Chapter 62

After the makeup was done, Xu Yueliang’s eyes sparkled as she gazed at Lin Qimian, hesitating as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring herself to.

Lin Qimian smiled faintly, finished chatting with the makeup artist, and saw her out of the private room before turning back to Xu Yueliang. “What do you want to say?”

“Look, I want to see it.” Xu Yueliang thrust her phone forward. “Doctor Lin, take a photo of me.”

“Didn’t the assistant hold up a mirror for you?” Lin Qimian took the phone and aimed it at her.

Xu Yueliang quickly struck a pose, her lips pursing slightly. “I didn’t dare look too closely… They’re so professional. All I know is, umm, umm…”

Lin Qimian couldn’t help laughing and started to hand the phone back. “No matter how high-end they are, it’s just a client-freelancer thing. What are you afraid of?”

Xu Yueliang waved her hands. “No, no, no. Doctor Lin, take a couple more. Those probably didn’t come out right.”

Lin Qimian paused. “…”

She took the phone back. “Alright.”

Xu Yueliang: “Lock screen password is 1236987.”

Lin Qimian swiped the screen and opened the camera again.

This time, Xu Yueliang fell silent, posing with serious focus. Her movements were smooth and natural—no surprise, given how often she appeared in front of lenses.

Once Lin Qimian had snapped the shots, she tapped into the photo album to check them, just in case Miss Xu wasn’t satisfied.

The pictures were gorgeous. But as she swiped lightly, she saw something she shouldn’t have.

In Xu Yueliang’s album were photos of her.

They were from that night they’d watched the fireworks together. The angle suggested they’d been taken from Huang Xiaoyi’s direction—solo shots of Xu Yueliang, some with Lin Qimian beside her, solo shots of Lin Qimian, and even a short video.

Several photos were duplicated, with edits and adjustments applied.

Lin Qimian coughed softly. She didn’t swipe further and handed the phone back. “All done. They’re beautiful.”

Xu Yueliang took the phone, the confident poise from posing vanishing in an instant. She cradled it in both hands, utterly embarrassed. “Thank you, Doctor Lin~~”

As she scrolled through the photos, Lin Qimian watched her expression.

The makeup artist had given Xu Yueliang exaggerated eyeshadow, making her look like a fairy stepping out of an ancient mural, bold and vivid right before Lin Qimian’s eyes.

Lin Qimian rubbed her fingertips together lightly. “Sorry. I saw your photo album just now.”

Xu Yueliang froze. “Ah…”

“It wasn’t on purpose.” Lin Qimian looked away. “I saw yesterday’s—the fireworks… photos…”

Xu Yueliang’s face flushed crimson, all the way to the tips of her ears.

The foundation covered her face well enough, but her bare ears, lit by the sunlight streaming through the window, glowed like translucent red jade.

“I…” She fumbled in panic, shoving the phone hastily into her pocket. “I was too busy watching the fireworks back then and didn’t take any photos. Then Senior Sister Xiaoyi took a bunch, so I had her send them over… She didn’t separate them…”

“Mm.” Lin Qimian said, “Did you edit the photos?”

Xu Yueliang ducked her head, leaving only her thick lashes and pert nose tip flickering in Lin Qimian’s view. “Yeah, it’s a habit. They look better after editing…”

“You’re really talented.” Lin Qimian curved her lips. “Send me the edited versions, then.”

Xu Yueliang’s head snapped up. “Really?!”

Lin Qimian: “Really. Free post-processing.”

Xu Yueliang: “You’re not mad that I edited your photos, Doctor Lin?!”

Lin Qimian smiled. “Why would I be mad?”

Xu Yueliang twisted her body. “I was afraid you’d think I made you look bad… And…”

She trailed off there and lowered her head again, lost in thought.

“Mm?” Lin Qimian prompted gently.

Xu Yueliang shot to her feet in a flash, slinging her bag over her shoulder and bolting for the door. “Doctor Lin, let’s head back quick. Rehearsal’s about to start again…”

Like a startled rabbit, she darted out of the room.

Lin Qimian grabbed her things and followed.

Xu Yueliang settled the bill at the front desk and glanced back at her. “No splitting this one—I’m treating you, Doctor Lin.”

Lin Qimian: “Alright.”

Xu Yueliang stayed half a step ahead, leading the way out. “And the makeup fee today—I’m covering that for you too, Doctor Lin.”

Lin Qimian understood and didn’t argue. “Alright.”

Xu Yueliang’s fingertips brushed lightly near her cheek. “Not cheap, right? That level of skill… My god, it must be a top-tier makeup artist to get results like this…”

Lin Qimian: “Teacher said it’s mostly because you have such a great base to work with.”

Xu Yueliang shot her a sideways glance. “Teacher was just being polite. You actually believed it, Doctor Lin?”

Lin Qimian laughed.

Xu Yueliang chattered on as they walked. “Doctor Lin, let me tell you, you might not get this, but makeup skills come in levels. My usual technique is decent enough, but in front of this teacher? I’m… I’m nothing!

“After the rehearsal’s done, I’m taking this look back to the hotel to study it properly.

