Chapter 87: The Phone

If Lin Shixia suspected she had someone on the side, how would she ever associate it with Gu Shuang and Ye Qingying?

In terms of relationships, it made far more sense to suspect her former colleague and Zhang Xibai.

Gu Liuguang unlocked her phone, with a prompt warning that it would lock after two more failed attempts.

This time, it unlocked smoothly. Xiao Yao had also sent her a message afterward, asking about things with Lin Shixia and whether she really planned to go public.

Gu Liuguang considered it for a moment and did not deny that the voice in the video belonged to Lin Shixia. Instead, she explained that she did not live with Lin Shixia and that they did not have that kind of relationship.

Little Light: It was all just joking around before. I never thought I’d actually end up knowing Teacher Lin. Please don’t tell Teacher Lin about me saying she was my girlfriend.

Little Light: Thinking about it, you should know Teacher Lin and I are from completely different worlds. She might even be straight… I don’t want her to dislike me yet.

Xiao Yao: ……

Xiao Yao: I get it.

Xiao Yao: So you and Teacher Lin are just friends now?

Little Light: Yeah. I never expected that video to cause such a big fuss. I don’t know if Teacher Lin will get mad.

Xiao Yao: From Teacher Lin’s reply, it doesn’t seem like she minds too much?

Little Light: I don’t know.

Xiao Yao wanted to chat more, but she was still in the middle of a live stream. Managing even those few sentences was already quite an achievement. She hurriedly typed, “Next time I’m in C City, I’ll come find you to hang out,” before ending the conversation.

Gu Liuguang finally finished with her messages and realized the sound of running water in the bathroom had stopped. She looked up suspiciously and saw Lin Shixia standing at the bathroom door.

More than half her hair was sopping wet, as if she had dunked her face in the sink. A ring of strands clung damply around her face, still dripping water. Even her collar and chest were darkened with wet stains.

Her face was deathly pale, her eyes red.

The bathroom light was on, but the floor lamp by the door was off, making Lin Shixia look like she was lurking in the shadows. At first glance, she resembled a vengeful ghost, enough to startle anyone.

Especially since she just stood there silently, staring intently.

Gu Liuguang: ……

Gu Liuguang: “Why are you just standing there without saying anything?”

She set her phone down and rummaged on the bedside table. The tissues seemed too small, so she got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom door.

She vaguely remembered that the drawer under the bathroom vanity held plenty of spare disposables. Recalling this, she walked right up to Lin Shixia.

When she reached her, something felt off. She touched Lin Shixia’s arm and found it icy cold, slick with chill water. Frowning, she looked at Lin Shixia and rubbed her arms vigorously with both hands.

“Did you take a cold shower or something? You’re freezing…” She tugged Lin Shixia into the bathroom, released her, bent down to rummage in the drawer, pulled out a towel, and stood to wipe her down.

After a bit, she pulled her into the bedroom and sat her on the sofa, continuing to wipe while standing.

“Lin Shixia, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you talking?”

The towel soaked up the water for the moment. Gu Liuguang paused, bent down to meet Lin Shixia’s gaze, and asked softly.

Lin Shixia’s eyes flickered, then she looked away. “It seems like I interrupted your chat with someone else.”

Her mouth corners tugged downward in obvious displeasure.

Gu Liuguang almost pointed out that there were only two people in the room—who else could she be chatting with?—but caught herself just in time. Lin Shixia meant the phone.

How did she know picking up the phone meant chatting?

Gu Liuguang fidgeted uncomfortably, scratching her cheek with curled fingers. She released Lin Shixia’s shoulder. “It was just messaging a colleague. That video accidentally picked up your voice—that’s what she was talking about.”

“She was probably just worried about us.”

Afterward, Gu Liuguang inexplicably wondered why she was even explaining this to Lin Shixia.

Lin Shixia turned to look at her. After a moment, she smiled. “Is that right?”

Gu Liuguang nodded. There was no reason to lie about it.

