Qiao Qi heard the phone and craned her neck to see Liang Yan’s screen, only to have Liang Yan pinch her chin and steal a sweet kiss instead.

The man, dressed in formal wear, cuffs revealing slender wrists, had fingers that felt faintly cool against the skin of her chin, making Qiao Qi instinctively shrink her neck back.

But Liang Yan, as if he’d anticipated this, used his other hand to lock firmly around the back of her neck.

Their lips met; he playfully seized a bit of territory, then retreated with a satisfied smile before Qiao Qi could react.

Qiao Qi glared at him, sorely tempted to give this scoundrel a beating.

Liang Yan seemed unbothered. “Am I just too good in bed for you to bring yourself to hit me?”

Qiao Qi raised a hand and pinched his side. Liang Yan, quick as ever, caught her wrist.

Feeling the coolness of her skin, he frowned. “Are you cold?”

Actually, she was fine.

But Qiao Qi said, “Yeah, freezing to death.”

Liang Yan smiled brightly. “Good thing I wore long sleeves and pants — I’m not cold at all.”

Qiao Qi: “…”

Seeing Qiao Qi’s expression visibly drop, Liang Yan laughed out loud, took off his jacket, and draped it over her like a cover before pulling her, jacket and all, into his arms.

“Look at you, always trying to scare people.”

Qiao Qi let out a “hmph” and pinched Liang Yan’s cheek. “Did I scare you?”

Liang Yan nodded without missing a beat. “Terrified me. Please keep your expressions in check from now on.”

Qiao Qi said, “Then you should teach a class on expression management too, Teacher Liang.”

Liang Yan patted Qiao Qi’s head. “Your teacher will do his best. We’ll settle the tuition tonight.”

Qiao Qi, expressionless, pushed his hand away. “Answer the phone, it’s annoying.”

Only then did Liang Yan pick up. “Yo, Lawyer Zhou’s a bit slow to act this time, isn’t he?”

Even while answering, he didn’t forget to keep playing with Qiao Qi’s hair; Qiao Qi was already exhausted by him.

Just then, Zhou Jiaye on the other end of the line, without any preamble, shot back a “get lost” at Liang Yan.

Qiao Qi could tell the two of them were on good terms and started to get up off Liang Yan, but before she could, Liang Yan pulled her firmly back down.

Qiao Qi paused, giving him a questioning look.

The next second, she saw Liang Yan switch the call to speaker, then say, “That little loli sister thing from last time, are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

Zhou Jiaye: “Is that still not over?”

Liang Yan immediately turned to Qiao Qi with an air of righteous justification. “Hear that? Nothing to do with me.”

Qiao Qi wanted to laugh but played along anyway. “I know.”

Zhou Jiaye, hearing Qiao Qi’s voice, said, “Oh-ho,” teasingly, “sister-in-law, huh.”

Qiao Qi had never met Zhou Jiaye, nor had Liang Yan ever mentioned him to her, so faced with his teasing, she seemed a little uncomfortable.

Liang Yan noticed Qiao Qi’s discomfort and immediately snapped back at Zhou Jiaye, telling him to hurry up and get to business.

Zhou Jiaye clicked his tongue. “Asking for a favor and still acting like the boss.”

“I am your boss!” Liang Yan said, thoroughly arrogant.

Zhou Jiaye didn’t bother arguing and got straight to the point. “That Lin Chu you asked about — I checked. That’s not even his real name.”

This was normal enough; most entertainers ended up changing their stage names.

“His name’s actually Lin Feihu. Quite the résumé — I sent it to your email, go check it yourself,” Zhou Jiaye said.

“Oh.” Liang Yan meant to go find his other phone, then remembered it was still sitting back at the hotel, so he grabbed Qiao Qi’s instead.

He logged into his own email account.

Sure enough, there was an email from Zhou Jiaye, titled “A Filthy Little Story.”

Qiao Qi and Liang Yan exchanged a glance, both silently agreeing the contents were bound to be quite something.

Lin Chu — real name Li Feihu — was born in a village outside Shanghai, in a family so poor “poor” barely covered it; aside from him, no one else in the household was whole.

Lin Chu’s father had broken both legs in a work accident years back; Lin Chu’s mother’s mental health hadn’t been good to begin with, and years of exhaustion from tending to her husband’s condition had eventually worn down half her body as well. Above him, there was an older sister who was mentally disabled.

In a family like this, they’d still insisted on having another son to carry on the family line — but once he was actually born, they couldn’t give him a complete life either.

Lin Chu grew up in a household like this. At first, he too was obedient, growing up dutifully, following the village adults around from a young age to earn money for the family.

By the time he finished elementary school, Lin Chu had shot up to nearly five foot seven, and years of hard labor had left his body lean and solid with muscle.

School was clearly no longer an option, so Lin Chu followed people from the village to the big city.

