had genuinely struck something in him, and all of a sudden, he found himself impatient to see that little girl again.

He wanted to see what she looked like now, whether she was still as thin and small as that first meeting, like a scrawny little bean sprout.

He wanted to see if she’d grown up well.

—

Perhaps because of the wrap party, quite a few people had gotten swept up and drunk too much. Liang Yan’s tolerance had been built up since childhood, and combined with his ample experience dodging drinks, by the time the banquet ended, his eyes were only slightly clouded with a light haze — the alcohol hadn’t fully stripped away his reason.

Since their hotel rooms were on the same floor, the task of seeing Qiao Qi back fell to Liang Yan. Fortunately, Qiao Qi wasn’t too drunk — just unable to manage her heels, which she’d taken off and carried in her hand, her feet strikingly pale against the black carpet.

Liang Yan, holding to the principle of not looking at what wasn’t proper, only glanced quickly before averting his eyes, and steadied Qiao Qi’s arm with one hand.

Perhaps to avoid suspicion, he even made sure to hold only the part of her arm covered by clothing.

Qiao Qi found his thoroughly distancing manner rather irritating. Hadn’t he been quite eager to make his presence known around her back when they’d just started filming?

Why act like a stranger the moment they wrapped?

Truly a man of two faces!

An inexplicable resentment and grievance welled up in Qiao Qi’s chest. Fueled by the alcohol, she yanked her arm out of Liang Yan’s grip with a fierce glare, then, thoroughly sulking, pursed her lips, crossed her arms, and stood in the corner of the elevator.

She even deliberately turned her face away to avoid looking at Liang Yan, staring instead at the elevator wall.

To be honest, it looked a bit like she was facing the wall in punishment.

Liang Yan was thrown off by this string of childish behavior. He blinked, tilting his head slightly. “What’s with you?”

Qiao Qi, refusing to let him look at her, gave a huff and turned her face to the other side.

This was genuinely the first time Liang Yan had seen Qiao Qi act like this — my, alcohol really was a wonderful thing.

Not gonna lie, she was actually kind of cute like this.

So Liang Yan deliberately teased her, tilting his head to the other side to look at her from a new angle, and sure enough, Qiao Qi turned away again.

The two of them engaged in another round of what amounted to a kindergarten-level standoff.

It ended when the elevator doors opened and Qiao Qi, barefoot, strode out with tremendous swagger.

Liang Yan followed behind her, watching her posture with an unwavering smile on his lips, while Qiao Qi only grew angrier — nobody was even paying attention to her, yet she’d worked herself up over something in her own head, puffing herself up like an angry pufferfish.

When they reached the hotel room door, Qiao Qi seemed to suddenly remember her key card wasn’t on her, which made her even angrier. She flung her shoes to the floor, turned, pressed her back against the door, and stared straight at Liang Yan.

Liang Yan was full of question marks. “I kindly walked you back, and you’re looking at me like I’m your mortal enemy? Do I owe you money? Did I demolish your house?”

At those words, Qiao Qi suddenly froze.

For a moment, it was as if her soul had been yanked clean out of her. After several seconds, she stared blankly at Liang Yan. “I don’t have a home.”

Liang Yan paused, brows lifting.

Qiao Qi’s eyes reddened instantly, her nose turning red too, looking thoroughly wronged. Her voice muffled, eyes half-lowered, she repeated: “I don’t have a home.”

She slowly slid down the door and sat on the floor, repeating over and over, “I don’t have a home. Liang Yan, do you know that? I don’t have a home.”

All the smile drained from Liang Yan’s face. His throat tightened. He hesitated, then stepped forward, crouched down in front of Qiao Qi, and reached out to tap a finger against her forehead.

Under that light pressure, Qiao Qi lifted her small face.

Liang Yan smiled a little. “You will, someday.”

Qiao Qi tilted her head, blinking innocently, and asked with total sincerity: “Will you give me one?”

Liang Yan thought about it very seriously. “I could lend you money to buy one.”

Qiao Qi shook her head, lowering her head again in dejection. She mumbled, “A home isn’t something you can buy.”

She drew her knees up together, resting her chin on them, eyelids drooping, staring blankly at some fixed point.

She said, half to herself: “Honestly, I really envy your sister. She got to meet you all — how lucky.”

Somehow, oddly, some topics were simply impossible to avoid no matter how you tried.

The night grew even darker, the sky hanging overhead like a dark waterfall.

Liang Yan glanced at it silently, and suddenly felt tired himself too. He simply sat down cross-legged as well, his back against the door.

His spine curved slightly forward.

Noticing his movement, Qiao Qi straightened up, reached out, and patted his leg, then raised an eyebrow at him meaningfully.

Liang Yan: “?”

“Knees together, chin on top — it’s really comfortable.” Qiao Qi said this with utmost seriousness, as though she were secretly sharing one of life’s little secrets with a friend.

Liang Yan looked at her bright, gleaming eyes, the corner of his mouth curling up, and then obligingly drew his own knees up together, rested his chin on them, and tilted his head to face Qiao Qi.

Qiao Qi’s eyes curved into a smile, looking rather proud and pleased with herself. “Comfortable, right?”

“Mn.” Liang Yan looked at Qiao Qi, his voice very low.

Having had a bit to drink, Qiao Qi seemed like a child who’d let down all her guard, her emotions written plainly across her face and eyes, laughing without any concealment at all.

It made a person want to reach out and pat her head.

“Actually…” Qiao Qi looked at Liang Yan, and as she looked, she stopped smiling. She said, “I’m from an orphanage too.”

“Same one as Maiya.”

