Chapter 59: Lingering Threads Part 2

Yan Muyu grabbed Qiu Chao’s calf and yanked her trapped foot free.

The pit really was deep. In that instant, Qiu Chao lost her balance and nearly toppled right back in.

Yan Muyu instinctively steadied her—and ended up plopping down on her butt in the process.

Great. Now she was covered in mud too, mingled with the earthy smell and cow dung reek. Her face twisted in disgust.

Qiu Chao, sprawled atop her, burst out laughing.

Qiu Chao rarely laughed outright. She always gave off the refined aura of an A-list beauty, and she didn’t share much of her everyday life.

Fans could only rewatch her works if they wanted to see her.

But those were characters, not the real Qiu Chao. No one truly knew her.

Her first variety show appearance had nothing to do with real life—it was still all about acting.

Her second outdoor variety stint was as a flying guest with minimal talking and few close-ups per episode.

This was the first time fans had glimpsed the Qiu Chao upended by rural village life.

She was allergic to cucumbers, a surprisingly skilled cook, with speech that swung wildly from bold to thoughtful and precise.

Even a stunning beauty like her could act spoiled, sweetly downplaying the rumored bad blood with Yan Muyu to the outside world.

Her ex-sister-in-law manager came off as aloof at first glance, but with cameras capturing every second day in and day out, that chill was impossible to maintain.

So avoidance turned into unexpected, uncontrollable attentiveness.

Even if Yan Muyu wouldn’t admit it aloud, even if she still thought she disliked her—their bodies remembered the old days.

Just like that one day years ago when Qiu Chao learned she was back, dashed down the spiraling staircase, missed a step, and Yan Muyu caught her on reflex—only to see stars herself from the fall.

Only this time, there was no soft carpet behind her—just wild ground thick with earthy and fresh grass scents.

The rain sprinkled down from above, misty and scattered, unlike the glaring crystal chandelier light from that day.

The person in her arms smelled just as she always had.

Yan Muyu’s thoughts spiraled out of control, and so did Qiu Chao’s. She scrambled up in a fluster, same as back then. “You okay?”

“Not gonna crack your head open again, are you? Should we get a brain CT or something?”

The Qiu Chao fretting now was worlds apart from the one who’d just coquettishly asked for help.

[Total shape-shifter!]

[How is she so practiced at this?]

[I gotta admit, Yan Muyu looked kinda cool just now!]

[Hope she didn’t hit any rocks.]

Yan Muyu said, “Stop rubbing around on the ground. It’s filthy.”

She did feel a little dizzy, and with Qiu Chao chattering nonstop, Yan Muyu snapped back, trying to get her to quiet down.

But she overdid it. As she started to stand, she yanked Qiu Chao right back down with her—practically onto her body.

The off-camera staff had started toward them, but Yan Muyu waved them off.

“Dizzy. Was it like this last time too?”

The on-site crew watching this scene could barely stifle their laughs. The guests were flat on the ground, yet the cameras kept rolling. If there’d been stunt doubles, fans would’ve rioted over the mistreatment.

But Yan Muyu wasn’t a celebrity. She was the boss. If she said stay back, they stayed back.

Viewers in the live chat, though, caught that pull—and the word “last time” that seemed to echo right in their ears.

Combined with Qiu Chao’s expression, it was easy to let the imagination run wild.

Qiu Chao remembered that day too.

She tried to haul Yan Muyu up, cupping her hands around Yan Muyu’s. “Last time you lay there a whole day and refused to go to the hospital.”

[What “last time”?!]

[You two never elaborate, and it’s driving me nuts.]

[Yan Muyu’s totally given up trying.]

Yan Muyu asked, “Did I?”

She swiped the rainwater from her face at random, stood up, brushed the grass clippings off herself haphazardly, then gave Qiu Chao a quick pat-down too.

Most variety show guests looked impeccably made-up no matter what. But in this program, whether it was dazzling seniors or up-and-coming actors, everyone had their messy moments.