Shanghai, specifically.

At first, he worked in a factory in Shanghai; later he fell in with a crowd who hung around bars, and caught the eye of a fairly wealthy woman, after which he stuck with her, moving in bar circles.

Stepping from the shoulders of one woman to the next, Lin Chu made his way, by the age of twenty, into the entertainment industry.

He changed his name, erased his past, and handed over every trace of farm labor his body once bore to the gym equipment.

Then, four months ago, the last woman he’d been with had died.

Died of an asthma attack, the trigger being: erotic asphyxiation.

“What’s erotic asphyxiation?” Qiao Qi asked.

Liang Yan closed the phone, glanced at her, and said nothing.

Qiao Qi: “?”

Liang Yan said, “Adult matters. Kids shouldn’t ask.”

Qiao Qi: “…”

She gave a cold laugh and got up off Liang Yan’s lap. “Fine. See if you can keep playing your little kid games with me forever.”

How could that possibly work?!

Liang Yan immediately grabbed Qiao Qi’s hand and stood up too, smiling as he leaned his head toward her shoulder, then quickly leaned in to whisper in her ear: “It’s a kink thing.”

“What kink—”

Qiao Qi suddenly understood, and after two or three seconds of stunned silence, her ears went so red they looked ready to bleed.

Liang Yan wore a knowing, almost smug smile, thoroughly roguish.

He leaned in close, deliberately letting his breath fall against her ear as he spoke.

“Now you know how dangerous the adult world can be, huh?”

Qiao Qi’s ears were practically dripping red with embarrassment, but she stubbornly kept a straight face and shot him a sideways glance, pretending she too was a worldly adult who’d seen it all.

She gave an indifferent “oh,” and said, “I see.”

Liang Yan raised an eyebrow, mimicking her tone. “You see?”

“You’re quite open-minded for a young lady — want to try some with me—”

Before he could finish, Qiao Qi yanked off the jacket draped over her and shoved it into his face.

Liang Yan leaned back with disgust, dodging the jacket assault.

Qiao Qi seized the moment to turn and walk away, Liang Yan trailing right behind her. “Don’t go, let’s talk, Teacher Qiao — look at you, walking so fast, don’t your feet hurt in those heels?”

At the sound of his voice, Qiao Qi’s pace didn’t slow — if anything, it quickened, faster and faster.

She couldn’t wait to fling this man a thousand miles away right this instant!

—

A few days later, Group B of Secret Key wrapped filming. He Nianyi, as one of Group B’s main cast, dutifully took part in interviews and the group photo shoot.

By the time it was all over, it was already the middle of the night.

The moon hung high, and a corner of the night sky glowed bright.

Tomorrow was the weekend, and by the look of the sky, tomorrow would probably be a nice day too.

So tonight, whether office workers or students, everyone was ready to happily stay up late, and browse the internet while they were at it.

— And then they ran straight into a massive wave.

@HeNianyiV: Wrapped filming, work’s finally reaching a milestone. Today on set the staff asked about my ideal partner type, and I said I really like someone older than me, tall, decent-looking, someone who seems both reliable and not lacking in masculine charm. Ideally the whole “seasoned professional” vibe, because I myself talk a lot and have a lot of little schemes. When I finished saying all that, the staff member gave me a very meaningful look and asked: “Wow, that description really fits our Teacher Lin.”

Teacher Lin, Lin Chu, that’s right — my boyfriend really is him. But, as far as I know, he has more than just me as a girlfriend. And his so-called fitness enthusiast, seasoned-professional, doesn’t-go-near-women image? All fake. See the picture below for details. As for the other girlfriend, since she’s not in the industry and it’s her first relationship, I won’t expose her here. This was also something we discussed and agreed on together.

That’s all.

Five minutes after the essay posted, Lin Chu and He Nianyi hit the trending charts.

Ten minutes after posting, Lin Chu alone reached the top five trending topics, with a capitalized “BOILING” tag trailing behind his name.

Half an hour after posting, Lin Chu alone sat at number one on the trending list, the tag now changed to “EXPLODING.”

Meanwhile, the top three trending topics were, respectively: Lin Chu, He Nianyi, Secret Key.

Netizens: “…hic.”

Overstuffed.

Before dawn broke, Secret Key‘s official account posted a statement announcing they had terminated their contract with Lin Chu; Lin Chu’s talent agency also issued a termination letter, stating they would absolutely be pursuing breach-of-contract damages.

On top of that, from out of nowhere, a leak surfaced — a video full of photos of Lin Chu with various women, with a clarity rivaling professional paparazzi shots from fan-run accounts.

Even more shocking, the police got involved in the matter.

Netizens: “………..?”

Two days later, the police issued a statement.

Lin Chu was suspected of intentional homicide and had been sentenced to prison.

