Her pinky finger lightly tapped the low notes, drawing out a casual yet elegant finale across the black and white keys. Zhong Jia’s humming, which had followed the melody, faded just in time at the corners of her lips. She glanced up at the live stream interface. Comments raced by in a frenzy, and the gift effects showed no signs of stopping.
“Yeah, it’s a new song I wrote myself.”
Viewers trickled in steadily. The flame icon in the upper right corner blazed to life, and the system notified them that they now ranked in the top five on the concurrent popularity charts.
Qinggua Video’s in-house S-Level Music Variety Show had just entered its promotional phase. The official announcement of the professional judges that week had generated massive buzz. No one had anticipated that Zhuang Yue—the producer once considered Ding Zhi’s equal—would make a comeback. The pair were legends in the pop music world, having swept the Golden Melody Awards for lyrics and composition. Ding Zhi had stayed active all these years, but Zhuang Yue’s sudden retirement had shocked everyone.
Her husband had died in a car crash, her son had developed autism, and rumors swirled that her brother-in-law was a vampire. She’d sacrificed her career for her family—a regrettable loss, but one outsiders had no right to judge.
Zhong Jia knew the story well. She adored Zhuang Yue’s music and had naturally kept up with the news.
The production team had originally lined up a different producer—a rising star without Zhuang Yue’s renown. Somehow, the director had pulled off a miracle; few shows hyped their lineup with such fanfare.
With the new semester underway, Zhong Jia was juggling school and work without a moment’s rest. Yesterday had been a rare day off from schedules. After evening class, she’d rushed to the recording studio to meet her bandmates. Make-Do Band had been together for ages without releasing a proper album. It had started as a lark, but now they wanted something tangible to mark the occasion.
They’d recorded until six in the morning. The promised late-night snack turned into breakfast. Ju Zai picked up the tab, and the group crowded around a roadside round table, slurping down shrimp-skin wontons. A winding path shaded by lush green trees stretched behind them toward the music academy.
“Sweetie, aren’t you afraid you’ll just drop dead?” Chen Kuang asked.
She was worried about the one who hadn’t slept a wink. Zhong Jia finished her bowl of wontons in record time and took a swig of soup. Ju Zai smiled and offered her another bowl. Wa Si ambled back from another table with a bottle of vinegar. Only then did she notice the massive dark circles under her roommate’s eyes.
“I’m doing great. Don’t jinx me.”
Zhong Jia shot to her feet. Her pink-purple dyed hair was pulled back with a scrunchie, and a stud pierced her right eyebrow. She stood out starkly in the doorway. Diners stole glances, pegging her for a delinquent. But when she turned, revealing her clean, fresh face and gentle demeanor, she looked strangely appealing.
The area housed not just the music academy but also its affiliated high school. Weekend escapes by boarders were common. Someone had recognized her already—two girls who looked like high schoolers paused mid-bite, whispering excitedly.
“No need, I’m stuffed. I’ll tweak that chorus for next time and send it to the group chat,” Zhong Jia replied to Ju Zai, oblivious to the stares behind her.
Her complexion wasn’t great. It wasn’t mere exhaustion from lack of sleep; it was as if her body was burning through time at double speed. Her skin had lost its healthy glow, appearing almost pallid even in the sunlight.
“You’ve been so busy lately. You could ease up on the recording,” Ju Zai suggested.
She wore thin wire-rimmed glasses, her long straight black hair falling simply to her chest. Her skin was so pale it resembled a video game character’s maxed-out whiteness, which made Chen Kuang—snuggled up beside her—look warmly tanned by comparison.
Her voice was soft and gentle, a far cry from the snarky tone she used with her usual target.
Zhong Jia had called a cab on her phone right after ordering the wontons; it was nearly there now. She shifted her gaze from the slowly moving car icon on the screen and caught a glint from Ju Zai’s engagement diamond ring. Chen Kuang wore the matching one.
A pair. Two months earlier, she’d had a pair with someone else. Their intimacy had ended the night she wrapped filming.
“It’s not too bad. I have work today—the variety show I mentioned. We’re prepping for recording.”
A white car pulled up to the curb. Zhong Jia checked the license plate, said hasty goodbyes to the group, and hurried toward the waiting vehicle.
Once inside with the door shut, she gave the driver the address through her mask. Only then did she remember something she hadn’t told Wa Si. She fired off a WeChat message: The recording studio’s far from school, and with all the schedules, I probably won’t dorm this semester. I’ve packed my bedding into the closet—feel free to stash anything you can’t fit at my place.
Shi Heng had already coordinated her attendance with the school. Situations like hers were common, and the credit system had provisions for it.
Earlier, Shi Heng had shared an email from Ding Zhi’s team. Wa Si’s demo tracks had impressed them enough for an internship on the music variety show. Her role was behind-the-scenes work; being at the studio or not didn’t matter.
Otherwise, Zhong Jia might have had some company. She didn’t know the other guests aside from Shi Cainran—and theirs was a toxic connection, better left unacknowledged. In her early twenties, she only really clicked with her bandmates. She wasn’t antisocial; childhood bullying over her hearing loss had just made it hard to take the first step in socializing.
Zhong Jia truly had no time to spare. The apartment was Shi Heng’s doing—he’d shopped around diligently. On signing day, he’d joked to the artist tuning strings in a music room over video call: “Daughter’s pet at home, daughter’s pet at work.”
