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Yan Man’s first instinct was to close the video.
But the man had already strode over. Fearing another mishap, she quickly extended her left hand and turned off the live stream’s microphone.
Seeing the microphone button turn gray, she breathed a sigh of relief. However, in the next moment, as if predicting her every move, Ye Lin grabbed her mouse, switched it off, and tossed it onto the bed.
The oversized mattress was incredibly soft; the mouse landed silently and even bounced twice cheerfully.
Summoning her courage, Yan Man opened her mouth, her brain nearly exploding: “Listen to me.”
Ye Lin rested one hand on the desk in front of her, looking very considerate: “Mm, go ahead.”
“...”
She began improvising: “I didn’t edit this video. As for why it’s earlier than the release time? My computer broke, and I changed the date. I just found it interesting later and saved it. I…”
Before she could finish, Ye Lin had already grabbed her wrist, picked up her phone from the desk, and unlocked it with her face.
The entire process was so fast that she was still caught up in brainstorming excuses and hadn’t reacted yet. She forgot to struggle, simply watching as he found a certain app, opened her account’s homepage.
—It was when they had just gotten together, and she accidentally exposed this page. At that time, she used some other excuse to brush it off, and he didn’t suspect anything.
But now, she wasn’t so lucky.
Ye Lin clicked into [My Videos], browsed through the four jaw-dropping C-rated videos, then moved his finger to the last BE video and hit play.
The familiar music played—it wasn’t just 70% similar to what they had seen before; it was identical.
Yan Man: “...”
It was as if she had been thrown into a teapot, with the rising water temperature causing her blood to boil.
Ye Lin didn’t speak but turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.
Damn, he looked good when he raised his brow.
Seeing that stubborn denial was futile—
Yan Man felt dizzy for a moment, then nodded, smoothly changing her tune: “Yeah, I edited it. So? Did I do a good job? Have you watched it?”
“...”
Adhering to the principle that as long as she wasn’t embarrassed, the embarrassment belonged to others, Yan Man began spouting nonsense: “This video was pretty hard to edit. You know, I studied for a long time and adjusted the colors….”
“Is that so? That much effort?” Ye Lin pulled out the chair behind her, seemingly quite interested. “Let me see.”
“...”
What did it mean to shoot oneself in the foot? This was it.
Just imagining him watching her poorly edited video right in front of her felt like a fire had been lit along her spine, burning all the way to her ears.
Yan Man tried to cover his eyes, attempting to awaken the little conscience he might have left: “Can you wait until I’m not here to watch it?”
But in the next second, the seated man spun her around, pinning her hands down, and she ended up sitting on his lap.
His voice came from behind her, electrifying, crawling densely along her earlobe into her ear canal.
“You watch together.”
Yan Man: “…………………………”
She began wriggling, trying to break free: “No… I don’t want to watch.”
But it was useless. It was as if she were welded to his lap. No matter how she struggled, the hand he pressed against her abdomen didn’t budge; she couldn’t escape.
It was only now that she belatedly realized that the reason she had been able to push him away earlier on the bed was because he had let her.
If he had truly intended to restrain her, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Thinking about this, Yan Man couldn’t help but feel her throat dry. She lowered her head, trying to avoid the situation, but soon, her chin was lifted, and Ye Lin forced her to look at the screen.
...
Frame by frame, the video played on, including intimate scenes from their period drama shoot. She had edited them without hesitation back then, but now things were different—they had already done far more intimate things in real life.
As each scene unfolded—the hospital bed, the sofa—similar recent memories popped into her mind. The video’s soundtrack was just a song, but her mental background noise was chaotic.
She averted her eyes, trying to escape from the shame of reliving these moments, shifting her gaze to the barrage comments.
But obviously, the barrage was still in shock, unable to recover.
[Manman is... the editor of the first C-rated video?!]
[I’m shipping content produced by my OTP themselves?!]
[Hahahaha oh my god, the Yeyan fandom is too funny.]
[I hereby declare this is the first OTP where both parties are active shippers.]
[Now that I think about it, there were traces. When Manman was following, there was zero support online except for one pitiful C-rated shipper who produced content daily. Later, when Manman stopped following, that shipper also declared BE.]
[Content tags: Misunderstandings caused by fate.]
[Please calculate the area of Manman’s psychological trauma hahaha.]
[Ye Lin, come quick! Your wife has been exposed!]
[Man, what were you thinking while editing those steamy scenes?]
...
Finally, when the video ended, she shot up, trying to escape: “That’s it, right? It’s over—”
Ye Lin pushed her back down, leisurely waiting for the video… to replay.
He murmured, “Watch it again.”
“...”
Do you have some kind of fetish?!
Her brain was on the verge of a cosmic explosion. Her fingers clutched the desk tightly, and when she felt him begin to lick her earlobe, her body stiffened instantly.
