Chapter 16: Admitting Fault

“Short person, surprisingly long fingers,” Mu Qinglin murmured to herself.

Fu Xiao didn’t catch it and leaned over. “Long what?”

“Nothing…” Mu Qinglin switched the view back to the livestream and returned Fu Xiao’s phone. “The Weibo soap opera is still going strong. Quite the addiction.”

Fu Xiao took the phone and burst out laughing all over again. “Hahaha, now they’re getting ‘sick.’ Don’t emojis cost data? Three or four rows at a time. Total screen domination.”

Fu Xiao found it increasingly entertaining and swiped a screen. “If I didn’t have work to do, I’d sit here and act along.”

“What a shame,” Mu Qinglin said, opening a browser and logging into her own Weibo.

On the other end, Zhou Yi, who had been diligently hyping the atmosphere for over an hour to no avail, was starting to falter. She punched out a row of /frustrated emojis and muttered: “A prestigious provincial station, and they can’t even afford to hire a trending celebrity for some buzz? No wonder the employees are so broke they’re eating wind.”

Complaints done, Zhou Yi shared the livestream link to her own Weibo.

She had nearly fifty thousand followers after all. Every single one she could pull in counted.

The link posted successfully and the view returned to the livestream.

Below the orderly rows of /frustrated emojis, a line of text had appeared.

Zhou Yi wondered which fan was so quick on the draw. She looked closer: 【Check your DMs.】

“??” Was that for her?

Who else could it be? She was the only real person in the comments.

Zhou Yi switched out of the livestream with a heavy heart. Sure enough, the “Messages” tab had a new red dot.

She tapped it open: 【Zhou Yi?】

Zhou Yi was stunned. She couldn’t figure out how her real-world identity had been exposed. She never showed her face on Weibo and had never told fans her real name!

Zhou Yi cautiously searched the conversation for clues from the Weibo handle at the top: Mu Qinglin.

…

Other people on Weibo wore a hundred layers of aliases. This one, impressive as hell, used her real name. Treating Weibo like WeChat?

Wait??

Mu Qinglin??

Zhou Yi jolted violently. The phone slipped from her hands and landed on Facai’s skull. Facai yelped in pain, pinned the phone under one paw, and swiped wildly at Zhou Yi through the air with the other.

Zhou Yi paid it no mind. All she could think was: What kind of convoluted fate was this?

Could she delete the comments she’d posted?

Could a Weibo account deletion be compressed from fourteen days to fourteen seconds?

Play dead…

Mu Qinglin: 【The typing indicator is showing. Don’t even think about playing dead.】

Zhou Yi looked at the input box she’d accidentally opened from shaking hands and the comma that had sold her out. Her mind was blank.

After a moment of zoning out, Zhou Yi pushed Facai aside and used its mostly-clean head to wipe the overlapping paw prints off the screen. Then she held the phone properly and typed.

Buddha Demon Nine: 【Who’s playing dead? Slow typer with clumsy hands. Is that a crime?】

Mu Qinglin: 【Clumsy hands? You stitched me up pretty efficiently. And didn’t let out a peep. One peep and I’d have sewed your mouth shut.】

Buddha Demon Nine: 【Amnesia.jpg】

Mu Qinglin: 【/smile】

Mu Qinglin’s single smile emoji sent a chill down Zhou Yi’s spine. She flicked her toes at Facai, who had just crawled back over, and bolted indoors to huddle by the radiator.

Lu Chang and the woman happened to come out. Both were fully dressed and showed no sign of what they’d just been doing.

“Little Jiu, I’m heading back to the bar. I’ll bring you cake tonight,” Lu Chang said ingratiatingly.

Zhou Yi’s tone was cold. “After witnessing something like that, do you think I could eat?”

Awkwardness flickered across Lu Chang’s face. He whispered something to the woman, and she stormed out of “Buddha Demon” with an angry fling of her arms.

Lu Chang walked up to Zhou Yi and laughed at himself. “Little Jiu, I know making money this way is disgusting. But without money, I can’t keep looking for her. I’m not you. I don’t have the ability to earn tens of thousands from a single design. All I have is a face.”

Lu Chang’s tone was perfectly calm, but it made Zhou Yi deeply uncomfortable.

She knew she shouldn’t measure others by her own circumstances, but…

Zhou Yi gripped her phone and said impatiently: “Money like this? Even if you find your sister in the end, she won’t be happy!”

Lu Chang’s quiet gaze trembled violently at those words.

That sentence struck too close to home.