Netizens: “…”

People hadn’t even processed how the weekend had gone by before it was already time to go back to work.

As for Secret Key, because of Lin Chu, the production had no choice but to pause filming and find a suitable replacement actor for reshoots.

Whether trying to ride this wave of attention or that of Mist Pavilion‘s premiere, that same night, the magazine featuring Qiao Qi and Liang Yan’s earlier photoshoot went on sale, and the interview footage was released. On the question of ideal partner types, both Qiao Qi’s and Liang Yan’s answers were displayed in bold capital letters: HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE OTHER PERSON.

After all the hard work the shipping fans had put into guarding that magazine, what they got in return was heartbreak.

【I don’t want to live anymore】 【My first love was chasing an idol, turns out I was chasing nothing】 【I refuse to believe it!!! When was this magazine even shot! They must not have fallen for each other yet back then!】 【Stop deceiving yourselves, neither of them has ever fallen for the other — only we have】 【I mean, it’s understandable — the show’s wrapped, so the ship has to stop too, or it’ll get in the way of their separate careers going forward】

Liang Yan himself, seeing these comments on his private account, slammed his hand down. “What nonsense are these people spouting now!”

At that moment, Qiao Qi had just come out of the shower; she’d found somewhere a set of long-sleeve, long-pants coral fleece pajamas, still with a hood sporting a pair of bunny ears attached — every inch of her covered except her neck.

Yawning, she found her phone, and while asking whether Cheng Yueming was having fun in Japan, glanced up at Liang Yan. “Aren’t the fans right, though? Didn’t you say those exact things yourself?”

“I heard it with my own ears, anyway.”

Liang Yan tossed his phone aside and reached up to flip off the light.

In the pitch darkness, the room filled with a brief, sharp “ah—” from the woman, and the next second the two of them had tumbled onto the soft bed.

Moonlight spilled in; hazily, the blanket lifted high and fell heavily again, the two figures underneath tangling and thrashing until they were both drenched in sweat.

Qiao Qi lay sprawled atop Liang Yan; despite the darkness, she felt as though she could see his eyes clearly.

Liang Yan, lying there, had no real inclination to look into Qiao Qi’s eyes — he was too preoccupied with his hands wandering where they shouldn’t, thinking himself subtle, when the next moment a rather serious-sounding voice came from above him.

“When you did that interview, was your ideal partner type really the complete opposite of me?”

“…”

Good question.

Liang Yan instantly lost all motivation for further mischief.

So his hand quietly retreated from an indescribable area to Qiao Qi’s waist, and he moved the woman on top of him to the side. “Goodnight, baby.”

Then he began playing dead.

Qiao Qi didn’t press further, instead watching, through a thin veil of moonlight, the man lying beside her, the corner of her lips curling into a cold smile.

Liang Yan sensed this faint chill, cautiously cracked his eyes open, and sure enough saw the cold smile at the corner of Qiao Qi’s mouth.

He deliberately twisted her meaning. “What’s wrong? Don’t want to sleep? Aiyo, should’ve said so earlier.”

Then he pinned her down again.

This time, it was still just messing around.

But he’d successfully riled her up.

—

The next day, Qiao Qi and Liang Yan appeared at an event promoting Mist Pavilion, and notably, this hugely popular couple looked… a bit off with each other.

— Qiao Qi was seen arm in arm with another male lead from the production, chatting and laughing, leaving Liang Yan trailing behind.

Liang Yan, watching his own woman exchange charming smiles with someone else, immediately let his face fall.

And of course, some tactless media outlet had to keep pressing Liang Yan with questions about Lin Chu.

Liang Yan brushed it off lightly. “Why don’t you go ask the police? They’d know better.”

Media: “…”

“Then regarding the continuation of filming for Secret Key…”

Before they could finish, Liang Yan cut in. “Director Cheng’s right over there, you can ask him about that later.”

Media: “…”

This was the only time the livestream comments didn’t fill up with: “Hahahaha Young Master Liang, well said.”

Instead it was all: “…Ugh, no words. Is my ship sunk?”

Meanwhile, Qiao Qi was being interviewed, and things weren’t going all that smoothly for the media there either.

At least, when asked about Liang Yan’s stated partner preferences, Qiao Qi’s own answer was: “That’s completely normal, isn’t it? Everyone’s still young, career should come first.”

Comments flooded in: 【Career first… career… first… first… cough cough cough! My mom’s asking why I’m suddenly coughing up blood!】 【I’m dead, thanks】 【Is this angsty or what! Just tell me, is this angsty or not!】

But less than two minutes after that question wrapped up, someone on set exclaimed, voice rising and falling, “Oh my god! Quick, check Weibo!”

“Young Master Liang posted something!”

“What did he post?”

Qiao Qi pulled out her phone; she didn’t even need to refresh — it was right there on the trending list.

