With the explosive popularity of Dongshan Chronicles, Ye Can’s fan count skyrocketed. In just the first dozen or so episodes, she gained nearly ten million followers.
Amid the soaring metrics across the board, the corresponding “One Leaf Knows Autumn” CP fans grew even stronger. Websites were flooded with video clips of Ye Can and Meng Zhiqiu. Occasionally, Jiang Yue would be thrown in to form a dramatic love triangle, edited into over-the-top soap opera scenes.
The previously hyped “Calamity Nation” pairing was quickly overshadowed, replaced by the more screen-time-heavy “One Leaf Knows Autumn.” Audiences were like that—ships, stars, even favorite things could always be swapped out for substitutes.
Of course, for some people, these things were irreplaceable.
Under this overwhelming pressure, a dedicated core of “Calamity Nation” CP fans emerged instead. They even started stanning the real-life actresses, launching new fan sites and editing videos of Lin Zixi and Ye Can appearing together at airports and other events. They quietly hoped that Ye Can and Lin Zixi were deeply in love, in the details both seen and unseen.
And they were indeed in love.
Even if they couldn’t say it openly on stage, the moment they were off-camera, they melted into one another.
But with her sudden fame, the time Ye Can and Lin Zixi could spend together started dwindling. Ye Can had to tag along with the cast to variety shows, attend interviews, and take on endorsements.
After that summer, Ye Can and Meng Zhiqiu dominated endorsements for a slew of luxury brands. One brand, capitalizing on their massive popularity, shelled out top dollar to have them co-endorse a product.
The effects of their breakout fame showed immediately in sales. That quarter, the product they endorsed sold out completely.
Her sky-high popularity and stellar acting skills landed Ye Can several big-director collaborations. Introduced by Director Hou Ming, she starred alongside Meng Zhiqiu in a film, and at the next year’s Thousand Flowers Film Festival in November, she snagged the “Best Actress” award.
Not yet 21, Ye Can had claimed the most important award of her career. By then, she was a Weibo megastar with eighty million followers.
With several unreleased films still in the pipeline to keep her in the spotlight, after winning the award, Ye Can turned utterly lazy—even avoiding work outings altogether. She holed up at home for over a month.
One sunlit afternoon, with light flooding the living room, Ye Can sprawled on the sofa, idly peeling an orange. She glanced up at the winter sun outside, and her heart stirred.
Ye Can stared blankly at the sun, at the tiny specks of dust floating in its rays, when a massive impulse suddenly surged within her.
She twisted her head toward Lin Zixi, who sat across from her on the sofa, hugging a tablet and writing a script. “Lin Zixi, let’s run away!” she exclaimed excitedly.
Lin Zixi, engrossed in her tablet, didn’t quite catch it. She looked up, utterly baffled. “Huh? What are you saying?”
Ye Can leaped off the sofa and strode over, looming above her. “I said, let’s run away. Leave this place, leave this world!”
Lin Zixi tilted her head up at Ye Can, still dazed. “Ye Can, what nonsense are you spouting? Leave this place? Have you finally decided you want to go out and have some fun?”
Ye Can’s head drooped instantly, and she gazed at Lin Zixi dejectedly. “Forget it. You wouldn’t get it anyway,” she muttered.
She flopped onto the sofa beside Lin Zixi like a puddle of mud, staring vacantly at the ceiling. “It’s all so bewildering,” she whispered.
Lin Zixi turned to look at her, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “What’s gotten into you? One minute you’re buzzing with energy, the next you’re down in the dumps. You’ve been like this the whole time lately.”
She leaned in, gazing into Ye Can’s eyes with profound tenderness. “I ask, and you say you’re fine. Ye Can, are you hiding some worries from me?”
Ye Can grabbed her hand, staring at the concern creasing Lin Zixi’s brow, unsure how to explain. After a moment, she rolled over, draping herself across Lin Zixi’s lap, propping her chin to gaze up at her. “No real worries. It’s just winter, and I’m unhappy about it.”
Lin Zixi flicked her forehead gently, indulgent. “Liar. Didn’t you used to say you loved winter? What changed?”
Ye Can lay there on Lin Zixi’s lap, swinging her little legs like a puppy wagging its tail, and grinned. “I just don’t like this winter. Because once winter’s over, spring comes. And spring means those bright, sunny days.”
“I both love and secretly hate those days.”
Lin Zixi patted her head with a sigh. “Patron, you’ve been possessed.”
