Chapter 18

Lin Qimian watched until she was fully satisfied.

She got home and tossed her phone aside. No one could disturb her now.

She watched while soaking in the bath, kept watching through dinner, and once she finished eating, curled up on the sofa with a bottle of wine. She sipped it slowly, watching at a leisurely pace.

Xu Yueliang’s stream was downright boring on the surface—just chatting, thanking fans for gifts, battling other streamers, dancing on cue… but it had an irresistible allure that kept you hooked.

Her face was gorgeous, her voice a delight, her dances captivating, and her casual chats utterly adorable.

She had a massive fanbase, with plenty willing to drop real money. As Lin Qimian had predicted, right after her lunchtime declaration, gifts started pouring in within seconds, securing the win.

The appetizer dance turned out to be that old chestnut, “Sour Sweet That’s Me.”

Xu Yueliang performed it with sweet, bubbly charm and boundless energy. Plenty of fans raved about her moves, while the trolls grumbled about “voice fraud.”

Once the dance ended, she straightened her slipping bubble sleeves and quipped to the audience, “Sour and sweet is perfect for working up an appetite, isn’t it?”

That spark of wit, played off so endearingly clueless, was exactly what everyone loved.

She came across as the lively girl-next-door—approachable, real, right there for the taking. Step up, say hello, and she’d beam at you with a pure, radiant smile.

No wonder the small gifts never stopped flowing in her stream room. Even under those viral dance clips that broke out of her niche, the comments were a unanimous wave of affection.

She had a natural knack for winning over strangers.

Lin Qimian kept watching right up until she signed off.

At two in the morning, the laughter and fun cut off cold, leaving nothing but a black screen and dead silence.

Lin Qimian drained the last of her wine, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed.

Sleep didn’t come easily, as expected.

Her mind was crammed with images of Xu Yueliang, so even with her eyes shut, she could still vividly picture her face.

Her smiles. The way she danced.

Those occasional teasing moves, followed by a flush of shy embarrassment.

Lin Qimian draped a hand over her eyes. It didn’t help.

She yanked the covers over her head completely. Still no good.

The heat that had built up on her afternoon commute home lingered in her body, with nowhere to go.

It left her restless, haunted by the nagging sense that something was unfinished, unfulfilled.

The feeling dragged on through the night. When she woke the next morning, her head was thick with fog.

Lin Qimian skipped driving and called a ride. She arrived at the hospital with her mind blissfully blank.

The place was the same as ever—no major changes.

The patients brought their usual complaints; she could diagnose them blindfolded.

The only real shift was in her own head. One little corner was now occupied by a certain female streamer, counting down the hours until her next broadcast.

But during her lunch break, Xu Yueliang didn’t go live.

The admin posted that streams would stick to two p.m., and yesterday’s early start had just been a comeback perk after her sick leave.

So Xu Yueliang clocked in for work, and Lin Qimian had to do the same.

She found herself getting irritated. Why couldn’t Xu Yueliang stream like a normal broadcaster—at least wait until after the daily grind?

She waited. Endured. Dragged herself through until quitting time.

Thank goodness she wasn’t driving. On the commute home, she slipped in her earbuds and slipped into another world.

Watching Xu Yueliang on her screen made time feel like it belonged to someone else.

In Xu Yueliang’s world, Lin Qimian morphed into a gift-spamming, braindead superfan.

Three days of this, and Lin Qimian had rocketed to the top of Little Moon’s monthly gift leaderboard.

That string of absurd numbers turned her into a whale in the eyes of the stream’s fans.

The admin slid into her DMs: 【[Ping], 11 Bigshot—want to join Moon’s Super Fan Group?】

Lin Qimian: 【What’s that entail?】

Admin: 【Hit 10,000 Orange Coins in cumulative spending, get the super fan badge, and access the Super Fan Group. Moon drops in now and then to chat. Early broadcast alerts, plus special gifts on holidays.】

Lin Qimian: 【Just ten grand? Pass.】

Admin: 【Boss moves! How about Moon’s Voyage Group? Top twenty on the monthly leaderboard only.】

Lin Qimian: 【What’s Voyage Group got that Super Fan doesn’t?】

Admin: 【Perks are about the same, but Voyage is more elite.】

Lin Qimian: 【Pull me in.】

Admin: 【You got it.】

Her screen flickered, and Lin Qimian’s Orange account landed in the Voyage Group.

The group name… Little Moonlight Shining Brightly.

Lin Qimian: “…”

The admin tagged her account, welcoming her to Little Moon’s rock-solid harem group.

