During their senior year of high school, Jin Yiken had once taken a sudden interest in teaching her to drive, but Long Qi wasn’t willing.

At that time, his younger brother was obsessed with celebrity chasing, while she was obsessed with a particularly mindless racing game. She barely exchanged a few words with him. After getting no response from either the older or younger one in the house three times in a row, he glanced at the game she was playing, then directly opened the garage door and hauled her into the driver’s seat. Her game was disrupted and she couldn’t pass the level, which infuriated her. She stomped on the gas pedal and charged forward, ramming straight into another car parked in the garage.

It was a top-configuration Lamborghini that Jin Yiken had waited two full months to receive—brand new, never driven on the road—and Long Qi crashed it so badly the rear end was destroyed. She herself wasn’t hurt. She glanced at him. Jin Yiken had no expression on his face at the time. He sat in the passenger seat in silence for five seconds before saying, “Fine. Just stick to playing games for the rest of your life.”

Then he didn’t talk to her for the entire afternoon. Instead, he started playing her game, staring at her zone every single time, crashing one of her “cars” in every round.

Before Long Qi left, she said, “How about I compensate you with another one?”

He said he wasn’t counting on it—she could pay him back slowly with her body.

“What if I can actually afford to buy that car in the future and really give it to you?”

While gleefully destroying her “cars,” he threw out these words: “If you can even remember this, that’ll be good enough. If you really do it, even if you killed someone or set fires, I’d bail you out of prison.”

……

……

So even if she made a small mistake in matters of the heart, she should be forgiven, right?

Ban Wei’s call hadn’t hung up yet. The other end was still noisy, with Ban Wei’s voice faintly asking someone questions. Then his voice came back: “That friend knows someone who has the goods, but they’ve also been waiting almost two months, so they might not be willing to give it up. But that guy happens to be my fan, so if it’s me, I might be able to negotiate it. Hey, what do you say—about the deal I just mentioned, hm?”

“Are you scared or not?”

“Where am I scared?”

“Just asking for a phone number?” she slowly replied. “What if I take you to meet her in person?”

Ban Wei stammered for a moment, then his response came like rapid-fire agreement: “Good good good good! Okay okay okay! Reliable reliable reliable!”

After that call ended, the very next morning, Ban Wei personally came to the hospital to pick her up. He had heard the news from Lao Ping, got the address, and rushed over. This time the gossip recipient was also updated—he knew she was in the middle of breaking up. He came out with: “And it escalated to the hospital. You two are playing pretty big, huh.”

When Lao Ping received news that she was preparing to join the crew, he had originally said he wouldn’t come to pick her up, but he came anyway with her luggage and change of clothes. Hao Shuai helped her with the discharge procedures. While she changed clothes in the restroom, Lao Ping was consulting with the doctor about her condition, asking questions about whether there would be scars and how to remove scars, which he had his assistant write down.

“A few days ago you were perfectly healthy but too lazy to go to training. Today you’re injured but willing to go. Well, that’s fine—saves the crew from having complaints. Just go there and walk around for a bit.”

Lao Ping said.

The crew’s training was physical conditioning for the main characters. Since it was a police-crime themed film, there were martial arts requirements for some of the main characters. Long Qi’s role was included in that range. She hadn’t heard about Wu Jiakui’s side, but Wu had joined the crew two weeks before Long Qi, didn’t miss a single training session, and was frequently seen at the gym in the hotel where the crew was staying. That’s why Lao Ping crowned her with the title of “other people’s artist” and used her to whip Long Qi every day.

“If you didn’t book me so many activities, I could also soak in there all day.”

In the car heading to the hotel, she nestled into the back seat’s soft chair, the hood of her hoodie covering half her forehead, head lowered as she repeatedly refreshed her phone messages, saying this.

Meanwhile, Ban Wei kept refreshing Wu Jiakui’s Weibo. The message update alerts kept ringing. She got annoyed: “Can you mute it? It’s bothering the scar on my stomach.”

“I’m just checking her latest updates.”