@LiangYanV: My ideal partner type: @QiaoQi.

The post was pinned to the top of his profile.

Since fans hadn’t had time to organize damage control in the comments yet, what was visible were all genuine, unfiltered reactions.

【???】 【Little friend, do you have a lot of question marks right now?】 【HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I’m alive again!!】 【”Where Liang Rests” standing tall and proud!!】

Qiao Qi: “…”

Fine.

He really was that determined to make headlines.

And, he’d succeeded.

To have this kind of news break in the middle of an interview — the media’s faces were practically splitting with delight.

“Wow, is Teacher Liang confessing his feelings publicly right now? Would Teacher Qiao like to respond?”

“Of course,” Qiao Qi said with a light smile. “That’s just basic courtesy, isn’t it?”

A minute later, everyone had seen Qiao Qi’s polite response.

One Weibo post.

No caption at all — just a single image.

The image was a still from Mist Pavilion, of Liang Yan’s character “tragically dying” in the show.

Liang Yan was the lead, so of course everyone knew this “tragic death” was just part of the plot — but faced with the man’s public proposal-of-sorts, this was Qiao Qi’s response?

【Why do I suddenly not understand anything anymore?】 【Young Master Liang’s confession failed, right? Right, right, right?】

Adding to the coincidence, despite being from the same production, and being the male and female leads no less, their seats had been arranged impossibly far apart.

The fans, seeing this, laughed even harder, because for the rest of the livestream, they could barely catch a glimpse of Liang Yan’s face straight-on.

— The man turned to look at Qiao Qi roughly once every three seconds.

Making the sentiment “I’m genuinely obsessed with Qiao Qi right now” abundantly clear.

The comments section had loyal fans humbly pleading: Heavens above! Just look at how worthless Young Master Liang has become!

As for the mood of the shippers… well, it was basically like a holiday for them.

This iconic scene went on for a full hour, until the event ended and the celebrities dispersed.

Somewhere out of the fans’ sight, Qiao Qi found herself pressed against a car door by Liang Yan in the underground parking garage.

Dressed in a gown and heels, Qiao Qi wasn’t in a good position to physically fight back against this old rogue, and said, exasperated, “Can you not read the room?!”

Liang Yan whined pitifully, kissing her neck, his hand mischievously creeping under her dress, until Qiao Qi pulled it out and slapped it loudly across the back of his hand.

Liang Yan grew even more aggrieved. “I wasn’t even that rough last time — I already said it was an accident.”

Qiao Qi yanked at her shoulder, revealing a large patch of skin.

There, several alarming kiss marks were visible. “You call that an accident? Have some decency!”

Liang Yan gave an “eh” sound. “Things get out of hand when emotions run deep…”

Qiao Qi coldly cut him off. “Home. Now.”

Liang Yan said “oh,” and was just reaching for the car door when he suddenly caught sight of a few figures out of the corner of his eye.

A flash of sharpness crossed his eyes, and he immediately pulled open his coat, wrapping Qiao Qi into his chest.

Qiao Qi, pulled against his chest, looked up and bumped into his chin.

Qiao Qi said, “What are you doing?”

Liang Yan gave a mysterious “shh.” “Don’t talk. Just let me hold you a moment.”

Qiao Qi: “?”

The next second, Liang Yan turned his head toward a certain direction. “Did you get it? I think I played along well enough, right?”

Qiao Qi paused, whipping her head around.

Just then, a few fans came around the corner—

Luckily, these particular fans had only just arrived and hadn’t caught the earlier restricted-rated scene.

Whatever they’d managed to capture was exactly what Liang Yan had wanted them to capture.

The fans, satisfied, let out several “hehehe” laughs. “You two are really together?”

“Obviously!” Liang Yan said. “You think we’d be hugging like this if we weren’t?”

He then wrapped his arm around Qiao Qi and flashed a peace sign at the cameras. “Take a few more, I need to see this trending later.”

Qiao Qi: “…”

Coldly: “Liang Yan.”

Liang Yan: “Hm?”

Qiao Qi: “Did you discuss this with me?”

Liang Yan, past the point of caring, said, “Whatever, I’ll go kneel on the keyboard when we get home.”

That last line also got recorded by the fans, so that night Qiao Qi’s comment section was flooded with links to keyboards of every kind.

Qiao Qi didn’t say anything more, but three days later posted a photo of the man kneeling in front of a keyboard, taken from behind.

The scene was, in a word, moving enough to bring listeners to sighs and viewers to tears.

Liang Yan himself, entirely unbothered, reposted the Weibo with the caption: What’s wrong with admitting fault and correcting it? Isn’t that a good thing?

Fans: Fine. Using the fiercest tone to say the most spineless things. Liang Yan, truly one of a kind.

Author’s Note: Don’t worry. Just two more chapters to wrap things up.