To avoid his own fans seeing him at the police station the next day, Liang Yan didn’t linger outside Qiao Qi’s door any longer.

Instead, he went back to his own room to pester Zhou Jiaye.

Zhou Jiaye had just spent the evening handling a major matter with his uncle, rushing back home overnight through pouring rain from a neighboring city. After showering, he’d wanted to cuddle up with his wife and sleep, but she’d found him too noisy and unceremoniously kicked him out to the guest room.

Equally cold at heart, Zhou Jiaye lay alone in the guest room wrapped in a small blanket, lonely and freezing, and had just started drifting off when his phone rang without warning.

At four-thirty in the morning, Zhou Jiaye’s eyes snapped open, all trace of sleepiness gone.

Gritting his teeth, he fumbled for the phone, saw it was Young Master Liang calling, and picked up with a burst of cursing.

Maybe he’d already gotten his fair share of “purification” from Qiao Qi, but Liang Yan calmly weathered Zhou Jiaye’s foul-mouthed tirade, and just as the other man’s tirade started to run out of steam, cut in with perfect timing: “Who’s my second sweetheart?”

Zhou Jiaye froze.

Liang Yan continued, “Who’s my third sweetheart?”

By now, muffled, barely restrained laughter was already leaking through from the other end of the line.

The instigator of this whole disaster, confronted with the fallout, showed not a shred of remorse—instead, downright smug and delighted by the chaos!

Absolutely absurd!

Gritting his teeth, Liang Yan wished he could reach through the phone line and drag Zhou Jiaye up by the collar. “Who’s my little sweetheart, then?!”

Zhou Jiaye couldn’t hold it in anymore either, bursting into laughter. “What’s wrong? Young Master Liang’s finally back from the monastery?”

“Screw you,” Liang Yan said. “I nearly rolled straight into the King of Hell’s office.”

“Hm?” Zhou Jiaye clearly hadn’t grasped the severity of it yet. “Surely not that bad?”

Something occurred to him, and he let out a casual “oh.” “Your big sweetheart found out? Weren’t you two doing the online-romance thing—wait, damn? You revealed yourselves? What’s she like? Where’s she from? Ooh, is she prettier than that Qiao Qi from your set?”

Liang Yan: “…None of your business! How do you even know about Qiao Qi?”

“I don’t, my wife told me,” Zhou Jiaye said. “Didn’t your sister have a meal with her on her birthday? Your sister was watching your interview together at the time… ah, right, speaking of which, your sister—is Liang Xumo—still not out of the hospital yet?”

Liang Yan paused, then replied again, “None of your business.”

“Fine, fine, none of my business.” Zhou Jiaye, realizing he’d said the wrong thing, dropped the topic and looked for a chance to slip away. “Well, Young Master, keep reflecting on your sins then—I’m going back to sleep.”

“Sleep, my ass.” Liang Yan was quite furious.

“Don’t say ‘ass’ this and ‘ass’ that—not great if your online girlfriend heard that. Oh wait, not online girlfriend anymore, you two revealed yourselves. Oh ho ho, congratulations, Young Master Liang, after several hundred days you’ve finally claimed your girlfriend.”

Liang Yan got even angrier. “This is worse than the online romance!”

Zhou Jiaye perked up, intrigued. “Hm? What happened? Ooh, sounds like there’s a story here.”

“And who’s the one who wrote that story?” Liang Yan threatened. “Zhou Jiaye, you’d better watch yourself—don’t let me catch you.”

Zhou Jiaye didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “Heh heh, you won’t catch me. My grandfather’s been keeping an eye on my uncle lately. My uncle just adopted a daughter recently, tsk tsk tsk.”

Liang Yan recalled that Uncle Zhou wasn’t even thirty yet this year. “Adopted a daughter? From an orphanage?”

“No,” Zhou Jiaye said. “A friend’s kid, the one from that car accident a while back. You think everyone’s like your family, running off to orphanages whenever there’s nothing better to do…”

His voice cut off abruptly.

Liang Yan didn’t get angry—if anything, he felt like mocking him. “I won’t even bother scolding you. Go reflect on how many digits your own EQ score has.”

Zhou Jiaye: “…You’re the one bothering me in the middle of the night and now you’re blaming me? Not dealing with you anymore, hanging up.”

