Chapter 68: There Must Be Some Mistake Part 1

Even as the live stream that day drew to a close, the audience was still buzzing with interest over Qiu Chao’s mention of her first love.

QiuChaoFirstLove#

QiuChaoRomance#

Those hashtags cycled through the top trending spots one after another, leaving Mai Chen—who had slept peacefully through the afternoon—clutching at her chest with heart-wrenching pain all over again.

It was just… too…

Qiu Chao, you’re being way too obvious!!

Her colleagues at the Artist’s Studio had compiled the online chatter and sent it to her, but Mai Chen couldn’t bear to look at more than a glance.

The very first page she tapped open featured a popular gossip account shipping like crazy.

—@EntertainmentNineChanges: [Image][Image] Is Qiu Chao’s first love Yan Muyu? [Image] That look in her eyes is just so…

A nine-grid collage stuffed with screenshots and GIFs, even color-corrected with heartfelt care.

The comments below were even more terrifying to Mai Chen.

[Qiu Chao’s gaze at Yan Muyu—I’m sobbing! It’s so obvious she likes Yan Muyu! Like getting close to the one she loves by dating their brother? So heartbreaking!]

[So bittersweet. Qiu Chao’s regret about missing out on those schoolgirl days? It kills me thinking of our sis working her teen years away.]

[I get that inferiority complex too well. I crushed on someone rich like that once—didn’t match up anywhere, but she was irresistible! How does someone have money, be kind, ace school, everything? I’m just weak for power, sobbing.]

[That last bit from Qiu Chao wasn’t a hint—it was proof it’s Yan Muyu! I’ve watched this variety show feeling like Qiu Chao came for her, teasing nonstop. What else is that but pursuit?]

[I just wanna know if Yan Muyu even realizes.]

Mai Chen wasn’t sure whether to praise the fans for being so sharp-eyed or blame Qiu Chao for being so clumsy.

But with Qiu Chao’s stellar track record, calling her acting skills poor felt like a stretch.

Didn’t that just prove love couldn’t be hidden?

No wonder so many celebrities’ secret romances got exposed so easily.

Mai Chen suddenly felt utterly inexperienced in this arena.

With the live stream over, she tried calling Qiu Chao, but it rang without answer, so she gave up.

After the stream ended, Yan Muyu didn’t head straight back to her room to rest. Instead, she went to chat with Qiu Siyuan.

Qiu Chao, on the other hand, acted like nothing was wrong and turned in early—probably still wiped out from the cold. By the time Yan Muyu slipped into bed, she hadn’t stirred.

The insomniac from before was now out cold. Yan Muyu’s mind was replaying Qiu Siyuan’s words from earlier.

Qiu Siyuan had spent the whole evening outside the monitors—who knew what her fortune-telling had turned up? She looked utterly deflated.

With everyone mostly dispersed, Li Xi sat alone in the hall composing music. The behind-the-scenes crew figured it was worth filming and crouched nearby.

Yan Muyu and Qiu Siyuan sat on little stools by the courtyard entrance, watching the staff bustle about amid the steady drizzle outside.

Qiu Siyuan spoke first. “Spit it out if you have something to say. I’m busy.”

Yan Muyu punched her arm outright. “You still won’t tell me?”

Qiu Siyuan shot back, “Don’t you already have a pretty good idea?”

Without her weird colored contacts, her eyes looked deeply shadowed—startling at first glance.

Back in school, people had said Qiu Siyuan gave off a creepy vibe.

But she turned out fine once you got to know her.

She just wasn’t the party type—great at keeping the peace, anyway. As long as she was around, Yan Muyu wouldn’t clash with anyone.

Yan Muyu pressed on. “Did I ever lose my memory before?”

She perched awkwardly on the low stool, her long legs making it look ridiculous—like her prickly tone.

Qiu Siyuan replied, “Don’t you know yourself?”

Yan Muyu said, “I do black out easily from drinking, but nothing this extreme, right?”

She had her suspicions.

Qiu Chao’s hints had been borderline blatant—even Xi Xi had asked if she was Qiu Chao’s first love.

Yan Muyu had denied it quick, but her heart raced with doubt.

It felt weird, like the bitch she’d been cursing all evening might actually be herself.

So strange, yet so hazy.

Qiu Siyuan went on, “Your tolerance has improved some, but this blackout thing? It’s in your blood—same as your mom. You didn’t know?”

Yan Muyu let out a “Hey!” “That’s so unfair. My brother’s just fine.”

Qiu Siyuan took a sip of water, gazing out the door to the sound of Li Xi playing in the background.

Tonight’s Drum Pass Flower game had been packed with highlights—the editors were still debating cuts.

But no one interrupted the director and her boss chatting.

From behind, the pair looked plucked straight from a yearbook, radiating their own exclusive bubble.

Qiu Siyuan prompted, “Haven’t you figured it out already?”

It was like she hadn’t said anything at all. Yan Muyu asked, “Didn’t Qiu Chao drop out of high school? How could we have met back then?”

Qiu Siyuan explained, “Our paths actually overlapped a lot.”

Yan Muyu ventured, “You mean her work was near our school?”

Qiu Siyuan nodded. “Didn’t you used to love singing there?”

Truth be told, Yan Muyu was terrible at singing—tone-deaf from birth. Even her elective dance class dragged everyone down.

Girls liked her plenty, but no one wanted to group up and risk failing.

Yan Muyu pieced it together. “She met me while working at the KTV?”

