Hu Ke’er had never imagined that even with graduation right around the corner, she could still manage to humiliate herself in quite such an inventive fashion.
After hitting the water, she swallowed several mouthfuls by accident and completely forgot how to get the device airborne again. Fortunately the instructor noticed quickly and brought her to shore.
Hu Ke’er was a picture of wretchedness, nearly soaked through, shivering as she pulled the towel Ning Sui handed her around her shoulders. The swallowed water had left her nose stinging so badly she almost wanted to bury herself in a hole.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that excessively pristine and beautiful yacht dock at the pier, and then heard firm footsteps approaching along the boardwalk. Overcome with guilt, Hu Ke’er immediately turned away, avoiding his line of sight and pretending nothing had happened.
“Do you make it a point to give me a new surprise every year?”
That offhand question he had once asked — it seemed to have become, over time —
A. Self. Fulfilling. Prophecy.
Looking back at the things she had done, one could say they were of a truly earth-shattering, ghost-startling magnitude.
New Year’s Eve of freshman year, drunk, she had kissed him by force.
Sophomore year, while having dinner with her ex-boyfriend, she had said something suggestive that he overheard.
Junior year, she had attended the Flashying Creator Awards and publicly declared she wanted to be the boss’s wife.
Senior year, they had eaten together, and she had not only drunk directly from his tea cup, but spilled it all over him.
And now, just before graduation, she had “crash-landed” right in front of him.
Compared to all of those previous incidents, this latest one wasn’t even that bad, Hu Ke’er thought. She didn’t even want to imagine what kind of image she had in Du Junyuan’s mind by this point.
After returning from the trip, she spent quite a while getting over it before she felt her mood settle.
Except it wasn’t really settled.
After coming back, Hu Ke’er felt like some of the seawater she’d swallowed had gotten into her brain. Something wasn’t quite right.
— During the day she studied, but at night, the moment she had any idle time, she would inexplicably find herself thinking about that scene: the man walking toward her along the pier, crouching on one knee in front of her, lowering his lashes to look at her. “Hu Ke’er, are you alright?”
At the time, she had swallowed so much water her nose was stinging. Her chest was pounding. Her vision was blurring in and out. Looking up at him, she couldn’t quite make him out clearly — she only felt that those deep, dark eyes carried a faint light in them, and were extraordinarily unsettling.
Hu Ke’er often forgot that Du Junyuan was a full seven or eight years older than her. After her birthday in early August she would turn twenty-two, which meant he was coming up on thirty.
They had met when she was eighteen, and it had now been three or four years. Hu Ke’er was fairly certain that for the first two years, he had not had a girlfriend — but this time she couldn’t be sure.
She didn’t know if he was still single.
She lay curled on her side under the covers, the glow of her phone screen making her eyes flicker faintly. A strange feeling she couldn’t quite name had taken root in her chest, and her heart was beating without her permission.
There was a message in WeChat she still hadn’t replied to. It was from a Flashying staff member who had found her after noticing her follower count had reached two hundred thousand, added her as a contact through the platform, and sent a private message inviting her to spend a month on-site at Flashying’s headquarters over the summer.
The gist of it was that they wanted to sign her as Flashying’s exclusive content creator, and show her the kinds of resources they could offer.
Not to downplay it — the other side had mentioned the rough salary and commission structure very casually, and it was actually a little tempting.
In the middle of the night, her roommate was snoring contentedly beside her, and Hu Ke’er lay in the dormitory bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. She put in her earphones and opened Flashying, hoping to scroll through some funny videos.
But before she could so much as smile, a video of Du Junyuan being interviewed surfaced in her feed.
Hu Ke’er: “…”
She went rigid for a few seconds, then in a burst of shame and irritation, yanked the covers over her head.
— AHHHH! HELP!
Why was this man everywhere?! How was he everywhere?!
Hu Ke’er decided that the chaotic pounding in her chest right now must be called agitation. She had already scrolled past the video once, but she reached back for it, dragged it back into view, and firmly hit “Not interested.”
The moment summer break arrived and graduation was done, Hu Ke’er grabbed her luggage and bolted home.
Before anything else, she had genuinely not seen her parents in a very, very long time.
Her dad was a professor of environmental studies at Huai’an University. Her mom was a geologist. These two were perfectly matched — always off doing some survey or another, barely home for more than a day or two at a stretch.