Liang Yan, impatient, told him to get lost already. After hanging up, he found his thoughts drifting, thinking back on the orphanage that had once taken in Liang Xumo.

The memory wasn’t very clear anymore.

He’d been too young at the time, hadn’t paid attention to orphanages or anything like that, hadn’t even noticed which orphanage it had been.

All he remembered was that the road there had passed by a number of food factories.

But it had been so many years now.

Which orphanage no longer mattered.

Where Liang Xumo had come from wasn’t important—where she’d ended up was what was worth looking into.

—

Winter sun always came late. By the time Liang Yan had counted three thousand sheep, and opened Qiao Qi’s WeChat profile for who knew how many times, the sky finally began to brighten.

He could finally, right on schedule, politely send a message.

Liang Yan: Good morning. [rose]

She replied instantly.

Qiao Qi: Get lost.

Liang Yan: “…”

For some reason, he found this oddly touching.

He’d figured he only deserved a red exclamation mark.

Liang Yan: A beautiful day begins.

Liang Yan: Let’s let yesterday’s unhappiness drift away with the wind.

Qiao Qi: I’d suggest YOU drift away.

Liang Yan: ?

Liang Yan: Don’t say such inauspicious things first thing in the morning.

Liang Yan: If I remember right, I’ve got a wire-work stunt scene today. If something happens to me, you’ll really be a widow.

Just before the next red exclamation mark could arrive, Liang Yan added, in time.

Liang Yan: This is my work account—I’d advise against blocking it.

Liang Yan: Otherwise, if the director asks, I’ll just say the young couple’s having a spat.

This time, Liang Yan didn’t get an exclamation mark—nor did he get so much as a single character or punctuation mark.

She’d probably just left him sitting dead in her list.

Liang Yan sighed, got up out of bed, and walked to the window. The moment he opened it, a cold gust of wind blew tears straight out of his eyes.

Liang Yan wiped at the corners of his eyes, standing in the wind, weathering its baptism.

Then he sighed with feeling: today was destined to be an extraordinary day.

To live a more ordinary (peaceful) life, Liang Yan opened an app and searched: how to coax a girlfriend who’s angry.

Top answer: First, make sure the other person is actually your girlfriend.

Liang Yan: “………….”

Ah, let the fierce winter winds blow harder!!

—

Full daylight now. The director @’d everyone in the group chat: time to grind, time to grind, the sun’s practically burning our behinds.

Only Cheng Yueming dared to say: Can we eat first before grinding? [unhappy]

Director Cheng, true to his reputation as a devoted daughter’s-dad, replied: Sure, I’ll wait for you at the restaurant.

A crowd immediately started ribbing him below.

Director Cheng added: If you need hair and makeup, please contact the artists yourselves.

Director Cheng: Breakfast is on your own dime. No reimbursement.

The same crowd that had just been ribbing him: …

Heh.

The essence of humanity really is double standards after all.

—

Both Qiao Qi and Liang Yan needed hair and makeup; despite being on the same floor, they hadn’t shown up in the makeup room at the same time. In fact, the moment Qiao Qi walked in and saw Liang Yan, she turned and chose the makeup mirror farthest from him.

Liang Yan seemed entirely unbothered by her obvious avoidance and, with great attentiveness, delivered her a breakfast before naturally settling into the seat right beside her.

Qiao Qi shot him a cold sidelong glance.

Liang Yan gave a faintly obedient smile, his usual eye-catching peach-blossom eyes curving into pretty crescents.

“…”

This man’s shamelessness could not be rivaled by any city wall.

Qiao Qi had initially wanted to move seats again, out of sight and out of mind, but the moment she looked up, she saw the makeup artist already heading her way with supplies.

She didn’t want to trouble the artist by making her chase her around, and she didn’t want to keep behaving like a three-year-old, either.

So she was forced to sit down in front of the mirror with a cold expression.

Having drunk last night and slept poorly, Qiao Qi’s face was puffy, her eyes swollen too.

Probably from the wind—a faint pale pink tinge sat beneath her eyes, over the fatty area, standing out sharply against her face, made even paler under the lights.

She kept her chin tucked, eyes lowered, her lips unconsciously pouting slightly.

Aggrieved and pitiful-looking.

To Liang Yan’s eyes, it created an adorable contrast against her usual cool, striking demeanor.

