Chapter 3: CP Super Topic

The night’s wind blew even stronger, rustling beside her ears.

Lu Nan ducked into the car and continued scrolling through the comments.

【Thanks to my sis for the clarification, wuwuwu…】

【Yeah, Song Wenwei isn’t that short. In that variety show before, she and Zhou Gu were both in flat shoes and she was only half a head shorter. The girl in this photo is almost a full head shorter.】

【Song Wenwei really doesn’t like wearing hats.】

【How does Lu Nan know all this?】

【Zhou Gu doesn’t have this kind of taste.】

【Zhou fan agreeing—Zhou Gu’s taste is straight-guy dead style. He always buys black tees and black pants. These pink-yellow jeans are way too trendy. If it’s him, I’ll eat shit standing on my head.】

Seeing Lu Nan step up to curse out the marketing accounts on Song Wenwei’s behalf, the Song fans felt a bewildered sense of relief, like drawing their swords and finding nothing around. Out of politeness, they thanked Lu Nan.

The front row of comments on Lu Nan’s recent post was filled with uniform gratitude.

There were Song Wenwei’s frustrated fans and Zhou Gu’s worried ones.

Two sensible comments caught her eye—

“For wife-clearing rumors, isn’t that just her job?”

“Yilu Songxing is peak immortality.”

These two comments stood out like mudslides amid the sea of thanks, gradually bubbling up to the front.

Song fans and Zhou fans protested: 【No way, don’t get too weird with this. You can ship that?】

【I’m Lin Xiaoxiao: Excuse me, it’s super sweet, okay? She loves it so much!】

【I’m a fan of both sides—this is already ridiculous enough, but you take the cake!】

【Shipping everything will only ruin you, Teacher Xiaoxiao.】

【I’m Lin Xiaoxiao: Shipping everything just keeps my nutrition balanced (heart heart)】

【Wait, this seems kinda shippable—secretly-in-love aloof gloomy yinbi vs. sunny dazzling gentle big sis. She clears rumors for her with her main account, speaks up for her, rages against the injustice for her. She runs, she chases, they both—can’t escape even with wings! Anyone wanna write a fic??? AHHH!】

【Tell me you’re not crushing on Song Wenwei. When you blew up, you waved the flag for Song Wenwei. Account gets banned, you make a new one. Now she’s in trouble and you come to her rescue with a saber. Damn.】

【Someone open the warehouse and distribute grain.】

【Immortal stuff, saving me—it’s immortal!】

The CP fans charged to the front row fueled by her eye-catching avatar and that line, standing out awkwardly due to how cult-like it was.

Before long, the long-time fans of the “joyful enemies” CP swarmed out in droves.

Lu Nan: So the usually silent ones quietly pull off the big moves, huh?!

Each one topped with a bright red-background white-text avatar screaming “Yilu Songxing New Year,” brimming with ecstatic joy.

Before long, the previously desolate Yilu Songxing super topic suddenly spiked a little. While Lu Nan was still marveling at the netizens’ speed, by the time she clicked in, it had already surged with tens of thousands of fans.

Lu Nan: Did they build this on the sly? When did the super topic even exist?!

She said that, but actually, seeing the CP fans’ momentum, it was unexpected yet entirely reasonable.

Her mouth cracked into a wider grin—harder to suppress than an AK, her heart already blooming with joy.

Lu Nan’s laughter flowed freely like it cost nothing. Then she thought, Buy more wedding candies later. When we get married, hand them out to these fans too!

She followed the super topic with a tap.

Meanwhile, Song Wenwei, who had been planning to clarify things herself, felt a slight jolt in her heart. Lu Nan again?

Was Lu Nan explaining for her? Why? They didn’t seem connected at all. Was it for tomorrow’s variety show hype?

Their only interaction had been at the Bo Wei Evening Banquet the day before yesterday. They’d sat side by side at first, ignoring each other. By the end of the event, Lu Nan had dragged her to a corner, scolded her thoroughly, and left.

Lu Nan had raised her hand in a slap-ready stance and lightly patted Song Wenwei’s face.

Song Wenwei had found it utterly baffling. She’d wanted to ask what that was about, but Lu Nan had vanished, leaving no chance.

A strange person.

That was Song Wenwei’s assessment of her.

