Yan Muyu’s question came out so casually, but it made Qiu Siyuan—who was in the middle of drinking water—choke violently. The director’s assistant, standing nearby, hurried over in a panic, fussing over her with concern.
“It’s fine,” Qiu Siyuan said.
The assistant looked deeply worried. “Really? You haven’t fully recovered from that cold yet.”
Qiu Siyuan’s team was highly professional; the assistant had been with her for many years and knew full well how her boss threw herself into work without regard for her health.
Behind every high-rated show was a dedicated team, but the biggest factor in their success was still Qiu Siyuan herself, the pillar holding it all together.
The assistant finally left, still glancing back every few steps with clear reluctance. Meanwhile, the culprit, Yan Muyu, twirled her chopsticks idly and mustered a bit of concern. “You’ve had that cold for a while now?”
“It’s an old ailment,” Qiu Siyuan replied. “My lungs aren’t great.”
She took a sip of hot water and eyed Yan Muyu’s nonchalant expression. With a sigh, she said, “Can you stop saying things that leave people speechless?”
Yan Muyu’s hair was still damp but no longer dripping after she’d towel-dried it. The cotton floral pajamas looked anything but tacky on her; no matter what she wore, she made it work effortlessly, her aura unchanged.
“Just asking,” Yan Muyu said. “What, are you feeling guilty?”
Their conversations had always jumped all over the place. Back when they were teenagers hanging out together, plenty of people figured they’d end up arguing one day. But they never did. Instead, they’d end up slinging arms around each other’s shoulders, heading to the pool hall or a karaoke joint, skipping school for the whole day, then coming back to chow down on cafeteria food in perfect harmony—only to gripe about the ginger in the shredded potatoes.
“You’re just trying to rile me up,” Qiu Siyuan said, “and I’m not telling you.”
After so many years, how could she not know Yan Muyu’s personality inside out?
She let out a chuckle. To the staff passing by, the two of them had matching gossipy ears—like they came off the same assembly line.
And that was true enough.
Yan Muyu had gotten her ears pierced as a kid, peaking at sixteen when her rebellious streak led her to the sidelined Qiu Siyuan. Their mindsets matched, their tastes aligned, and they hit it off instantly by getting matching piercings together. They spent a whole week yelping in pain before it finally settled.
Yan Muyu tipped her head back to chug a bottle of water and waved it off. “Whatever.”
Over on the other side, Qiu Chao wasn’t pressing. She simply watched quietly from afar. Under the dim light of the mountain village’s mud house, she resembled a seductive enchantress from an ancient painting scroll—patient above all, a master at stalking her prey.
Qiu Siyuan waved at her. “Qiu, why don’t you come sit?”
Qiu Chao and Yan Muyu’s assistants had both been called away to a meeting. A variety show like this required tons of staff, leaving this area unusually quiet.
Qiu Siyuan’s team was long immune to celebrities, and the overseas guests for past shows hadn’t put on airs either. Their initial awe at Qiu Chao had faded into indifference.
Qiu Chao sauntered over slowly.
She wore flip-flops, her toenails painted a vivid red. As she walked, she evoked plum blossoms scattered on snow, bringing an unexpected sense of desolate winter chill.
“Hey,” Yan Muyu said. “Sit over there.”
“Why?” Qiu Chao asked. “Director Qiu invited me to sit.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Qiu Siyuan protested.
Even in the height of summer, Qiu Siyuan cradled an enormous thermos. Yan Muyu had caught a whiff of medicinal herbs when she’d opened it earlier, baffled at how someone could be so frail.
Was it from all that coffee during her time working in Korea?
Or the lasting damage from that time she’d inhaled smoke from a fire?
“Chat away then,” Yan Muyu said. “I’m heading back to bed.”
A mountain breeze swept through. Yan Muyu walked with her usual lazy slouch. Her birth mother, Lin Yumian, had always chided her for not walking like a proper lady, but Yan Muyu had never bothered to change.
Lin Yumian had impeccable poise herself, but no matter how serene and elegant she was, her love life had ended in utter disaster. She still naively believed that if she just stood still, that scumbag would come to his senses.
Propping her chin on her hand, Qiu Chao watched Yan Muyu’s retreating figure and called out considerately, “Little Yan, if the bed feels too small, we could push them together.”
Yan Muyu didn’t even turn her head. “No need.”
“You should get some rest too,” Qiu Siyuan told Qiu Chao. “The schedule ahead is going to be grueling.”
Qiu Siyuan’s silver hair had apparently been dyed some time ago; up close, the black roots were growing out. It reminded Qiu Chao of Yan Muyu from a few days earlier, who had the same issue.
Back in their teens, the two hadn’t gone quite so bold with the color, but they’d still sneak in a few highlights. They’d peek out unexpectedly, like the wild streak in their defiant youth, squandering their rebellion while it lasted.
“Did she ask you about it?” Qiu Chao said.
The area had cleared out now. Qiu Siyuan’s team left them alone, and the production crew had gone to another house for their meeting.
Mugwort smoked in the courtyard to ward off bugs. Qiu Siyuan rubbed her nose and murmured an affirmative.
“Good,” Qiu Chao said. “She’s curious about me now.”
It sounded almost like she was talking to herself.
Right then, Qiu Chao’s hand rested on the table, exposing a section of red rope bracelet on her fair wrist. At a glance, it didn’t scream luxury—the cord was cheap, wrapped around nothing fancier than an ordinary button.
But time had soaked into it, worn smooth by countless touches, turning it yellowed yet glossy.
It carried the flavor of bygone years.
Qiu Siyuan glanced at it. “You know, even if you hadn’t said anything, I’d have recognized that button from our old school uniforms.”
