Bian Li’s hard-earned determination crumbled immediately.
The cone looked irresistibly soft, the milk embryo made from fresh ice cream. The tip of the swirl wobbled slightly, teasing her. Unable to resist, she took it.
She leaned in, stuck out her tongue, and gave it a small lick. Smiling sweetly, like a little kitten, she said, “Thank you, senior.”
He Yunxing’s expression didn’t change. He simply nodded and asked, “You don’t have a card?”
Bian Li, focused on chewing her cone, replied, “I do, but it’s too troublesome for everyone to bring theirs, so we use our captain’s and take turns each time.”
The two stood near the ice cream machine, surrounded by nearly a thousand employees and artists. Soon, countless glances—intentional or otherwise—were thrown their way.
The noisy rustling of the crowd gradually quieted.
He Yunxing slipped the card back into his pocket, his hands resting there casually. He frowned. “I’m leaving.”
Bian Li tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “Have you finished eating?”
Without waiting for a reply, she waved the ice cream in her hand and added, “I’ll treat you next time.”
He Yunxing raised an eyebrow. “Forget about the ice cream.”
Bian Li leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “It’s fine. I have lots of delicious food to treat you with.”
He Yunxing cast her a light glance, then raised a hand to gently pinch the top of her head. “Alright, senior will wait.”
Startled, Bian Li instinctively stepped back. “When I have time—after I get through this busy period.”
He Yunxing didn’t say anything else. He nodded slightly and left with his long strides, disappearing through the restaurant doors.
When Bian Li finished her ice cream and returned to her seat, Ruan Xiangyi glanced at her moist, cherry-pink lips. “Didn’t you say you were going to get purple sweet potato puree? You must’ve gone to eat a pig’s trotter instead. Look at you, glowing like that.”
Bian Li blinked at her empty palm. “Right… How could I forget?”
“Where’s Brother Ning? Did he leave already?” she asked, noticing only Ying Xuelai and Ruan Xiangyi left at the table.
“They were called away for something urgent and left in a hurry,” Ruan Xiangyi explained.
Even He Yunxing, who had treated her to ice cream, had left quickly.
“Alright, stop daydreaming. We’ve got practice this afternoon. Let’s go.”
—
Everything went smoothly, and the afternoon practice session began as scheduled.
In just a few days, Gemini would shoot their MV. These days could only be described as a race against time.
The lighting equipment in the practice room suddenly broke down as the three girls rehearsed the chorus of their new song.
Their practice room was the same one they had used when they debuted. It had no windows and wasn’t well-ventilated. The space wasn’t large, but it didn’t feel cramped either. Over the years, the company had recruited countless high-quality trainees, leaving practice rooms constantly occupied.
When it came to Gemini, the only room available was one near the stairs. Later, the company attempted to reassign them, but logistical issues caused delays, so the matter was shelved.
Despite its shortcomings, the room was exclusively theirs. It had decent facilities, and the lighting could be adjusted.
Now, however, the lighting equipment malfunctioned, disrupting their practice.
However, at such a critical moment, the lights had a problem, which made things even more difficult.
Their practice room, lit by fluorescent lighting year-round, suddenly plunged into darkness. With the lights out, they could only look at each other helplessly. Not only was dancing impossible, but even trying to recall and copy the moves was out of the question.
Da Xiong called the company’s maintenance staff, who quickly came to check. After a few minutes of clanking and banging, they announced the issue: the light tube had burned out, affecting not just their room but also the nearby rooms on the upper and lower floors.
The maintenance staff continued to work, but Bian Li silently stood there for a while before pulling her two sisters out into the hallway.
“I heard that when you’re recording or preparing a new song, if some kind of metaphysical accident like this happens, it’s a sign you’ll become popular,” Bian Li said, counting on her fingers as if drawing a conclusion.
“I don’t know about becoming popular, but if something metaphysical really happens, you’ll be scared enough to crawl into my bed in the middle of the night,” Ruan Xiangyi quipped. She slid down to sit on the floor against the wall, casually playing with her phone.
“Who’s crawling into your bed in the middle of the night? Would I do that?” Bian Li retorted, though her guilty tone betrayed her words.
“Last time, and the time before that—both in the dormitory,” Ying Xuelai chimed in calmly, finally breaking her silence. She had been quietly listening to their banter.
Bian Li chuckled awkwardly. “That was in the past. It’s not like that anymore.”
Ruan Xiangyi didn’t even glance up from her pig farming game. “You haven’t dared to watch horror movies recently. If you’ve got guts, don’t drag me along next time.”
Avoiding the topic, Bian Li raised a hand to rub her face. “I wonder how long this will take to fix. I’m going to the bathroom.”
The practice room was right by the stairwell corner, and the bathroom was just a short walk away.
Bian Li walked to the sink, washed her face, and then splashed herself with more water. Before the lights went out, they’d been practicing an intense dance routine. Sweat coated her back and cheeks, leaving her sticky.
The cool water helped. She felt fresher as it washed away the sweat.
As she leaned closer to the mirror, studying her reflection, a tall figure suddenly appeared at the doorway to her left.