Long Qi glanced over and saw the “Following” label on Wu Jiakui’s Weibo page, then lazily looked at him: “She hasn’t followed you back.”

“That’s why I said she’s hard to chase. I even sent her a private message.”

“What did you send?”

“Just asked her to come see my concert when she has time. Left her a ticket.”

“Did she reply?”

“She did. ‘For business cooperation, please contact my agent or send to the work email,'” Ban Wei exited the Weibo page and entered the search page, typing in “Yorkshire Terrier,” then hitting search. “Then she sent me a string of agent phone numbers and email addresses.”

Long Qi wanted to laugh but was afraid she’d split her stomach open, so she held it in. Lao Ping in the front seat turned around: “Wu Jiakui has a good foundation—child star background. Both her parents are industry veterans. She’s two months younger than you age-wise, but has way more experience than you. A real little drama queen. Has her own studio, her agent is her aunt, the whole team is family, and now the whole family’s resources are being poured into her. She’s got quite the momentum. You need to watch out—the original female lead for this production was supposed to be her.”

“And then?” Ban Wei perked up his ears to listen to the gossip. “Why’d they change?”

“Acting range issues. She didn’t pass her own test. The biggest problem for child stars is getting typecast too early. She’s been so used to playing good characters since childhood that the public impression is too deep. The director and producer both felt she didn’t have that wicked air about her. She didn’t argue about it either—settled for second best and took the current role, the big male lead’s younger sister.”

Although it was the second female lead, this was fundamentally a men’s drama. Long Qi had read the script. That character, aside from one major crying scene when the male lead dies in the line of duty, had no other room to develop.

“But she joined the crew two weeks before you. She’s already thoroughly greased the wheels inside and out. Plus she works hard—heard the screenwriter already has thoughts about adding scenes for her,” Lao Ping turned around again. “Qi Qi, you and she are both standout young actresses of the new generation. Though her role is at a disadvantage, if she acts it well, the follow-up effects will be very promising. Your role is impressive, so you need to act even better. Otherwise nothing can serve as your excuse. This film’s other actors are all heavy hitters from international awards. If the film flops, the audience’s guns will be aimed at you first—they’ll never get to her. Understand? To put it simply, you and she both need to rely on this work to break into the film market. If it succeeds, you both win. If it fails, you’ll lose worse.”

She listened without speaking.

Half an hour later, the car arrived at the hotel arranged by the crew. Lao Ping had an assistant lead them with room cards to settle the luggage. Ban Wei was anxious, urging Long Qi to take him to the hotel’s second-floor gym, so they went.

As soon as they exited the elevator, Ban Wei darted ahead while she lazily walked behind. When they reached the gym entrance, she saw three or four people gathered around a sofa in the rest area. In the center of the sofa was a peach-pink Hermès Birkin bag containing a Yorkshire Terrier with its hair tied in a bun. The bun had a big bow tied on it—very little princess. Half its head poked out of the bag, eyes darting around, looking at Long Qi. Beside it were three or four people—one taking photos of the dog, one feeding it little treats, and another woman, slightly older, somewhat plump, dressed smartly, sitting quite seriously to the side with her arms crossed and legs crossed while looking at her phone.

Lao Ping’s hand nudged Long Qi’s elbow, making her slow down a step. Then he passed her and went directly toward the woman on the sofa with his hand extended: “Sister Wu!”

The woman looked up. Seeing Lao Ping, her originally stern face immediately relaxed—the change was extremely fast. She half-rose to grasp Lao Ping’s hand: “Oh, Lao Ping! Long time no see, long time no see. You’re here?”

“Here, here. Joining the crew today. Let me introduce you—this is my artist, Long Qi.”

“Alright, alright,” this Sister Wu glanced at her and smiled, then peered into the gym. “Our Jiakui is practicing inside. I’ll have her come out to say hello…”

“No need, Sister Wu. If she’s busy, let her practice. We’re just here to take a look. Qi Qi had a small car accident a while back and got injured. She should have joined the crew earlier but dragged it to now to come. Very embarrassed about it. Need to quickly meet everyone face to face.”

