The second episode of “The Acting School” aired, and the show’s popularity reached a new high.

This was the actors’ first challenge taking on the screenwriter role to perform short films, and the stories they wrote were more ridiculous than the last. Netizens’ focus had long since shifted away from acting skills, with live comments crazily complaining.

“What the hell was that first performance—the topic was ‘life’ so they showed two people eating, drinking, peeing, sleeping? Help!”

“LMAO the first group was deadly dull, the second group came up fighting, but the content of their argument was really boring. My parents argue better than these lines.”

“If I had to choose between these two, I’d still pick the second group. The first group literally put me to sleep.”

“Wei Jinghua’s topic is coming!”

“The topic he gave is so mainstream—I thought it would be a more obscure theme.”

“With ‘dream’ as a topic, they should be able to write something passionate, right? I’m rubbing my hands in anticipation.”

“…That’s it?”

“Even the twist is predictable—looked down on at the beginning, wins in the end.”

“Are you all expecting too much from actors? This is after all a show about watching acting skills.”

“Since the program gave this competition format, screenwriting is a scoring category to be evaluated. How is that expecting too much?”

The other seven groups finally finished airing. Everyone was disappointed. Finally, it was Wu Man and Ji Zhou’s turn with “Aftershock,” and viewers vented in the comments.

“A vase and a traffic idol—two incompetents whose acting isn’t good, can we expect their script to be? Everyone disperse.”

“I’m already watching this as a comedy show. How can we not watch this group? Definitely the comedy Top 1 hahaha.”

However, as the plot unfolded, the dense barrage of comments on screen became sparse.

Those who were just complaining got drawn in one by one, unconsciously forgetting to post comments.

The plot came to an abrupt halt after the woman’s husband returned alive.

The final shot of the segment was Wu Man’s monologue.

“Later I learned that there was a massive earthquake in 1980. But because of the geological structure, it produces aftershocks in waves. The tectonic plates shifted in 1980, and only now collided to produce aftershocks—something that should have come much earlier actually took decades in human time. It arrived so late, just like you.”

After the program aired the segment and began the scoring segment, the comments were still immersed in the plot just shown.

“Holy shit, this story is incredible…”

“Wasn’t there a hot search exposing that she went to a screenwriting advanced class? Looks like it was for writing this.”

“If it’s true I’m in awe—this attitude is hard not to support.”

“Wu Man really wrote this? Must be a ghostwriter, right?”

“Compared to a ghostwriter, the level is still a bit off—feels like she wrote it herself.”

“What kind of person writes what kind of script—these values are completely warped!”

“Ridiculous. Do moral guardians shout the Eight Honors and Eight Shames when they climax during sex?”

The comments soon shifted from praise to arguing, a complete melee.

But Wu Man and Ji Zhou’s “Aftershock” segment also made the hot search rankings because of this, purely from the controversy.

The program group struck while the iron was hot. The rehearsal footage about them originally scheduled to air tomorrow was quickly released tonight instead.

The segment where Zhui Ye personally demonstrated for Ji Zhou was unsurprisingly edited in.

After watching the comments, there was a chorus of excited screaming.

“I’m having a nosebleed—the interaction between these two has so much sexual tension…!”

“Just now I thought Ji Zhou performed well, now I’m slapping my own face. Compared to Zhui Ye, it really is like an ugly person imitating a beauty. Cannes Best Actor is truly Cannes Best Actor—your daddy is ultimately your daddy.”

“Wuwuwuwu too flirtatious. Right now I’m just a lemon envying Wu Man.”

“This passerby is now really looking forward to watching ‘Spring Night.’ Do these two have a CP? I want to invest in advance!”

“No, both of them are with other people in reality, so ship if you want but just ship casually—don’t get emotionally invested.”

*

To celebrate the previous episode reaching new popularity heights, after the next episode’s recording ended, the program group ordered hotpot as a late-night snack to reward everyone.

Although it was all uniformly mushroom health broth plus vegetables with barely any meat plates, everyone who had been recording all night was still ravenously hungry, fighting over a plate of vegetables more fiercely than fighting for an advancement spot during recording.

