Chapter 25

Song Qingre held the car keys tightly, the pad of her thumb pressing into the ridges of the key's teeth, leaving deep impressions.

Yan Qingqiu waited for her response after speaking, but there was none from the other end—only the sound of the car engine starting. And because the car's performance was too good, the engine's hum faded away almost instantly.

It was quiet. Yan Qingqiu listened more carefully, but could only sense that the car was speeding, racing wildly. She felt a bit panicked. Why wasn't there a response?

She bit her finger. What was Song Qingre hinting at now?

Yan Qingqiu poked at the screen, then pulled her finger back just as it was about to make contact.

Ugh, this was torture.

After a moment, she gathered her courage to break the stalemate, her voice small as she asked, "Master... did you hear what I said?"

Yan Qingqiu grabbed the pillowcase, twisting and wringing it until her fingers ached. She hadn't even done anything yet, but she was already breaking out in a hot sweat.

Why won't she say anything?

Am I not being sexy enough?

"Master is driving. Don't disturb." Song Qingre's voice was cold and commanding.

"Oh." Yan Qingqiu squirmed on the bed for a bit more, then lay face-down and still.

Realizing that didn't feel right, she corrected herself, "Okay, Master."

She heard a hiss.

Yan Qingqiu wanted to say something, but pressed her lips tightly together.

Can't speak.

"I almost ran a red light," Song Qingre said with a slight sigh.

Yan Qingqiu bit her lower lip, continuing to bite it. "I'm sorry, Master."

Song Qingre's fingers on the steering wheel tingled faintly—some nerve had been stroked, a soft, ticklish sensation that made her gland burn with heat.

The car stopped halfway. The window rolled down, and the outside wind blew in, easing much of the agitation. The person in the driver's seat took a deep breath.

Forty minutes later, the lights in the courtyard turned on. The butler opened the door downstairs and asked, "Miss Song, have you eaten? I've had the head chef keep some food for you."

Song Qingre got out of the car and handed the keys to a servant. She went inside, but just before entering the living room, she took a step back and looked up toward the second floor. A dark shadow at the window ducked down in a flash.

A few seconds later, the remaining fireflies circled around the light.

Song Qingre's lips curved upward.

"Thank you, Dong Shu."

The butler went in to get the meal. Song Qingre washed her hands, then sat at the table and began to eat.

Upstairs, Yan Qingqiu paced barefoot back and forth across the floor. Several times she pushed the door open to check the activity below. Song Qingre still hadn't come up; she was still eating. Yan Qingqiu returned to sit on the bed. On the nightstand lay the essential oils for tonight's use. The maid, worried one bottle wouldn't be enough, had thoughtfully prepared several.

She picked one up and sniffed it. Hilarious.

From now on, it should be *her* giving Song Qingre massages.

She didn't seem to have as good a hand for it as Song Qingre did.

As she thought this, Yan Qingqiu's sharp ears caught the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. She stood and walked over, pressing her ear to the door. The footsteps seemed to stop. Yan Qingqiu's heart pounded. Song Qingre seemed to have stopped right outside her door.

Should she open it?

Yan Qingqiu felt that now that she'd already called her "Master," hesitating any more would show a lack of sincerity. One must be brave in life. She gripped the doorknob and turned it gently, pulling it open—

No one. She looked to the left and met eyes with Song Qingre, who was just inserting her key to open the door. Instantly, Yan Qingqiu darted back into her room and slammed the door shut.

She moved so fast that Song Qingre was worried she'd catch her neck in the door.

This was torture.

Yan Qingqiu's heart was racing out of control. She leaned against the door, slowly sliding down to sit on the floor.

Song Qingre should have gone in by now, right? Definitely. She must have gone in.

Yan Qingqiu pushed herself up with her hands, but just then, there were two knocks at the door.

The sound fell on her ears like a knock against her very body.

"Do you still want the massage tonight...?"

Massage or not?

Yan Qingqiu looked at the essential oils on the nightstand. She closed her eyes briefly, then said calmly, "Yes."

She straightened up, trying to look brave, and added, "Then wear a little less."

A soft *mm* came from outside. It lingered for a moment, then her footsteps grew fainter until Song Qingre returned to her own room.

Yan Qingqiu stood there for a moment, then went over to set the oil bottles on the bed. She grabbed some clothes and took a shower—she'd sat on the floor, after all, and didn't feel clean.

Half an hour later, it was already late.

Song Qingre had washed her hair too. She wiped it with a towel, then reached out and opened the door. Standing at the doorstep was Yan Qingqiu.

Yan Qingqiu had been there for who knows how long. Song Qingre was startled, taken aback by her sudden appearance. She looked at her with confusion.

