It wasn’t just the fans who’d had an eventful day. When Qiao Qi got off the plane and saw the news push notification, she froze for a moment too. Once in the taxi, she casually scrolled through the trending topics and only then discovered there’d been a whole hospital-miscarriage rumor going around.

Though clearly by now Liang Yan had already redirected everyone’s attention.

Netizens’ memory and attention span could always be shifted so easily. Qiao Qi thought about how, in the half year since entering the industry, she’d been through no small number of controversies big and small, trended more than once — and yet now the comment sections and related topic pages all looked wiped clean.

Only the faintest traces remained.

You see — strangers won’t remember you.

Only lovers and family will.

Qiao Qi, feeling conflicted, turned off her phone. She hadn’t reached out to Liang Yan on her own — though, in truth, she had no way to even if she’d wanted to, since she’d blocked all three of his WeChat accounts a while back. For a long stretch afterward, the two of them had only been in touch through text messages and payment apps.

But now, it seemed, they’d both silently agreed there was no way to reach each other at all.

“Miss, there’s traffic up ahead, mind if I take a detour?” the driver suddenly asked.

Pulled back from her thoughts, Qiao Qi gave a soft “Ah” and turned to look outside.

Jing City used to get snow every year, once one of the country’s most notable winter sights, but this year not a single flake had fallen yet.

The wind was bitterly cold, blurring the car windows with its chill.

The evergreen branches along the road swayed side to side in the wind, smoke curling up from roadside food stalls and drifting skyward together with the winter wind.

This was a scent unique to this city.

Qiao Qi didn’t look away from the window, replying to the driver, “No need, I’m not in a rush.”

She used to always be in a rush — rushing through life, rushing to earn money, rushing to climb higher.

Now that Maiya was gone, she felt suddenly drained, as if all the water had been wrung out of her, and for a moment she felt completely lost.

The road ahead stretched on and on, and yet, to her, it felt like there was no longer any direction to go.

She remembered how, two years ago, she used to bring Maiya out here for breakfast, to the supermarket — but then…

Then she’d just gotten busy, it seemed, all the time.

So busy that the whole city had changed its face before she even noticed how much things had changed.

A route that should have taken five minutes ended up stuck in traffic for nearly half an hour.

Once they left the busy downtown, the road cleared up — especially near Mingtian, where there wasn’t much to cause congestion.

Mostly just factories.

Passing by the sugar refinery, Qiao Qi suddenly called out, “Stop here!”

The driver, thinking something urgent had happened, slammed on the brakes.

The car really did stop, and Qiao Qi found herself at a loss. Her hand was already on the door handle; one second was all it would take to push it open and get out.

But the moment she put weight into her hand, the pull of that force snapped her back to clarity. She looked through the window at the factory, so changed from how she remembered it, and after a long moment gently let go of the handle.

“It’s fine, keep going,” she said quietly.

Only then did the driver realize the passenger he was carrying wasn’t in the best state of mind. He’d meant to make small talk, but instead simply kept quiet, driving the rest of the way to the destination in silence.

—

Walking in, Qiao Qi greeted Puff first — with the cold weather, Puff had burrowed into his own little house.

The little house had actually been Maiya’s idea. On top were the children’s drawings, every inch of it full of care and innocence.

Catching the scent of a familiar person, Puff immediately stuck his tongue out and scrambled outside, stretching his head to nudge at Qiao Qi’s hand. Qiao Qi’s lips curved slightly as she stroked his head.

After a long moment, she finally managed, her voice dry and strained, “Your little owner is gone now.”

Puff, of course, couldn’t understand, and unlike in movies and TV shows, he didn’t possess some deep intuitive understanding. He didn’t know someone had left — he only knew someone had come home, and so he was happy.

“Qiao Qi?” Lu Yuan’s voice came from behind her.

Qiao Qi patted Puff’s head, then stood, turned, and gave Lu Yuan a bitter smile.

Perhaps it was the familiarity and sharpness that came from years of living together — Lu Yuan’s heart lurched instantly.

She opened her mouth but only managed a rough exhale of white breath.

In that moment, Qiao Qi’s eyes suddenly reddened.

The next second, Lu Yuan’s tears fell. She quickly raised a hand to cover her mouth, brows knitting, throat tightening with a sob.

Qiao Qi’s own eyes welled up with moisture; just then a gust of wind blew past, as if swallowing her tears whole.