No need to escalate further; it was already exploding.
But the barrage seemed unwilling to let her off either. Just as her eyes began to squint, everyone noticed the vibrations on the table earlier.
[Why is the phone shaking so violently?]
[Why is the mic off?]
[Is it really off, or did my phone glitch?]
[Sisters, can you hear any sound?]
[I can’t hear anything!! OMG, is the mic really off?!]
[Place your bets: Why did Yan Man turn off the mic?!]
[Do we even need to ask?! OMG, OMG, she’s being controlled by Ye Lin! So thrilling, bros, is this what I should be seeing late at night?]
[This control is spiritual; I love it.]
[Rough, are they currently doing that in front of the computer?]
[If I don’t call social services, who will?]
While his fingers wreaked havoc, he continued to murmur, “What did you intend to achieve by editing this?”
Summoning the remnants of her rationality, she arched her back and said, “Just… wanted… to untangle…”
“Do you still want to untangle now?”
“No, I don’t.” As her nightgown fell to the floor, Yan Man struggled, “I won’t… I won’t watch anymore…”
“Mm.” His voice was hoarse as well. With wet fingers, he turned off the livestream. “No more watching.”
After the livestream ended, the audience in front of their screens fell silent for several seconds, collectively understanding something.
The number of posts in the super topic skyrocketed, and people spread the word:
[Bad ending or BED ending?!]
[Ye Yan: Creating a new interpretation of BE.]
In the darkness, staring at the man whose face alternately neared and receded, Yan Man deeply understood one thing.
Turns out the barrage was right: BE really had two meanings.
A long time ago, when she edited the video, she grasped the first layer.
That night, sleepless through the hours, she grasped the second layer.)
The next day after the BE, Yan Man was awakened by the afternoon light, struggling to rub her sore shoulders.
Too intense, she felt like she had been shattered.
Turning over, the culprit’s breathing was steady. She wasn’t sure if he was still asleep. She lifted her leg, intending to do something, but he caught her ankle.
His voice was low, possibly tinged with a bit of laughter: “What are you doing?”
Yan Man was shocked: “How dare you laugh?”
“How is this my fault?” He looked like a righteous gentleman. “If you hadn’t edited that video, last night wouldn’t have been such a mess.”
Mm-hmm, it’s all my fault. If I had known, I wouldn’t have posted those 50 million fan-service moments and saved the entire super topic from becoming a laughingstock—
Wait, the super topic.
Not knowing whether the internet had gone crazy, Yan Man held her breath and secretly checked the Yeyan super topic. Sure enough, it was wild. Some people hadn’t slept all night, shouting things like, “I’m so excited my eyes are glowing and my heart is racing—I can’t sleep!” The activity in the super topic was terrifyingly high, surpassing that of many top-tier celebrities.
She thought for a moment, then decided to check her own super topic.
Turns out Weibo had invented some kind of “airdrop” feature at some point. As soon as she entered, a large pop-up appeared—
[Welcome to your air-dropped super topic!]
Yan Man: “...”
Her heart sank.
Oh no, am I going to get caught?
Sure enough, after refreshing the homepage, it was already filled with posts.
[AHHH BABY’S HERE!]
[Man, are you awake? (Nope)]
[Wife! Come pick us!]
Well, since I’m already here, she thought, might as well interact with everyone for a bit.
Yan Man decided to reply to some posts in chronological order.
The first one was about the video.
Many Wild: [Wife, look at me! So in the BE video, were the two characters secretly in love with each other in their past life? Did the female lead carry memories from her previous life into the second one?]
Yan Man thought for a moment and replied honestly: [I don’t know. I just randomly edited it.]
[???]
[It reminds me of when we used to do reading comprehension tests. Even the author couldn’t score points if they tried answering the questions themselves.]
[Author Yan Man: I FREAKING RANDOMLY EDITED IT—HOW DID YOU ALL INTERPRET IT LIKE THIS?!]
Stealing Grapes: [Baby, baby, how does it feel to have your secret exposed and your car overturned?]
Yan Man: [If I had known this would happen, I definitely wouldn’t have chosen such an obvious username back then.]
The commenters immediately began digging into her username: [Yeyan is really 2333.]
[Who would’ve thought, who would’ve thought—the first shot in the Yeyan fandom was fired by Yan Man herself.]
Embroidered Pig: [What time did you sleep last night?]
Their profile picture was a room key.
Soon, everyone noticed that Yan Man had gone offline.
The comments erupted in laughter:
[Reflect on this—why didn’t Teacher Man respond to your comment?]
[Sleepless night (nope).]
[I know this answer—it was 5 a.m. I was their bed.]
[I’m the bedsheets; I can confirm.]
[Loved it. Is this what they call “silence speaks louder than words”?]