He couldn’t resist snapping a photo, staring at the little pitiful thing in the picture, his lips threatening to curl upward, before tapping away at his phone screen.

A few minutes later, Qiao Qi’s phone buzzed.

At that moment, the makeup artist was applying her base makeup, which didn’t stop Qiao Qi from playing on her phone, so she casually picked it up off the vanity.

She lightly unlocked it with her thumb and swiped down the notification bar, seeing it was a picture Liang Yan had sent.

She instinctively pressed her lips together and, expressionless, turned her eyeballs toward the seat next to her.

Young Master Liang, at that moment, looked exactly like some delinquent kid in class who never listened but loved peeking at girls—one hand propping up his chin, head tilted, eyes fixed intently on Qiao Qi, unmistakably smiling.

…Worse than a delinquent, even! At least delinquents weren’t this blatant about it!

Qiao Qi had no idea how long he’d been staring at her like that; not knowing would’ve been fine, but now that she knew, she felt thoroughly uncomfortable.

Even her face started heating up, belatedly.

Qiao Qi’s reactions were always a beat slow, whether in how she handled things or how her emotions caught up with her.

Commonly known as a delayed reaction.

Last night’s sudden reveal-and-meeting had been, by rights, a somewhat awkward affair—but Liang Yan’s “multiple wives and concubines” stunt had wiped that awkwardness clean away.

Now that the two of them had rarely settled into calm, that subtle awkward tension was slowly starting to creep back in.

Combined with Liang Yan’s current smile and gaze—practically the look of someone harassing a respectable woman—Qiao Qi genuinely wanted to find a city wall to hide behind.

And yet Liang Yan himself looked completely unbothered.

As if he wasn’t the one who’d gone from “coworker” to “boyfriend” overnight!

His reactions were so practiced?

Exactly how many online romances had he been through?

The thought filled Qiao Qi with fury all over again.

Her sense of awkwardness vanished once more.

So, facing Liang Yan’s message, she didn’t even open it—just flipped the phone face-down against her palm.

Eyes closed. Makeup time!

Liang Yan: “…”

Coaxing a girlfriend really was exhausting work, huh.

Round one.

Liang Yan: defeat.

—

Liang Yan’s makeup artist arrived a few minutes late, yawning, and found Liang Yan already seated; she began gathering her supplies to get started.

Liang Yan had just come out of his room, dressed casually.

A sky-blue V-neck sweater made of faux rabbit fur, with a black down jacket thrown carelessly over it.

His hair was messily tousled, sticking up every which way.

Yet Liang Yan carried a naturally noble air that made even this look far from sloppy—instead lending him a subtly lazy, relaxed, comfortable quality.

As the heating in the makeup room gradually warmed the space, Liang Yan reached up and took off his jacket, the motion pulling his collar open to reveal a broad swath of pale skin.

Including a bruise, dark purple, just beneath his straight collarbone.

This was the first badge his reunion with Qiao Qi had earned him.

Overnight, the pain had transformed into a startling mark.

The makeup artist caught sight of it and let out an “ooh.” “Young Master Liang, sounds like your night life was pretty lively.”

You have no idea.

Lively enough to give a person a headache.

There were only four people in the makeup room at the moment, and the makeup artist’s voice wasn’t exactly quiet—anyone without earplugs could hear it.

As it happened, Qiao Qi’s hearing was pretty good; hearing this, her hand, reaching for the thermos on the vanity, faltered—distracted, the thermos tipped directly toward Liang Yan.

And that thermos was full of hot water.

Qiao Qi let out a startled cry and, without regard for the fact that her hair was still in the makeup artist’s hands, leaned forward to try to catch the cup.

But the moment she moved, a large hand clamped precisely onto her shoulder.

Qiao Qi froze, looking up.

Straight into Liang Yan’s calm, unruffled eyes.

The thermos had somehow ended up in his other hand; he lifted an eyelid lazily, his dark eyes reflecting Qiao Qi’s startled expression.

“What are you panicking for. Don’t want your hair anymore?” Liang Yan said in a low voice, then, with a bit of force, pushed Qiao Qi—who hadn’t moved much anyway—back into her original position.

—The makeup artist holding onto Qiao Qi’s hair had gone blank with shock, because if Qiao Qi had leaned forward even one more centimeter, she’d have yanked out a chunk of Qiao Qi’s hair.