He wasn’t much older than his client. Perhaps out of pity for her past, Shi Heng indulged her on trivial matters.
The new place was larger than her old one—almost too spacious for a single occupant. It came fully furnished in a modern style, complete with a swing on the second-floor balcony.
The pre-interview was at the artist’s home. Shi Heng had phrased it politely: “You’ve earned this. After all, your film debut was opposite Nong Siqing—as the lead, no less.”
Zhong Jia stared at the latest transfer record she’d just sent to Zhou Chun. No receipt yet. She thought to herself: What capital? Debts paid—now I’m flat broke.
The cab pulled up downstairs, where a delivery truck idled out front.
Cardboard boxes of all sizes cluttered the lobby. Shi Heng’s company offered packing services, but she’d have to sort the small items herself later.
No time for that now. She hopped out, strode into the apartment, stepped over the jumble on the floor, and bounded up to the second floor—terrified she’d miss the first round of promo for the music variety show.
But the study was perfectly set up. The new electronic piano stood propped against the wall, streaming gear tested and ready. She still had half an hour to go.
Zhong Jia ran through the process with the staff and appeared right on time in the live stream room announced on Weibo. She settled into her chair as her agent and the executive director stepped out of frame.
The other artists on the show would promote it actively today as well.
“You still play piano?” Zhong Jia skipped the overly cutesy “baby” nicknames in the comments and read one she’d finally made out.
She nodded. “A little. I’m learning drums too.”
It was past ten in the morning. Sunlight crept up the walls and filtered through the glass, casting a soft, non-glaring golden glow on her face. Whenever she talked music, her lips curved into an unconscious smile—an effortless vibe that drew people in.
As she chatted, the tension in her shoulders eased, her posture relaxing fully.
“Acting? You guys know, I gave it a shot. It’s a whole different experience from singing—I kinda like it. But this time, I lucked into an amazing crew. The director, Teacher Jiang Fuwen, the scriptwriters… everyone taught me so much.”
She pursed her lips and zoned out for a few seconds, belatedly realizing her slip. Why hadn’t she mentioned that person?
Eagle-eyed viewers picked up on it, asking about Xie Yingnian. A barrage of “+1″s scrolled past. Dodging now would look even stranger.
Shi Heng, quietly discussing recording details with the executive director, perked up his ears to catch Zhong Jia’s words.
“Teacher Xie—did I forget to mention her?” Zhong Jia offered an apologetic smile, utterly natural without a hint of flaw. “She taught me tons too. I only passed my first scene because she guided me through it.”
Shi Heng’s gaze landed on her right ear. Not long after wrap, she’d gotten a half-circle of piercings along the cartilage—black onyx studs that gave her a cool edge. Yet her eyes held no arrogance; her smile was sweet. The conflicting traits blended into something magnetic. No wonder her promo theme was “Dual Faces.”
“The knee injury? It’s healed ages ago. Wasn’t a big deal.”
Tch—pretty serious, actually. The scar hadn’t even faded.
The man with stubble shadowing his jaw grew more puzzled the more he thought about it. What exactly had gone down while he wasn’t on set? How had Zhong Jia gotten that knee injury? A Cha’s photos showed just minor scrapes—should’ve healed in days. Yet when she returned from Jincheng, she was limping worse than before.
No matter how he turned it over, every path led back to Xie Yingnian.
Shortly after Zhong Jia wrapped, anonymous forum posts popped up one after another. They claimed she’d followed in Qiao Yingqiu’s footsteps, hooking up with Xie Yingnian. The rumors sounded convincing, backed by photos of their private, intimate moments.
Shi Heng had immediately looped in the company’s PR team. The scandal would’ve hurt Zhong Jia badly. Being gay was one thing, but dating your costar—who was also your own mom’s ex? Public opinion wouldn’t take kindly.
To his surprise, someone beat him to it. Before his team could act, the posts had vanished without a trace.
“…Next up, I’ve got two demo tracks from the production team here, and we’ll play them for everyone… The results from this will determine the songs for the first round of performances.”
Once the live stream wrapped up, Zhong Jia replayed the song she’d blindly picked one more time, still savoring it. She really loved it, but there was no telling if the production team might pull a switch—force her to sing the other one just to mess with her choice.
Reluctantly, she cut off the melody, rose to her feet, and walked over to Shi Heng’s side. The executive director clutched a stack of papers as she ran down the guest list for the first episode with the two of them.
It was a litany of names that felt vaguely familiar if you claimed they were, but downright obscure if you didn’t. Zhong Jia listened with idle boredom until that one unexpected name dropped, causing her page-turning hand to hesitate for a split second.
“…And Xie Yingnian. Teacher Xie’s schedule only got locked in over the past couple of days.”
It took Shi Heng a beat to catch on. He shot Zhong Jia a suspicious sidelong glance, hoping to read confirmation in her tiniest micro-expression. Instead, he watched her grab her phone and fire off a WeChat message to the contact across from her: “Time to meet again. So, who’s doing the chasing this round—you or me?”
The saved name read “Coward,” and the profile picture… Shi Heng let out a low tut. Who else but Xie Yingnian would pick such a beat-up old alleyway with its rickety telephone pole for an avatar?