Lin Shixia: “Then can I see Baby’s phone?”

The phone?

What was there to see?

Gu Liuguang glanced at Lin Shixia and noticed her staring at it.

Hesitating, Gu Liuguang handed over her phone and gave the passcode. “2580963.”

Lin Shixia took it with a faint smile, unlocked it, and began swiping through the screen, checking apps.

Gu Liuguang stood there awhile, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Part of her thought there was no need to hand over her phone to Lin Shixia; another part figured it might actually help, and it wasn’t a big deal anyway.

She sat down beside her, tilting her head to watch.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Lin Shixia open WeChat first. After pausing, Lin Shixia looked up. “Baby, I want to see your WeChat chats.”

Gu Liuguang mulled it over and nodded indifferently. “Sure, go ahead.”

Lin Shixia tapped into a chat and scrolled slowly up and down.

She soon switched to another conversation, exited, then opened a new one—repeating the process.

“Baby has so many WeChat contacts—are they all people you know?” Lin Shixia’s tone was soft and gentle. She glanced at Gu Liuguang while speaking, her fingers still sliding across the screen. “I don’t recognize any of them, and they’re all girls…”

Gu Liuguang had culled her WeChat friends before, but they had mysteriously multiplied again, and she had grown too lazy to bother.

During live streams lately, fans showered her with gifts just to snag a friend slot. Refusing seemed ungrateful amid the hesitation, so she had added quite a few.

She gave Lin Shixia a rough rundown. “I was thinking of starting a group chat, but it sounded like too much hassle—and there are fan groups on Douyin anyway—so I turned it down.”

“As for the others…”

Heavy gifters deserved replies, but ignoring them wasn’t an option. She usually let messages sit, then batched responses at set times, like clocking in.

Helplessness and fatigue flickered across Gu Liuguang’s face. Some big spenders were utterly unreasonable, accusing delayed replies of emotional abuse as an excuse to demand more.

Worst of all, some figured out her response windows and lay in wait, turning every reply into an endless barrage.

Lin Shixia listened quietly beside her. Her finger hovered between delete and block before retreating to the original chat. She turned with a bright smile. “They’re supporting fans, after all—not replying isn’t ideal.”

“But I do think you need to keep some distance from fans. Otherwise, misunderstandings crop up easily.”

Gu Liuguang murmured an “oh,” as if recalling something. “True. Last time, one insisted we were dating and that ignoring her was abuse.”

Lin Shixia smiled. “Who was that?”

Gu Liuguang: “Can’t remember. Communication broke down completely, so I just deleted her.”

Lin Shixia smiled. “Sounds frustrating. Deleting was probably necessary.”

Gu Liuguang sensed Lin Shixia’s mood improving and relaxed. If she’d known handing over the phone would fix things, she would have done it sooner.

Relaxed now, with her phone in Lin Shixia’s hands, boredom set in. Drowsiness hit, her head drooping.

In her haze, she heard Lin Shixia invite her to lean on her shoulder. Gu Liuguang’s eyes fluttered open briefly before she gave in and slumped against it.

The support felt divine. The only downside: Lin Shixia was so slim her bones dug in.

Unsure how long she dozed, Gu Liuguang teetered on deep sleep when Lin Shixia shook her, murmuring warmly by her ear. “Baby, who’s this You Lan? She says she wants to send you stuff.”

Gu Liuguang, dead tired, tried burying her face in Lin Shixia’s neck. Normally, Lin Shixia would let her.

But You Lan seemed crucial. Lin Shixia persisted despite the sleepiness, her tone stiffening from gentle.

Gu Liuguang forced her eyes open and peered where Lin Shixia pointed.

She barely remembered her own replies. It all blurred into polite, distant banter: the other offering gifts, asking preferences.

Gu Liuguang had fired off links.

They sat there, but no purchase followed. Instead, “joking” jabs about her picking only luxury items, wondering if she did this with everyone.

Oblivious to the shade then, Gu Liuguang replied honestly: Not just expensive—these seemed useful.