[Screw your “silence speaks louder than words”—I’m laughing so hard I’m choking.]
What the comment section didn’t know was that part of the reason Yan Man put down her phone was because the questions were tricky, but another part was that it was time to get up.
Due to the director’s schedule, today’s Shocking Vision rehearsal was set for the afternoon. She glanced at the time, worried about being late, hastily packed up, and rushed to the theater.
Since her character was a dancer, she had to learn a dance routine. Not wanting to bother the choreographer every day,人脉的重要性 became apparent now—Jian Tao, whom she’d met backstage a few days ago, happened to be an excellent dancer.
So Yan Man would send Jian Tao her practice videos every few days, and Jian Tao would always patiently analyze them with her and help her improve.
After practicing hard and sweating profusely that day, she was exhausted. Unable to fetch a chair, she simply sat on the edge of the stage, took the water bottle handed to her by Zhou Xuan, and sipped it slowly while catching her breath.
As she drank, she noticed an actor walking offstage toward the seating area below.
Yan Man saw that beside the director, who usually sat alone, there was now a slightly familiar face.
But no matter how hard she thought, she couldn’t recall where she’d seen him before.
She asked Zhou Xuan, “Who’s that?”
Zhou Xuan had just finished gathering gossip backstage and eagerly explained, “You know the director of Blowing Mist , right? He’s good friends with our director. I think he just stopped by to chat.”
Ah, now she remembered.
Yan Man nodded. “Do we actors need to go over?”
“No way. Can’t you tell? That actress went over to suck up. He’s a big shot in the film industry. If he notices her, even landing a supporting role could boost her career.”
Yan Man knew Blowing Mist . It was a story told from a female perspective, catapulting the lead actress to Best Actress awards at every major film festival. She’d watched it countless times.
Director Feng Wei had become famous overnight. Every movie he produced afterward was a hit, earning him the title of bringing honor to actresses in the film industry.
Zhou Xuan lightly coughed twice. “Should we ask Simon? Should we go take a look?”
“Never mind,” Yan Man said. “I’m far away anyway. No need to be so deliberate.”
She then lowered her head to drink more water, reviewing her rehearsal footage to see if anything needed improvement.
Down below, Feng Wei was chatting casually with Wang Hongda. Midway through, an actress came over to offer water with a smile, but he only nodded slightly: “Leave it here.”
These kinds of scenes were common among the industry’s prominent figures.
The actress lingered for a while, realizing she couldn’t integrate into the conversation and that Director Wang wasn’t introducing her, so she left sheepishly.
Wang Hongda: “You’ve been searching for your lead actress for a year now. Why haven’t you decided yet?”
“It’s hard to find someone suitable,” Feng Wei said. “I want someone with a unique aura—beautiful, but also stubborn and pure, with an inner strength. And pale skin.”
Feng Wei: “We’ll keep looking slowly. No rush. Who knows? Maybe I’ll bump into the right person one day. This kind of thing is unpredictable.”
Wang Hongda smiled and looked at him but didn’t say anything further. His gaze shifted to the stage setup, directing everyone to move props.
Feng Wei followed his gaze, and in passing, he noticed someone sitting at the edge of the stage.
The remaining glow of the chandelier illuminated her, but she seemed to radiate her own light. Her slender legs dangled down, and though she was holding an oddly mismatched cute thermos, her gaze was unusually determined, bright like water-washed glass.
Feng Wei nudged the person next to him and asked, “Who’s that?”
“Yan Man. Have you heard of her?” Wang Hongda said. “She’s a young actress who’s recently gained popularity. I don’t know why she’s willing to perform in a play—it’s exhausting, pays little, and doesn’t come with the constant idolization fans give celebrities.”
Feng Wei pondered thoughtfully and nodded.
“Yan Man?”
“Yes.”
“Give me a ticket to her play,” he said. “I’ll come watch her when the time comes.”
The official performance was set for the end of the month, and rehearsals had already surpassed a hundred sessions. Yan Man had practically etched all her lines and movements into her muscle memory.
Before going on stage, she adjusted herself in front of the mirror. Ye Lin reached out and gently rubbed her earlobe. “Are you nervous?”
“A little,” she admitted, taking a deep breath and slipping off her down jacket. “But I don’t think there’ll be any major issues.”
“Mm,” he nodded reassuringly. “There won’t be any problems.”
Feeling slightly more at ease, Yan Man took off her down jacket but suddenly remembered something. “Oh no, I think I forgot my heating pads.”
It was easy to get cold during performances since they wore so little. During rehearsals, they could layer up, but not on stage.
Before leaving, she had intentionally prepared two heating pads, planning to wait until they weren’t too hot before sticking them on her body. But in the rush, she had forgotten to bring them.