Hu Ke’er had never really known what they were up to, and didn’t particularly want to know. The only thing she had ever found even remotely interesting was the occasional mineral sample they brought home — all different colors, quite beautiful, practically filling an entire shelf.
Today, for once, her dad was around. He beckoned to her with a kindly wave: “Come here, Carrot.”
Hu Ke’er choked, shuffled over: “Dad, what?”
“You graduate next year, right?”
“I ALREADY graduated! Do you look at my social media AT ALL?!”
Hu Ke’er had no words for her father, but he pivoted quickly, rolling his eyes with practiced ease: “Slip of the tongue, slip of the tongue. Dad was actually asking about your master’s.”
Hu Ke’er decided this counted as progress from him.
Her dad had been traveling since she was small, and as a result knew almost nothing about her life. He only made symbolic appearances when teachers needed a parent to show up or sign something.
Once, in primary school, he had come to pick her up from her tutoring class. She had just pulled open the car door when she saw that side was completely packed with stuff, and she decided to walk around to the other side instead. But then she closed the door, and her dad heard the thud, assumed she was already in the car, didn’t even glance back, and immediately stepped on the gas and drove away. Hu Ke’er had chased him for half the street, crying and yelling, and he hadn’t noticed.
That sort of thing, Hu Ke’er thought, would have been absolutely impossible with Auntie Xia.
For Xia Fanghui, Ning Sui and Ning Yue were always her top priority — even if it cost her perfect attendance bonuses at work, she drove them to school without fail through rain and shine. Hu Ke’er had envied that deeply back in high school. On heavy rain days, if Xia Fanghui saw her standing there with no one to pick her up, she would give her a ride, too, and even if she was genuinely rushed for time, she always remembered to hand her an extra umbrella.
“Dad, I’ll just give you a full report,” Hu Ke’er said. She didn’t expect much from him anyway, so she kept it simple. “In early September I’m going back to school for my master’s — still studying English. You know I have a Flashying account that’s been doing pretty well, right? My plan is to run two tracks. If by the time I graduate my earnings from content creation are enough to cover living expenses, I’ll go full-time as a creator. If not, I’ll find a proper job in business translation.”
Her dad poured her a cup of tea with serene composure. “Mm. Sounds sensible.”
Hu Ke’er couldn’t help studying him: “Dad, when is Mom coming back?”
“Early July, probably.”
Hu Ke’er’s eyes brightened a little: “Will you and Mom still be around in early August?”
“Not necessarily.” He thought for a moment. “Why?”
Her birthday was in early August.
It was clear her dad hadn’t even remembered. The curve of Hu Ke’er’s smile stiffened slightly, and she swallowed the thought back down. Her voice went a little smaller: “Ha, never mind.”
Her dad, not knowing what to make of it, grasped for something to say: “Oh, by the way, Carrot.”
“Mm?”
“Found someone yet? Relationship-wise?”
He really did always manage to ask exactly the wrong thing. Hu Ke’er had seen Zhao Yingyao’s smug relationship posts just a few days ago, looking insufferably pleased with herself. She didn’t understand how those two had lasted this long — it gave her the same feeling as stepping in something unpleasant on the way out the door.
Hu Ke’er also felt a bit pathetic about herself for not having deleted Zhao Yingyao from her contacts even though she found the girl deeply irritating. It was a vaguely absurd confidence — the sense that once she finally found someone, she’d have her moment of vindication. That stubborn confidence had lasted two-plus years, and was gradually beginning to look more like denial.
Hu Ke’er said limply: “No.”
Her dad: “Haven’t found anyone suitable?”
Hu Ke’er: “…Mm.”
Her dad pondered for a moment, then asked tentatively: “Sweetheart, would you mind if Dad tried to look around for you a bit?”
Hu Ke’er blinked.
Her dad watched her expression and quickly added: “Not blind dates, exactly. Just — if Dad comes across some decent young men, he might introduce them so you can get to know each other. Just meeting a new friend is no bad thing, really.”
Hu Ke’er’s instinct was to refuse, but on reflection, there was nothing really to refuse — her dad was right. At worst she’d just meet someone new, which wasn’t worth making a fuss about.
“…Alright then.”