Wu Man arrived a bit late. The only empty seat left was next to Zhui Ye and He Huiyu. Everyone seemed to vaguely know they were dating, and no one wanted to get close and be a third wheel.

If this part wasn’t counted as behind-the-scenes footage that was part of work, Wu Man would definitely have turned around and left.

But now she could only sit down awkwardly.

Fortunately, Zhui Ye and He Huiyu were both normal people without the bad habit of showing affection in front of everyone. The two ate their own food separately. After eating for a while, the inevitable drinking began.

He Huiyu, perhaps knowing her boyfriend was beside her, was very reassured and drank cup after cup. Wu Man had drunk with her at drinking gatherings before—she wasn’t someone with good alcohol tolerance and got drunk quickly.

This time was no exception. After one cup of baijiu, her cheeks looked like spilled blush, and she even started slurring her words.

Zhui Ye supported the limp He Huiyu and said helplessly to everyone: “She’s drunk. I’ll take her back first.”

Everyone teased them. He made an apologetic gesture and helped He Huiyu out.

During his goodbye, he didn’t spare Wu Man a single glance.

He completely achieved what she ideally wanted—colleagues minding their own business with nothing to do with each other.

Wu Man watched the two figures’ backs exit through the door, then downed a gulp of baijiu, the spicy taste rushing straight to her throat.

She stood up swaying and said: “This liquor is too strong. I’m going out for some air.”

Ji Zhou looked over worriedly: “Sister Man, are you okay? Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’m fine. You eat.”

She waved her hand in refusal, feeling for the cigarettes in her pocket as she went out.

Getting some air was just an excuse—she just suddenly had a craving for cigarettes.

However, as soon as she walked into the alley outside the studio, she saw a point of starlight in the darkness. Someone had already come here first to smoke.

She paused mid-step, about to retreat, when Zhui Ye’s voice came from the darkness: “Big sister?”

She stopped in surprise, turning sideways. Zhui Ye walked out a bit, the cigarette’s glow faintly illuminating half his face. Like a nocturnal ghost, specialized in collecting passersby with unsettled minds.

“I told you to stop calling me that.” She asked strangely: “Didn’t you take her home?”

“I did take her home.”

“Then why didn’t you go with her?”

“I just needed to see her to her door.” Zhui Ye frowned. “Someone came to pick her up—why would I need to follow along?”

“…Is this how you act as a boyfriend? Letting someone else pick up your girlfriend?”

He lowered his head, blowing a smoke ring at her: “You think I’m her boyfriend?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Is it because you think I have a girlfriend that you don’t refuse to chat with me?” He showed a helpless expression. “Big sister, you really know how to torture me.”

Those last three words were like a little saw with dull teeth, scratching at Wu Man’s heart in a soft, tickling way.

“He Huiyu’s boyfriend is her junior apprentice—he performed in ‘Evil Son.’ That time we all went to help celebrate his birthday together. The time you came to pick me up.” He stared at her. “That blue candle—do you still have it?”

The news that he wasn’t dating anyone made her head swim, almost blurting out: I kept it.

But rationality returned. She unconsciously bit her lower lip, lying: “I threw it away.”

Zhui Ye fell silent, the cigarette burning shorter and shorter. As the fire gradually died, his face retreated into darkness with it. Like a ghost losing its soul flame, losing interest in everything.

He didn’t say another word, extinguishing the last bit of red from the cigarette butt, one hand in his pocket, the other hand waving behind him at Wu Man without looking back as he left.

Wu Man watched that retreating figure about to leave the alley. The gear scratching at her heart suddenly became sharp, hurting so much she wanted to call out to him.

Just as she really couldn’t hold back and was about to speak, her phone rang.

A voice call from Yu Jiaze.

She hesitated for a second, then answered. That retreating figure paused, then disappeared around the corner.

She withdrew her gaze, hearing Yu Jiaze’s icy voice come through. Even the warm summer night breeze felt a bit cold.

“Do you know what day it is today?”

“Of course I remember—you’re being discharged from the hospital.”

“Then where are you?”

