The event had been changed last-minute into a livestream. Once informed, several artists who’d been dragged online repeatedly for misspeaking already had their expressions turning grim.

Only Qiao Qi and Liang Yan remained perfectly calm, both acting as though nothing were happening.

One of them was getting her makeup done and, hearing the news, opened one eye without much expression and nodded to show she understood.

The other had already finished styling — his hair casually tied back, his fringe styled into a light curl. Dressed in a fully bespoke suit, he half-reclined on the sofa, elbow propped on the armrest, one hand resting against his temple, head tilted.

A pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat on his high, straight nose, the lenses catching flashes of color; beneath them, his eyes lacked their usual sharp, deep clarity, but people still couldn’t help glancing at him again and again.

Then it became apparent that Teacher Liang seemed to be staring directly at Teacher Qiao the entire time.

Whether Teacher Qiao genuinely didn’t notice, or was simply pretending not to, she sat calmly the whole time in front of the makeup mirror, letting the makeup artist work on her.

Watching Teacher Liang stare so intently, a staff member hesitated for a long while before finally stepping forward and quietly saying, “Teacher Liang, the interview later has been changed to a livestream.”

Liang Yan’s expression didn’t shift at all; he gave an unconcerned “Oh.”

The staff member breathed a sigh of relief, thinking to themselves that indeed, the bigger the star, the easier they were to deal with.

But when the livestream interview began, everyone else wore bright, cheerful expressions — except these two lead actors, who stood as far apart as humanly possible.

— And yet, Liang Yan himself kept using coughs, glancing at the camera, and various other excuses to sneak sidelong glances at Qiao Qi.

Once, twice — no one noticed.

But after several times, the comments section started stirring.

[Uh… is Young Master Liang’s eye bothering him today?]

[I mean, this is supposed to be a charity promo, but it’s basically YYG promo too, right? So why are these two standing so far apart?]

[Avoiding suspicion? Didn’t they just trend a couple days ago?]

[Didn’t Young Master Liang step up for her back then?]

[What are you all dancing about up there? I said it’s charity! Charity!]

[The shippers are seriously exhausting.]

[Hope big bro and big sis each shine independently, they look like evenly matched rivals walking side by side as siblings, not lovers with her being coy and him doting]

[Hahahahahahaha her being coy and him doting? Shouldn’t it be him being coy and her doting hahahaha]

[Fuck hahahahahahaha suddenly I’m shipping it!]

[What a sharp angle, damn it!]

[I’m dying laughing, look at Qiao 7, total “I reign supreme” expression, then look at Young Master Liang hahahahaha, his whole face screams “I want to see my wife” hahahahahaha]

[I’ve been charmed by Qiao 7!! Look at the way she narrows her eyes at people! Giao! Mama! I’ve seen an angel!]

The comments flew by rapidly; the host, struggling to keep up, took the phone handed over by a staff member, ready to pick a few constructive comments to interact with the guests about — but looking down, saw a screen full of:

[Liang Yan!! You keep sneaking peeks at her and see if you don’t kneel on a washboard when you get home!!]

[Where’s the stylist!! Get him some sunglasses! Now!! Non-negotiable!!]

[Look again and it’s paid content!!]

[Don’t ask, the answer is Young Master Liang’s neck is bothering him today]

[Bitch please, keep complaining and watch him stare openly hahahahahahaha]

Host: “…”

Silently glanced up at Liang Yan, then let their gaze drift from Liang Yan sideways, moving, moving… all the way to nearly the opposite corner of the stage, before finally landing on Qiao Qi.

Qiao Qi herself seemed perfectly normal, standing straight in her heels.

The temperature today wasn’t especially low; though the studio had heating, the space was too large for it to make much difference.

The female artists were all in off-shoulder, backless dresses; by comparison, Qiao Qi showed less skin, but her exposed calves and forearms still looked faintly pale from the cold.

Not sure if it was his overly focused gaze, but eventually the other artists on stage curiously followed his line of sight.

One after another turned their heads, like a row of dominoes falling, until every gaze landed squarely on Qiao Qi’s face.

Only then did Qiao Qi notice; a little bewildered, she glanced left and right and hesitantly asked, holding the mic, “Wh-what’s going on?”

Everyone else looked equally puzzled, each turning to look at the person before them, until finally the gazes circled back to the host.

The livestream nearly derailed; the host broke out in a cold sweat, hurriedly saying, “Everyone seems really interested in Qiao Qi based on the comments — look at this one, it says Teacher Qiao’s narrowed-eye look is bewitching, soul-stirring, haha, whoever wrote that has quite the vocabulary.”

The next second, Qiao Qi’s expression stayed flat as she said, “Oh,” “Sorry, I’m a bit nearsighted, I can’t see clearly without squinting.”

Host: “…”

The comments erupted into “hahahahahaha,” and the host, unable to laugh along, could only force a dry chuckle and joke, “Didn’t the stylist prepare contacts for you? That’s a demerit.”