And: Yeah, that’s how I chat with everyone. Problem?

Later messages rambled without buying. Feeling toyed with, Gu Liuguang shot back: We’ll talk after you actually buy them.

No memory of it, but the tone rang true.

Date: mid-last month, right after joining BH company.

Too many adds back then.

Group Live colleagues friended the bosses; holding out solo would’ve looked fake, out of place.

To blend as human, she mimicked them. Later, more comfortable, she followed her instincts and the System’s advice.

Not truly of this world, she sometimes faltered, fearing exposure as “not human.”

“That’s an ancient chat. I don’t even remember it.” Gu Liuguang felt exasperated.

WeChat flooded with messages daily. Undeleted ones lingered, swiftly buried under new.

She only checked recents and pins.

The list was endless; scrolling took ages.

“Where’d you dig this up?” she asked.

Lin Shixia: “Just the chat list.”

Innocent as ever, she tapped the profile and glanced over. “Last chat ages ago, no contact since—want me to delete her?”

Gu Liuguang eyed the profile. Nothing special.

Precisely: In this world, only Lin Shixia mattered.

No second thoughts. “Yeah.”

“No time to clean it up—you handle it.” Finished, Gu Liuguang rose for bed. Lin Shixia’s bony frame would leave bruises if she lingered.

She flopped lazily onto the soft mattress. Exhaustion melted away; her soul eased. Yawning, “Just don’t delete my family.”

As she settled, Lin Shixia scooted over with the phone, lying beside her with a smile. “What about Little Aunt and Sister Qingying?”

Gu Liuguang hovered on sleep’s edge, but the chatter diluted it. Two seconds’ thought: Gu Shuang was kind; Ye Qingying gifted the Mountain Villa.

Deleting felt wrong. But her sluggish brain jammed, irritation peaked. She nodded curtly. “Whatever. Delete who you want.”

Satisfaction bloomed on Lin Shixia’s face. She leaned in for a kiss.

Gu Liuguang, unthinking, blurted as Lin Shixia drew back, “Doesn’t this prove how much I love you?”

Lin Shixia gazed at her, smile ethereal under the Liuguang Yicai lights, lips curved. “Perhaps?”

Enchanted, Gu Liuguang stared, lost in it.

The next day.

Gu Liuguang woke alone in bed.

She searched everywhere—no sign of Lin Shixia, not even her belongings. Without the bathroom traces, she’d have sworn it was a ghost.

Back in bed, she grabbed her phone, opened WeChat to ask where Lin Shixia had gone.

The chat list loaded—and Gu Liuguang froze.

Why was it so barren?

Previously, no matter how much she scrolled down, it never ended. Now, the chat messages didn’t even fill a single page, and she knew everyone who had sent her messages.

This was completely different from before, when sporadic messages from one or two familiar friends were mixed in with strangers or vaguely recognizable avatars.

Gu Liuguang only hesitated for a second before she realized who had done this. Her gaze quickly locked onto the pinned spot at the top. The avatar there hadn’t changed—it was still Lin Shixia.

Lin Shixia had also sent her a few messages, marked as unread.

Not bad. This world was still the one she knew.

She tapped to play Lin Shixia’s voice message. The other woman said she would go out for a stroll first and told Gu Liuguang to head to the restaurant for breakfast after waking up. They could discuss the live stream there, and then in the afternoon, they would take the car back to the city together.

Gu Liuguang didn’t pick up on any issues in Lin Shixia’s tone, so she sent a reply.

Then she noticed that her own avatar had been changed.

It was a somewhat sloppy cartoon little girl striking a traffic cop pose, her right hand holding a stick straight out to the right and down.

After staring at it for a bit, Gu Liuguang saw that Lin Shixia’s avatar was a white, sloppy little dog with a leash around its neck extending to the left and up.

Gu Liuguang suddenly got it—the cartoon girl wasn’t holding a stick. It was a leash.

They had matching couple avatars.

Pretty cute.