“I thought you’d be going back to the old mansion.”

“You know how to guess my thoughts, but why can’t you guess correctly?” Yu Jiaze’s voice suddenly softened. “What I most want to see right now is my little bird.”

*

Wu Man hurriedly said goodbye to the program group and drove to the hospital.

As she approached the hospital room, she found the door slightly ajar with a girl’s voice coming from inside.

“Brother Jiaze, Uncle asked me to pick you up.”

“I’ll go over tomorrow.”

“Then where are you going tonight?”

“Miss Tang, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Not now, but very soon!”

“Then ask me when that time comes.”

The girl’s tone choked. Then the door opened from inside, and Tang Yingxue ran out, coming face to face with Wu Man.

This appearance was unfamiliar to Wu Man—wearing an obedient little dress completely opposite to girl group performance outfits, with a lace beret pinned in her hair, mesh covering her smooth forehead, like a princess escaping from the last century.

A flash of knowing hostility passed through her eyes. She looked coldly at Wu Man, brushing past her and leaving without a word.

From that look, Wu Man tasted her possessiveness toward Yu Jiaze. Just like at that hotpot gathering, when she deliberately showed her the handkerchief—it definitely wasn’t unintentional.

The relationship between them wasn’t as simple as Yu Jiaze claimed—just having shared one meal.

Wu Man withdrew her gaze, knocked on the door and entered the hospital room. Yu Jiaze didn’t even look up, saying: “You came too late.”

“If I’d come early, I would have missed the good show.”

“Oh my, is this little bird jealous?”

Yu Jiaze’s legs had completely healed. He leisurely got down from the bed, leaning over to Wu Man’s face, looking at her pretentiously.

Wu Man turned her face away: “Is it really okay for you not to go back?”

He slowly straightened up, his tone inscrutable: “Do you really want me to go back?”

“I’m worried your father will be angry with you.”

He said coldly: “The old man can’t control where I sleep.”

Wu Man knew she’d misspoken. She shouldn’t have actively brought up Yu’s father in front of Yu Jiaze.

Yu Jiaze rarely actively mentioned his father. If he did mention him, it was always impatience and dissatisfaction with his father controlling him. It seemed the only thing maintaining their relationship was profit and obedience—no affection at all.

Sometimes when Wu Man heard his complaints, she also felt impatient. He clearly hated that kind of style so much, yet he used it on her exactly the same way.

How do people unknowingly become the very thing they resist most?

*

Wu Man drove back to the villa with Yu Jiaze. He suddenly said: “I’m hungry.”

She picked up her phone: “Should I order takeout now?”

“You cook for me.”

“…Are you sure?”

Yu Jiaze drove her to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe himself, saying: “I’ll supervise.”

You can’t even tell the difference between soy sauce and vinegar, yet you’re supervising?

Wu Man silently complained inwardly while saying reluctantly: “If it’s not good, you can’t blame me.”

She took out the leftover rice the housekeeper had left in the kitchen, preparing to make egg fried rice. Her movements were mechanical because she was calculating in her mind whether to ask him about the semi-blacklisting of Zhui Ye. But she was also afraid that once she asked, it would make Yu Jiaze more contrary, doing the opposite.

After thinking it over, it was safer not to ask.

She was distracted here, not noticing Yu Jiaze suddenly approaching her from behind, reaching around to hold her waist, his chin resting on top of her head.

“Little bird, this is the first time I’ve watched you cook.”

Her hands didn’t stop moving as she asked: “What about it?”

“You look quite suitable for being a wife.”

Wu Man’s spatula slipped, clattering and nearly blowing up the entire kitchen.

Yu Jiaze still held her without letting go, laughing softly, his chest pressed against her back trembling slightly.

“That scared you?”

Wu Man didn’t know how to respond for a moment. She stared at the scrambled eggs in front of her, saying: “It looks a bit burnt.”

“You seem to always avoid this kind of question. Have you never thought about it? Marriage.”

“It was you who once told me not to be naive.” Wu Man’s tone was flat. “I’ve never had any fantasies about marriage. This is fine.”