Liang Yan already knew Maiya was from an orphanage, but he’d assumed Qiao Qi’s dedication in sponsoring the orphanage was simply her wanting to do something for the children there, purely and simply. He hadn’t expected…

“When I was little, it seemed like no one wanted to adopt me. I saw off so many others, watched them get new mothers and fathers, little brothers or sisters or older siblings. They must have been really happy — because afterward, none of them ever thought to come back and visit us.” Qiao Qi crossed her arms over her knees again, resting her face on them, sinking into a long stretch of memory.

The alcohol amplified every emotion. She stood at the center of the memory like a bystander, watching little Qiao Qi see off one child after another.

Actually, she wasn’t telling the whole truth. When she was little, it wasn’t that no one wanted to adopt her — it was that she refused to leave.

Because she was always waiting for someone.

A light that belonged to her.

She remembered always trailing behind that person, calling her Sister Rainbow, because on the day she met her, a huge rainbow had appeared over the orphanage.

Not only that — she remembered that the older girl’s name really was Rainbow.

Sister Rainbow had been so good to her. She hadn’t had many friends as a child, hadn’t talked much, and only Sister Rainbow had been willing to spend time playing with her, even giving her the meat from her own bowl to eat, and telling her cute little stories at bedtime.

Back then, the director would always pat her on the head and say, “Our little Seven-baby has someone who loves her too.”

Later, it seemed Sister Rainbow’s birthday was coming up. She’d said she really wanted to eat Skittles, so Qiao Qi said she’d buy them for her. But by the time she brought them back, the director said her sister was gone.

She thought it was fine — her sister would surely come back.

But she waited for many years, saw off many more children, and never once got that person to return.

Why was that.

Maybe her new life had just been too happy.

Right before drifting off to sleep, Qiao Qi mumbled, “Skittles aren’t even that good, honestly. Lucky she never got to eat them.”

Liang Yan hadn’t shifted position the entire time. He propped one hand against his temple, head tilted, watching Qiao Qi — watching her frown and then grin as she sank into the past, watching her eyes redden further at times, watching her sniffle occasionally.

Until she closed her eyes, her words gradually slurring, and finally fell fast asleep.

Ah.

It seemed like everyone had it hard, one way or another.

Liang Yan struggled up off the floor, walked carefully over to Qiao Qi, gazed down at the top of her head for a long while, and then reached out and gave it a light pat.

“You’ve had it rough.”

Then he slid one arm beneath her knees and lifted her sideways into his arms.

A staff member happened to pass by just then, and Liang Yan asked him to open the door, then carried Qiao Qi back into her room.

To keep the staff member from getting the wrong idea, Liang Yan deliberately left the door open.

After all, he had nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of — he’d guaranteed he’d be out in three to five seconds.

Before leaving, Liang Yan let out a wry, helpless sigh. Really, who was pouring out their troubles to whom tonight?

Wouldn’t her boyfriend get jealous, seeing her like this?

Liang Yan put himself in that position and figured he wouldn’t just get jealous — he’d basically be ready to open his own vinegar factory.

So Liang Yan was endlessly grateful that Qiao Qi, before he’d had the chance to pour out his troubles to her tonight, had said: “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Isn’t it not great to tell me this stuff?”

Indeed, not great at all.

Much obliged, much obliged.

Good people get their reward.

And the reward came very quickly — for instance, Liang Yan, who had originally planned to just set Qiao Qi on the bed and leave, turned back to switch on the air conditioning and pull a blanket over her instead.

Just as he turned to leave, someone suddenly grabbed his hand. Liang Yan paused, turned sideways, and saw it was Qiao Qi — probably uncomfortable with the evening gown still wrapped around her, she’d frowned and rolled over, accidentally flinging an arm out from under the covers.

— And it had landed squarely on Liang Yan’s wrist.

Faintly, indistinctly, Liang Yan heard Qiao Qi murmur: “Cold…”

Cold?

Chilly?

Liang Yan checked the air conditioner’s temperature setting — it wasn’t even that low. Puzzled all the same, he picked up the remote and nudged the temperature up a little.

Midway through adjusting it, a sharp intake of breath suddenly sounded from the doorway.

Liang Yan paused and turned around.

Then he saw Cheng Yueming, both eyes bulging like brass bells.

The two of them stared at each other. In the next second, Cheng Yueming abruptly clapped both hands over her own eyes. “I didn’t see anything!”

She shouted this and immediately spun to flee.

Liang Yan: “…Get back here!”

Cheng Yueming froze, not daring to turn around.

Liang Yan, exasperated, released Qiao Qi’s hand and tucked her arm back under the covers, then walked over to Cheng Yueming in two strides, giving her a disdainful glance.

Cheng Yueming was shocked!

Him? Disdainful?

The nerve!

How does someone act so smug and self-righteous while cheating on their girlfriend?

“Young Master Liang, you’re something else.” Cheng Yueming said, genuinely impressed, practically ready to applaud him right there in the room. “Other people sneak around hiding their affairs — you go and buy one, get one free, right out in the open?”

Liang Yan frowned. “What nonsense are you on about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Cheng Yueming said. “Stop pretending you don’t know what I mean!”

“You and Qiao Qi both have partners — isn’t this a two-for-one deal on cheating?”

Liang Yan: “…If you’ve got that kind of imagination, you should be winning the Oscar for screenwriting by now.”

“No way. This plotline’s morally bankrupt.”

“…Get lost.” Liang Yan turned and walked away.

Cheng Yueming actually did believe there was nothing going on between the two of them, but it wasn’t often she got the chance to tease Young Master Liang, and she certainly wasn’t going to let it slip by.

So she trailed after him, grinning. “Is it true or not, though? Did you seriously go two-for-one on the cheating? Hey, bro, you’re really something.”

“…Shut up!”

Hah!

Someone was getting awfully defensive.

Author’s Note: We’ll see how it goes. I’ll keep writing. Sixty-one red packets for Children’s Day!