On the rotating glass table, an array of colorful, fragrant dishes was arranged in orderly fashion; in the center of the large round table sat a rockery ornament, a stream of tumbling beads spilling like a waterfall, with a green tree poking out over the cliff’s edge.

High-end hotels paid attention to detail, and details always put people in a good mood.

The private room wasn’t especially large, but seating still had its order of precedence. Director Cheng hadn’t come today — it seemed he had some personal matter to deal with.

With Director Cheng absent, the seat of honor was left empty.

That seat marked a kind of dividing line; to its right sat Cheng Yueming, Qiao Qi, and Lin Chu in order.

Liang Yan sat to the left of the seat of honor, positioned exactly diagonal from Qiao Qi.

This no longer looked like a three-way summit so much as a two-sided negotiation.

Liang Yan was, arguably, the most arrogant of the “Party A” types.

The room was kept at a comfortable temperature, so he’d taken off his leather jacket, wearing beneath it a simple long-sleeved white T-shirt, its round collar hinting faintly at the line of his straight collarbones, his Adam’s apple prominent at his throat.

Like a tempting apple, begging to be bitten.

Having modeled for a long time, Qiao Qi was easily drawn in by these fine physical details, and by the time she realized her gaze had lingered too long, it was already too late—

Belatedly noticing an amused, half-smiling gaze on her face, Qiao Qi snapped back to herself, her eyes lifting to meet Liang Yan’s peach-blossom eyes, laughter pooling at their corners.

He sat with lazy, easy posture, his chair pushed back, right ankle crossed over his left knee, upper body leaning back, shoulders and neck loosened somewhat, his right arm stretched out and draped carelessly over the back of a nearby chair.

The two of them locked eyes, and Liang Yan’s smile deepened.

He tipped his eyelids up faintly. “What a coincidence.”

The tone was plenty meaningful.

But what it actually meant was hard to pin down.

Still, Qiao Qi was certain of one thing: Liang Yan really was quite the spoiled brat.

She didn’t like it one bit.

So Qiao Qi gave no response at all, coolly pulling her gaze away to look at Cheng Yueming instead.

Cheng Yueming still had that same bookish, well-behaved air about her as always; a pair of black-framed glasses nearly half the size of her face perched on her nose, and she had a habit of pushing them up with a finger before speaking.

“Today’s mainly to ask whether Lin Chu is interested in joining Mist and Cloud Pavilion.” She turned and smiled at Lin Chu as she spoke. “The female lead’s already been decided — it’s Qiao Qi!”

Qiao Qi was a little taken aback.

Already decided? Just like that?

Wasn’t that a bit hasty?

Cheng Yueming didn’t elaborate further to Qiao Qi, continuing instead with Lin Chu. “I sent the script to your agent yesterday — your agent should have shown it to you already, right?”

Lin Chu was still absorbed in his shock over Qiao Qi landing the female lead, and it took him a few seconds to react; he made a couple of vague affirmative noises. “Yes, right, that’s right, I’ve read it.”

Cheng Yueming was amused by his reaction. “My take is to give you the male second lead — what do you think…?”

Of course Lin Chu had no objections.

An opportunity from the Cheng family’s writer-director team, one that countless people would kill for — how could he possibly turn it away?

With the male second lead and the female lead settled smoothly and amicably, only the male lead remained.

Lin Chu and Qiao Qi exchanged a silent glance, suddenly realizing there was one more person in the room.

The two of them widened their eyes slightly and, without discussion, turned to look at the arrogant young master across the table — Liang Yan.

Young Master Liang himself didn’t seem to feel the least bit overlooked; he was absorbed in his phone, thoroughly enjoying himself, and when he noticed something was up, he looked up with indifference, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

Qiao Qi: “……”

She quietly pulled her gaze away.

Lin Chu gave a polite nod and asked hesitantly, “Is Teacher Liang joining this project too?”

“Not me.” Teacher Liang refused, quite readily.

Lin Chu: “……”

He, too, quietly pulled his gaze away.

Only Cheng Yueming kept struggling on, pouting her lips in an attempt at cute pleading. “Liang Yan-ge~”

“Stop right there.” Liang Yan raised a hand. “I’m not interested in you.”

Cheng Yueming gritted her teeth and played her trump card. “I talked with Xumo-jie about the script last night — she said she really admires Young Master Ming.”

Liang Yan paused, slowly lifting his eyelids, and looked straight at Cheng Yueming.