“I brought some,” Ye Lin rolled up his sleeve, revealing two heating pads stuck to his shirt.
He started peeling them off, but Yan Man stopped him. “If you give them to me, what will you use?”
He was silent for a moment, then smiled. “These were meant for you in the first place.”
“But I’m wearing so much; I don’t need them.”
Yan Man was taken aback. “You brought them for me, so why did you stick them on your arm?”
He tilted his head slightly. “You don’t like it when they’re too hot, right?”
She blinked. Despite the cold air around her, her heart warmed up.
“And aren’t you feeling too hot?”
“It’s fine.”
Ye Lin peeled off the heating pads and stuck them onto her stomach. The temperature was just right. Yan Man touched them lightly and couldn’t help but say, “I never expected my boyfriend to be so thoughtful.”
“It’s not thoughtfulness,” he said. “It’s habit.”
After a pause, he added, “Anticipating your needs and preparing accordingly—it’s a habit.”
After applying the heating pads, soon enough, the staff led Yan Man onto the stage.
As the curtain rose, this was her second performance in a packed theater.
It felt completely different from performing on a film set. The air in the theater was chilly, but thinking of her mother and the warmth Ye Lin had provided with the heating pads, she felt an overwhelming surge of strength that would carry her through this flawless, no-retakes performance.
In the final scene of the play, she spun continuously in a dance.
This move had been practiced countless times. As she closed her eyes, numerous images flooded her mind.
Like a revolving lantern, memories of her mother flashed before her. Completing this play allowed her to finally look back.
Those memories had been sealed away for too long, tucked into a corner of her heart. When her mother said, “I hope someone will love you as much as I do,” she thought it was impossible, that it would never happen again. So she left a piece of her soul in that place, stubbornly believing that if she didn’t face it, her mother would still be alive.
But now, she realized her mother’s last wish had been fulfilled.
Whether it was finding someone who loved her as deeply as her mother did or achieving her mother’s lifelong dream.
As she completed the final movement, she stood bathed in light, lifting her head.
Only now did she understand that moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting the past. It means breaking free from its shadow and stepping into the light the world has to offer.
She hoped that after today, the next time she spoke of her mother, she wouldn’t need to force a smile or remain perfectly calm. At the very least, she wouldn’t be bound by shadows, wouldn’t leave a part of her soul trapped in the past, forever afraid to move forward.
She would take the part of herself that had lingered in the shadows and, this time, move forward wholeheartedly.
She knew this was what her mother would have wanted most.
As the last drop of sweat fell onto the stage, she bowed deeply and took the microphone.
“This play is dedicated to my mother.”
“She hoped I would live happily, brightly, passionately, and adorably. For a long time, I thought I hadn’t fully achieved that.”
Her eyes welled up, but this time, tears mingled with laughter as they streamed down. “But now, I believe I can.”
Thunderous applause erupted from the audience, a sea of people, yet strangely, she immediately spotted Ye Lin.
As their eyes met, she saw him extend a finger as if wanting to wipe her tears.
But this time, she could handle it herself.
Yan Man wiped her chin with the back of her hand and said, “I also want to thank my boyfriend. I love him.”
After the play ended that night, Yan Man didn’t take a car home. Instead, she strolled back with Ye Lin.
She didn’t speak much along the way, letting the evening breeze blow away whatever had been lingering inside her.
When they got home, her phone was flooded with messages. Her career was back on track, and Simon was busily arranging things for her.
Looking back, she was grateful to her team. They hadn’t pressured her to take on roles or variety shows at the height of her popularity but respected her wishes, allowing her to hone her skills in theater for months.
Now, it was time to move forward better than ever.
Yan Man decided to reply to the messages in the morning—nothing urgent required immediate attention.
Having completed another major milestone in her life, she planned to relax and take a bath.
Yan Man prepared for a while, dropped two bath bombs, adjusted the water temperature, and sank into the tub.
The water was warm and soothing, relaxing her body and melting away her worries.
Thanks to the bathtub’s constant temperature, the water stayed warm. She soaked, leaning her neck back against the edge of the tub, listening to soft music.
She didn’t even hear the knocking at the door.
Ye Lin, worried that she had been in there for so long, hesitated for a moment before trying the door handle.
She hadn’t locked it, and it opened with a push.
Startled by the noise, Yan Man relaxed upon seeing it was Ye Lin.
The mist gradually cleared, rushing out of the bathroom. Ye Lin lowered his gaze to see the ripples of water beside her, her slender waist shimmering underwater, radiant and translucent.
Yan Man half-lay against the edge of the bathtub, a droplet of water sliding down her fingertip.
Drip.
Seeing that he hadn’t moved for a while, Yan Man wasn’t sure why he had come in.
“What is it?” she asked uncertainly. “...Did you want to join me in the bath?”
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