Yu Jiaze tightened his arms around her: “Before, I thought your obedience made me comfortable, but now hearing it grates on my ears.”

“Would you prefer me to cling to you like an eighteen-year-old girl, begging you to marry me into a wealthy family to become a rich wife?” Wu Man said self-deprecatingly. “That would be even more grating.”

“The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”

Why beg others for everything when she could earn her own candy?

But these words definitely weren’t what Yu Jiaze would want to hear, so she could only say: “You’ve already given me enough.”

Yu Jiaze let go, turning to lean against the counter.

“You can choose not to marry, but I can’t avoid considering it.”

Wu Man felt the ground shake beneath her.

Like an earthquake, she almost couldn’t stand steady.

The wok hissed with hot steam, smoke blurring Wu Man’s eyes. She blinked twice and said: “Are you considering marriage?”

“If I said yes, what would you do?”

“You’d still be my boss.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else.”

Yu Jiaze laughed silently: “I was joking with you. Didn’t expect it would still be as uninteresting an answer as I predicted.”

“I remember you called me a wooden block from the very beginning.”

Both seemed to be joking, but the atmosphere was somewhat oppressive. The gradually rising cooking smoke in the kitchen drifted between them. Wu Man said: “You should go out—the cooking fumes are strong.”

Yu Jiaze didn’t lift his feet even slightly: “I said I’d supervise, so I’ll supervise to the end.”

He just stood there by the counter, watching the egg fried rice come off the stove.

The appearance really wasn’t much to look at, but Yu Jiaze still reached out to take the rice, carrying it to the table where they sat facing each other.

Yu Jiaze took a bite and said: “It really is terrible.”

“If it’s too much, don’t force yourself to eat it.”

“I insist on forcing myself.” He scooped another mouthful, his eyes staring straight at her. “Little bird, don’t forget what I told you before when you willfully moved out.”

—If I say it’s not over, then it won’t be over between us.

*

That night, Wu Man had a dream while pillowed in Yu Jiaze’s embrace.

She dreamed of the day between her twentieth and twenty-first birthdays.

Before that day, she hadn’t gotten any acting work for over a month because she’d offended a well-known producer in the industry.

That old man had groped her at a gathering. Hot-blooded and young, she grabbed a wine glass and poured red wine all over his head.

The result was that the role she’d worked so hard to fight for slipped away again, and that person angrily threatened to blacklist her.

Zhao Boyu was anxiously worried. Back then they were both just at a very small entertainment company with no ability to fight back.

She lived off money she’d barely earned before, while stubbornly making rounds at various production crews to see if there were any overlooked opportunities. She couldn’t sleep at night from anxiety, lying in bed every night staring at her phone, hoping for a miracle—a producer’s call notifying her.

But miracles wouldn’t come, though surprises were happy to visit.

On the first day of her twenties, Wu Man very clearly realized how screwed up life was.

That night her long-silent phone rang. Wu Man looked at that phone number without even a saved contact, letting it ring for a long time.

After the other party persistently called for the tenth time, she sighed deeply and answered.

“How much do you want this time?”

“Can’t I be calling because I care about you?”

“Then you’d only call for ten seconds, not ten times.”

The other end was silent for a while, then slowly said: “That TV drama you told me about last time—when will it air?”

Wu Man stared at the ceiling, saying weakly: “Don’t wait—I’m not in it anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I offended the producer.”

She said it as if facing death, waiting for the expected scolding.

However, the other end only sighed softly.

“He wanted to sleep with you, didn’t he? Offending him is fine. I hope you can become a big star, but I also don’t want you to degrade yourself. There will be other opportunities later.”

Wu Man’s fingers gripping the phone tightened, her throat aching sourly.

Knowing she must be speaking nicely because she wanted money, Wu Man’s accumulated grievances from recent days still came pouring out from this one sentence.

In the dark, cramped rental room, she covered her eyes with her hand, biting down hard on her teeth, still soaking her sleeve.

“Tell me, how much do you want?”

After a long silence, Wu Man calmed her tone and asked without any abnormality.

“…Five hundred thousand. Do you have it?”