And that raw messiness let viewers see the real them.

Yan Muyu rubbed the back of her head. “So gross. Let’s head back quick before I pass out from my own stink.”

She glanced up and saw the staff standing way off, as if they knew this spot was a sinkhole waiting to happen.

Yan Muyu bristled. “What are you all doing way over there? Didn’t you scout this beforehand?! If Qiu Chao and I get swallowed by mud, the show’s done for—and so’s the company!”

She put on a decent show of outrage, but it lacked any real bite.

The producer replied, “It’s not a swamp.”

Yan Muyu shot back, “Swamp or not, I wouldn’t film.”

Qiu Chao stood by laughing. She wiped mud from her face with the back of her hand, then remembered the ducks weren’t rounded up yet and grew a bit anxious.

Yan Muyu saw her start to move and instinctively grabbed her hand. “Where to?”

Qiu Chao said, “They haven’t gone home yet?”

The sky was nearly dark now. Misty mountains loomed in the gloom, and every sound around them felt eerily vast and empty.

Yan Muyu said offhandedly, “I’ll take them home first.”

Her head was still spinning, her voice coming out muffled. Before Qiu Chao could respond, she reached out and wiped the mud from her face.

Yan Muyu’s fingertips were warm. The moment they brushed Qiu Chao’s skin, Qiu Chao instinctively closed her eyes.

The world was shrouded in rainy haze. Off-camera, staff held umbrellas or wore raincoats—making the guests look even more bedraggled by comparison.

Xia Yuanyuan felt utter despair. It was like she was trapped on an idol drama set.

Except this wasn’t an idol drama set, so Sister Qiu, why close your eyes?!

Way too pure-hearted!

She wasn’t the only one thinking it. The live chat overflowed with similar sentiments.

Qiu Siyuan’s team managed to turn even a live variety stream into prime-time drama pacing. Slow-motion shots, standard takes, perfect close-ups—they nailed it all.

The visible rain threads became the ideal atmospheric prop, drawing viewers right into the moment.

No matter how disheveled Yan Muyu looked, no matter if Qiu Chao’s hair had bits of grass stuck in it.

Everyone just followed Yan Muyu’s hand as it traveled, brushing away grass blades and mud from Qiu Chao.

Each falling blade of grass marked a heartbeat skip. Yan Muyu’s dizziness was plain as day, so her words carried unfiltered affection.

Even a touch-too-familiar scolding and concern—emotions no standard manager-artist dynamic could produce.

It only fueled curiosity about those four years with Qiu Chao. What had their daily life been like?

[Kinda match made in heaven.]

[Yan Muyu, you can whistle for ducks? When did you sneakily learn that?]

[Her genius vibe is strong, but she sometimes comes off as emotionally oblivious. Weird—with all that romantic experience, she shouldn’t be the dense type.]

[Having lots of girlfriends doesn’t cure frigidity, you know.]

[Look at those movie directors. They might know how to film women, but their wife always stands out different in the lens.]

[That “Puzzle” series Yan Muyu shot of Qiu Chao? It just gets better every rewatch. And it had the only behind-the-scenes photographer interview, right?]

[Just date already.]

Yan Muyu herded the ducks back to the shed. Qiu Chao had already opened an umbrella.

She stood at the end of the grassy path, holding a goose-yellow umbrella.

In the frame, Yan Muyu jogged over—still wincing a bit from her headache—and took the umbrella from her. No one knew what she said, but Qiu Chao reached out to touch Yan Muyu’s forehead.

Yan Muyu looked like she wanted to dodge, but Qiu Chao went up on tiptoe, and she let her.

The follow-cam hadn’t caught up. Yan Muyu was stinking to high heaven and desperate for a shower.

She’d even sniffed herself a few times. “Now I get why Xi Xi was so miserable.”

Qiu Chao asked, “Is your head still hurting? There might’ve been rocks on the ground.”