The words had barely landed when Qiao Qi added, “I’m allergic to contacts.”

The host was momentarily speechless.

The comments’ laughter was nearly bursting through the screen.

[Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha interview assassin!!]

[I’m dead! I’m dying laughing!]

[Oh my god she’s so blunt and adorable!]

The host, unable to laugh, drew on years of professionalism to steer the conversation elsewhere — and, quite unfortunately, ended up steering it right toward Liang Yan.

The camera followed the host’s lead and settled on Liang Yan, the close-up practically capturing every single one of his eyelashes.

The man, in a fitted bespoke suit, showed off broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs to full effect; his outfit looked exceedingly proper, yet his hairstyle radiated a faint air of mischief.

He wasn’t particularly serious either — treating the livestream no differently from a regular broadcast, one hand tucked in his pocket, mic raised, waving hello to the camera.

The comments were relayed to the big screen behind him, filling it with chaos.

[Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I’m gone!!]

[Big bro’s legs aren’t legs — they’re the waters of the Seine!]

[Young Master Liang: What big bro, don’t just claim random relatives!]

[Young Master Liang: You can call me Daddy though]

[Hahahahahahaha it’s a livestream! Give our Young Master Liang some face!]

[Give a fig! He’s the one who’s been fishing for who knows how long!]

Seeing this comment, Liang Yan went, “Huh?” and proactively piped up, “What fishing? Where have I been fishing?”

The host, desperate to avoid any risky topics, went pale at these words, nearly fainting on the spot.

“Just… just saying you’ve been distracted, right?”

“I haven’t been distracted?” Liang Yan clearly hadn’t yet grasped the gravity of the situation.

The comments flooded in:

[Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha yeah right, sure]

[A man’s mouth, a lying ghost]

[Who’s been turning their head this whole time staring at Teacher Qiao? WHO! Sisters, tell me loud and clear who!]

Host: “…”

You wanted me to bring it up, and now it’s blown up in my face?!

The other artists present: “…”

Whoa.

Have all sorts of wonderful things been happening where we can’t see?

Liang Yan himself: “…”

Struggling to the bitter end, he said, expressionless, “I haven’t. You all must be seeing things.”

Qiao Qi, the one being stared at, said, “Huh? What? What are the comments saying? I can’t see them.”

Where no one could see, the host silently broke into a cold sweat, opening their mouth, trying to figure out how to smoothly move past this segment —

— but before they could speak, they heard Liang Yan say, “Nothing worth watching, just a bunch of little kids running their mouths.”

The “little kids” among the comments erupted in fury.

For the next two hours, the host no longer dared bring up the comments even once, but that didn’t stop the screen from filling with:

[Oh ho! Caught you! Screenshotted!]

[Ehehehehe, caught another one!]

[Report—! That’s the fifth time! Just now he peeked at Teacher Qiao while handing over the mic!]

[He’s here, he’s here! He just casually maneuvered his way right beside Teacher Qiao!]

[If I had even a tenth of Young Master Liang’s charm, I wouldn’t still be single…]

Completely unaware of all this, Qiao Qi was fairly surprised herself when Liang Yan suddenly appeared beside her, but realizing what the current occasion called for, her first instinct was to subtly step away, putting distance between them.

Liang Yan noticed immediately, and rather displeased, he frowned and glanced sideways at Qiao Qi.

Just then, Qiao Qi happened to glance over as well, and their eyes met unexpectedly. Qiao Qi’s heart, for some reason, suddenly raced, warmth rising at the base of her ears.

She couldn’t help looking away, and the next second, caught out of the corner of her eye that the person beside her had leaned in another step.

Instantly shrinking the distance she’d worked so hard to maintain even further than before.

Qiao Qi, a beat slow to catch on, hesitantly turned to look at Liang Yan.

Liang Yan said nothing, only arching an eyebrow lightly.

Qiao Qi: “…?”

Was he… flirting with her?

Right? Right, right?

Just then, the host suddenly cued Qiao Qi, calling out her name.

As if a reminder had dropped from the sky, Qiao Qi suddenly remembered — oh right, her current identity was Qiao Qi.

Not 7.

…Oh.

So Liang Yan had just been making ambiguous gestures at “Qiao Qi.”

In the next instant, the ripples that had begun spreading across Qiao Qi’s heart stilled into flat, dead calm.

The host asked, “It seems netizens are really curious about Teacher Qiao’s dating preferences — any chance you could reveal a little?”

This question had actually been asked before, in a magazine interview — but back then, she hadn’t known Li’ang was Liang Yan, and had been determined to stay faithful to Li’ang, even given how unusual her profession was, unwilling to lie.

Now, with Liang Yan straddling both 7 and Qiao Qi, Qiao Qi was ready to change her answer.

