Backstage, the clamor was muffled by the heavy curtains into a vague roar.
“These fans are too good at hyping things up,” Shen Jia Yan said in a low voice, a hint of panic in her tone.
Lin Che glanced at her, his eyebrow arching slightly as he gently patted her shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. Fans these days love shipping CPs. As long as they enjoy it, even normal interactions get labeled as ‘sugar.’ You’ll get used to it.”
Shen Jia Yan felt that the fans had long since set their sights on her and Zhong Ruyi. From the casual glances in the variety show, to their seamless back-and-forth in the live stream, and now this impromptu “rain-soaked hug” tonight—all the details had been magnified, interpreted, and fermented.
She sat in the makeup chair and closed her eyes briefly.
Chu Nian leaned over with her phone. “Jia Yan-jie, we’re trending again.”
Shen Jia Yan opened her eyes and looked down at the phone Chu Nian handed her.
Hot search spots five and six: #ChuzeBandFemaleMusician# and #ShenJiaYanAndZhongRuyi#
Though the topics weren’t too explicit, clicking in revealed content all subtly shipping their CP.
Photos of Shen Jia Yan pulling Zhong Ruyi into her arms before she fell, of them with arms around shoulders at the curtain call, of the hug, even of their eye contact during the performance…
Chu Nian shook her head with a laugh as she looked at the photos. “Fans really know how to ship. If I didn’t know what really happened, I’d be shipping it too.”
“Hiss—” Shen Jia Yan frowned and shot her a glare.
“Hahaha.” Chu Nian quickly admitted fault. “Jie, I was just kidding.”
Shen Jia Yan thought for a moment and asked doubtfully, “Do Ruyi and I look like a couple?”
Chu Nian tilted her head and analyzed seriously, “Looking at those photos online, it’s kinda sweet.” Shen Jia Yan glared at her again, and she quickly reeled it back. “But that’s all ‘manufactured sugar’ that fans force together.”
“I think it’s because there aren’t many female musicians to begin with. Our band only has you and Ruyi-jie as girls, both cool and gorgeous types. And with all the CP trends right now, fans get hooked easily.”
Shen Jia Yan nodded, then flashed a sly smile. “You sound so analytical. Do you ship CPs a lot in your free time?”
Chu Nian scratched her head and grinned. “Not too much, not too much.”
She thought to herself: The aloof lawyer and the handsome female drummer—that CP would be super exciting to ship.
“Are you okay?” Zhong Ruyi’s voice came from beside Shen Jia Yan.
Shen Jia Yan and Chu Nian both looked up. “I’m fine. You?”
Zhong Ruyi smiled. “I’m fine too. Fans are just entertaining themselves. Don’t take it too seriously.”
“Okay.”
Just then, Chu Nian’s phone vibrated.
She picked it up and answered. “Hello, Han-jie.”
“Niannian, is the performance over?”
“Yeah.”
“Are Jia Yan and Ruyi with you? Can you talk?”
Chu Nian glanced at Shen Jia Yan and Zhong Ruyi beside her and nodded. “They’re both here. We’re in the band’s exclusive dressing room backstage.”
“Then put it on speaker. I’ll talk to them directly.”
“Okay.” She took the phone from her ear and hit speaker.
Yang Han’s voice came from the other end. “Jia Yan, Ruyi, you’re both there, right?”
“Yes.”
Yang Han spoke while looking at her computer. “We have two topics on the hot search right now, with data spiking fast. The ops team suggests riding the momentum and steering the narrative.” She paused. “But since this involves your relationship, I want your opinions first.”
As their manager, Yang Han was never the type to prioritize profits and squeeze her artists. She was more like their staunchest supporter, the one holding an umbrella in the storm.
She wasn’t a merchant; she was a guardian. What she protected wasn’t just their careers, but the unyielding hearts they had when they first picked up the mic or struck the drumsticks.
That was the key to taking “Chuze” from obscurity to the spotlight.
Shen Jia Yan’s fingertips on her knee stilled, but she said nothing.
She knew what this meant. If they pushed it, their upcoming schedules, interviews, even variety show edits would be dominated by the “CP” label. Fans would go wilder, media attention would intensify, and their personal space would shrink further.
Zhong Ruyi spoke first, her tone relaxed. “So, you’re asking if we want to ‘hype our CP’?”
Yang Han nodded into the phone. “More precisely, ‘go with the flow.’ The buzz is real, the emotions are real—we’d just guide the direction. If you disagree, I can shut it down right away, say it’s ‘just friends interacting,’ and go the clarification route.”
Zhong Ruyi smiled and turned to Shen Jia Yan. “What do you think, Jia Yan?”
Shen Jia Yan looked up at her, then down at the phone screen. She was silent for a few seconds before speaking softly. “If… we don’t respond, will the hype die down on its own?”
She didn’t want to fuel the CP hype, but the band and studio weren’t just hers—she had to consider everyone.
“It will,” Yang Han said honestly. “But a few days later, some clip or quote might reignite it. This kind of emotional hype is like wildfire—you can suppress it temporarily, but not forever.”
Silence fell on both ends of the line.
After a moment, Yang Han spoke more gently. “We won’t fabricate stories or post ambiguous copy. Just some linked content, like rehearsal vlogs together, backstage banter clips, or even a funny ‘CP clarification’ video to entertain without misleading.”