Lu Yao used to tell him exactly this. She’d say: “Brother, it’s okay to be poor. It’s okay to work hard. As long as your back is straight, no one can look down on you.”

And now…

Lu Chang squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to ignore the impact of Zhou Yi’s words. Tiredly, he said: “Let me find her first, then we’ll talk. You’re busy. I’ll go.”

“Lu Chang!” Zhou Yi couldn’t hold back her voice.

Lu Chang: “Hm?”

Zhou Yi’s brow was furrowed tight as she warned in a low voice: “Don’t mess with people you can’t afford to mess with.”

In over a year of knowing each other, this was the second time Zhou Yi had shown concern for Lu Chang. Even though it was subtle, it moved him deeply.

For a moment, he was in disbelief. When it sank in, his eyes stung. Afraid Zhou Yi would see, he covered his face by pretending to fix his hair and said with his back turned: “Don’t worry. I know my limits. But you…”

Lu Chang forced his emotions down and spoke earnestly to Zhou Yi: “Listen to your brother. If you get the chance, learn something. You can earn money from tattoo designs now, good money. But step outside Red Gate Alley and what do you see but skyscrapers?

Those wide, bright places aren’t somewhere people like us, without education or experience, can enter. Even the people there always seem a little above us.”

Is that really true?

Long after Lu Chang left, Zhou Yi thought to push back on that question.

But even if it were true, she didn’t want to hear these well-meaning lectures.

Compared to the glittering world out there where everyone stood in the spotlight, right now she preferred the ordinary, hidden life of Red Gate Alley.

…

Her phone, untouched for too long, locked its screen.

Zhou Yi double-tapped to wake it and saw a new message from Mu Qinglin: 【Instead of drawing properly, what are you doing lurking on our station’s Weibo?】

What was she doing…

Right. Why had she gone to the provincial TV station’s Weibo?

Zhou Yi stared at the message for a long time before realizing she’d lost track of her own thoughts. She rubbed her face hard and typed in her usual infuriating tone: 【Obviously I’m spectating the drama. Seeing whether your station’s livestream runs colder or the Yong’an River does.】

The moment she sent it, Zhou Yi wanted to recall the message.

She wasn’t sick. She’d never camp out on Weibo for over an hour spamming comments for some dumb reason like that. She was just, just—

“So annoying!” Zhou Yi flopped in her chair like a tantrum, flailing her arms and legs. She accidentally kicked the radiator with a bang so loud Little Hei poked his head in asking, “What exploded?!”

Zhou Yi stared at the ceiling, her expression serene. “I did…”

Little Hei: “Exploded quite neatly. One whole piece. Eyes and nose and everything.”

Zhou Yi lay there motionless, feeling like her whole life had finally ended, then opened Weibo again.

Mu Qinglin still hadn’t replied. Even by eight PM, when Yang Ling came back and mentioned a student at the affiliated high school had jumped off a building, there was still no reply.

“What could drive someone to jump?” Tang Yuanzhou asked.

Yang Ling sighed. “Pressure. The girl was apparently in the top class. Used to have excellent grades, consistently in the top ten of the year. This semester everything fell apart. Weekly tests, monthly exams, getting worse and worse. This time she didn’t even make the first-tier cutoff.

The teacher had no choice but to call the parents. It was supposed to be about solving the problem, but the parent slapped the girl right away. Teenagers forget things quickly, but they’re thin-skinned. How could she take that? Sigh.”

Tang Yuanzhou understood Yang Ling’s heartache as a teacher seeing something like this. He put his arm around her shoulder and comforted her for a moment, then asked: “How is she?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t dare look.” Yang Ling said: “Turn on the TV. The news should have it.”

Tang Yuanzhou turned it on right away.

The default channel happened to be the provincial station, and it was already broadcasting.

The moment Zhou Yi stepped out of the studio, she heard Mu Qinglin’s voice. Unlike her usual calm narration, today her tone was heavy, tight. She was looking into the camera and questioning: “What exactly was the final straw that broke the high school senior? A rigid exam system, or parental expectations pushed too far?”

Zhou Yi didn’t dwell on why Mu Qinglin sounded like this. She only confirmed the voice belonged to her and quickened her sluggish steps.

Her instinct pulled her toward Mu Qinglin.

But the camera swept through the chaotic crowd and finally focused on a pink backpack.

Zhou Yi had seen that backpack before.

Her heart dropped. She said: “I need to go out.”

Yang Ling: “Now? Where to?”

Zhou Yi hesitated, licked her dry lips, and said: “That girl came to the shop before.”

She had wanted to come back too, but Zhou Yi’s single word, “no,” had shut the door in her face.