Wu Man’s still-wet pupils suddenly contracted: “You started gambling again?!”

The other end was silent.

Wu Man’s voice was icy, suppressing uncontrollable anger: “I agreed to give you living expenses. I didn’t agree to fill this kind of hole.”

What a waste that she’d naively thought the earlier comfort was that tiny bit of remaining maternal love at work.

Should she say more precisely—had maternal love ever existed?

Her birth from the very beginning was full of accidents. She wasn’t a child welcomed into this world with blessings.

When she was small, in that half-awake state, she could often see her mother standing by her bedside like a wandering ghost, eyes full of resentment like a knife. Little her would pretend to turn over, blocking that gaze behind her back, curling into a ball.

Once, her mother really lost control and took a knife. Wu Man got up to use the bathroom and ran into it, immediately fleeing in shock. With nowhere to go, she wandered the cold, dark streets. The weather was too cold—she finally entered a black internet café, huddling in a smoke-filled corner all night.

She still remembered watching a movie online that night: “Leon: The Professional.” When the little girl in it asked the hitman: Is life always this hard? Or is it just childhood?

The hitman answered her: Always.

She couldn’t remember if the girl in the movie cried, because she’d lowered her head at the time, sobbing uncontrollably.

She wasn’t that lucky—she didn’t have a hitman to protect her like the little girl. But she still learned from the movie to buy a green potted plant, placing it by her bedside. Staring at it when falling asleep at night made her feel somehow protected too.

It was around that time she developed sleeping problems, always waking in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat as she looked toward her bedside. Sometimes on nights when her mother lost emotional control or came home from gambling losses, she learned to slip out the door and spend the night at internet cafés. Accompanying her were film after film.

She was like the Little Match Girl—movies were her matches. In those 120 minutes, she could briefly wander to another realm, so happy.

Gradually, she no longer resisted her mother forcing her to become a big star. If she could also become someone in movies, constructing beautiful dreams for others, then maybe a helpless, sleepless child existing somewhere in the world could receive a bit of comfort.

This became her original intention for wanting to make films—so naive that it led to her current state of barely having food to eat.

The other end said urgently: “You have to help me this time—loan sharks are already blocking my door!”

“I have no money.”

She truly had no money. Recently she’d even compressed three meals a day to one as much as possible.

“Manman, have you really never gone to find Tang Jiarong?”

“…No.”

In fact, she lied.

When she first arrived in Beijing, she’d impulsively wanted to meet this father she hadn’t seen in twenty years.

She’d finally flown out of that gray little town—surely it was time to meet this legendary person as unreachable as clouds.

She asked Zhao Boyu to help her get a pass to a charity banquet, and he just assumed she wanted to find a shortcut, because there were always many girls at such banquets with similar thoughts.

Charity banquets were never truly about charity, but tacit resource exchange.

But she didn’t understand that at the time.

Before attending, she carefully ironed the borrowed evening gown no less than ten times. While ironing, she rehearsed the scene of meeting him under her breath.

She thought, if Tang Jiarong recognized her, she would very dashingly say to him:

“I just came to see you. I wish you good health.”

She took a deep breath, carefully putting on that backless little dress. Then she tied her hair in a bun, revealing the birthmark on her back.

At that banquet, her birthmark was indeed eye-catching. Not just the birthmark—also her face, her waist, her legs. At twenty years old, every part exuded bewitching, unknowing absolute beauty. She was an unpolished but transparent raw gemstone—even the least discerning person could recognize without appraisal that she was a treasure kissed by God, fit to be displayed in the Louvre.

It’s just this raw stone was too sharp, covered in natural jagged edges left by weathering. Countless people who approached trying to gather her into their arms got stabbed all over. She didn’t put them in her eyes at all.

Until Tang Jiarong finally appeared at the end, her eyes brightened slightly, but she was timid near home, not daring to approach. She only lingered a few meters away from him.

Before long, the secretary beside Tang Jiarong walked toward her.

Wu Man’s heart began pounding wildly, her tongue tying in knots. That sentence she’d rehearsed countless times—how should she say it? She suddenly forgot.