Song Wenwei couldn’t figure it out. She’d heard of Lu Nan before but didn’t know much.

Rumor had it Lu Nan was an orphan with a quirky, reclusive personality. A month ago, she’d burst into the public eye via an action flick.

Her fluid, powerful moves combined with that stunning face had mesmerized the entire internet for a time.

Though Lu Nan had never responded to the orphan rumors, everyone seemed to accept it as fact. People always extended special sympathy to the vulnerable.

Song Wenwei couldn’t understand why Lu Nan was doing this.

She didn’t believe in help without motive. In the entertainment industry, everyone acted with some agenda, big or small.

Either for traffic and hype, or some unspeakable secret.

So what was Lu Nan’s angle?

Song Wenwei slowly sank into the sofa, its soft embrace enveloping her. Neon lights filtered into the dim room. She gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window at the cityscape.

Lights twinkled. In the distance, a Ferris wheel slowly climbed toward the sky, stabbing into her eyes.

For some reason, she suddenly wanted to ride the Ferris wheel.

Song Wenwei just felt an inexplicable strangeness in her heart, an indescribable sensation.

Ever since learning Lu Nan had cleared rumors for her, her emotions had been off.

After pondering for a long while, Song Wenwei still couldn’t make sense of why someone she’d barely interacted with kept tabs on her like this.

She’d seen Lu Nan’s posts and likes for her online, to varying degrees.

Strangely, Song Wenwei didn’t mind them. Lu Nan felt familiar—not the actions, but like when she’d stumbled on Lu Nan’s high school graduation photo online and recognized her figure and silhouette.

That almost-there familiarity intensified.

Familiar was familiar, but she had no memory of Lu Nan at all.

Suddenly, Song Wenwei sprang from the sofa, barefoot, and dashed into her room.

She’d remembered—Lu Nan’s school uniform.

If she recalled correctly, she had one too. It should be from high school.

Song Wenwei entered the room. Next to the wardrobe was a desk cabinet holding her high school diary and books. She rummaged in the wardrobe and soon pulled out the uniform.

The clean white shirt had a string of numbers written on the back in black marker—【06.19】

A Fishbone Eating Watermelon Badge hung on the front, identical to the one in her memory of Lu Nan’s high school photo.

Song Wenwei stood frozen in place, momentarily dazed, her mind blank.

She couldn’t make sense of it and chalked it up to her poor memory of the photo.

Maybe she’d gone to the same high school as Lu Nan, even the same class. Maybe the badge was issued uniformly by the class or school?

Song Wenwei’s mind was a mess. She pulled out her phone and searched for that photo.

Netizens had cropped Lu Nan’s image solo; her half-body took over Song Wenwei’s screen.

In the photo, Lu Nan’s face was stern. She hadn’t changed much from high school to now, except her hairstyle. Grown-up Lu Nan had long, straight black hair with an overwhelming aura.

But in the photo, high school Lu Nan looked a bit childish, her short hair tucked behind her ears, revealing gloomy eyes sharp like a hawk’s.

Her crisp uniform bore a badge—pixelated, but faintly a wide reddish one.

From the look, they wore the same badge. Song Wenwei had searched; you couldn’t buy this online, and it wasn’t school-issued.

She really knew Lu Nan.

Lu Nan had a deep connection with her.

So why did Lu Nan only follow her online and never approach her in person?

Countless questions flashed through Song Wenwei’s mind. Her head felt like someone was stirring mud in it—total chaos. Her body wouldn’t move, and her head throbbed.

She truly couldn’t remember. A piece of her memory was missing.

The harder she tried to recall, the hazier it got. That powerless feeling was awful.

Moments later, she snapped out of it. Her phone rang nearby; the caller ID showed “Uncle Gu”—the director for tomorrow’s variety show, Director Gu.

“Hello, Wenwei.” A male voice came through.

He said, “Two amateurs dropped out of the variety show. Mind if I use a segment of your brainwave data to synth an AI player? Don’t worry, it’ll be totally different from your thinking patterns. We’ll announce it as human vs. machine externally.”

“Sure. When do you need the brainwave sample?”

“Alright then. I’ll grab the segment tomorrow during connection. Thanks.”

“Uncle Gu, no need to stand on ceremony with me.”