Back then, her plea for help had been so obvious.

The emergency room at night was still a river of people. Zhou Yi rushed to the front desk and asked: “Where’s the student from the affiliated high school?!”

Nurse: “Are you family?”

Zhou Yi: “No…”

Nurse: “Then I can’t tell you. There are regulations…”

“I just want to see her!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the rule. Don’t make this hard for me.”

“I…”

“Zhou Yi?” Mu Qinglin’s slightly surprised voice came from one side.

Zhou Yi froze and quickly turned to look.

Mu Qinglin was wearing light-colored clothes today, splattered with blood everywhere. It was all down her jaw and neck. The sight was shocking.

“You…” Zhou Yi’s voice trembled.

Mu Qinglin walked over and tugged at her clothes to explain. “Not my blood.”

“What are you doing here?” Mu Qinglin asked.

Reporters often came to the emergency room for interviews. The nurse recognized Mu Qinglin and said quickly: “This little miss wants to see the girl from the affiliated high school.”

“Mm…” Mu Qinglin nodded at the nurse, then looked back at Zhou Yi. “Recognized her?”

Zhou Yi didn’t want to elaborate. “How is she?”

“Not good…”

“!” Zhou Yi was stunned. She caught sight of herself reflected in Mu Qinglin’s dark eyes, and quickly looked away. She clenched her jaw and said: “Thank you.”

With that, Zhou Yi turned to leave.

Eyes down. Face pale. Her clenched fists were shaking violently.

Mu Qinglin never in her dreams imagined she’d see Zhou Yi like this. She instinctively grabbed her wrist. “Wait for me. Once I’m done here, I still need to go back to the station. Ride with me.”

Zhou Yi tried to wrench free. “Can’t afford it…”

“Zhou Yi!” Mu Qinglin’s grip on Zhou Yi’s wrist tightened. “Are you tired of stabbing everyone you meet? Would it kill you to just listen for once?!”

Even reined in, Mu Qinglin’s voice was loud enough that the doctor on duty heard and snapped: “This is a hospital! Take it outside if you want to argue!”

Mu Qinglin controlled her breathing and bowed slightly to the doctor. “Sorry…”

When she turned back to Zhou Yi, the girl’s hands had dropped to her sides. Fringe fell over her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was muffled and hollow, stripped of its edge. “Your grip’s going to snap my bone.”

Mu Qinglin blinked, then belatedly loosened her hand. Her voice softened with it. “If it snapped, at least that’d be the end of it.”

“If it snapped, who’d spam comments for your station?” Zhou Yi said dully. “Your ratings are so cold they’re about to go bankrupt, and you still have the nerve to yell at people.”

“Don’t play the victim,” Mu Qinglin said, half-laughing, half-angry. But the tension in her face eased. The little hedgehog is back.

Mu Qinglin let out a gentle breath and steered the topic somewhere safer. “Sigh…”

She lifted Zhou Yi’s chin with her index finger, pulling her hand back just before Zhou Yi could swat it. “You still haven’t answered my earlier question. What were you doing lurking on our station’s Weibo? The tattoo parlor not working out, so you’re switching to being an internet water army?”

That comment proved she hadn’t seen the messages Zhou Yi sent on Weibo.

She must have been busy covering the scene at the affiliated high school then.

Zhou Yi thought.

Mu Qinglin, seeing her go silent, teased: “Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re the one who’s tongue-tied,” Zhou Yi snapped on reflex.

Mu Qinglin raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me. What were you doing there? Don’t tell me you actually enjoy watching the old-timers have tea parties backstage. Last time I saw you chatting with Old Cai, it went pretty well.”

Bullshit. She didn’t have that kind of free time.

Zhou Yi pinched her fingers, turned her face away from Mu Qinglin’s gaze, and after a long, winding internal debate, stammered: “Just… consider it me admitting I was wrong.”

Mu Qinglin’s eyes lit up at Zhou Yi’s words, laughter rising from the depths of her gaze. “Admitting what? Louder. I’m hard of hearing.”

“Hard of hearing my ass.” Zhou Yi rolled her eyes magnificently and gave a kick for good measure. Mu Qinglin blocked it with her foot and said: “Can’t stay nice for even three seconds?”

Zhou Yi, having been caught mid-kick, glared in silence.

The more Mu Qinglin looked at that familiar expression, the more reassured she felt. She didn’t care whether the little hedgehog would prick her full of holes. She raised her hand, pressed down on Zhou Yi’s head, and ruffled it hard. “Don’t overthink things for no reason. Who’s keeping score with you?”