Yan Qingqiu, quick on the uptake, said, "Master, customer service agent 298 at your service."

Perhaps out of nervousness, her fingers gripping the wooden box had gone white from the strain.

How the tables have turned, Yan Qingqiu. Did you ever think you'd end up like this?

Usually, Miss Song wore her hair up in a bun, but tonight her wet hair hung loose, clinging to her collarbones. Drops of water gathered at the tips, one by one, each falling onto her collarbone.

A single strand curled in front of her face, half-covering her brows. Too heavy with moisture, it brushed past her nose and fell away.

"Does Master need service?"

Yan Qingqiu's fingers went numb; the oil bottles in her hand clinked and clattered together.

"Mm." Song Qingre shifted her body slightly back. Yan Qingqiu walked in step by step. With a little more force, she felt the whole floor below might hear them.

The lighting in her room wasn't bright, casting the space in a dim haze. Song Qingre changed the lighting once, and now the room was quite luminous. "I turned on the light on my way in."

"Mm, no problem." Yan Qingqiu placed the oils on the bed. She glanced at Song Qingre, still drying her hair with a towel, and asked, being attentive, "Do you need me to help blow-dry your hair?"

Song Qingre lowered the towel, plucked off the strands that clung to it, and draped it over a chair.

Yan Qingqiu went to the bathroom to fetch the hair dryer. Song Qingre sat on the edge of the bed. Yan Qingqiu returned, climbed onto the bed, knelt behind Song Qingre, and began blow-drying her hair—from crown to ends, from ends to crown. She asked, "Should I dry your bangs too?"

Song Qingre turned around. Yan Qingqiu's hand passed across her forehead, about to hook a strand of hair. Just as she moved an inch, Song Qingre's lips parted slightly and she said, "Touch me."

"Ah?" Yan Qingqiu's thumb pressed against her brow bone and rubbed it hard. She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Song Qingre sat sideways. Even with the light shining down, they were too close, so one side of her face was lit, the other in shadow.

Song Qingre's eyes were on her. Yan Qingqiu could see herself reflected in them—looking flustered. Likewise, she could see all of Song Qingre. Song Qingre was giving her a command.

Touch me, touch me.

Yan Qingqiu's hand holding the hair dryer dropped. Her other hand began to trace Song Qingre's brows. She couldn't quite describe the shape, only that the curve was gentle. She touched the tail of the brow, then brushed her cheek, as if outlining a silhouette, touching her thoroughly, from one end to the other.

Song Qingre's eyelids lowered. "Call me Master."

That single sentence placed heavy shackles around Yan Qingqiu's wrists.

"Master."

She stroked her twice over, and Song Qingre's features became concrete in her hands. Yan Qingqiu felt her coldness, and seemed to touch a deep-seated yearning within.

Her palm covered her cheek, sensing the chill. Yan Qingqiu's hand was warm. She closed her hand gently, squeezing.

Yan Qingqiu thought:

If she keeps touching, will she make me fulfill my slave duties?

Like, doing some *technical work*—fucking my master kind of thing.

As she thought, she quietly blew on her bangs, bit by bit. Song Qingre neither ordered her to stop, nor did she command anything shameful. She dried Song Qingre's hair to half-dry.

When she turned off the dryer, Song Qingre stood up, took an oil bottle from the box, poured some into her palm, and rubbed her hands together.

Yan Qingqiu caught sight of that and panicked. Her fingers pushed the button up hard. One word leaped into her head: *Lubrication.*

She had no experience, but she knew the steps.

"Lie down," Song Qingre said, her gaze falling on the bed.

Yan Qingqiu had been kneeling on the bed to dry her hair. At this, she licked her lips and said, "Isn't this a bit fast?"

Song Qingre's fingers were slick from the oil. She flexed her knuckles. "It's late. It's already past midnight."

Yan Qingqiu swallowed a breath. She held the hair dryer like a gun, aimed at herself or someone else. "But I haven't even gotten the money yet. Isn't this too rushed? And... I think we should at least have some foreplay—like a kiss, or some touching..."

Song Qingre took a step forward, almost nose-to-nose with her. Her breath was quick as she said, "Then shall we kiss now?"

"No, no, no..." Yan Qingqiu pushed her back, stood up. Too fast, she thought. At least get the money first. She held the hair dryer against Song Qingre's chest.

Song Qingre stared at her directly, desire flickering in her brown pupils. Suddenly, she chuckled. "What are you thinking? Didn't we agree on a massage?"

"Then, w-who's massaging who?"

