The conference hadn’t even begun, yet the news had already spread like wildfire.
The rumor that “Lin Qimian is the daughter of a wealthy family and the boss of Youhai” circulated even faster than the post slandering her private life.
Indeed, only a juicier rumor could overshadow another.
Lin Qimian returned to the clinic room. She hadn’t even finished with her first patient when Zhenzhen came back from the bathroom. Suddenly, Zhenzhen was strutting around with her chest puffed out, brimming with confidence—like she was riding on someone else’s coattails.
Lin Qimian shot her a glance and carried on with her work.
Zhenzhen pressed her lips together, trying to hold it in, just waiting for a spare moment to ask.
Lin Qimian’s hands never stopped. She finished with one patient and immediately called the next, leaving Zhenzhen stewing right up until the lunch break.
“I’m going to eat,” Lin Qimian said, tossing the words over her shoulder.
Zhenzhen blurted out, “Teacher, where are you eating? You definitely aren’t going to the cafeteria, right? Getting takeout or heading to a restaurant? Or do you have other plans? How does someone as… impressive as you usually handle lunch…?”
Lin Qimian: “…”
People were strange creatures.
Once you got tangled up in some big background story, everyone started looking at you like you were a monster.
“How did I eat before?” she asked Zhenzhen, turning her head.
Zhenzhen froze.
Lin Qimian continued, “I’m not new to Youhai. I eat the same way I always have.”
“Oh, oh, right.” Zhenzhen fidgeted awkwardly with the hem of her clothes.
Lin Qimian left the clinic room. For lunch, she usually ate at the hospital cafeteria for convenience, or if she wanted some peace, she’d pick a random spot outside.
Today, though, the cafeteria was out of the question. With all those eyes on her, Lin Qimian worried she’d end up with indigestion.
She changed her clothes and headed straight to the parking lot. With a press of the accelerator, she put some distance between herself and those prying stares.
She parked outside a mall with low foot traffic and tossed her phone aside. It buzzed with a vibration that carried an oddly familiar twinge of amusement.
Lin Qimian picked up the phone and saw the bright notification on the screen:
[Your specially followed streamer “Little Moon” is now live!!! Hurry and check out her explosive…]
Lin Qimian: “…”
What was wrong with these live stream alerts? If you weren’t going to punctuate properly, just don’t bother.
What could be so “explosive” about Xu Yueliang going live right now? Probably just chatting with fans, and if things went as expected, the first half-hour would revolve around that tooth Lin Qimian had pulled for her.
Out of sheer disdain for the sleazy ad, Lin Qimian didn’t click the live link.
Instead, she opened her WeChat alt account and refreshed Moments.
From her last read position, there was nothing new.
Lin Qimian scrolled down a bit and easily found Xu Yueliang’s food post from last month.
[Qianda’s grass hat fish is so fresh and delicious~ (Heart heart heart)]
Lin Qimian stepped out of the car. Alright, fish it was for today.
Inside the restaurant, the server enthusiastically rattled off their signature dishes, but Lin Qimian tuned it out. She grabbed the menu, spotted the items from Xu Yueliang’s photo, and pointed them out.
“Just these,” she said, selecting them.
The server hesitated. “Are you dining alone? Our portions are quite generous—you might not finish them.”
Lin Qimian raised an eyebrow. “Portions for how many?”
Server: “Two to three people.”
Lin Qimian: “…”
She slid the menu back. “Just these. If I can’t finish, I’ll take it to go.”
Once the server left the private room, Lin Qimian sat alone at the oversized table, a faint unease settling in her chest.
She’d always enjoyed eating solo—peaceful, free. Eat what she wanted, stop when she wanted.
But not everyone felt that way.
Most people, in fact, hated it.
Self-marketing accounts online even ranked “solo dining” on some scale of loneliness, so it wasn’t surprising that Xu Yueliang hadn’t eaten alone.
No one wanted to be lonely, and Lin Qimian certainly didn’t want Xu Yueliang to feel that way.
But who had kept her company? Family? Friends? Or… well…
Lin Qimian leaned back in her seat, slipped on her earphones, and tapped into Orange Live.
She’d barely entered Xu Yueliang’s live streaming room when she heard her say, “Lunch? Of course it’s better with two people.”
Lin Qimian: “…”
Xu Yueliang’s eyes flicked across the screen. Suddenly, she flashed a brilliant smile and waved at the camera. “Hi, 11, you’re here~”
Lin Qimian: “…”
Did she remember every gift-sender that clearly?
Xu Yueliang: “11, have you eaten yet?”
Lin Qimian: “…”
She didn’t want to hear another word about food.
Lin Qimian tapped her screen, opened the gift menu, picked a cheap one unrelated to eating, and sent a whole string of them.
“Wow!” Xu Yueliang’s attention snapped right to it.
But this time, she didn’t rush to offer thanks. Instead, she bobbed her head gently to the music, counting up the gifts she’d sent.
Lin Qimian finally had a chance to properly appreciate the view.
To properly appreciate Xu Yueliang in the live streaming room.
Today, she was dressed in an Alice in Wonderland theme—a little black top hat perched on her head, with a tiny rabbit in a plaid skirt sitting beside it.
Xu Yueliang wore a matching plaid skirt, her chest adorned with a striking red-and-black checkered bodice. Strapless, mismatched puff sleeves hugged her arms.