Even if it hadn’t snapped, Qiao Qi would’ve let out another startled cry just from the pull.

Qiao Qi’s expression wasn’t much better either; her face still carried a layer of shaken nerves, and it took her several seconds before she turned her gaze to Liang Yan’s hand.

The thermos sat perfectly steady, not a single drop spilled.

Liang Yan gave a short, brief laugh, leaning forward to set the thermos back in its place, saying unhurriedly, “Why so scared? The lid’s on tight, it’s not going to burn me.”

Under normal circumstances, a remark like that would’ve earned mockery for reading too much into things—but in that split-second earlier, both makeup artists had seen the tension on Qiao Qi’s face with perfect clarity.

Whether Young Master Liang was “reading into things” or “correctly identifying the situation” was pretty obvious.

The two makeup artists exchanged a slow glance, each catching the spark of gossip in the other’s eyes, then looked away just as casually.

But the excitement and thrill in their hearts betrayed itself completely in the corners of their barely-restrained smiling lips.

Qiao Qi sat facing the mirror, its frame lined with small bright bulbs—lights that not only exposed every flaw on a person’s face with perfect clarity, but also captured every subtle flicker of expression.

Like the stiffness on Qiao Qi’s face right now, and the flush that even foundation couldn’t quite hide.

And the subtle look on the makeup artist’s face behind her, at the corner of her mouth, and even in her eyes.

Instinct always leaves a person’s true feelings with nowhere to hide.

Qiao Qi had to admit—Liang Yan had always held a place in her heart.

After all, he’d already claimed countless firsts from her.

The first flutter of the heart.

The first secret crush.

The first online romance.

The first time her emotions had wavered between “two people,” and countless restless nights spent thinking she must be some kind of fickle, unfaithful person.

The first time—

facing danger, all she could think was: he can’t get hurt!

Feeling is the one thing a person can never fully hide.

Caught off guard by this rush of realizations, it took Qiao Qi a good while before she managed a dry, tight “oh.”

She avoided Liang Yan’s gaze—half-teasing, half seriously intent—her eyes drifting, blurred yet sharp, onto the thermos, and forced herself to say lightly, “Good thing it’s fine, or I’d be the one to blame for holding up work.”

As Qiao Qi spoke, she thought she was sitting up straight, her expression composed and natural.

In reality, the tips of her ears had already gone red.

From Liang Yan’s angle, he could see it perfectly clearly—including exactly how fast that flush was spreading.

He smugly curved his lips into a smile, and, out of great “consideration,” gave Qiao Qi a bit of face.

“Mm,” he said, “Right.”

But he couldn’t quite resist the chance to tease her further, and after a moment’s thought, added, “Just like that person who beat me up yesterday—if she hadn’t held back, I might be missing work today too.”

Qiao Qi: “…………”

Why could he always play the victim so shamelessly?

The makeup artist, apparently used to Liang Yan’s constant nonsense, didn’t take his words to heart, even playing along. “Oh, then Teacher Liang should be more careful from now on—domestic abuse is a zero-times-or-countless-times kind of thing.”

Liang Yan looked at Qiao Qi with a lingering gaze, his tone meaningfully rich. “Sure, I will.”

Qiao Qi, having shed all her earlier embarrassment, met Liang Yan’s eyes head-on without flinching, saying coolly, “Right—this is exactly like cheating. Zero times, or countless times.”

Liang Yan: “…”

Round two.

Liang Yan: still defeated.

—

Although the cast of The Cipher was nearly identical to that of Misty Cloud Pavilion, the two productions had completely opposite tones—including the characters Liang Yan and Qiao Qi each played.

Misty Cloud Pavilion was about a young man returning from overseas, a beauty smiling amid chaos.

The Cipher was about braving thorns for you, throwing oneself into the fire like a moth for you.

Chaotic eras had their turbulence, but peaceful times had their own undercurrents.

And in The Cipher, Qiao Qi and Liang Yan were caught helplessly in those undercurrents.

When a seemingly spoiled, glamorous, difficult young heiress hiding a mountain of secrets crosses paths with a criminal investigation captain who clawed his way up from poverty step by step, suspected of being a psychopathic serial killer—

One thought, heaven. One thought, hell.

Everyone had already read the script; the effort and toil required weren’t any less than Misty Cloud Pavilion.

But Qiao Qi hadn’t expected the very first scene to be a heated one.

