Cheng Yao read on, thinking despairingly that this flattering culture in the group chat really needed a serious crackdown.
Still, what exactly had Qian Heng livestreamed with her account? And why did Bao Rui say a wave of anonymous strangers had flooded into the room?
Curious, Cheng Yao exited WeChat and opened the livestreaming app.
She had set her account to record streams automatically, so she could easily pull up the just-finished broadcast from her backend.
She tapped open the video of Qian Heng livestreaming himself drinking congee.
Without warning, Qian Heng’s handsome, magnified face suddenly filled Cheng Yao’s phone screen.
Qian Heng stared straight into the camera. He clearly had zero experience livestreaming—one moment he’d pick the phone back up and fiddle with it, the next he’d adjust the streaming angle. From his fumbling, Cheng Yao could tell for certain that her esteemed, all-capable boss really had no idea how to run a livestream. He’d probably tried very hard to follow the method she’d taught him to set a room password, but had failed in the end.
But his lifelong habit of unwavering self-assurance probably meant it never occurred to him that he could possibly have failed to set a password, so he unknowingly went ahead with a fully public broadcast.
And Qian Heng’s congee-drinking livestream really was exactly that—drinking congee, with absolutely nothing else happening.
Once he’d adjusted the camera angle, he began, at his leisure, spooning up the congee bite by elegant bite inside the car.
It was just an ordinary bowl of pork tripe congee, but because it was Qian Heng eating it, even this bowl of congee seemed to have been gilded, elevated to something extraordinary.
His face, as ever, drew people in like bees to flowers. Some young girl had apparently stumbled into the room by accident, and the moment she saw Qian Heng’s face, she began frantically spamming comments and gifts.
“He’s so handsome! Even drinking congee on a livestream is this cool! What kind of divine face is this!”
And somehow this girl—goodness knows through what channels—had gone and posted Qian Heng’s room number and screenshots elsewhere, because before long, a constant stream of sightseeing crowds began pouring into the room.
“The face-worshippers have arrived to grovel! Prprprpr!”
“For real! What a golden age of good looks! Aaah! Is he single?”
“Handsome, I’ll send you a hundred yachts, can I add your WeChat? I’m sending it now!”
…
“Oh my god, I want to become the congee in his mouth! There really are people this good-looking in this world! He crushes all these look-alike pretty boys out there today!”
Looking at the screen full of “propose to me” comments and endless streams of gifts, Cheng Yao felt as if a hundred lemons had been squeezed into her heart, the sourness making her dizzy.
She thought resentfully, what do you all know? What’s the use of a good face? Why don’t you try talking to him for real? Even if you swallowed a whole bottle of bezoar detox pills, I bet none of you could last a quarter of an hour.
Though Qian Heng’s livestream had unexpectedly gone viral and drawn in swarms of onlookers, Qian Heng himself didn’t seem to understand what was happening at all. He watched the comments scroll endlessly across the screen and thought it was just some effect the platform had deliberately created, even muttering something under his breath about it.
This behavior, in turn, sparked another wave of adoration.
“So cute! He doesn’t even realize people can see his stream?”
…
Cheng Yao thought, is that a fair double standard? If it had been someone less good-looking doing this, they’d have been accused of faking cuteness for attention in a heartbeat!
Still, much as she didn’t want to admit it, Cheng Yao had to acknowledge that the Qian Heng in the video really was a little endearing. He was genuinely eating the congee carefully, spoonful by spoonful, his head lowered slightly, his eyelashes drooping gently—the sight made him seem almost sweetly obedient to Cheng Yao’s eyes.
Qian Heng spent the whole stream focused entirely on the congee, saying nothing at all. Aside from glancing at the camera a few times while first setting up the app, he barely looked up again afterward, quietly finishing his meal with his head down.
Only when the congee was nearly gone did he unexpectedly look up.
In the video, Qian Heng’s brows and eyes remained handsome and sharp as ever; as usual, he glanced at the camera with a certain cold impatience.
“All done.” He frowned, sounding rather put out, then held the empty bowl up to the camera and shook it. “There, I finished everything you bought.”
In the video, his lashes were long, his tone as harsh as always, but his face was simply too good—whether it was the lighting or the angle, even that harshness came across as somehow moving through the lens.
His expression turned slightly awkward. After holding the empty bowl up to the camera, he didn’t look at it again, rubbed his brow as if in pain, and lowered his voice to issue a warning: “If you push your luck like this again next time, you’re really finished.”
It was, in fact, a mildly threatening line, and yet coming from Qian Heng, it landed with a strange charm.
Because of that line, the comment section erupted again.
“Oh my god! So pampering!”