The line was so random that Ye Can shot her a grumpy look. Lin Zixi pinched her cheek. “You’re just bored from not working. Idle hands lead to wild thoughts.”
In the past year, Ye Can had basically lived on sets. After filming three movies back-to-back and winning Best Actress, she’d finally caught her breath.
Perhaps hitting that milestone made her complacent—Lin Zixi noticed Ye Can had grown lazy. The workaholic who’d once barely touched the ground now turned down everything, sticking to her like taffy.
They’d spent over a month rotting away at home in decadent bliss, to the point where Lin Zixi thought Ye Can planned to let them molder together. But then one morning, she’d shoved her awake, insisting she get back to work and write more scripts.
After wallowing through the afternoon like that, Ye Can started her melancholy spiral again.
Lin Zixi figured staying cooped up would only worsen Ye Can’s mood. She pinched her chin, gazing at her tenderly. “Ye Can, how about we go out for dinner tonight? Let me take you.”
Ye Can rolled over, facing the sofa back, reluctant. “Why go out? Isn’t it nice at home?”
Lin Zixi stroked her back, petting her like a dog. “We’ve been out of the house for over a month. A little fresh air would be nice.”
She turned Ye Can’s face toward her and smiled. “Besides, didn’t you just say something about escaping? To escape, you’ve gotta actually leave.”
Ye Can stared at her unchanged features, mumbling, “Forget it. I was just talking big. We can’t really escape.”
People all die eventually—who can truly dodge death?
For the inescapable, facing it head-on was the only way.
Ye Can sat up on the sofa, exhaling deeply, rallying her spirits. She turned to Lin Zixi with a grin. “Fine, let’s go out. I’ve been cooped up long enough anyway. Where to tonight? I’ll drive.”
Lin Zixi’s impression was that Ye Can’s moods flipped like a kid’s. But since she’d agreed, Lin Zixi said, “In this weather, hotpot, obviously.”
Ye Can nodded. “I’ll text Tong Lin to make a reservation.”
Just like that, it was settled. Lin Zixi set down her tablet and stood. “Let’s head out now— we can play around a bit too.”
Ye Can blinked. “Play? Where?”
Lin Zixi gave her a mysterious smile. “You’ll see when we get there.”
They changed clothes, donned sunglasses, and headed out together. As Lin Zixi drove out of the complex, she spotted paparazzi lurking and shook them off with some effort.
Ever since Ye Can blew up, it had been like this nonstop. Relentless paparazzi aimed lenses at her life, as if determined to strip her bare.
Even knowing Ye Can’s deep ties to Ye Shen, unethical paparazzi hounded her relentlessly. They knew Ye Shen was generous—if it stayed within bounds, she’d buy up every rumor and vague gossip about Ye Can.
Shoot it, and cash in.
Against these invasive paparazzi, Lin Zixi had grown vigilant, minimizing contact with Ye Can in public. Over time, she’d honed solid counter-surveillance skills.
After ditching them, Lin Zixi drove another ten minutes or so to their destination.
Once parked, Ye Can stepped out, hands in pockets, pushing up her sunglasses. She glanced at the sign on the nearby hillside and frowned in confusion. “An amusement park? Why’d you bring me here?”
She turned to Lin Zixi, baffled.
Lin Zixi nudged her forward with a smile. “What else? To play, like I said.”
She steered Ye Can to the ticket booth, bought two adult tickets, and hand-in-hand, they entered the park.
It wasn’t a weekend, so the place was sparsely populated. The winter chill made it feel even more desolate. Ye Can clutched her ticket, arm linked with Lin Zixi’s, and pointed at the Ferris wheel in the distance. “Lin Zixi, wanna do that one?”
Lin Zixi shook her head and pointed to the nearby carousel, grinning. “Nah, let’s start with this.”
Ye Can gaped at the kids riding the carousel. “Kids ride carousels! I’m too old for that—I ride real horses!”
Lin Zixi grabbed her hand and yanked her along. “Tickets are bought—fake horse or real, we’re doing this first!”
Trailing behind, Ye Can protested vehemently. “Wait, Lin Zixi, hold on! We don’t have to do this. It’s so embarrassing. I’m a grown woman—if someone snaps a pic, how do I show my face?”
Lin Zixi ignored her, dragging her to the carousel entrance. “Grown or not, adults deserve some childlike wonder too.”
“I say get on, so you’re getting on today.” She hauled Ye Can right up to the gate. Ye Can stared at the spinning horses overhead, feeling an inexplicable wave of shame.
Playing with kids’ stuff? How utterly shameless!