The nominal boss beside her frowned deeply, her expression growing ever more aggrieved in the humid, rainy corridor.

Especially with Li Xi’s mournful melody underscoring it.

Qiu Siyuan shrugged. “Maybe.”

Yan Muyu demanded, “What did she bribe you with to keep even me in the dark?”

Qiu Siyuan answered plainly, “Qiu Chao knows where my sister is now.”

That shut Yan Muyu up completely.

She sighed, muttering, “Qiu Chao’s got some serious connections. Isn’t she abroad?”

Qiu Siyuan stayed silent.

Yan Muyu knew that woman meant the world to Qiu Siyuan, but their messy history kept Qiu Siyuan from visiting home much.

Afraid she’d lose control and track her down.

Human connections were tangled webs—twisting and turning with those lingering ties.

Yan Muyu conceded, “Fine, at least give me a hint?”

Her mind raced to recall that KTV, but the years blurred it, and with her wild youth, nothing stood out sharply.

Qiu Siyuan said, “Your birthday that year.”

Yan Muyu blinked. “Which one?”

Qiu Siyuan chuckled, rising with her thermos in hand. She tossed over her shoulder, “If you really can’t remember, call Wen Miao. She won’t have forgotten.”

Wen Miao.

Yan Muyu hadn’t heard that name in years.

But the timeline locked in.

Her seventeenth birthday.

Yan Muyu had taken Wen Miao and Qiu Siyuan out to eat, then hit the KTV afterward.

That neighborhood was rundown—no fancy spots. The best private room cost her maybe a day’s pocket money.

Plus Yan Kai had topped her up with an extra card for her birthday.

He’d even prepped her: call this guy or that if trouble hit.

All fixable.

Later, her big brother had asked if something happened and even had Uncle Zhao file a police report?

Yan Muyu had dodged it, terrified he’d learn about her blackout drinking.

Had it gone down around then?

Yan Muyu sat dazed at the entrance. Upstairs, Qiu Chao’s room light was off.

Xi Xi and Liu Song had been talking somewhere; then Liu Song wandered over, settling beside Yan Muyu with a hesitant look.

Yan Muyu glanced at her. “Why not bug Li Xi?”

Liu Song replied, “She’s composing. Can’t disturb her.”

Yan Muyu said, “I’m thinking. Don’t disturb me either.”

Liu Song went “Oh,” but didn’t budge, clearly bursting with questions.

Everyone else had mostly washed up by now, but Yan Muyu looked rooted in place.

With Li Xi staying an extra week, the show was nearing its end. This isolated bubble had stirred odd emotions in everyone—desires bubbling from deep within.

Yan Muyu sighed. “What do you want to ask?”

Liu Song blurted, “Sister Qiu’s first love—is it you?”

Yan Muyu: …

A long pause, then she turned to Liu Song. Her unsmiling face looked downright intimidating, putting Liu Song on edge.

Yan Muyu sighed heavily again. “Who sent you?”

The tension evaporated. Liu Song shook her head. “Just curious.”

Yan Muyu said, “I don’t know.”

Liu Song pressed, “You could just say yes or no. How’s it ‘I don’t know’?”

Yan Muyu explained, “I really don’t. Qiu Chao won’t spell it out either.”

Liu Song went “Oh.”

Yan Muyu turned the tables. “Who do you like now—Li Xi or Xi Xi?”

Good thing the stream was off—two of them chatting side by side like this would’ve topped the trends again.

Liu Song hadn’t expected the bluntness. She shook her head first, then admitted, “Of course it’s Sister Xi.”

Yan Muyu could tell exactly who she meant.

They’d spent enough time together; she was sharp at reading people—habits, tones of voice.

Like how Liu Song’s voice lilted upward at “Xi Xi,” even mid-scolding.

Just saying the name made her happy.

Like a puppy wagging its tail after a reprimand, eager to see its person again.

Yan Muyu let out an “oh.” “Li Xi, huh.”

Liu Song shook her head. “No.”

Yan Muyu pressed on. “You liked Li Xi before, right?”

She had hit the nail on the head, leaving Liu Song feeling utterly mortified.

Yan Muyu continued gently. “What’s there to feel guilty about? You liked her back then, but you don’t anymore. Isn’t that perfectly normal?”

Liu Song wasn’t friendless, but most of her friends weren’t great at talking about relationship woes.

They perfectly embodied the saying “birds of a feather flock together”—all they ever did was huddle up and game.

When it came to romance, they always advised breaking up rather than making up.

Yan Muyu was different. She had this laid-back vibe paired with razor-sharp insight. She seemed unreliable at first glance, but actually gave off a strong sense of security.

Liu Song felt like her heart was a tangled mess. She couldn’t open up to Xi Xi about it, and things with Li Xi were too knotted to unravel. So on this night, after the stream ended, she quietly sidled up to Yan Muyu.

It was like a dumb little pup seeking guidance from a big dog, hoping Yan Muyu could teach her how to please her owner.

Liu Song mumbled, “But I don’t know how to say it.”

Yan Muyu raised an eyebrow. “Do you even need to say it?”

She thought for a moment. “Haven’t you already cleared the air with Li Xi?”

Liu Song nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, but facing her still feels a bit…”

Yan Muyu finished for her. “Awkward, huh.”

She smiled. “Li Xi will handle it herself. She’s already trying hard not to make things awkward for you.”

Yan Muyu added, “She’s older. It’s her job.”

Some connections, once missed, were gone for good. If you could rekindle them after a miss, that would make you soulmates—and that only existed in art and stories.