IMH - 13

Cheng Xiaonan’s question successfully made Yu Qian fall silent for two seconds.

She shifted her gaze from Cheng Xiaonan’s face to the window of the meeting room, her tone calm yet firm: “I thought I saw something on your face.”

This was an excuse, something Yu Qian had learned from a makeup artist when she was a child.

When people heard such words, they would instinctively touch their faces or even go look in the mirror.

Even if they didn’t see anything after checking, they could always say it had already fallen off when questioned.

It was a good way to change the subject.

But Cheng Xiaonan didn’t react as Yu Qian expected. Leaning back in his chair, he suddenly laughed, looking completely at ease: “Impossible. Do you know how many times I checked myself in the mirror just to come to this meeting room to meet you?”

The familiar teasing in his tone caught Yu Qian off guard.

Still, she couldn’t exactly tell him, You’ve got a bit of green on your face, huh?

“Nan Ge!” The door of the meeting room swung open.

Yu Qian turned toward the sound and saw Cheng Xiaonan’s wheat-skinned friend walking in. He seemed surprised to see her but then stepped fully inside as if remembering something. “Oh, Yu Qian’s here. Perfect. Here’s the invitation letter for Teacher Peter Pan.”

“Thank you.”

After taking the invitation, Yu Qian stood up. As she turned around, she noticed Cheng Xiaonan glaring at his friend with apparent dissatisfaction.

Well, at least he knows to be wary, Yu Qian thought. Being cautious about someone who betrayed him wasn’t a bad thing.

“You two talk. If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave first.”

As she exited, she overheard his friend discussing cooperation with him: “We just talked about it yesterday. What do you think? Should we cooperate?”

It turned out that his friend also worked for “Eleven.”

Without hesitation, Cheng Xiaonan immediately replied: “No cooperation. This brand has a history of defrauding female models in its early days—”

The rest of his words were cut off by the closing of the meeting room door. Yu Qian, facing away from the room, lowered her gaze and smiled faintly.

Seven years later, although his personality still remained somewhat unpredictable, Cheng Xiaonan had indeed grown into the kind of man Yu Qian admired most. At the very least, he respected women.

But Cheng Xiaonan was also a poor soul who had been cheated on.

As Yu Qian stepped into the elevator, she pulled out her phone to call Peter, thinking that it was still early and she could take him to the restaurant for some hangover soup.

To her surprise, Peter’s voice on the other end sounded surprisingly clear-headed: “Good morning, Yu Qian.”

“Already sober?”

It was noisy on his end—music was playing. “Sober, thanks to the hangover soup you sent. I’m so moved!”

“What hangover soup?”

“The one the hotel staff delivered this morning. Didn’t you send it?”

“No. How can you drink something given by a stranger without knowing who sent it? Be careful—it might be poisoned!”

Yu Qian frowned. “It’s too loud on your end. Turn down the music.”

“It wasn’t you who sent it? Then maybe it was the hotel staff.”

Peter walked closer to the speaker, and only then did Yu Qian recognize the song playing:

“Beyond the mountain peaks ahead, through layers of white clouds, where is the green light...”

“Green Light in My Life!”

Green Light , huh?

With a deadpan expression, Yu Qian said, “How fitting.”

It wasn’t until she hung up and walked out of “Eleven’s” office building that Yu Qian suddenly realized something. Though the hotel she stayed at was meticulous in service, they weren’t so thoughtful as to send hangover soup to guests who drank too much at the restaurant two nights ago without even calling to confirm.

But Sun Yue wasn’t around, and the only person who knew Peter had drunk too much was her.

And Cheng Xiaonan, who had coincidentally met them and helped her escort Peter back to the room.

Could it have been him?

Yet, during their earlier conversation in the meeting room, he hadn’t mentioned it at all.

By October 10th, Yu Qian was set to depart for the venue of the conceptual show to familiarize herself with the stage, finalize her makeup, and rehearse.

“Eleven” had prepared a seven-seater business van. Since Peter was prone to car sickness, he was seated in the front passenger seat.

There were two seats in the second row, and Yu Qian sat in one of them, putting on her sunglasses.

Unexpectedly, Cheng Xiaonan’s girlfriend also appeared. After exchanging a few words with Cheng Xiaonan and the others outside the car, she boarded with a small backpack. As she passed Yu Qian, she enthusiastically greeted her.

Then came Cheng Xiaonan’s friend. From their conversation, it seemed that he was also tagging along?

Yu Qian felt that even through her sunglasses and the car windows, she could sense a tinge of green.

While Cheng Xiaonan’s friend was still on the phone outside, Cheng Xiaonan bent over and climbed into the car, directly sitting in the second-row seat, separated from Yu Qian by a narrow aisle.

There were seven seats in total: the driver in the front, Peter in the passenger seat.

If Cheng Xiaonan sat here, where would his friend sit when he got on—with his girlfriend?

Was this guy a little clueless?

“Want some water?” Cheng Xiaonan unscrewed a bottle of mineral water and handed it to Yu Qian.

At the very least, he was her current superior.

Perhaps she should give him a heads-up?

Yu Qian didn’t take the water. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice, as if squeezing the words out through gritted teeth: “Aren’t you going to sit with your girlfriend?”

Cheng Xiaonan looked slightly surprised, squinting his eyes and mimicking her lowered tone: “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Not?

She wasn’t his girlfriend?

Had they already broken up?

If they’d broken up, then there was no issue.

Yu Qian took the water and thanked him casually: “Thanks.”

Cheng Xiaonan didn’t say much more, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes.