The secretary walked in front of her, smiled gently, and pressed a room card into her palm.

“You’re very lucky. Many people wanted to get close to Mr. Tang today. He chose you alone.”

She looked up from afar, meeting Tang Jiarong’s gaze. His temples already had white hair, and he raised his wine glass with an ambiguous smile.

Wu Man clutched the room card, walking unsteadily to the bathroom. All the alcohol she’d drunk that night came back up—she vomited.

The air conditioning in the bathroom was incredibly strong, blowing her back full of raised goosebumps. Wu Man hugged herself, then viciously slapped herself, leaving five finger marks.

“You’re a 24-karat pure idiot!”

After a while, the flushing sound rang out. She walked out of the stall again, face solemn.

Something was flushed down the drain forever along with that room card, never to see daylight again.

The other end of the phone called out “hello” several times. Wu Man snapped back, hearing her mother still tentatively saying: “If there’s really no other way, go find him?”

Wu Man stared coldly at the ceiling, her tone very resolute.

“You’re the one who said I’m in the dust while he’s in the clouds. We’re not the same kind of people—no need to get entangled together anymore.”

After saying this, she hung up the phone in one motion, burying her head in the blanket.

In the dead of night, the blanket trembled slightly. Who would notice?

Afterward she refused all her mother’s calls until the night before her birthday, when she received an emergency call from the hospital.

That woman had been beaten into the hospital by loan sharks and needed emergency surgery.

When she received the call, she and Zhao Boyu were en route to another film base to try their luck. She opened the car window—wind poured in. Even though she’d already reached a dead end in every direction, she felt unprecedented freedom.

A false freedom of wanting to just escape with the wind.

Zhao Boyu muttered: “Why are you opening the window? All the heat is escaping.”

He closed the car window. All the gravity instantly returned to her.

She sank deep into the seat back, at the end of her rope.

“Brother Zhao, can you get me another banquet invitation? Any banquet is fine.”

Zhao Boyu, who was driving, startled: “…You’ve thought it through?”

“Continuing like this, we have no chance of finding opportunities. Unless I latch onto someone more powerful than that producer, I might be able to continue mixing in this circle.”

Zhao Boyu sighed in relief: “Good that you’re thinking this way now. This circle is like this—you can’t survive without finding backing. Since you’re going to find someone, try for the most powerful one.”

“Who?”

“Yu Jiaze. The Yu family’s crown prince who practically monopolizes half the film industry.”

*

Zhao Boyu found out Yu Jiaze would be attending a cruise banquet the next day and struggled to get her in. He also spent a fortune helping her borrow a black strapless cocktail dress. Tearfully saying, my living expenses for this month are all bet on this one time—you better deliver.

That posture was one hundred percent a madam’s.

Wu Man let her hair down, vaguely covering the birthmark on her back. After entering the top floor private room, she timidly sat in the farthest corner.

To be precise, she was squeezed there. Yu Jiaze hadn’t arrived yet, but the seat he would grace was already crowded with wolves, quite the crazed momentum of fans camping overnight to grab seats for their idol.

Around ten PM, Yu Jiaze was finally escorted in by several people.

Wu Man sat by the door. As he passed in front of her, his crisply ironed hem lightly brushed her face. She instinctively raised her head to look up, only catching a glimpse of the man’s chin.

It seemed their relationship was destined from this encounter’s posture from the very beginning.

She froze for a moment, then turned to observe Yu Jiaze who’d settled into the main seat, finally seeing his full appearance.

He had similarities with men she’d seen so far—that air of nobility she found nauseating.

But he also had completely different qualities. Hidden beneath that nobility was a kind of bleakness and tearing. While dealing with those people’s enthusiasm, his eyes hid a demolition device, fingers always lightly tapping on the armrest, as if only this could suppress that desire.

Wu Man hesitated. After everyone had surrounded him and made their rounds, she still couldn’t step forward to strike up conversation.

Until Yu Jiaze prepared to leave.

He passed in front of her again, his hem sweeping over. This time, she grabbed it.

Yu Jiaze unsurprisingly lowered his eyes.