Her eyes felt dry and stinging.

“Director Lu…” she said.

Lu Yuan hurried forward and pulled Qiao Qi into a hug. Even as she herself sobbed and struggled to catch her breath, she kept patting and soothing Qiao Qi’s back without pause.

“There, there. There, there…”

Just like when Qiao Qi was little and struggling, Lu Yuan would always pat the child’s back, telling her she was good, so good.

Because she knew this girl had truly had it hard.

In truth, they both knew — if Maiya had been able to grow up healthy, then everything Qiao Qi had endured wouldn’t have mattered at all.

But since Maiya hadn’t made it through, all those years of hardship suddenly felt like some grand, cruel joke.

“It’s alright. We all did everything we could, didn’t we?” Lu Yuan said.

Qiao Qi listened, and after a long moment, slowly bent forward, resting her chin on Lu Yuan’s shoulder.

Lu Yuan was shorter than Qiao Qi by half a head. Over the years, whenever Lu Yuan tried to get close to her, Qiao Qi had always felt some distance, some awkwardness.

She always felt that, at Mingtian, she was the one holding up the sky.

Like a nail driven firmly into the ground, never bowing her head.

This was the first time she had bent down, lowered her head.

She really was… so tired.

—

After briefly telling Lu Yuan what had happened and what came next, Lu Yuan finally managed to steady herself. Qiao Qi knew there were plenty of other children in this home, but since Maiya had often been hospitalized, most of the kids hadn’t really grown close to her.

If there wasn’t much attachment, there was no need to add to everyone’s grief.

Qiao Qi said, “If it’s not necessary, don’t tell the others.”

Lu Yuan nodded in understanding. “When are you going to the hospital?”

“In about two weeks.”

Lu Yuan said, “Alright. So you’ll still be… working?”

Qiao Qi smiled bitterly. “Of course.”

Lu Yuan was relieved to hear it. She had actually worried Qiao Qi would fall into despair — after all, life still had to go on.

Before Qiao Qi left, Lu Yuan gave her plenty of instructions.

These were the kinds of things she used to say to Maiya. Qiao Qi told Lu Yuan not to worry, and only left once the sun had begun to set.

—

Back at the film crew, Qiao Qi didn’t rush to the set but returned to the hotel first. Just as she swiped her card, the door across the hall opened.

Qiao Qi paused but didn’t turn around.

Footsteps approached from behind, and a hand reached out and took the keycard from her.

Qiao Qi startled and turned to look at him.

Liang Yan was no longer in the disheveled, exhausted state she’d seen at the hospital — he’d clearly showered and changed into a white high-collar sweater, his hair dry and fluffy on top, loose strands at his forehead occasionally tangling with his long, curled lashes.

The white sweater was a loose fit, wrapping his broad shoulders in an even more expansive silhouette, the kind that made people want to lean against him and be lazy.

“Should be demagnetized by now,” Liang Yan said lightly. “I’ll go recharge it. Go rest in my room first.”

“Okay.” Qiao Qi really was tired and didn’t want to deal with anything else downstairs.

Liang Yan turned and walked off after saying his piece. Qiao Qi didn’t linger either, turning to go into Liang Yan’s room.

He Nianyi had wrapped up her scenes here earlier and gone back to Hu City to catch up with Unit B; Lin Chu should currently be on set. There were no other actors on this floor, so Qiao Qi walked into Liang Yan’s room without a shred of hesitation.

Liang Yan’s room had almost the same layout as her own. He clearly hadn’t been back long — his changed clothes were tossed carelessly on a chair.

The heating in the room was on full blast, and Qiao Qi, worn out from the past two days, yawned the instant she stepped through the door.

She’d meant to sit on the chair or the sofa, but both were piled with things.

Qiao Qi looked around and finally settled on the edge of the bed.

She’d figured demagnetizing a card couldn’t take that long, but five whole minutes passed with no sign of Liang Yan.

As the warmth built up, Qiao Qi shed her coat without thinking and, looking down at her rather disheveled state, sent Liang Yan a text.

Qiao Qi: ?

Liang Yan: Waiting for delivery food.

Liang Yan: If you’re tired, go ahead and shower. There’s a fresh robe in the closet.

Oh.

Qiao Qi got up and went to the closet, expecting to find Liang Yan’s robe, but when she opened it, she discovered a woman’s robe instead.

Tags still on.