Traces of panic lingered on her face, her tone turning nagging. “You really okay? Last time it was mild concussion on a thick wool carpet, and you still…”

Qiu Chao’s voice naturally carried that sticky, lingering quality—like silken threads after a snapped lotus root. Without any deliberately gross nicknames, it was easy to sink into.

Yan Muyu said, “How do you still remember that?”

The production team was filming from a distance, so the audience could only catch glimpses of their backs as they huddled under umbrellas. All that filled the viewers’ earpieces was the relentless patter of rain.

“How could I possibly forget?” Qiu Chao said. “You were stuck in bed for days. I was terrified you’d end up paralyzed.”

She let out another laugh, this one laced with relief. “Good thing that didn’t happen.”

Yan Muyu shot back, “Who told you to stop looking where you were going?”

In the eyes of the public, Qiu Chao was all sultry elegance—a woman who would never be caught bounding up and down stairs like a kid.

After all, the female stars strutting red carpets on screen always had flowing gowns that made every step a vision of radiant allure.

But the version of Qiu Chao’s vibrancy that Yan Muyu knew was different: the wave from the balcony, the teary-eyed mishap after insisting on grilling meat herself at home and nearly burning her hand, the hurried dash downstairs to greet her that ended in a tripped step.

“I was just so excited,” Qiu Chao explained plainly.

Her words were so straightforward that Yan Muyu didn’t quite know how to respond. She changed the subject instead. “Not looking where you’re going this time either.”

“But didn’t you catch me?” Qiu Chao replied.

She glanced at Yan Muyu, worry creasing her brow at the sight of her bandaged hand that still hadn’t fully healed. Qiu Chao fretted over the risk of infection.

Yet Yan Muyu, ever the boss, had refused to let the team’s doctor bandage it on the spot.

On this rainy summer day, they shared a single umbrella. Beyond its shelter, the distant mountains were shrouded in mist. Beneath it, Qiu Chao gazed at Yan Muyu with unabashed affection.

Yan Muyu couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Qiu Chao chuckled. “What’s wrong? Does it make you want to kiss me?”

She said whatever came to mind, emboldened by their isolation amid the downpour and the umbrella blocking the trailing cameras.

“How come I never noticed you were like this before?” Yan Muyu asked.

“Because my situation’s different now,” Qiu Chao said.

They both reeked from the rain-soaked hike, but their moods were light, unburdened.

Joy radiated from Qiu Chao’s eyes and the corners of her mouth, as if she’d finally broken free of her chains and could pursue what her heart truly desired.

“Back then, I wanted to sleep with you so badly,” Qiu Chao confessed. “But unfortunately…”

Yan Muyu hissed, “We’re live!”

“It’s fine,” Qiu Chao assured her. “Qiu Siyuan’s got our backs.”

Yan Muyu raised an eyebrow. “So you two are sneaking around behind mine?”

“She doesn’t like me that way. And me… well, you know how I feel.”

Qiu Chao looped her arm through Yan Muyu’s. The sticky, damp contact made Yan Muyu draw in a sharp breath.

But she didn’t pull away. She could feel her own heart pounding unnaturally.

It was affection laid bare—fervent, unreserved.

Qiu Chao’s openness made Yan Muyu feel a pang of guilt.

“When did you two even meet?” Yan Muyu asked.

Qiu Chao shook her head playfully. “Not telling.”

A second later, she changed her mind. “Give me a kiss, and I’ll spill.”

She was getting downright childish, but it was just idle talk. Qiu Chao knew Yan Muyu was a tough nut to crack.

A string of exes—living or dead—hadn’t changed a thing. This woman’s heart was like granite, unyielding.

You needed leverage to wear down stone like that, to let a drop of water seep into its depths, feel the chill of eternity, then spark fire from flint.

To make her utterly, hopelessly obsessed.

But Qiu Chao had miscalculated.

The umbrella suddenly tilted as the rain grew heavier, obscuring the audience’s view and amplifying the echoes beneath its canopy.

Then came the kiss.

Gentle. Lingering. Fleeting.

A hot kiss amid the chill of summer rain.