Young Master Liang was, after all, Young Master Liang; his aura shifted effortlessly, all traces of playfulness vanishing in an instant, leaving only an unspoken pressure behind.

Cheng Yueming had never liked being around Liang Yan since childhood, and under this sudden pressure her shoulders trembled almost instinctively.

But thinking of her script, she steeled herself and pressed on through gritted teeth. “She also said she wants to invest.”

This time Liang Yan set his phone down entirely, uncrossing the leg he’d had propped up.

He crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his chin up slightly.

Even seated, he somehow gave off a sense of looking down on everyone else.

Cheng Yueming swallowed nervously, her hand groping under the table for Qiao Qi’s, seeking rescue.

Qiao Qi was startled by the sudden grab, and turning to see Cheng Yueming’s face gone somewhat pale, she badly wanted to ask whether Liang Yan had done something truly awful to her, to leave her with such severe PTSD.

But the atmosphere in the room was genuinely tense, and after a moment’s thought, Qiao Qi decided not to interject.

She only quietly gripped Cheng Yueming’s hand back.

On the way here, Qiao Qi’s heart had been pounding the whole ride on the Harley, and since arriving at the private room she’d been holding a cup of hot water the whole time — her palm was soft and warm now, and without a word, it brought Cheng Yueming no small measure of comfort.

The feeling was remarkably similar to Cheng Yanyun from Mist and Cloud Pavilion — always cold on the surface, but with the nation and family at heart.

Once reassured, Cheng Yueming curved her lips in a smile at Qiao Qi. Then, as though she’d found her backing, she lifted her own chin in imitation of Liang Yan to bolster her nerve.

“Just take a look at the script — no one’s forcing you to be in it,” Cheng Yueming said, full of bluster, though her words retreated even as she pressed forward. “The pay won’t shortchange you, Xumo-jie will invest, and my dad’s directing it personally — it won’t lower your standing, Best Actor Liang.”

She’d assumed that even if Liang Yan relented and agreed to look at the script, he’d definitely drag it out for a few days. She hadn’t expected that the moment the words left her mouth, Liang Yan would reach out a hand. “Give me the script.”

“Huh?” Cheng Yueming froze.

Liang Yan clicked his tongue. “Weren’t you just asking me to look at it?”

Who could’ve guessed you’d be this eager.

Cheng Yueming lifted a hand to scratch her face, a little guilty. “The script’s in my hotel room…”

Liang Yan’s expression shifted.

Before Liang Yan could say anything cutting, Qiao Qi moved fast, pulling out a script and setting it on the table. “I brought one!”

Then she quickly spun the lazy Susan to send the script over to Liang Yan.

Though it hadn’t stopped Liang Yan from shooting Cheng Yueming a look, at least it had blocked the poison-tongued remark he’d been about to deliver.

Liang Yan took the script in hand, and seeing the three people across from him all staring at him unblinking, said without much patience, “Go ahead and eat.”

What kind of nerve did it take to eat calmly under this kind of pressure?

Just as Cheng Yueming was about to say “It’s fine, it’s fine, we’ll wait for you,” a succinct voice suddenly sounded beside her ear.

“Okay.”

It was Qiao Qi.

Cheng Yueming: ……?

She turned, her eyes full of disbelief.

Qiao Qi looked puzzled. “What’s wrong?” She picked up her chopsticks as she spoke. “Aren’t you eating?”

Cheng Yueming: ……It’s fine, this is honestly very Cheng Yanyun of her.

So Cheng Yueming’s eyes curved into a smile, and she picked up her own chopsticks too. “Let’s eat, come on, eat up — the food’ll get cold otherwise.”

Qiao Qi nodded in full agreement, and bent her head to eat with great focus.

She even, with remarkable precision, picked out the finely minced garlic from a plate of cold wood ear salad.

……Clearly, she was taking this very seriously.

All of this fell into Liang Yan’s line of sight from across the table, drawing an involuntary quirk of his brow, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint arc.

A moment later he pulled his gaze back to the script in his hands.

The script had clearly been leafed through many times already — the pages weren’t crisp anymore, and there were faint traces of what looked like rice grains stuck to it.

Sniffing carefully, he could even catch the scent of… stir-fried pork with chili?

Liang Yan couldn’t help glancing up again at Qiao Qi, eating with such focus across from him — beside her, at least Lin Chu was making some conversation with Cheng Yueming, while she had her entire attention fixed on the food.