…An actual, full-on heated scene.

The female lead, from a massive family, was suspected of being targeted by an assassin; she personally barged into the criminal investigation bureau, threw an unreasonable fit, and demanded by name that the captain become her personal bodyguard.

Upholding the principle of serving the people, the taciturn, cold-faced captain became a tall, handsome, aloof bodyguard.

The bodyguard’s first assignment: watch the heiress, dressed in a slip dress, flaunting herself on the dance floor of a shady nightclub. The heiress, having a great time, spent lavishly buying drinks for over a dozen different men, before finally, in the dead of night, collapsing drunk into the bodyguard’s arms.

The bodyguard, stiff and awkward, carried the heiress back to her hotel room; too drunk to even stand, she insisted on tearing at her own clothes to go shower.

Finally, hands and feet everywhere, she pinned the bodyguard down on the bed.

At that critical moment, the vice squad burst through the door.

“Shang Zhou looked at the colleague standing beside him, leader of the raid, and for the first time showed an expression other than his usual deadpan…” Liang Yan finished reading the last line, then turned to look at Qiao Qi. “Do you know how to club dance?”

Qiao Qi, holding her script, smiled slightly. “Sorry, I’ve never actually been to a nightclub.”

Liang Yan, who’d just been discovered to have a bar-going, multiple-wives-and-concubines history: “…There’s wellness clubbing. Doesn’t require an actual nightclub.”

Qiao Qi’s smile deepened. “You sure know a lot of things.”

Liang Yan: “…A good actor keeps work and personal life separate, Teacher Qiao.”

“Is Teacher Liang trying to teach me how to be a person?” Qiao Qi looked like she was smiling, but the next second she could just as easily pull out a cleaver.

So Liang Yan, driven by a strong desire to win, said, “Wouldn’t dare.”

Qiao Qi laughed coldly and turned her head away.

Just then, the set assistant came over carrying a pile of ice cubes, telling everyone to hold some in their mouths beforehand to reduce the visible breath fog.

Without a word, Qiao Qi grabbed one and stuffed it in her mouth.

Then immediately scrunched her face from the cold.

“Are you an idiot.” Liang Yan reached out to pry at her face, his other palm turned upward, held beneath her mouth. “Spit it out.”

Qiao Qi, startled by his sudden action, froze completely, and the rest of the crew nearby couldn’t help but shoot them looks practically glowing with interest.

Qiao Qi’s face heated; she glared, mumbling incoherently, “Mm… geh go!”

Liang Yan frowned, repeating, “Spit it out.”

By this point Qiao Qi had actually adjusted; she made a couple of “mm-mm” sounds and flailed to swat at Liang Yan’s hand, trying to break free of his grip.

But Liang Yan seemed dead set on making her spit it out, and in the end, worried about attracting even more attention, Qiao Qi had no choice but to open her mouth and spit it out.

Of course, not into his hand.

Qiao Qi had her pride.

After spitting it out, her tongue still numb, she didn’t let that stop her from cursing: “Get lost! Are you sick or something?”

Liang Yan, thoroughly satisfied, released his grip, even tilting his head to study Qiao Qi for two seconds before lowering his voice to a volume only the two of them could hear.

“Mm. Lovesickness.”

“…”

In full view of everyone, in broad daylight, Qiao Qi felt her entire body suddenly ignite despite the dead of winter.

Her eyes reddened; she glared at Liang Yan for several seconds before finally, teeth clenched, stomping viciously on his foot, then, ears burning red, stormed off in a fury.

The onlookers nearby, who hadn’t quite managed to look away in time, got caught red-handed by Liang Yan.

Rather than looking guilty and worried about rumors, the man faced the crowd’s stares without a shred of nerves, righteous as ever. “What are you all looking at? Never seen actors rehearsing a scene before?”

The onlookers all gave a collective “oh” and looked away.

Then silently asked themselves: what’s wrong with these artists these days?

And so, round three.

Liang Yan: a narrow win.

…Achieved entirely through years of hard-earned shamelessness cultivation.

Author’s Note: Liang Yan: Heh heh. Thrilled!

Author: Not sure why, but our male lead doesn’t seem quite like the sappy, smooth-talking male leads in other stories. [pensive face.jpg]

Uncle Zhou’s story—check out the column: ‘Partiality’