Brand new.

…So this was all planned.

How did he know she’d end up showering in his room.

Qiao Qi pursed her lips without meaning to, thinking of the trending topics.

Was this what he meant by “coaxing” her?

By the time Qiao Qi had been thoroughly doused in hot water and cleared her head a little, it hit her again: why did Liang Yan need to coax her in the first place? Had they had a fight? Hadn’t they, in fact, not?

Or — had he done something behind her back?

The thought instantly snapped her fully awake.

She showered, changed into the robe, dried her hair — and the owner of this room still hadn’t returned.

Qiao Qi even wondered if he’d swiped his card and gone to sleep in his own room.

She went back to the bed, this time sitting cross-legged directly with her shoes off.

Sitting there, sitting there… somehow she ended up lying down.

Lying there, lying there… somehow she ended up burrowed under the covers.

By the time Qiao Qi wondered, for the last time, exactly when Liang Yan was going to come back, her eyelids had already grown too heavy to fight.

—

Cheng Yueming had a fairly free day today. The set had been cold, and she’d left in the evening. Walking into the hotel lobby, she glanced idly to the side and felt something oddly familiar about the person sitting there.

She hadn’t even seen his face, just his back — but that intangible, familiar air was enough for Cheng Yueming to recognize Liang Yan on sight.

She’d already been curious what he’d been up to these past couple of days, and she hurried over, poking her head in with a “Hey!”

Liang Yan turned back without so much as a ripple of reaction, giving her a cool glance.

Cheng Yueming: “…”

Kind of awkward.

She rubbed her nose, rolled her eyes, and cleared her throat lightly. “What are you doing here? When did you get back?”

Liang Yan only answered one of her questions. “Waiting for delivery.”

“Oh.” Cheng Yueming asked idly, “What place? I don’t even know what to eat tonight, so annoying.”

Liang Yan glanced at her sideways. “Isn’t your boyfriend treating you to something good?”

Cheng Yueming froze for a second, then flushed bright red. She jumped back, letting out an “Oh no” once it registered, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby before lowering her voice. “How did you know?!”

They were clearly keeping their relationship completely under wraps!

Liang Yan answered that with a cold laugh.

Not daring to ask what he’d ordered for delivery, or what exactly he’d been doing at the hospital these past two days, Cheng Yueming shrank her shoulders, warning him with none of her usual bravado, “You are not allowed to tell anyone, okay!”

Liang Yan glanced up at her.

He gave no definite answer, and Cheng Yueming, unable to feel at ease, said “Ugh” and pressed again. “Don’t tell anyone! Did you hear me!”

Liang Yan still said nothing.

Cheng Yueming, thinking herself clever, threatened, “If you go around talking, then I’ll expose you two too!”

Only then did Liang Yan ask back, “Us who?”

Cheng Yueming glared. “You two! You and Sister Qiao Qi!”

Liang Yan laughed. “Go ask around right now — who doesn’t already know there’s something going on between us.”

Cheng Yueming: “…”

Good point.

“Ugh! Whatever! You just can’t say anything!” Cheng Yueming was getting anxious now, even reaching to tug at Liang Yan’s clothes. “Did you hear me!”

Annoyed, Liang Yan gave her a long look and replied perfunctorily, “Got it.”

That finally satisfied Cheng Yueming.

Just then, the delivery driver arrived. Cheng Yueming glanced at the packaging. “Oh, you ordered from there? That’s far, you must’ve waited a while.”

Liang Yan gave a low hum and turned toward the elevator.

They were on the same floor, but Cheng Yueming’s room was closer to the elevator, so Liang Yan felt no pressure heading straight into his own room.

The room was a pleasant temperature, quiet all around.

As expected, Qiao Qi was already asleep.

Liang Yan gently closed the door, set the delivery bag down on the table without much thought, walked over to the edge of the bed, and sat down.

He thought back to what Yu Min had told him that night about Liang Xumo’s condition, and then thought of Zhou Jiaye’s mocking words: “You said it yourself, the camera was ripped down by the victim by force — what could you possibly see from a camera that’s been torn off the wall? What are you even thinking, Young Master Liang?”

He didn’t know what he was thinking either.

He just suddenly found himself unable to face Qiao Qi naturally.

And yet he still wanted to keep her by his side.

For the first time, he realized he too was a rather selfish person.

Author’s note: This relationship arc really does need some transition time…