But before she could speak, Liang Yan beside her leisurely picked up his mic and said, “Teacher Qiao has someone she’s seeing.”

Everyone present: “!”

Comments: “???”

Qiao Qi: “…”

She silently turned her head, looking at Liang Yan with a cold, flat expression.

Liang Yan feigned surprise, “Huh? Isn’t that right? Didn’t you say that in an interview before?”

Qiao Qi paused for a moment, then turned to face the camera, “Teacher Liang isn’t wrong.”

Liang Yan let out a breath of relief.

But the next second, Qiao Qi added, “But I chose poorly, and the relationship has ended.”

That breath Liang Yan had just let out caught in his throat, halfway to dying on the spot.

Yet the host, still unaware, redirected the topic right back to Liang Yan, “Does Teacher Liang have any dating preferences?”

Liang Yan was still reeling internally, thinking he’d need a moment to recover before answering.

As a result, that moment of hesitation gave Qiao Qi the opening to answer for him.

“Teacher Liang has said before in interviews,” she said, “that he’s not fond of dating within the industry.” She added, with an unreadable expression, turning to smile at him, “Teacher Liang’s said it many times on Weibo too, hasn’t he?”

Liang Yan: “…Not that many times, though?”

Qiao Qi didn’t seem inclined to argue the exact count with him here.

Liang Yan nervously swallowed, unconsciously licking his slightly dry lips.

After two or three seconds of silence, he raised the mic and, facing the camera directly, said, “I… have actually changed. Occupation and all that doesn’t matter anymore — what matters is the person.”

“Right, Teacher Qiao?” Liang Yan turned to look at her.

For a moment, Qiao Qi nearly forgot this was a live broadcast, and met his gaze.

Though the lens between them was transparent, she somehow felt she couldn’t quite read his eyes.

Instinctively, she narrowed her eyes, trying to catch some hint of his intent.

But saw nothing.

Qiao Qi pressed her lips together, breaking eye contact, and gave a perfunctory “Mm.”

Considered an answer to Liang Yan’s question.

By this point, the livestream was drawing to a close. The host began introducing each artist for their exit.

By convention, Qiao Qi should have taken Liang Yan’s arm to walk off together — but the moment the host finished announcing her name, Qiao Qi nodded once toward the camera, then strode off with her long legs, without looking back.

Liang Yan, the male lead, found himself inexplicably left behind alone.

The comments erupted again:

[Hahahahahahahahaha]

[Confirmed! Lovers’ spat!]

[Who would’ve thought our always carefree, free-spirited Young Master Liang would have a day like this?]

Given how eventful the livestream had been, the moment it ended, Qiao Qi and Liang Yan shot straight to the top of the trending topics.

The most discussed part was the comment section during the broadcast.

Backstage, once they finally had a moment, Liang Yan and Qiao Qi got to see just how wildly varied — and mortifying — those comments had been.

Backstage, Qiao Qi looked through quite a few GIFs netizens had made of Liang Yan based on the trending topic.

One or two didn’t mean much, but after seeing several, she started to notice… did the netizens have a point?

Had Liang Yan really been secretly watching her?

Thinking this, Qiao Qi discreetly looked up to find Liang Yan, only to discover he wasn’t backstage for some reason.

Just as her search came up empty, the dressing room door was suddenly pushed open — it was Liang Yan, walking in with his assistant.

The assistant carried a stack of milk teas, handing them out to everyone.

Liang Yan took one from the pile, and, meeting Qiao Qi’s gaze, walked straight over to her, holding it out.

“Yours.”

Qiao Qi’s eyes circled the milk tea in his hand.

She heard him say by her ear, “Specifically told them light on the milk, heavy on the tea.”

Qiao Qi didn’t take it — instead, she looked up, staring unblinkingly into Liang Yan’s eyes, “How did you know I like my milk tea light on milk, heavy on tea?”

Liang Yan paused, and the smile that had been hanging at the corner of his mouth vanished.

Qiao Qi narrowed her eyes, a subtle sense of unease suddenly rising within her.

Thinking it over carefully, Liang Yan’s shift in attitude toward “Qiao Qi” did seem rather sudden.

Almost without any warning at all, it had simply changed.

Why?

Was it really just because of his affection carrying over from 7?

Not only that — he’d also actively been stirring up shipping buzz with her, and had stopped clarifying the rumors on Weibo.

Even more so, he no longer brought up his online girlfriend as often as he used to.

Suddenly, Qiao Qi’s heart gave a lurch.

She stood up abruptly, her tone almost demanding, “How did you know?”

There’s an old saying.

If you’ve done nothing wrong, you needn’t fear a knock at the door.

Liang Yan had, in fact, done something wrong — and now the ghost had come knocking.

He gripped the milk tea cup, his knuckles tightening again and again, and finally said, “I guessed.”

Author’s Note: 7: In that case, please keep guessing when my boyfriend plans to show up and get himself killed.