“Good.” Her dad said, “I’ll ask your mom to keep an eye out too.”
She nodded absently: “Do whatever you like.”
The whole summer break, Hu Ke’er got by fairly comfortably — she had deliberated at length, and in the end decided not to accept Flashying’s invitation for an on-site residency.
The main reason wasn’t anything complicated. It was just that after finally graduating, Hu Ke’er wanted to properly relax. She did nothing, lay around at home, watched dramas and trending variety shows.
During the first half of summer break, while Ning Sui and Xie Yichen were still around, she occasionally organized outings — movies nearby, or short trips. After the two of them flew to the United States in the second half, Hu Ke’er went fully feral, staying home every day being a sea slug, sleeping ten hours a stretch.
In the meantime, her dad introduced her to the son of a friend — the two families had a simple dinner together.
Hu Ke’er was, famously, someone who judged by appearances. This boy had decent enough credentials in all other respects, but his looks were only average, and he was fairly introverted — the type who could barely get a sentence out. Once they’d exchanged WeChat, it was usually Hu Ke’er sending ten messages for every one he managed to compose, and she was nearly driven mad by it.
When there’s nothing to talk about, conversation withers fast. After persisting for around two weeks, she gave up entirely.
Two months flew by in a blink, and Hu Ke’er obediently packed her bags and returned to school.
She discovered that without her crew around, life was genuinely dull. Before, she could always pull someone together for late-night snacks or karaoke at a moment’s notice. Now, the Coconut Princess and Yichen Boss were both abroad, the Cool Senior was working in Huai’an, and the Octopus was so buried in his PhD he could barely surface. If you wanted to get anyone together, it was practically impossible.
In moments of loneliness like this, if one person consistently showed up with warmth and attention, they could very easily find a way in.
— And so, when the Flashying staff member who went by the username “Xing Xing” persistently invited her to come see the headquarters in person, Hu Ke’er couldn’t hold out and agreed.
The other side was delighted, and suggested a Friday afternoon.
Hu Ke’er had the time, but still asked with extra caution beforehand: 【Your boss won’t be in that day, will he?】
Flashying-Xingxing: 【You mean Director Du?】
Paopao Ke: 【Mm…】
Flashying-Xingxing: 【I’m honestly not sure whether you’d be able to see the boss? He’s very busy, and his whereabouts are unpredictable haha, most of the time he isn’t actually in the office. Is it that you really want to meet him? I can go check on the boss’s schedule for you~】
…How did she manage to completely misread the intention?!
Hu Ke’er jolted and quickly put a stop to it: 【No no, I was just asking casually [grinning face]】
Flashying-Xingxing: 【Oh, so are we still on for next Friday?】
Paopao Ke: 【Yes, yes】
Friday afternoon Hu Ke’er had no class. Because the company address was quite far from school, she worried about being late and set off an hour and a half early by taxi, arriving more than twenty minutes ahead of time. Fortunately Xing Xing herself was fairly junior and not especially busy, so she answered the call and came running downstairs to meet her with great enthusiasm.
The other person’s face was full of genuine warmth: “You’re Who Cares, right? Hello, hello — I’ve heard so much about you.”
Hu Ke’er cleared her throat politely: “Just call me Ke Ke.”
“Of course.” Xing Xing was enthusiastic, leading her upstairs while introducing things along the way. “So, the situation is like this — we’ve always been dedicated to nurturing our own anchors. If you look over here, this whole area is the live streaming division. Seats are assigned by content track, and this floor is enormous — basically all the top-tier anchors keep a workspace with us. The English-language track is a newer one, and there aren’t that many creators doing really well in it yet, so after our evaluation, we unanimously agreed that your account has exceptional potential, Ke Ke! If you sign with us, you’d receive a full range of support, from content planning to fan management!”
Flashying occupied the entire office building, and this was just one floor. Hu Ke’er listened while curiously taking in the surroundings, her gaze flickering and darting in every direction.
Xing Xing was sharp-eyed, and chirped cheerfully: “Our boss’s office isn’t on this floor. Also, you might have missed your chance today — he’s traveling on business!”
Hu Ke’er let out an abrupt cough: “…”
I wasn’t — asking about that.