Everyone in the group hurriedly copy-pasted their messages:

【Welcome top donor big bro, may top donor big bro reach new heights again.】

【Welcome top donor big bro, may top donor big bro reach new heights again.】

【Welcome top donor big bro, may top donor big bro reach new heights again.】

……

Lin Qimian: “……”

She didn’t reply, simply exiting the group interface while keeping up the aloof demeanor expected of a top donor.

Once the wave of welcomes died down, she opened the group info again and scrolled through the member list one by one.

Far more than twenty people—clearly a loyal fanbase built up over months or even years.

The group owner, marked with a little crown, was Xu Yueliang’s streaming account.

Lin Qimian tapped on the profile picture. Xu Yueliang must have dyed her hair pink at some point, and she was wearing twin tails while flashing a peace sign next to her eyes.

Lin Qimian returned to the live stream interface, glancing at the current Xu Yueliang, then back at that earlier photo of her.

Equally adorable.

A tickle stirred in the depths of Lin Qimian’s heart. With a flick of her fingers, she sent out tonight’s yacht gift.

Instantly, the Voyage Group—which she had minimized—exploded with a barrage of tags:

【@z92565611 Congrats to top donor big bro on reaching new heights!】

【@z92565611 Congrats to top donor big bro on reaching new heights!】

【@z92565611 Congrats to top donor big bro on reaching new heights!】

……

Lin Qimian: “……”

It was like a pyramid scheme.

In the live stream room, Xu Yueliang tilted her head and glanced at another screen. Then her eyes curved into smiles.

She stood up straight, gave a hearty salute to the camera, and declared, “Congrats to 11 on reaching new heights again!”

Lin Qimian: “Pfft.”

She burst out laughing too.

Once the stream ended that night, Xu Yueliang duly dropped into the Voyage Group.

Her message was simple: just a goodnight to everyone, paired with a cute emoji.

Plenty of replies poured in. The copy-paste bots shed their robotic shells, reverting to their human selves as they seized the chance to flirt. There were domineering ones, caring ones, sleazy ones, cool and composed ones…

Each with their own flavor, a dazzling variety.

Lin Qimian stayed silent, sending nothing.

Xu Yueliang’s responses to everyone were perfectly consistent and fair: Thanks, you’ve worked hard, sweet dreams…

Lin Qimian was glad she hadn’t messaged.

In the end, Xu Yueliang announced to the group that she had something going on tomorrow, so the stream might start late and end at an uncertain time.

Lin Qimian’s heart skipped a beat as realization dawned—Xu Yueliang was probably coming in to get her stitches removed.

Xu Yueliang was coming to get her stitches removed…

Lin Qimian tossed her phone aside and headed to the bathroom.

It was two-thirty in the morning—the latest she’d stayed up, followed by the priciest face mask.

The next day, Doctor Lin was brimming with energy.

Breaking from her recent habit of tuning out the world, she arrived at the hospital, changed into her work clothes, and first paid a visit to the clinic room across the hall.

Fang Huizhen had already felt guilty toward Lin Qimian over the Peng Xiaoshuai incident. These past few days, upon learning more about Lin Qimian’s background, that guilt had mingled with deep concern.

She had wanted to find a chance to talk things over and mend their relationship, but Lin Qimian had been wrapped in an unapproachable aura lately, warding off any disturbance.

So when Lin Qimian stepped into her clinic room, it was both a surprise and a delight—like her humble abode had suddenly been graced by brilliance.

Fang Huizhen pulled Lin Qimian to sit down and chatted with her about everything under the sun. To show their closeness, she even showed off her appointment list for the day.

Lin Qimian scanned it twice—no sign of Xu Yueliang.

“Mm, then I’ll leave you to it,” Lin Qimian said, rising to her feet.

“Right, right, of course.” Fang Huizhen hurriedly saw her out.

Lin Qimian returned to her own clinic room.

She swiped through her own appointment list. No Xu Yueliang there either.

But it was just stitch removal, after all—no appointment needed.

If you knew the doctor well enough, you could skip registration altogether, walk right in, sit down, get it done in two minutes, and be on your way.

Lin Qimian adjusted the glasses on her nose bridge and glanced down at her phone.

The screen was quiet, no new messages.

She looked up at Zhenzhen, who was sitting across from her. Meeting her gaze, Zhenzhen shivered for no reason. “Teacher Lin…”

Lin Qimian: “Mm.”

Zhenzhen asked cautiously, “Is… is something wrong?”

Lin Qimian: “Shift a bit to the left.”

Zhenzhen: “Huh?”