When deep in thought, he habitually tapped the side of his index finger against the bridge of his nose.

Yu Qian didn’t look at him again. Her assistant, Sun Yue, was sick and absent, but she had sent Yu Qian numerous reminders.

As Cheng Xiaonan’s friend finished his call outside and got into the car, the driver suddenly asked, “Shen Zong, is everyone here? Shall I start driving?”

“No one else is coming. Go ahead.”

Shen Zong?

He was also a “Zong”?

The so-called Shen Zong walked to the back row and spoke to the woman sitting there: “Ran Ran, want an apple?”

After receiving an affirmative answer, he began rummaging for a fruit knife and started peeling the apple with crisp sounds—kacha kacha kacha.

Yu Qian suddenly felt like she might have misunderstood something.

She texted Sun Yue, asking how many bosses “Eleven” had.

Sun Yue replied instantly:

[Two! You’re familiar with President Cheng, right? But Shen Zong said he’d deliver Peter’s invitation to you, so you must have met him, right?]

[I heard Shen Zong’s girlfriend is also going with you guys. They’re high school classmates with great chemistry. So envious, whimper!]

[Oh, and Qian, President Cheng rarely meddles in small company matters. If there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable discussing with him, you can talk to Shen Zong. He’s very approachable.]

[I really want to go too! I’ll focus on getting better. Wait for me!]

[Can you send me beautiful makeup photos after the shoot? Mwah!]

This girl must have gone stir-crazy being stuck at home sick, sending messages nonstop.

The more Yu Qian read, the more her expression flattened.

So the woman sitting behind her wasn’t Cheng Xiaonan’s girlfriend after all?

Peter, sitting in the front, turned around to speak to Yu Qian. Glancing back, he happened to see Yu Qian and Cheng Xiaonan sitting in the same row.

Because the sunlight outside was blinding, both were wearing sunglasses and leaning back in their seats, lost in their own thoughts. Coincidentally, they both used the side of their index fingers to tap lightly against their noses.

… Such palpable chemistry.

Peter abruptly turned back, recalling that Yu Qian had mentioned meeting an acquaintance when she returned to the capital in September.

Someone she had flirted with but never dated—a younger guy?

That day, traffic in the city center was heavy. Once inside the Third Ring Road, the car kept stopping and starting. By the time they finally reached the hotel where they would stay, it was already dinnertime.

The main designer of the conceptual show didn’t eat dinner, so Yu Qian needed to meet him first and thus didn’t dine with the “Eleven” group.

The main designer was very thin, older than Peter, named An Gu.

Yu Qian had first collaborated with An Gu when she was in her teens. Subsequent collaborations had gone smoothly, so when Yu Qian entered, An Gu gave her a warm hug.

He said, “Qian, while designing this show, I often thought of you. But after your mother passed away, I couldn’t reach you. When we discussed cooperation with ‘Eleven’ and heard you were involved, I was so happy.”

Yu Qian had been a model for so long that many jobs were just work—things she didn’t necessarily enjoy. But some jobs were a pleasure, a resonance, like collaborating with An Gu.

They sat together, chatting unconsciously late into the night.

An Gu glanced at the time—11:07 PM.

Only then did he realize how late it was, and Yu Qian hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

Apologizing, An Gu escorted Yu Qian out of the temporary studio in the hotel. As they waved goodbye, he expressed his excitement for tomorrow’s collaboration.

This hotel was slightly larger than the one Yu Qian usually stayed at. Dim lights stretched endlessly down the corridor, with artistic replicas of oil paintings adorning the walls, evoking medieval Europe.

In fact, the overall style of this hotel differed from what was currently trendy.

Even the room locks weren’t electronic but opened with brass keys.

Yu Qian walked down the corridor to the elevator and only remembered upon reaching her floor that she had noted the room number but hadn’t picked up the key from “Eleven’s” staff.

Perhaps they had given the key to Peter?

Thinking this, she raised her head in the dimly lit corridor and noticed that the door to her room was slightly ajar.

A soft yellow light spilled out from the doorway, quietly pooling on the carpet.

As Yu Qian approached, she found Cheng Xiaonan sitting in a chair in the living room of the suite.

His phone and watch were on the table, one arm resting on the desk, his forehead pressed against his arm—he appeared to be asleep.

But before Yu Qian could step inside, the figure slumped over the table stirred.

He squinted to adjust to the light, then slowly straightened up, picking up his watch to check the time. With a dissatisfied click of his tongue, he muttered, “That old man An sure can talk.”

Yu Qian said calmly, “He’s always like that.”

Cheng Xiaonan didn’t respond further. He pulled a brass key from his pocket, placed it on the table, put on his watch, and slipped his phone into his pants pocket.

Before leaving, he instructed her: “There’s food in the paper bag. There’s a microwave in the kitchen—heat it up before eating. If anything comes up, call me. I’m staying next door. Eat—I’m heading back to my room.”

His words flowed naturally, as if the seven years between them had never existed, as if they had always been close acquaintances.

Because of this, Yu Qian didn’t say anything.

But Cheng Xiaonan, just as he reached the door, suddenly paused and reminded her: “Oh, by the way, this hotel is quite old—the soundproofing isn’t very good.”

Yu Qian thought this was a rather pointless reminder. She was staying alone; it wasn’t like she’d make any strange noises.

With that, Cheng Xiaonan walked out and closed the door behind him.

Not long after, three knocks—dong dong dong —came from the neighboring room, the sound of someone tapping the wall with their index finger.

It was as if to say, See? I told you—the walls really aren’t soundproof.