She looked up at him again, stiffly forcing out two words: “Hello.”

“Waited all night just to say this?” He said disinterestedly. “Are you a wooden block?”

“If you take apart the character 您 (You-formal), it’s 你 (you) placed above 心 (heart). That’s what you are.”

“Little girl’s quite corny, but corny in a cute way.” He crouched down, meeting her face to face. “What’s your name?”

“Wu Man. A crow that flew out from creeping vines.”

“Crows are so inauspicious. I’ll call you little bird instead.”

He suddenly swept an arm around her waist, lifting her from the sofa, saying to the remaining crowd: “This little bird has landed with me.”

Just like that, he carried her all the way to the suite with one arm around her.

Wu Man’s whole body had already gone stiff in his arms. As soon as he let her go, thinking about the procedure to follow, her limbs went numb, unable to move.

She still couldn’t break through that barrier in her heart.

Yu Jiaze scrolled on his tablet without looking up, saying: “Go take a shower.”

She obediently agreed, fleeing into the bathroom like an escape. She naively wondered if she could drag it out all night inside, but was also afraid that if she dragged too long, Yu Jiaze would suddenly barge in and she’d be even more unprepared.

In a dilemma either way—there was no escaping it.

She walked out with an extremely heroic spirit. Yu Jiaze only glanced at her once, no different from glancing at any object in the room.

He withdrew his gaze, one hand unbuttoning his tie, buttons, belt… the other hand still swiping the tablet.

Wu Man turned away in panic, hearing rustling sounds, then the bathroom door closing.

The cruise suite’s soundproofing wasn’t that good. She heard rushing water sounds from inside, and also thunder and rain sounds from outside the ship. The room was oppressively cage-like.

She ran barefoot to the balcony, overlooking the black sea surface. It let rainwater wreak havoc on its body, churning wave after wave. Between the sea level and sky horizon was purple lightning. With one flash, Wu Man stumbled back a step in fright, bumping into the chest behind her.

Yu Jiaze only had a towel wrapped around his lower body, bare-chested, his whole body carrying the damp heat of just leaving the bath. As if belonging to the same source as the thunder and rain between heaven and earth—equally making her tremble.

Yu Jiaze raised his hand to touch her ear, like grooming a bird’s feathers, saying: “It’s very late. Sleep.”

They got into bed. He held her in his arms, chin resting on top of her head, gently nuzzling, saying somewhat dissatisfied: “Too thin. Uncomfortable.”

Then there was no next action.

Wu Man’s eyes widened, unable to believe as she asked: “…We’re not doing it?”

She remembered Yu Jiaze’s completely unaffected look when she came out of the bath, suddenly feeling a sense of defeat.

Without sleeping together, just being used as a body pillow—could she still make requests of him?

Wu Man anxiously calculated, then heard Yu Jiaze’s drowsy voice from above her head.

“Today’s your birthday, isn’t it? Consider it a birthday gift—I’ll let you off today.”

He tightened his arms, rubbing the soft flesh at her waist, humming with a slight nasal tone: “Next time I’ll claim it back double. Sleep, little bird. Happy birthday.”

She wasn’t surprised he knew her birthday. When she was led away, someone would have sent Wu Man’s basic information to Yu Jiaze.

What surprised her was… this was clearly just the basest flesh transaction—there shouldn’t be these moments of warmth that made her nose sting.

“Thank you.”

She curled up in his embrace closing her eyes, silently reciting the second half of the sentence in her heart.

You are the first and only person to wish me well today.

Over these years, birthdays had never been a day worth celebrating for her. Because she always doubted the arrival of her own life.

Like bacteria on moss, just humbly multiplying like that. Who would welcome its arrival? Was it its own will?

If possible, who wouldn’t want to become oxygen that everyone depends on to survive? Rather than mildew growing from dampness on rainy days.

Later when she became famous, many people remembered her birthday and wished her happy birthday, even holding birthday parties for her. So grand. This was one of the few benefits Wu Man felt about being a celebrity.

She didn’t come to this world to be erased—many people were happy to welcome her arrival.

And in the very beginning, that first person was Yu Jiaze.