Lin Qimian: “To the left a little—you’re blocking the light.”

Zhenzhen: “Oh, oh, got it.”

She hastily dragged her chair aside. Sunlight danced across her face.

She was a little dazed when she looked up. The window in this room was right behind Lin Qimian, and the abundant sunlight streamed in, passing straight through Lin Qimian’s body before finally reaching her.

Lin Qimian might block her light, but she could never hope to block Lin Qimian’s.

It didn’t matter, though. Teacher Lin had said to block it, so block it she would. Shifting a little to the left was nothing—not even leaving the office altogether would be an issue.

From then on, Lin Qimian occasionally glanced out the door.

Her broad view stretched through the wide-open doorway into the hallway beyond, then across to catch glimpses of the clinic room opposite.

People came and went—men and women, young and old—but no sign of Xu Yueliang.

Not until the morning shift was drawing to a close did a figure flicker into view: light golden hair, a pretty skirt adorned with green floral patterns.

She hurried into Doctor Fang’s clinic, leaving Lin Qimian nothing but a blurry silhouette—like the moon shrouded in water under gathering clouds, vanished before it could be grasped.

Lin Qimian’s own clinic was empty of patients at the moment. She stared at the door across the hall, idly spinning her pen between her fingers.

Why had Xu Yueliang gone to Doctor Fang? True, she had planned for her to visit Doctor Fang for the stitch removal, but still—why Doctor Fang?

When they’d parted, Xu Yueliang’s words had been all honey: “Contact me anytime,” “Don’t forget me.” Yet not a single message since, not one initiated by her. During her livestreams, though, she’d sung and danced for an account that was nothing but a string of numbers, thanking it profusely again and again.

Why Doctor Fang?

She was right here, just across the hall, twiddling her thumbs. Not even a hello?

“Zhenzhen,” Lin Qimian asked abruptly, “do you think patients remember their doctors?”

Zhenzhen tilted her head, pondering, then offered what she saw as an objective take: “If nothing out of the ordinary happens, doctors are the kind of people who matter intensely while you’re sick but fade from memory the moment you’re better.”

Lin Qimian: “…”

Her phone buzzed twice—the telltale rhythm of a new Orange Live notification.

Lin Qimian tapped it open. A private message from the admin: 【[Ping], 11 Bigshot, this month’s WeChat slot is open. Want in?】

Lin Qimian: 【What do you mean?】

Admin: 【You can add Little Moon’s WeChat. She games with fans when she’s free~】

Lin Qimian: “…”

Clever fan retention tactic.

Pity she already had Xu Yueliang’s WeChat—no need.

Before she could reply, another message pinged in: 【xylxyl135789, that’s the ID. Note your Orange account in the request, or it won’t go through.】

Lin Qimian stared at the string of numbers, momentarily stunned.

She yanked open her alt WeChat account and checked “Jiaojiao’s” profile info: 138xxxxxxx—totally different.

The realization hit her hard. Jiaojiao’s number didn’t match the one she’d called Xu Yueliang from later, the one logged in the medical records either.

She had her alt accounts; naturally, so did Xu Yueliang.

To protect her identity, she’d given Xu Yueliang an unused personal number. Xu Yueliang, meanwhile… had probably just plucked one at random from her own bunch of alts to friend her back.

No wonder the Moments feed was so sparse.

No wonder there’d been zero messages these past few days.

Lin Qimian eyed her phone, then posed another baffling question to Zhenzhen: “Zhenzhen, what are your thoughts on one-to-many relationships?”

“One-to-many?” Zhenzhen frowned. “How many are we talking?”

Lin Qimian: “One doctor to many patients. One… celebrity to many fans.”

“Ah!” Zhenzhen snapped her fingers. “Got it. As a total fangirl, I know this inside out. Rule number one: don’t get greedy. Cherish what you have, be grateful for it. Remember, they might not be yours alone, but their heart’s split into a million pieces—and every single one is real…”

Lin Qimian: “…”

Zhenzhen: “Teacher Lin, are you into idols? Or maybe… some kid in your family?”

Lin Qimian: “I don’t—”

Someone emerged from the clinic across the way. This time, her steps were slow, halting every few paces as she clutched her cheek, brows pinched in grievance—like a mistreated little rabbit.

Lin Qimian: “I stan.”

Zhenzhen: “Then—”

Lin Qimian rose, tugging her mask higher, and shut down the conversation.

She strode out of her clinic. Brushing past a certain someone, she halted with a touch of feigned surprise. “Xu Yueliang? Here for your stitches?”