Someone who ate that seriously and still found time to read the script while eating — it really did seem she took this opportunity to heart.

Thinking this, Liang Yan ran his fingertip over the corner of a page and noticed a crease; looking down, he found it had been folded over at roughly the three-quarter mark.

Curious, he flipped it open, and saw the script’s content there was a major scene—

…

It was night.

Rain poured down in torrents, thunder rumbling and lightning flashing across the sky overhead, the sharp sound and light illuminating a corner of the foreign concession.

Cheng Yanyun’s heels had long since fallen off; she was barefoot on the cobblestones, the soles of her feet worn raw and bleeding.

She seemed to feel no pain at all, only staring with fierce, ruthless eyes at the Japanese man before her.

In her hand was a knife, the blood on its tip washed to the ground by the heavy rain.

The Japanese man across from her clutched his face in pain, blood seeping between his fingers.

“You bastard! Do you want to die?” the Japanese man roared.

Cheng Yanyun sneered coldly. Though slight and frail in build, she seemed to hold up the entire darkness of that rainy night. She answered him in fluent Japanese: “We can find out. Today, someone dies.”

Enraged, the Japanese man lunged at Cheng Yanyun, claws bared, and Cheng Yanyun clenched her teeth, already prepared to die together with him.

But just as the Japanese man’s hand closed around Cheng Yanyun’s wrist, a gunshot suddenly rang out in the rain-drenched night.

“Bang—”

Cheng Yanyun watched, wide-eyed, as blood poured from the Japanese man’s abdomen and he collapsed to his knees before her.

Blood sprayed across her; she touched her own clothes as if in a daze, then, through rain-blurred vision, lifted her head.

It was Ming Yan.

He hadn’t yet had time to lower his gun, dressed in a suit that marked him unmistakably as the rich young scion of the upper class.

His leather shoes stood in a puddle as he caught his breath and pulled Cheng Yanyun into his arms.

Aftershock flooded through his veins; he wanted nothing more than to fold Cheng Yanyun into his very bones.

The ever-arrogant Young Master Ming spoke, his voice trembling: “I’ve come to save you, Yanyun. Don’t be afraid, I’ve come to save you.”

Cheng Yanyun curved her lips into a smile, and reaching back, embraced her beloved in turn. “I’m not afraid. Don’t shake — I really am not afraid.”

…

The scene before his eyes shifted; a cold wind swept across his back, and gooseflesh rose densely all over Liang Yan’s body.

He jerked his mind out of the script abruptly, turning to see it was a server pushing open the private room’s door.

Cheng Yueming hadn’t noticed Liang Yan’s strange reaction; she just asked the server, “Something wrong?”

The server, holding a bouquet of flowers, nodded. “The front desk received flowers from a Miss Liang, saying they wish Miss Cheng a smooth day today.”

Cheng Yueming made a sound of surprise and stood to take the flowers, then glanced at Liang Yan with smug triumph. “It’s from Miss Liang!”

Liang Yan closed the script and stood up.

Cheng Yueming, assuming he meant to hit her, gave a cry and instinctively bolted toward Qiao Qi.

Liang Yan shot her a disdainful glance and tossed off a single line: “I’ll take this role.”

Then he turned and left the private room.

Once the door closed behind him, the room first fell into silence, and then Cheng Yueming slapped the table. “What? What did he say?!”

Lin Chu was pretty excited too. “He said he’s taking the role.”

Qiao Qi nodded. “Yes.”

“Aaaaahh! Looks like the little bear-brother needed his big sister to step in after all!” Cheng Yueming was thrilled beyond words.

Qiao Qi sorted through the day’s conversation in her head and roughly guessed that “Xumo-jie” must be the “Miss Liang” the server had mentioned, and thus must be this bear-brother Liang Yan’s older sister.

But somehow, Qiao Qi felt that the reason behind Liang Yan’s sudden decision to take the role wasn’t quite that simple.

She thought about it, her gaze drifting to the script that had just been closed on the table.

Outside the hotel, Liang Yan took his keys and walked toward the motorcycle, helmet in hand.

Swinging a long leg over, he mounted the bike, and once he’d put on the helmet, he pulled out his phone and switched to his private WeChat, sending a message to the pinned contact — his darling.

Liang: What are you up to.

Author’s note: What are you up to = I miss you.

7: ?

7: So subtle today?

Young Master Liang: I’m hurt, boohoo, I miss you so much, baby.

7: …………You’d better stick with subtle.