“I just paint the surface, but she paints the bone structure underneath. Doctor Lin, didn’t you notice? The contour on my left cheek isn’t perfectly smooth, but she fixed it on our very first meeting. Sigh, she’s incredible. I’m completely in awe…”

Xu Yueliang came to an abrupt halt and turned back to Lin Qimian. “Doctor Lin, you actually managed to bring in a makeup artist like that—and on such short notice. You’ve got me in awe too.”

Lin Qimian couldn’t stop laughing.

Xu Yueliang kept up her stream of chatter as they headed back, right up to the entrance of the Broadcast Hall. There, she patiently explained to the security guard that Lin Qimian was part of her crew.

The guard eyed Lin Qimian, who slipped a hand into her pocket and flashed the work badge her friend had given her.

He waved them through.

Xu Yueliang’s eyes went wide. “Doctor Lin, what was that you just flashed?”

Lin Qimian kept her hands in her pockets, fingers closed around the badge. “Nothing.”

“Ah…” Xu Yueliang stared blankly at the pocket. “I don’t think my limited imagination can even picture…”

She lowered her voice to an almost inaudible mutter. “This is the domineering CEO’s world…”

Lin Qimian: “…”

They reached the corridor leading backstage. Another ten meters or so ahead, a teeming crowd bustled about: performers in glittering costumes, directors with earpieces and serious expressions, stagehands darting to and fro…

Xu Yueliang stopped short, drawing in a deep breath. Her fists clenched tight.

The nonstop chatter ceased. The bubbly excitement faded. Her whole body went rigid, taut as a bowstring.

Lin Qimian, lingering half a step behind, glanced down at her. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!” Xu Yueliang stared straight ahead, her voice firm. “Not nervous at all!”

But for all her words, she didn’t budge an inch. Her chest rose and fell in heavy waves. Then her mouth crumpled, and she blurted, “Doctor Lin, I got so caught up eating with you that I didn’t practice properly. I, I…”

“Shh.” Lin Qimian placed her hands on Xu Yueliang’s shoulders and crouched slightly to meet her gaze. “I watched you run through the dance three times before dinner. They were all excellent. Every one.”

Xu Yueliang couldn’t bring herself to look at her, eyes locked on the crowd ahead. “They say I’m just a street performer. I don’t know real dance, don’t know positioning, don’t know how to sync with the cameras or chase the lights…”

“But they invited you,” Lin Qimian cut in. “They brought you here.”

Xu Yueliang: “I…”

Lin Qimian: “You just focus on nailing your dance. If the rest falls apart, that’s on them.”

Xu Yueliang froze. Lin Qimian went on: “Otherwise, what are those fat salaries for? Are the cameramen, lighting techs, and Chief Director just sitting around eating rice?”

Xu Yueliang: “!!!!!”

Lin Qimian delivered the words in her usual flat, even tone, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

She always spoke like that, but here—in a place where anyone could intimidate Xu Yueliang, where anyone might chew her out—it rang with defiance. It carried the swagger of someone scorning the heavens themselves.

In a gala like this, the Chief Director was god.

Yet here was Lin Qimian, jabbing a finger at god: Can’t do your job? Then what are you eating rice for?

Xu Yueliang burst into laughter.

She couldn’t quite put words to the feeling blooming inside her. Lin Qimian even struck her as a little childish in that moment—but then sweat beaded on her skin as she turned inward. Had she been ground down too long?

So long that even alone in some dark corner, she lacked the guts to curse the sky pressing down on her.

So long that everyone who saw her pegged her as an easy mark, someone they could order around.

So long that… the moment anyone opened their mouth, she rushed to tear herself down. She forgot every drop of sweat and effort she’d poured in. She felt shackled hand and foot, rooted to the spot.

How had she become this way?

How could she let herself become this?

Xu Yueliang stood there in a daze for a long moment. Lin Qimian’s hand gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Rage ignited in Xu Yueliang’s chest, steeling her nerves. She growled, “Do it a couple more times.”

Lin Qimian: “？？？？”

Xu Yueliang: “Squeeze a couple more. Feels good.”

Lin Qimian laughed. Her fingers trailed along Xu Yueliang’s shoulder, inching toward the rigid line of her neck, rubbing back and forth.

Laughter colored her voice as she murmured into Xu Yueliang’s ear: “Alright, Boss.”

After receiving the massage, Xu Yueliang was brimming with energy and vigor.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she stowed her personal belongings in the locker with brisk efficiency and emerged in her performance costume.

It was the same outfit as before, but now with her flawless makeup and hair, and an air of quiet dignity about her, she looked utterly elegant and noble.

“I’m heading out,” Xu Yueliang declared, her voice swelling with heroic resolve. “Wait here for my triumphant return!”

Lin Qimian: “Okay.”

Xu Yueliang strode boldly into the crowd, and just then Lin Qimian’s phone buzzed with a message from a friend.

Lin Qimian glanced down and tapped out a quick reply.

Xu Yueliang melted into the backstage throng. Though she was on her own this time, there was no trace of her former hesitance and shrinking.