She had to admit, the interior design here didn’t look at all like a cutthroat internet giant. It had a streetwear/collectibles aesthetic everywhere, with employees’ desks covered in all kinds of figurines, giving the whole place a warm, lived-in feel.
Something stirred faintly in Hu Ke’er’s chest: “So if I sign with you, would it be in a full-time capacity?”
“Since you’re still a student, you wouldn’t need to be full-time just yet. But in the future, it would probably be required.”
Hu Ke’er thought for a moment: “Say I want to try it out now, but haven’t decided whether I want to come on full-time after I graduate — what would that look like?”
“That’s completely fine — we can start with a short-term revenue-share agreement, and once you graduate you can decide whether to convert to a longer-term one. If you decide it’s not for you by then, that’s also okay — it all comes down to what you want.”
That sounded pretty good. Hu Ke’er asked: “So if I sign the revenue-share agreement right now, would I need to come in physically?”
“Not at all — we’d just keep a desk reserved for you, and you’re welcome to come on-site whenever you need to. We also have a professional live streaming studio you can book any time.”
“Okay,” Hu Ke’er said. “Let me think about it.”
Honestly, as she listened, she was already warming to the idea.
Because what this contract essentially offered was agency-level support — building a professional team around her to co-run the account. Hu Ke’er had heard that some outside platforms could be a bit shady, signing contracts and then delivering almost nothing in return. She figured an official in-house arrangement would be more reliable — and besides, a company Du Junyuan had founded couldn’t possibly have that kind of deadweight culture running through it, could it? And now that the account was slowly growing, quite a few advertisers had been approaching her, and she wasn’t great at vetting them — some professional guidance would be welcome.
The two chatted happily, and Xing Xing thoughtfully walked her back downstairs, then seemed to remember something: “Oh right — around New Year’s, we’ll be holding a gala event here. We were going to send formal invitations later anyway, but since you’re here, I might as well ask your thoughts in person?”
The mention of a gala made Hu Ke’er’s heart lurch: “What kind of event? Is it another one of those Creator Awards things?”
“Similar, but smaller and more curated than last time — more like a company year-end event. The focus would be on the New Year countdown and performances, not creator promotion.” Xing Xing knew her marketing: “We’re also planning to invite some minor celebrities.”
Hu Ke’er was a devoted fangirl, and “minor celebrities” sparked immediate interest — but she was still cautious, and made sure to clarify several times: “There won’t be any of those raffle draw segments where you have to go up on stage and give a speech, will there?”
“There will be a raffle, but I don’t think there’d be any requirement to speak…” Xing Xing studied her expression for a moment, then seemed to suddenly realize something, and looked up in shock. “Oh my goodness, Ke Ke, you’re not the one from that Creator Awards event who—”
Hu Ke’er’s head rang like a struck bell. She lunged forward and clamped her hand over Xing Xing’s mouth with full force: “I’m not, I didn’t, don’t say a word!”
Regardless, in the end Hu Ke’er walked away with a ticket to the New Year’s gala.
Ning Sui and Xie Yichen were spending Christmas Eve in Boston and had posted about it, and just seeing the photos made Hu Ke’er feel the sweetness radiating off the screen. She wanted someone to be with too — especially on New Year’s Eve. Spending it completely alone would be genuinely bleak. Better to come to this kind of group event.
This gala apparently had a formal dress code. Hu Ke’er went through her wardrobe and selected a white, belted knee-length dress, then swept into the venue looking lovely with her admission ticket.
When she found out that A Ye was also coming, she was genuinely happy — the two of them clustered together for warmth and found seats along the side.
It was the same round-table arrangement as before, only with the seating packed a little more tightly, and the guests were all impeccably dressed. Looking around the room, every seat was filled.
With a few minutes still to go before the start, the room settled into a hush, and then the host stepped forward to open the evening with a warm smile. After that, a limited-run idol group came on to perform and get the crowd energized.
It was a group Hu Ke’er had followed at an earlier point in her life, and she immediately went electric with excitement, lifting her phone with genuine feeling to take photos.
The center table had one seat that remained persistently empty. Hu Ke’er couldn’t say why, but her gaze kept drifting there against her will — she clearly wanted to focus on the performance, and yet her eyes kept sliding over to that spot.
She was still staring at it when A Ye suddenly tapped her shoulder: “What room are you in?”
