As the speed picked up, the air felt like rolling waves of heat.

Ahead, the traffic streamed by, the city rising up, the tops of the high-rises tipped in spilled orange light.

The sun sank slowly, racing against time to release its last sliver of glow.

The light fell across Liang Yan’s shoulder, illuminating the side of his face and the back of his ear.

Liang Yan’s skin was very fair, the back of his ear too, and under the wash of red light his skin seemed almost transparent red.

There was a pale gray mole behind his ear.

Through the visor, Qiao Qi couldn’t see clearly; her gaze drifted across the visor toward Liang Yan’s neck and shoulders, then quickly withdrew.

She hadn’t expected Liang Yan to offer to give her a ride. Under normal circumstances, Qiao Qi would have kept far away from him.

After all, Liang Yan was first-tier, currently at the height of his popularity — though when he went out normally, there wasn’t necessarily much media attention on him.

If someone happened to photograph her and make something of it, Liang Yan’s background was strong enough, his backing solid enough, that even after a scandal he could bounce right back. Someone as new as her couldn’t afford that; if she wasn’t careful, Liang Yan’s fangirls alone would probably pick her apart.

Liang Yan seemed to have noticed her hesitation at the time. He’d taken off his helmet, given his hair a shake, and said dismissively, “They wouldn’t dare stare at me. If you’re worried, then—”

Liang Yan trailed off, turning his head, eyes narrowing as he spotted a shared bike by the roadside. He tipped his chin at it. “There, that kind of transportation works too.”

“Just a bit slower.” He smiled.

Qiao Qi: “……”

Once he’d put it that way, Qiao Qi felt that hesitating further would seem ungrateful, so she stopped being coy about it.

Several minutes after getting on, Qiao Qi belatedly realized: she was catching a ride with a top-tier celebrity, wasn’t she?

Stunned for a few seconds, she found her gaze drifting back to the nape of Liang Yan’s neck, her mood shifting into something indescribably complicated.

The motorcycle was indeed faster than a shared bike, and soon it came to a smooth stop outside Tianyi Tower.

Qiao Qi, in her qipao, hadn’t been able to sit comfortably astride the back seat and had ridden sideways instead; when she hopped off, she stumbled slightly.

Liang Yan seemed to sense it and quickly extended an arm, quick as lightning.

Beneath the leather jacket, warmed hot by the wind, were very firm muscles.

That strength didn’t quite match his usual lazy, languid appearance.

“Thanks.” Qiao Qi said once she’d steadied herself.

Before setting off, Liang Yan had given the helmet to Qiao Qi and put on nothing more than a face-covering mask himself. His hair, which had been flattened somewhat by the helmet, had been blown into disarray by the wind, strands falling messily across his eyes and blocking his view. Liang Yan casually raked a hand through it, pushing it back.

His features really were exceptional — with his forehead exposed, his eyes looked even more striking.

Probably from being battered by the wind, the corners of his eyes had taken on a bit of redness and moisture.

It only deepened the alluring, soul-snaring quality of those peach-blossom eyes.

The moment Qiao Qi steadied herself, she immediately tried to take off the helmet, only to find it seemed to have tangled in her hair — no matter how she fussed with it, she couldn’t get it off.

Liang Yan didn’t help either. Instead, he leisurely crossed his hands over the motorcycle’s handlebars, tilting his head, watching Qiao Qi struggle with obvious interest.

Catching sight of him watching the show out of the corner of her eye, every hair on Qiao Qi’s body stood on end; she nearly lost her temper.

Liang Yan gave a soft laugh, swung a long leg over, and got off the bike. Leaning against the bike’s body for support, he raised a hand and gestured to Qiao Qi. “Come here.”

Qiao Qi had always been independent; from childhood on, her first reaction to anything had always been to handle it herself.

Now, with someone suddenly wanting to help, she instead felt an uncomfortable sense of being controlled.

Especially with Liang Yan’s tone so decisive about it.

Qiao Qi grew even more uncomfortable.

She furrowed her brow, pulling even harder, just about to simply yank her hair out and be done with it, when Liang Yan suddenly reached out and caught her wrist.

Qiao Qi paused, looking at Liang Yan from inside the helmet.

Liang Yan didn’t meet her eyes; instead, all his attention was fixed on the helmet. His lashes lowered, his gaze faintly downcast, giving him a focused, serious look.

His movements were far gentler than her own had been, and far more practiced. In just a few motions he’d removed the helmet, and only as he turned away, cradling it, did he toss off a single word with careless nonchalance: “Stubborn.”

Qiao Qi touched her hair, which had been handled with unexpected care, and looked up to see Liang Yan already walking toward the hotel entrance.