With the experience of the previous rehearsal under her belt, she quickly located the assigned coordinator, reported her program number, and signed in.

She then chose a spot where she wouldn’t miss her cue and waited quietly.

She no longer craned her neck to gawk at her surroundings in awe and admiration.

As Lin Qimian had told her, she was a dancer. All she needed to do here was perform her segment to perfection—that was her duty fulfilled.

She could feel the eyes on her from all sides: curious stares, surprised glances, looks of disdain, outright hostility.

She caught snippets of whispers too—speculating about where she’d come from, wondering which in-house makeup artist had done her face, mocking her humiliating flop at the last rehearsal, eagerly anticipating her next blunder.

None of it mattered.

Not because such things didn’t exist, but because they could no longer touch her sense of self.

The Xu Yueliang she knew was a veteran of countless battles, who traded grueling offstage rehearsals for flawless onstage performances.

Rehearsal was still twenty minutes away.

Her segment fell in the middle, so she had a full hour and twenty minutes to wait.

Xu Yueliang leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

In her mind, she sketched the stage she’d glimpsed only briefly, recalling the camera positions and light shifts, along with the Chief Director’s barked instructions laced with fury.

“Moon.” A soft voice called her name, clear and melodious as a mountain stream.

Xu Yueliang opened her eyes. Lin Qimian stood before her, backlit by the glow behind, which rimmed her hair with a shining halo.

Those starry eyes, those sharp brows and thin lips—she truly seemed like a creature from another realm, one who had stepped straight out of novels, comics, or a young girl’s daydreams.

“Doctor Lin…” Xu Yueliang replied in a soft, clingy murmur.

“Fallen asleep already?” Lin Qimian smiled. “I told you to relax, not conk out completely.”

The corners of Xu Yueliang’s mouth lifted. “No way~ I’ve got this~~”

“Mm. Time to prove it.” Lin Qimian tapped the badge pinned to her chest. “I’ve pulled some strings for you.”

Xu Yueliang’s eyes widened at the “Director Team” work pass: “！！！！”

Ignoring her stunned expression, Lin Qimian seized her wrist and, ignoring the stares all around, wove through the crowd and straight onto the stage.

The stage stretched empty before them, the seats below equally deserted, save for the lights that bathed Xu Yueliang’s face, as if they might melt her away.

“Let’s run through it twice,” Lin Qimian said. “While no one’s around.”

Xu Yueliang had no idea how the place had cleared out when everyone else was waiting their turn, but Lin Qimian had already let go of her hand. With a light vault over the edge, she dropped to the front row and took up position dead center, clapping sharply. “All right, Xu Yueliang—Flying Heaven. Ready… and begin.”

She had the bearing of a true director.

Xu Yueliang fell right in with her direction. Everything Lin Qimian had done to get here was for her sake. She couldn’t let that effort go to waste—any more than she could let herself down.

There was no music, but the rhythm in her heart had played a thousand times over.

Facing the lights, facing her one and only audience, she launched into her dance. One, two, three, four—every step locked to her breath and heartbeat.

A minute and a half: swift, intense, over in a flash.

When she finished, applause rang out. She looked down toward the seats, the lights dazzling her eyes, but she knew Lin Qimian was smiling up at her—those eyes, gentle with amusement, telling her: You’re doing great.

Xu Yueliang dropped her pose and started toward Lin Qimian, eager to see that smile up close, to hear her voice.

But another round of applause broke the moment—heavy, deliberate claps, slow and resounding. Panic gripped her; she wanted to grab Lin Qimian and bolt before they got caught pretending to be staff.

She’d barely taken two steps when a figure stepped from the shadows. “Not bad.”

It was the real deal—the Chief Director, the one Lin Qimian had dressed down for sitting on his hands.

Xu Yueliang: “…”

The Chief Director came to Lin Qimian’s side and, looking up at her alongside Lin, said, “You danced beautifully.”

Xu Yueliang didn’t know what to say. She stood there, frozen.

The Chief Director turned his head toward Lin Qimian. “This is exactly the performance we’re looking for.”

Lin Qimian gazed at Xu Yueliang and curved her lips into a smile. “So stick to your own choices.”

The Chief Director leaned down toward the microphone clipped to his chest. “Get the music for Flying Heaven ready. Let’s run it one more time. Camera and lights, be in position. Costume team, over here—let’s see what outfits will do justice to this performance.”

Xu Yueliang’s mouth fell open. Lin Qimian extended her hand toward her. “You’ve got this.”

Xu Yueliang quickly crouched down and grasped that hand. It had distinct knuckles, soft and warm.

Her heart began to pound wildly, out of control—like her body thrown into chaos, like her senses soaring to the heavens, like clutching a living heart in her palm, each throb spilling fresh red blood.

In a panic, Xu Yueliang let go of the hand.

She didn’t dare meet Lin Qimian’s eyes anymore. She turned and walked toward the center of the stage. As the lights flashed, she finally noticed that the narrow space behind the stage was packed with people.

Those whom she had once watched with such delight were now gazing at her with envy.

You’ve got this.

Xu Yueliang lowered her head and smiled to herself.