Around her neck hung a golden pocket watch necklace, so vivid and lifelike that with every sway of her body, it seemed ready to spring open and reveal the time.
Her makeup was perfectly coordinated, bold in color and gorgeously fantastical, with a plum blossom and a diamond painted beneath her right eye.
Very pretty. Very thoughtful.
She’d only just finished her IV drip yesterday, the swelling barely gone, and here she was, diving right back into work.
Hardworking. Dedicated to her job.
Lin Qimian’s finger slid left across the gift button, firing off a Rocket.
Xu Yueliang: “Whoa!”
The screen flooded with comments: 【Thanks, 11 Bigshot】【Haven’t seen Moon dance in ages—been dying for it】【11 Bigshot, get rich! Keep getting richer!】【First to riches leads the way—Moon, dance already!】…
“Good, good, good. Thanks, 11. Thanks, everyone, for waiting so long…” Xu Yueliang pushed back her chair, stood, and bent down to pick a song. “What do you all want to see? How about a little appetizer to start?”
Someone entered the private booth. The server set down the tray in front of Lin Qimian. “Complimentary appetizers from the house.”
Lin Qimian: “…”
The server left the booth. Lin Qimian typed rapidly: 【No need to dance.】
Xu Yueliang was too busy to notice her comment amid the barrage. But countless others did, chiming in to relay it.
【Moon, Moon! 11 Bigshot says no dancing!】
【What’s 11 Bigshot mean by that? Bros have been waiting forever!】
【11 Bigshot must want something more exciting.】
…
Xu Yueliang spotted the messages. “Ah?”
Lin Qimian launched a Fireworks, clearing the screen.
Her colorful comment drifted lazily across: 【Lunchtime. Rest properly.】
Xu Yueliang’s mouth hung slightly open, clearly caught off guard by the unusual situation.
The comments surged back to life:
【So 11 Bigshot wants us saving our strength, stocking up on nutrition!】
【11 Bigshot means well, bros—don’t be ungrateful!】
【Alright, alright. I’ll hold off charging today. Next hour, maybe.】
…
Lin Qimian closed her eyes for a moment and pushed her phone farther away.
Once the food arrived, she propped the phone up on the table.
True to her command, Xu Yueliang didn’t dance. She sat in front of her computer, bobbing and swaying to the music as she chatted with the audience.
She stuck to safe topics, nothing controversial.
“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“No way I’m showing you that. The wound’s pretty scary.”
“Of course I can eat. If I couldn’t, you wouldn’t get to see me, right?”
“I had… yeah… milk tea…”
Lin Qimian glanced up. As Xu Yueliang said “milk tea,” her eyes crinkled with a smile, her chubby cheeks nearly dimpling.
“And…” Xu Yueliang paused.
Two words popped into Lin Qimian’s mind: fish noodles.
Sure enough, Xu Yueliang said, “Fish noodles~”
“Of course I can eat them. My doctor gave them to me.”
“Doctors can boss you around like that? Doctors telling you what to eat?”
“I always listen to my doctor~”
“Yeah, that pretty sister doctor~~”
“Super tasty~~”
“Probably ’cause I was starving… but…”
Xu Yueliang grinned mischievously. “It might also have something to do with the atmosphere.”
It might also have something to do with the atmosphere.
Did food taste better in the VIP Ward?
Or was it the VIP service from Doctor Lin that made it so?
Lin Qimian’s spoon stirred gently in the bowl. The milky fish soup slid into her mouth—clear yet rich, without a hint of off-flavors. It really was quite fragrant.
Xu Yueliang’s voice chattered on in her ears, a cheerful babble.
Chatting about food like this… wasn’t so bad.
Lunch wrapped up, and Lin Qimian drove back to the hospital.
She pulled into the parking lot right at the top of the next hour. She fired off two Fireworks, settling the bill for the VIP Ward and tossing in an extra demand: 【Keep resting. Unless someone outbids me.】
The screen erupted. Lin Qimian exited the live streaming room.
A true bigshot never looks back at the explosion.
But that afternoon, a question mark kept popping into the mind of this true bigshot.
Had she sent too little?
Would someone outdo her in the next second, unwilling to back down?
By the time the clock struck quitting time, Lin Qimian bolted from work faster than anyone else that day.
She charged ahead in huge strides, silencing anyone who dared try to strike up a conversation.
Her car shot onto Route 26, leaving the evening rush-hour snarl in the dust and shoving all the hospital’s incessant chatter and drama clean out of her mind.
Right now, she had one burning goal: get home, flop onto the sofa, crank up her massive 4K laser projector and surround-sound home theater system, and tune into Moon’s livestream.
She wouldn’t settle for just the live show, either. She’d dive into the recordings too.
She knew the mods only clipped Moon’s dance segments, but Lin Qimian could scroll back through the bullet comments to reconstruct the entire afternoon’s timeline.
An unstoppable heat surged through her body, blazing from her chest out to her limbs and up to her forehead.
Maybe it was plain curiosity. Maybe some childish competitive streak.
Maybe the workday had been soul-crushingly boring. Maybe it was just the magnetic pull of livestream entertainment.
Or maybe—most likely of all—after catching sight of Moon three days running during this prime time slot, she’d gotten addicted. Like some slow-acting drug…
She simply had to see her.