He handed the keys and helmet in his hand to the attendant beside him without even glancing back, then stepped through the revolving door without turning around.

Qiao Qi pulled her gaze back, letting it fall on the motorcycle for a moment; she pressed her lips together, then quickly followed after him.

The private room was still the same old spot; Qiao Qi guessed by now that Cheng Yueming’s group must have this room on long-term reservation.

Stepping out of the elevator, Qiao Qi walked familiarly toward the private room, only to hear a voice behind her the instant she turned.

“Qiao Qi?”

Qiao Qi turned around to see it was Lin Chu, who had just stepped out of another elevator.

He was here too.

Qiao Qi’s impression of Lin Chu wasn’t particularly deep — the two of them had only worked together once, on a simple ad.

She remembered the shoot had been in deep winter, a night of heavy snow having blanketed the whole city. The shoot location was a wetlands park out in the suburbs with very little shelter; each gust of wind seemed to drop the temperature by ten degrees.

Qiao Qi didn’t have much winter-shoot experience, and that day, for the sake of looking good, she’d worn very little. She hadn’t expected the location to be so cold, and her lips had frozen nearly purple.

In the end it was Lin Chu who, during a break between takes, had invited her into his trailer to wait, and even lent her a military coat on top of that.

Whatever else, Qiao Qi kept that warmth in her heart.

So she didn’t give Lin Chu the same cold demeanor she gave others; instead, she curved her lips into a smile. “What a coincidence.”

Lin Chu, despite his height and broad shoulders and rather bold, thick-lined features, was actually rather gentlemanly, rarely looking anyone over.

“Here to audition too?”

Qiao Qi nodded, without saying which project.

She didn’t say, and Lin Chu didn’t ask either. The two of them headed, without discussion, in the same direction, and only then did Lin Chu ask, “You’re headed this way too?”

Qiao Qi nodded.

“Let’s go together, then.” Lin Chu said.

Qiao Qi didn’t refuse.

Keeping a polite, distant space between them, the two walked side by side in the same direction, and Lin Chu made casual conversation, asking Qiao Qi a few harmless questions about her personal career.

Qiao Qi had nothing to hide, and answered all of them honestly.

Lin Chu looked rather regretful. “You really should be doing better than this.”

Should.

In this world, it’s hard to say exactly what “should” and “shouldn’t” really mean.

But Qiao Qi just smiled and didn’t go deeper into it.

Along the way they ran into several people who greeted Lin Chu proactively, and he responded to nearly every one of them with a smile.

Not a trace of airs about him.

In truth, though Lin Chu’s current standing in the industry wasn’t particularly high, it wasn’t low either.

Especially compared with the people who’d just passed by and greeted him — the gap was worlds apart.

Under such a disparity, that Lin Chu could still maintain this kind of even-handed manner was genuinely rare.

So Qiao Qi’s impression of him quietly improved a few notches further.

“I’m just about—” Before she could finish, Qiao Qi looked up to see Lin Chu had also come to a stop alongside her, his body turning toward the private room.

The two of them exchanged a glance, both briefly stunned, then, ears warming, laughed.

“Director Cheng’s?” Lin Chu asked.

Qiao Qi smiled and nodded.

Lin Chu smiled too. “Looks like we might get to work together again?”

Qiao Qi hadn’t seen Lin Chu’s work, and didn’t know how his acting skills were.

Not that she was in any position to judge, anyway.

But purely on the matter of character, Qiao Qi found she was quite willing.

So she smiled, her tone certain. “Very much looking forward to it.”

Just then, a lazy, languid voice suddenly sounded from behind them. “What a coincidence.”

The voice was lazy, and soft too, but impossible to ignore all the same.

Especially when that light, drifting timbre curled into one’s ear, it made the listener’s ears warm up without meaning to.

Qiao Qi wasn’t quite used to this sensation; her brows drew together in a barely perceptible frown as she turned her head sideways to see Liang Yan standing just behind and to the side of her.

Liang Yan held a bottle of sports drink in hand; perhaps because his hands were large with long fingers, the three-hundred-milliliter bottle looked small and inconsequential in his grip.

He gave his wrist a light turn, tipped his head back and drained the rest of the bottle, then flicked the can with unerring accuracy into the trash bin.

His throat rolled as he swallowed, his thumb wiping the moisture from the corner of his mouth; he lifted his eyelids lightly and spoke again: “Not going in?”

Qiao Qi blinked, a little dazed.

What was this supposed to be?

A three-way summit?

Author’s note: Young Master Liang: You call this a three-way summit?

Young Master Liang: This is a threesome, and every threesome needs a third wheel! [furious.jpg]

Cutie 7: ……