“I want him to push his luck with me too!”
“I’m unilaterally declaring this my new husband!”
…
Though Cheng Yao didn’t want to admit it, when Qian Heng had looked into the camera and said that line earlier, she too had failed to remain immune, just like these fangirls spamming comments.
A direct hit to the heart.
That had been, at the time, more or less the only sensation left.
Still, she muttered to herself—how exactly had she pushed her luck? All she’d done was get Qian Heng to drink some congee.
Fortunately, while Cheng Yao was still lost in her wandering thoughts, the elevator finally arrived, and she carried her phone down to the underground garage.
Unfortunately, Qian Heng’s Bentley was no longer parked where it had been before. Cheng Yao circled around and was just about to call him when she spotted the familiar license plate driving back in through the entrance.
Focused on his driving, Qian Heng didn’t notice Cheng Yao standing by the elevator, looking around. He simply drove past her and pulled back into the spot he’d parked in before.
It was getting late, so Cheng Yao hurried over to the Bentley and knocked on the window.
Almost the moment Cheng Yao climbed into the car, Qian Heng tossed a bag over to her.
“Huh?”
He pressed his lips tightly together, his voice still without much feeling. “Someone was passing by selling this freshly baked bread and wouldn’t leave from in front of my car. It was annoying, so I bought some.”
Cheng Yao: ???
Qian Heng went on lying without so much as a blush. “You skipped dinner too, didn’t you? I don’t like bread, but since I already bought it, you can have it.”
“…”
Cheng Yao thought about it for a moment, but couldn’t help herself—she fixed her eyes on Qian Heng. “So you’ve just been parked here the whole time? You really didn’t go out and buy this for me yourself?”
Qian Heng gave a scoffing laugh, arching a brow. “A man whose time is worth 166.666-repeating yuan per minute, going out specially to buy you bread? Cheng Yao, when are you going to think clearly? Of course I never went out. I was parked here resting…”
“Boss, I saw you.”
“The peddler just kept pestering me…”
Cheng Yao said it again: “I saw your car just now, driving back in from outside.”
“…”
Even though his own lie had just been exposed, Qian Heng, in a fit of indignation, turned the tables like the guilty party accusing someone else first. “Since you already saw, what are you still asking for? Wasting my extremely valuable time?”
“…”
Having said this, he turned his head away unnaturally, his expression as calm as if nothing had happened at all—truly worthy of his reputation as the “industry’s poison.” Qian Heng’s composure really was impressive; he kept driving with perfect calm, as righteous and self-assured as if it were Cheng Yao, not himself, who’d just been caught in a lie in front of everyone.
“Boss…”
“Say one more word.” Qian Heng’s voice remained calm, though on close inspection it carried the faintest edge of gritted teeth. “And this year’s and next year’s year-end bonuses are both gone.”
“…”
Cheng Yao didn’t dare say anything more. Having exposed his lie, she could tell that beneath his outwardly calm surface, Qian Heng was clearly seething with embarrassed anger.
For safety’s sake, Cheng Yao wisely kept her mouth shut, and decided she also wouldn’t tell Qian Heng that his livestream password hadn’t been set correctly and had gone fully public. Because even without that on top of it, just from being caught buying the bread, Qian Heng’s face had remained composed, but his ears had already turned bright red. Cheng Yao snuck a glance from the corner of her eye and noticed his beautiful eyes had also gone slightly pink—whether from anger or something else, she couldn’t tell, but it made him look almost like a little rabbit.
In the midst of the silence, Qian Heng was the one to speak first again.
“Don’t read too much into it.”
“?”
“I don’t like owing people favors. Since you treated me to congee, I’ll deign to buy you some bread.”
Cheng Yao munched happily on the fragrant, soft, freshly baked bread and couldn’t help but grin.
She suddenly felt that her viciously venomous boss seemed to have lost his venom all at once.
Either way, the two of them kept perfectly quiet after that, and drove all the way home.
Cheng Yao ate a little of the bread Qian Heng had bought in the car, but it wasn’t nearly enough to fill her up—she hadn’t had a proper meal—so she still felt the day wasn’t over. But by this hour, most restaurants had already closed, and what remained open offered very little choice. Cheng Yao thought about it; it was too late in the night to order delivery and sit around waiting anxiously. She’d stocked up on a ton of Shin Ramyun during Singles’ Day, and this was finally her chance to eat it.
“Boss, want some?” Before starting to cook the noodles, Cheng Yao warmly invited Qian Heng to join her. “This is genuinely delicious. You boil it in a pot, the noodles come out super springy and chewy. I’ll add a fried egg and some sausage for you too, guaranteed to be good!”