“When did it happen? Where was she hurt?”

“A week ago. Oh my, it really worried me to death. Fortunately didn’t hurt anything critical, just needs a few days of rest and recovery. That’s why she missed several training sessions.”

“Oh…”

Lao Ping deliberately moved the injury date earlier, covering for her absence with a white lie. He really was a master of lying with a straight face.

“Really hard work—just after a car accident and still having to walk that gala runway. Really dedicated. Hard work, hard work.”

Sister Wu replied sympathetically.

“An event scheduled long ago. Sigh, couldn’t push it back.”

Long Qi just stood there watching these two practice tai chi. Eventually she got bored listening and her gaze shifted to see a swinging punching bag inside the gym. Ban Wei had long since planted himself by the bag, head poking in, talking toward the back of the bag. The bag swung outward with considerable force. Ban Wei jumped back a step, mouth forming an “O” shape. He noticed Long Qi’s gaze, raised his eyebrows and pointed inside, extremely excited.

At the same time, a young woman walked out.

Short hair hanging by her ears, very thin, collarbone beaded with sweat, slightly panting, pulling off boxing gloves while walking around Ban Wei toward the door. Long Qi watched idly. She also looked this way—particularly delicate features, particularly soft hair, visual age like a high school student. Her eyes were set wide apart, giving her an elfin look—quite distinctive features, the kind of face that had great advantage on screen.

Quite gentle and composed, but also a bit proud.

As she bent to enter through the door, she raised her hand to cover her neckline. Behind her was another person—the assistant from noon, about to take off shoes to come in. She said: “Close the door.”

The assistant froze.

Ban Wei turned around and gave the assistant a look. The assistant scratched their head: “Then… don’t touch alcohol or seafood, Kuikui.”

They also added to Ban Wei: “Kuikui can’t eat saltwater fish…”

Wu Jiakui didn’t respond to them, as if no one had spoken at all. She sat down, and the little dog jumped onto her lap. She smoothed the dog’s fur, making clicking sounds with her lips, teasing it.

Then she looked up and smiled at Long Qi: “Our Pao’er says hello to you.”

The little Yorkshire Terrier stood up on its hind legs, front paws scratching at the table edge, looking at Long Qi, tail wagging hard.

“Cute.” Long Qi slowly swirled the plum juice in her glass, replying.

The assistant poked their head in several more times until Ban Wei pulled the door panel shut.

“Want a drink?”

“No drinking,” Wu Jiakui responded. “Alcohol smells bad.”

That’s what she said, but her eyes indicated the sake next to the sashimi.

Long Qi poured the sake into a glass. Ban Wei’s hand also reached over at just the right moment, but two seconds slower than hers—he didn’t get the glass. She glanced at Ban Wei. Ban Wei bared his teeth—a “you’re stealing my girl” kind of hostility.

“Fine,” she put down the glass. “You do it. You do it all.”

She crossed her legs and leaned back against the wall, lifting her chin. Ban Wei immediately apologized with a smile: “Wasn’t I about to fill yours up? How could I let you do it yourself?”

While saying this, he gave the sake to Wu Jiakui and with his other hand poured plum juice for Long Qi.

“What does our Pao’er want to drink?” he asked again.

“It’s already eaten. Don’t feed it.”

“That’s it? Mine eats five meals a day and still isn’t full.”

Wu Jiakui was interested in the dog topic, attention still on the Yorkshire Terrier, smile at her lips. Then she glanced toward the sliding door—the assistant’s shadow still stood guard outside.

“Annoying to death.”

Four words, abruptly cutting off Ban Wei’s topic—not light, not loud, moderate pace, hand gently stroking the dog’s head, eyes looking toward the door. The shadow outside hesitated slightly, then left.

Wu Jiakui turned her head back to look at Ban Wei, smiling as if nothing had happened. Ban Wei paused, then continued talking. She held the glass filled with sake, watching Ban Wei’s “performance” while slowly drinking it all. A drop of clear liquid leaked from the corner of her lips.

It slid down her neck into her collar.