Because the New Year’s countdown was going to run very late, Flashying had generously booked hotel rooms for all its invited guests, right upstairs from the banquet hall. Hu Ke’er snapped out of it and rummaged through her bag for the room card. “813.”
A Ye: “I’m in 806, we’re close! We can go up together later.”
“Oh great.”
As Xing Xing had said, this gala’s emphasis was on performing arts rather than creator promotion. Once the limited-run idol group finished, a fairly well-known singer came up and performed — slow, lyrical, heavy on atmosphere.
After that came a variety of performances organized by Flashying’s own staff: songs, dances, even a comedic crosstalk act. The energy in the room kept climbing, with warm, enthusiastic applause.
At that point A Ye grabbed her arm: “Look, look — isn’t that so-and-so at the main table?”
Hu Ke’er followed her gaze and did indeed spot them — a minor celebrity who had recently been in a fairly popular web drama. She barely had time to exhale before she saw that the seat of honor was now occupied.
Du Junyuan was dressed simply: a plain black shirt with dark gray trousers, his broad shoulders making his chest look particularly solid. He was turned slightly sideways, speaking with another board member beside him. Hu Ke’er saw the minor celebrity apparently trying to join the conversation, raising a glass and maneuvering toward that end of the table, turning toward Du Junyuan with a sweet, practiced smile.
“So shameless,” A Ye murmured.
Hu Ke’er heard it and couldn’t help murmuring: “Genuinely shameless.”
A Ye: “Hm? I meant the performance. It’s very good.”
Hu Ke’er: “…”
She felt like she didn’t have much of an appetite tonight. The whole table of fine dishes sat mostly untouched, while her attention kept drifting in one direction.
Du Junyuan had been drinking steadily all evening — many guests came to toast him with red wine, and he accepted each one with gracious, composed ease. The man with the beer belly sitting beside him seemed to really enjoy drinking and had been cheerfully clinking glasses of baijiu with Du Junyuan one after another.
Time moved quickly. Less than an hour remained before the midnight countdown. During a gap between performances, Hu Ke’er watched Du Junyuan exchange a few words with a partner on the other side of the table and then rise from his seat — it seemed he was planning to leave early, slipping out along a small aisle to the side. And the minor celebrity, eagle-eyed as ever, had immediately noticed and was following behind with unmistakably transparent intentions.
Hu Ke’er’s mind wandered. Before she’d quite figured out what she was doing, she found herself standing up with her purse, giving A Ye a pat, eyes roving: “I, um — something came up. Keep watching, babe!”
“Huh?”
A Ye’s voice came from behind her, but Hu Ke’er had no time to explain and hurried after them.
The two figures ahead vanished around the corner quickly. Leaving the banquet hall brought her into an opulent corridor lined with red carpet, crystal chandeliers overhead scattering brilliant light. Hu Ke’er was wearing a small heel today. She took a deep breath, jogged a few steps, and finally spotted that tall, lean silhouette at the far end of the corridor.
Both of them were already at the elevator. The minor celebrity had seized the opportunity, leaning close with the air of someone offering a great service: “Director Du, I noticed you drank quite a lot this evening — do you need me to help you up?”
Du Junyuan glanced at her, his voice unruffled: “Thank you, no need.”
He had genuinely drunk quite a lot. The man named Director Xu beside him was a board member from the institutional investor side — very senior, and someone Du Junyuan still needed to give a degree of face to. On top of that, it was New Year’s Eve, and waves of employees had come in succession to toast him. The alcohol was now clearly present on him, thick and rising.
The minor celebrity had apparently sensed this too. Though her smile went slightly rigid, she didn’t give up, softening her voice and drifting closer with studied subtlety: “It’s only a few steps — let me walk you up, that way you’ll be steadier…”
Before she could finish the sentence, a different voice cut in beside her — bright and thoroughly earnest: “Hi, I’d love to help you support him too. Many hands make light work, right?”
Minor celebrity: “???”
The Cousin [in the author’s head]: ?
Paopao Ke: Old man — which is still a kind of old person 🙂
I’ve seen some readers commenting on their dynamic — yes, the vibe is exactly clumsy-but-bubbly-enthusiastic-pretty-girl × steady-mature-wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing, hehe!
200 in the red envelope! Next update: Saturday at 8PM!