Sitting with Qiu Chao didn’t feel as relaxed as with Yan Muyu. Qiu Siyuan and Qiu Chao weren’t that close—just the kind of third-degree friends connected through a mutual acquaintance.
A cheap red rope, a cheap button, on the wrist of a celebrity whose net worth was inestimable.
Qiu Siyuan recalled that wine-selling girl from back then. Even that year, Qiu Chao had been strikingly captivating—a mere glimpse in the dim light was enough to stir the heart.
But the one who’d gotten totally wasted back then was Yan Muyu. Qiu Siyuan had only been tipsy. Qiu Chao had stayed perfectly sober.
Qiu Chao touched the button. Even barefaced, she exuded a sultry charm, especially when she lowered her eyes.
Lately, though, a veil of melancholy hung over her. Her fans would ache to see it.
But Qiu Siyuan was just the middleman. She held no special biases. Producing this variety show served her career ambitions, sure—but it came with other motives too.
Qiu Chao’s request was merely fodder for the scriptwriters.
“Do Yan Muyu and I have to be separated on the show too?” Qiu Chao asked.
She didn’t look at Qiu Siyuan as she spoke, but a hint of anxiety crept in—worlds apart from the poised ease she’d shown in front of Yan Muyu.
Qiu Siyuan chuckled. “What, you want to stay inseparable?”
This director wasn’t a household name in China but had a solid rep among variety fans. She toyed with her phone as she added, “With three pairs of guests, of course we’ll pair you up. Don’t worry about that.”
Then Qiu Siyuan asked, “We’ve got twenty-two days ahead—practically four months of dating for someone like Yan Muyu, who’s…”
She trailed off, as if struggling to put a number on it.
With a shrug, she continued, “Even if she dated for four months straight, it probably wouldn’t add up to many days total.”
Shows like this obliterated boundaries, like sharing a bed without actually doing so—a deep immersion that outdid even acting.
Because you remained yourself, not a character.
Even scripted moments felt real, since the person in the scene was you, and the emotions couldn’t be faked.
Qiu Chao murmured in agreement.
Qiu Siyuan watched her head inside and close the door.
Some of the team stayed out to reshoot establishing shots for the empty scenes, but they wouldn’t disturb the guests.
The Little Mud House’s three rooms had terrible soundproofing. Liu Song’s singing drifted through clearly.
But she’d probably gotten scolded by Xi Xi, since it turned into muffled humming.
Ding Yingxue might have been gaming; a sharp “Fuck!” rang out before it went quiet.
Qiu Chao pushed open the door. The main light was off, leaving only the bedside lamp. Yan Muyu lay on the bed, scrolling on her phone.
She didn’t even lift an eyelid at the sound. “Lock the door.”
Just two words, yet they effortlessly set Qiu Chao’s heart racing. She couldn’t help but speak up in front of Yan Muyu.
“Want to do something?” Qiu Chao asked.
No air conditioning in the room—true to the online reviews of Metamorphosis in the countryside.
But the mountaintop night wasn’t sweltering. A standing fan whirred steadily, chopping up Yan Muyu’s voice as she replied, “We’ve got so much to do tomorrow. What else do you want to get up to?”
“What time are you getting up tomorrow?” Qiu Chao pressed.
“As early as possible without waking you,” Yan Muyu said.
“You love me so much,” Qiu Chao teased.
“…”
Yan Muyu had nothing to say to that. She sighed and switched off the bedside lamp.
Silence fell. Qiu Chao stared at the ceiling. The house was a mud hut, but the interior had been lightly renovated.
At least there was a ceiling. At least the mattress was soft. At least…
Her biggest gain was the person on the bed next door.
Yan Muyu’s phone sat on the nightstand. She’d barely closed her eyes when it buzzed several times.
Irritated, she silenced all notifications. In the faint glow of the screen, she spotted Qiu Chao facing her.
“Can’t sleep? Put on your eye mask. I know you have one,” Yan Muyu said.
Qiu Chao ignored her. She bit her lip. Yan Muyu started to say something else when a soft whimper escaped her.
Not like crying.
The sound sent chills down Yan Muyu’s spine. She flipped over in a flash, thinking: Does this woman have some kind of habit?!
~~~
The next day, dawn had just broken when the live stream went online.
Viewers who had left their streams running overnight jumped in surprise at the sudden activity.
In the hazy dawn light, the door of the house was pushed open, and the staff knocked to wake everyone up.
【It’s only a little past four!!!】
【Dawn comes way too early.】
【Isn’t Xi Xi the one picking tea? Why hasn’t she gotten up from her super early sleep? Liu Song woke up first…】
【My little puppy Song, you’re working so hard.】
【There’s even this kind of wake-up service… I want Liu Song hovering by my bed calling me big sis too, boo hoo.】
【Pei Wan doesn’t even need to be woken up… She’s already out of bed???】
Pei Wan seemed to have set her own alarm. Without disturbing Ding Yingxue, she slipped out in the dim light to wash her face.
Sunlight sprinkled into the courtyard, and Pei Wan even circled around to stretch her muscles and bones. She looked every bit the picture of someone living a healthy, wellness-focused lifestyle.
Yan Muyu was literally dragged out by Qiu Siyuan.
The big director was downright ruthless, sneaking in without a sound. Anyone who didn’t know better might think she was trying to smother Yan Muyu.
【I’m already convinced Director Qiu and Yan Muyu are toxic bestie buddies… Quick search shows they really were into that angsty literature vibe back in the day.】
【LOL, Yan Muyu’s sudden jolt awake was like she rose from the dead.】
【Didn’t you notice how she instinctively glanced at Qiu Chao first?】
No one expected the stream to start this early, and this sneak attack was straight-up evil.