Long Qi propped up her chin, gaze sliding back and forth between her and Ban Wei, who was completely entranced by her. Playing third wheel wasn’t very interesting. Not until Wu Jiakui put down the sake glass did their gazes meet. Long Qi’s fingers pinched half a lemon slice. Being watched by Wu Jiakui, Ban Wei was talking enthusiastically when Wu Jiakui suddenly stood up.

The Yorkshire Terrier on her lap bounced onto the tatami mat with a “poof.” Long Qi watched as her hand pressed onto the center of the table, her raised knee against the table edge, body leaning over half the table, pressing toward her.

“Lemon slices are a good thing. I particularly need them,” she said, earrings swaying, jingling. “If you’re not using it, I’m planning to forcefully snatch it away.”

Ban Wei was stunned.

But he quickly caught on. His expression now looked like he was watching a live erotic drama. His eyes scanned Wu Jiakui’s waist curve, secretly giving Long Qi an “OK” sign, completely infatuated. Long Qi still pinched the lemon slice.

“Ban Wei has a whole plate for you.”

Ban Wei immediately grabbed the dish of lemon slices from the table: “Come, Jiakui, I’ve got plenty here.”

With that eager tone, he barely stopped short of saying “come snatch it.”

“I particularly like the one in your hand.”

Wu Jiakui remained unmoved, staring at Long Qi, saying this.

The words were words, but they always seemed to carry another layer of meaning. Long Qi remained unperturbed. Suddenly, a phone on the table vibrated with a “beep.”

She looked down. Wu Jiakui followed her gaze. It was Ban Wei’s phone vibrating. Ban Wei glanced at the incoming call and directly locked the screen.

Wu Jiakui had sat back down by now. The lemon slice was still in Long Qi’s hand dripping juice. She smiled: “Haven’t you read the script yet? This is your line.”

“Is it?” The lemon slice dropped into the plum juice with a “plop.” “Never saw it.”

“There’s this section. Oh,” she responded, “then it’s probably something the screenwriter newly revised.”

Long Qi took a sip of plum juice and smiled faintly.

Really was an actress dragged down by her public image—where was there no wicked air?

Clearly demonic aura soared to the heavens.

Before the next topic could start, the phone on the table vibrated again. Ban Wei’s again. He didn’t answer again, somewhat impatiently locking the screen, asking Long Qi: “Have you been avoiding Lin Hui’s calls lately?”

“Who?” she casually responded, listlessly refreshing her own phone messages once more. Still no new messages.

“Lin Hui—that young model who shot the photo collection with you. The past few days she keeps asking me about you.”

Before Long Qi could reply, Wu Jiakui’s finger tapped on the table.

She flushed from drinking, after several cups, her cheeks were already slightly red, but her eyes were still very clear. She was smoothing the hair behind her left ear, propping up her cheek: “I heard through the grapevine that you’re a lesbian?”

Staring straight at her, words completely unvarnished, eyes full of gleefully interested laughter. Ban Wei insensitively straightened up again to join the excitement: “Haha! Where’d that grapevine come from?”

“There’s a post online specifically researching this. It’s been shared like crazy.”

“She has a boyfriend!” Ban Wei immediately spilled her gossip without a second thought. “They’re breaking up recently too!”

“Because of that girl?”

“I don’t know about that, but our Brother Qi’s action is pretty awesome. Was going to buy a car to give to her boy…”

Long Qi kicked Ban Wei in the leg. Ban Wei’s body tilted, he shut up, stiffly changing the topic: “Jiakui, you have quite the free time to read posts.”

“Crew, home, school—three points in a line. Pretty idle indeed.”

Ban Wei sniffed out something and pursued: “Don’t you usually like to have fun?”

“Have fun with whom?”

“Boy…” Ban Wei asked, “boyfriend? Or admirers?”

Wu Jiakui still supported her cheek with her left hand, looking at Ban Wei who asked the question in a probing tone. Her right index finger dipped into the sake glass, stirring the clear liquor: “I don’t date boyfriends.”

……

“As for me—I have an undead person in my heart.”