Before she could make out who it was, she instinctively bowed slightly in greeting.
“Why so polite with me?” The voice, deep yet familiar, carried a slight teasing tone that became more interesting the longer she listened.
“Brother Cheng Chi? Why are you here?” Bian Li straightened up excitedly, raising her hand halfway.
Cheng Chi’s lips curled slightly as he raised his hand in response. With a crisp clap, their palms met in mid-air.
Before her debut, Bian Li had played a minor role in a TV series as Cheng Chi’s younger sister.
In recent years, Cheng Chi had become a popular traffic star¹ in the entertainment industry. Back then, he’d offered her some guidance, and the two had gotten along well. However, their busy schedules meant they only occasionally crossed paths—whether in the company, at variety shows, or during award ceremonies. They’d never met privately or even shared a meal together.
“You haven’t told me yet—this whole floor is filled with practice rooms. What are you doing here?” Bian Li asked curiously.
“I’m set to sing the theme song for a new drama soon, but I’m worried I’m not ready. I wanted to cram at the last minute, so I asked my agent to arrange for someone to teach me. It’d be embarrassing if I went off-key,” Cheng Chi admitted with a wry smile.
As an actor, singing wasn’t exactly his strong suit.
Bian Li nodded in understanding. “Your voice is deep and sounds really nice. I’m sure your singing won’t be that bad.”
“Let’s hope so.” Cheng Chi smiled faintly. They chatted a bit more, and upon learning about the malfunction in her practice room, he invited her to use his temporary practice space.
Bian Li quickly waved her hands in refusal. “That won’t work. We can’t rehearse our dance routines in a room meant for vocal training.”
Cheng Chi mulled it over and agreed. After chatting for a while longer, they went their separate ways.
Bian Li stretched her hands and wandered aimlessly along the corridor, eventually finding herself across from the bathroom.
The corner there was tucked away. Beyond it lay a glass window wall that offered a sweeping, albeit hazy, view of the city lights at night.
Recently, she’d discovered this little haven. Strolling there to enjoy the evening breeze had become a small ritual for moments when she had nothing pressing to do.
Lost in her phone, she didn’t notice where she was going until her forehead met something solid. It wasn’t a harsh collision, but the tip of her nose met a firm chest, sending a dull ache through her face.
The sharp sting made her eyes water, and a mist quickly clouded her vision. Amid the throbbing pain, a faint, clean scent registered in her mind—familiar and oddly comforting.
She instinctively rubbed her nose, her expression scrunched in discomfort, before glancing up to identify the culprit.
He Yunxing, who had initially frowned, seemed to suppress a smile when he noticed her teary-eyed glare. His lips quirked upward slightly as he asked, “Do you always walk without looking where you’re going?”
Still cradling her nose, Bian Li’s eyes glimmered with defiance. “You weren’t paying attention either.”
At this, He Yunxing leaned down to meet her gaze, his tall frame folding effortlessly. His sharp eyes were now on her level, unwavering and direct. “You’re so confident that you’ve forgotten to call me ‘senior,’ huh?”
His proximity made Bian Li uncomfortable. Her cheeks burned as she huffed, “Senior! Senior! Senior! Happy now?”
He Yunxing stayed silent, holding her gaze for a beat longer before straightening his posture. “Your practice room is broken?”
Bian Li blinked in surprise. “How do you know?”
The issue with their practice room had only just occurred. Though they were on the same floor, she found it unlikely that word had spread so quickly—even if he had some uncanny sense of hearing.
He Yunxing glanced at her, his tone calm. “I overheard.”
His nonchalant admission left no room for embarrassment.
Before Bian Li could ask further, He Yunxing posed another question, almost casually. “Who was that with you just now?”
“You don’t know Brother Cheng Chi?” she asked incredulously. “We’re from the same company! He’s super famous!”
He Yunxing’s expression remained indifferent. “I don’t know him.”
Bian Li tilted her head, mulling it over. To be fair, she thought, it made sense—if anyone could outshine Cheng Chi in popularity, it was the person standing before her.
“Senior…” she began cautiously, looking up at him. “Be honest. You don’t even know my name, do you?”
She replayed past interactions in her mind and realized with growing certainty that he had never once addressed her by name.
“You and Cheng Chi…” He Yunxing interrupted, dodging the question. “What’s your relationship?”
His blatant subject change only made her suspicion stronger.
“It’s just a simple senior-junior relationship. Come on, don’t dodge the question! Tell me my name!” She smirked slightly, already feeling triumphant as if she had caught him red-handed.
He Yunxing didn’t even know her name at all.
She was secretly delighted in her heart, always feeling that the embarrassing situation at the beginning was completely turned around at this moment.
He Yunxing’s lips curled into a lazy smile. “Your name?”
He Yunxing drawled, “Bian Li, or…” His voice trailed off, the playful lilt in his tone curling like a teasing hook.
“Fei Fei?” he added after a pause, his gaze locked on her.
———————
Notes:
¹traffic star – or in other term Liuliang star (流量明星) ; they are basically the celebrities, who with their large fan bases, can generate online traffic or buzz.