But Qian Heng was thoroughly unimpressed. “Shin Ramyun? Isn’t that just instant noodles?” He sat on the couch flipping through a magazine, sounding disdainful. “Do I look like the type who eats ‘instant’ anything? Does junk food like that suit my image? I’d rather die than eat it.”
Cheng Yao ignored him. The first time she’d heard this kind of talk from Qian Heng, she used to feel like she was on the verge of dying from poisoning, but by now she’d built up enough immunity to his venom. She went straight ahead and made herself a pack of Shin Ramyun, simmering it over low heat.
Before long, the rich aroma of the ramyun drifted out from the kitchen.
Cheng Yao also fried an egg, diced up some carrots and vegetables, and sliced up some sausage, arranging it all so beautifully that it rivaled the presentation at a Korean restaurant. Without saying another word, she carried the steaming, fragrant bowl of ramyun over and sat down beside Qian Heng, then began happily slurping it up, completely absorbed.
…
Sure enough, though he kept up the pretense of reading his magazine, Qian Heng’s gaze kept sneaking sidelong glances at Cheng Yao.
Excellent.
Cheng Yao ate even more enthusiastically.
She ate with total focus, paying Qian Heng’s intentions no mind whatsoever. But the more she ignored him, the more Qian Heng found himself unable to look away.
He stole a few more glances before finally speaking up.
“Is it really that good?”
Cheng Yao said nothing, only kept eating and nodding vigorously, as if she couldn’t bear to spare a word away from the delicious food.
Qian Heng set down his magazine and said, with feigned indifference, “The smell isn’t bad, I suppose.”
Cheng Yao kept silently devouring her noodles, showing not the slightest intention of urging Qian Heng to try some too.
But Cheng Yao’s silence, instead of making Qian Heng back off, only made him more eager to try it.
Qian Heng glanced at the rich broth. “Looks like you made it pretty well.” He cleared his throat. “If you wanted to cook me some Shin Ramyun, I suppose I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to trying it. Even if it doesn’t quite match my image, people should occasionally try new things, embrace the unknown once in a while.”
Ha.
Cheng Yao gave a teasing smile. “Boss, but on second thought, Shin Ramyun really doesn’t match your image—if I cooked you some, wouldn’t that be practically an insult to you?”
“…”
Saying one thing while meaning another, was he? Cheng Yao thought smugly as she happily kept eating, delighted at the thought of getting under his skin.
Qian Heng pressed his lips together but still refused to budge. “Cheng Yao, we should be even. I bought you the bread—shouldn’t you show some reciprocity too?”
Cheng Yao’s eyes went wide. “Huh, wasn’t the fresh bread already payback for my nourishing congee? Didn’t we already settle that exchange?”
“…”
Cheng Yao kept eating, and Qian Heng finally couldn’t hold out any longer.
“Cheng Yao.” His voice was still a little cold, but it betrayed a note of awkwardness. “Are you trying to infuriate me today?”
“Boss,” Cheng Yao said, mimicking his tone, “are you ever going to say what you actually mean in this lifetime?”
…
Cheng Yao finished her ramyun and stood up, resigned, to go cook a bowl for this little tyrant. Just as she thought Qian Heng wouldn’t say anything more, his voice rang out—
“I want some Shin Ramyun.”
Qian Heng’s voice sounded a little dry. Cheng Yao turned back and found he’d resorted to his usual evasive tactic—turning his head aside.
Cheng Yao stared blankly at him for a few seconds before he finally couldn’t stand her gaze any longer and lifted his head, his tone sour. “Fine, Cheng Yao, you win this time.”
Having said that, his tone turned righteous again. “I want some Shin Ramyun too.”
Cheng Yao couldn’t help but laugh—this famous power player in legal circles, who could turn clouds to rain with a wave of his hand, how could he be so childish?
“I want two fried eggs,” the childish one himself said, oblivious to Cheng Yao’s inner commentary, continuing to make demands with the same self-righteous air. “Extra sausage too. No carrots, I hate carrots.”
Fine, Cheng Yao thought, feeling suddenly cheerful, all the gloom from Li Mengting’s situation earlier swept clean away. She went back to the kitchen and cooked another bowl of Shin Ramyun, following Qian Heng’s specifications—two fried eggs, plenty of sausage, no carrots.
And just like that, the man who moments ago had declared he’d “rather die than eat this junk food” put on a full-scale performance of secretly loving what he’d sworn to hate, bowl cradled in his hands.
It was a day of a major cold snap in City A, and yet as Cheng Yao sat on the couch watching Qian Heng quietly and earnestly eating his bowl of ramyun in front of her, somehow the temperature didn’t feel so cold at all.