Then seriously: “Heat is a tool. How we use it is up to us.”
Zhong Ruyi nodded, and Shen Jia Yan followed up. “Okay, we can guide it properly, but after a while, no matter the heat, we return to promoting the band’s music itself. No more articles about our relationship.”
She wanted to make music earnestly, not trade “scandals” for traffic—especially deceptive ones.
“Got it,” Yang Han agreed.
The band packed up and got into the nanny van to head back to the hotel.
As soon as they drove out of the garage, heavy rain pounded the windshield. The wipers swung frantically but couldn’t keep up with the downpour, turning the city lights into a blurry haze in the rain curtain.
Instinctively, Shen Jia Yan thought of Wen Wan Ning, who had been standing in the front row below the stage just moments ago.
Would she get caught in the rain? In this downpour, all alone…
She let out a soft sigh. She was so hopeless. She’d told herself to stay clear-headed, yet she couldn’t stop worrying.
The worry came so naturally, like breathing, like her heartbeat—like it was innate for her to frown and fret over Wen Wan Ning.
She turned to look out the car window, where rain had formed rivulets snaking down the glass.
That sophomore year, in a storm like this, Wen Wan Ning had taken off the birthday gift she’d given her, ignored her pleas, and insisted on walking home barefoot through the muddy water.
That was the first time she’d been mad at her, yet she could truly feel that Wen Wan Ning had put her in her heart.
The rain outside grew heavier, and the worry ballooned wildly.
Shen Jia Yan reassured herself it was just concern for a business partner.
She pulled out her phone and opened the chat with Wen Wan Ning. Her fingertips hovered over the screen for a moment, her heart racing with the rhythm of raindrops on the window.
Just as her fingers touched down, a new message popped up: [Jia Yan, got time later? Want to treat you to dinner. (Kitten expecting.jpg)]
The tone seemed light, her mood apparently good.
Shen Jia Yan’s suspended heart eased, replaced by a spark of anger.
She always felt so superfluous. Wen Wan Ning was clearly fine, tone breezy, even using a cute emoji—like nothing had happened.
She typed back: [Heading back to the hotel soon for a group dinner.]
Not long after, Wen Wan Ning replied: [Okay, rest well then. Good night. (Kitten goodnight.jpg)]
Shen Jia Yan locked her phone and set it face-down on her lap, letting out a soft huff.
Back at the hotel, they had a simple late-night snack before heading to their rooms to rest.
After her shower, Shen Jia Yan saw her phone vibrating on the table. She hurried over and picked it up.
An incoming call from an unsaved number.
She answered tentatively. “Hello.”
A somewhat urgent male voice came through. “Is this Jia Yan?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s Han Yuchu.”
“Lawyer Han.” Shen Jia Yan frowned. “What is it?”
Han Yuchu quickly explained. “Wan Ning went to your show. I called her earlier—she said she’d taken medicine for her fever.”
Shen Jia Yan’s heart skipped a beat.
“I called her again just now, multiple times, but suddenly I can’t reach her. Phone keeps ringing out. I’m out of options, so I called you. You’re in the same city—can you check on her?”
Shen Jia Yan’s fingers clenched tight.
She recalled that “kitten expecting” message, the seemingly casual tone.
So she wasn’t fine. She was sick, bearing it alone, and now even unreachable by phone.
“Where does she live?” Shen Jia Yan’s voice was icy cold, but trembling uncontrollably.
Han Yuchu immediately gave the hotel address.
“I’m on my way.” She hung up, rushed into the room, threw on a dry jacket haphazardly, donned a hat and mask, and bolted out.
Out of the elevator, she jogged to the hotel entrance and hailed a waiting taxi.
Once inside, she gave the address and added, “Please hurry, sir. It’s urgent. Thank you.”
The rain continued, shrouding the city in mist.
Fifteen minutes later, she burst into Wen Wan Ning’s hotel. The elevator was slow, so she dashed to the stairwell and ran up six floors in one go.
The fire door slammed shut behind her with a bang. Shen Jia Yan leaned against the wall, panting heavily. Six flights of stairs at full sprint—her heart pounded like it would shatter her ribs.
The hallway lights were stark white, the carpet muffling footsteps, the corridor eerily quiet.
She gritted her teeth, strode to Room 607, and knocked. “Wen Wan Ning?”
No response.
She knocked harder. “Wan Ning! It’s me, Shen Jia Yan!”
Still dead silence.
She pulled out her phone and dialed with shaking hands. Inside the room, a faint ringtone sounded. She was in there.
No choice—she went downstairs to the front desk, explained, and handed over the check-in info Han Yuchu had sent.
After verification, the desk tried contacting Wen Wan Ning—no answer.
Staff escorted Shen Jia Yan to Room 607 and swiped the card.
The door swung open, and Shen Jia Yan rushed inside.
In the dark living room, only the phone screen glowed faintly at the sofa’s edge. She spotted Wen Wan Ning curled on the sofa under a thin blanket, breathing rapid and shallow, cheeks flushed with fever, lips dry and cracked.
“Wan Ning!” She lunged forward. Her fingertips brushed the scorching skin, and her heart plummeted.
“How did it get this bad…” Her voice shook as she pressed the back of her hand to Wen Wan Ning’s forehead—the temperature was terrifyingly high.