"I'll do you," Song Qingre said. "The money hasn't hit your account yet, so for now I still listen to you. If you don't want the massage..."

"I'll do it." Yan Qingqiu didn't hesitate. She lay down immediately. But as soon as she was down, she felt a flicker of panic—had she lain down too fast? What if Song Qingre thought she had *those* intentions?

She was about to speak when she felt cool fingers slip under her camisole, touching her back. Still the familiar touch. Yan Qingqiu's thoughts scattered. She thought, *I'll learn the technique today and use it at my next job.*

Tomorrow and the day after, she'd have to give Song Qingre a massage too. At this rate, earning 298 yuan each day, how many years and months would it take to repay the debt?

Wah wah wah.

With that thought, Yan Qingqiu felt both pleasure and melancholy. Just as she was about to doze off, she forced herself awake and asked, "You don't have to sell the house after all. Let me think of another way. That house was left to you by your parents... Don't sell it yet, really."

Song Qingre's lips had just parted slightly when she added, "I haven't even been inside to see it..."

Song Qingre's fingers paused for a moment, then pinched her shoulder.

"Pinch more toward the middle. My gland is a bit itchy."

·

In the morning, Yan Qingqiu woke up. She lifted her back, failed to get up, and flopped heavily back onto the bed. A thin blanket lay over her waist, and with two movements it slipped off, revealing her narrow waist.

She turned her head, her cheek resting on the back of her hand. Song Qingre, fully dressed, sat upright on the edge of the bed.

Yan Qingqiu instantly snapped awake. For a moment, she didn't know how to handle this. She rolled over to face Song Qingre. Song Qingre was looking at her too. "Awake?"

The window was open, and the wind drifted inside.

Yan Qingqiu nodded. She sat up in bed. Remembering last night's events, her heart drummed. *How should I address her now?*

*Should I say good morning?*

"Why aren't you saying anything?" Song Qingre asked.

"Master..." Yan Qingqiu's voice was hoarse and low. "Good morning."

She knelt on the bed, her fingers clutching the hem of her clothes. She wanted to put on a tough act but felt too embarrassed. *I've already said it, so just focus on making money. Money!*

"Tell me your plan, and I'll help you think it through." Song Qingre spoke warmly. She held a tablet in her hand and was sketching with a stylus.

Yan Qingqiu first took a moment to clear her head, then laid out her previous thoughts in detail. She rubbed her face, feeling this might take a while. She got off the bed. "Wait here—I'll brush my teeth and be right back."

She ran off quickly, grabbing a toothbrush and cup from the next room. In Song Qingre's bathroom, she gave herself a good grooming. Then she came back with facial cream, sitting on the bed to apply it, dotting the white cream across her cheeks.

"So, what do you think?"

"You look nice like this," Song Qingre said.

Yan Qingqiu's fingers paused at her touch. She thought of something, pressed her lips together, and said, "Not that. I meant the plan. What do you think of my idea? Is it feasible?"

"Not very. Traffic from live streaming sales on Weibo has already dropped significantly," Song Qingre said. "Giving away my paintings as a lottery draw will definitely lose you money. Better to list my paintings on a trading site and let people bid—you'll earn far more than that."

"I could do live streams, but... my dad's company won't give me the goods. I don't have the authority," Yan Qingqiu said softly. "Besides, my dad only allocated me one million worth of stock for reform. If I try to sell the old stock, it won't sell. That's nowhere near enough."

The company wasn't Yan Fu's alone—there were so many people up and down the ranks. No one would risk real money to play along with her, and since she'd been the one to stir up trouble, nobody believed in her. She didn't dare make any guarantees either.

Song Qingre said, "You can buy the stock."

"Buy?" Yan Qingqiu had thought of that, but the problem was she had no money.

"How much do you need?" Song Qingre asked.

Yan Qingqiu didn't dare ask for too much, for fear Song Qingre would sell her house.

"Your uncle's company won't ship you goods because there's no precedent. You can give them a deposit. Whatever you sell, you split the profits. Afterwards, as long as you haven't run off with the goods, they'll return the deposit to you."

That was a good idea.

She certainly wouldn't run off with the goods. She'd help sell whatever she could—and this way, she wouldn't feel the pressure either.

Song Qingre added, "The goods must be reformed according to your methods, with both sides sharing the risk. But if you make a profit, they have to share a cut with you. That way, you'll earn more than if you'd just signed a typical streamer contract."

Yan Qingqiu didn't understand any of this. In the real world, she hadn't been in this line of work at all. Honestly, the skincare products she used were just the cheap sachet creams she bought at the convenience store when her face felt dry in winter.

She set aside what Song Qingre had said. Song Qingre handed her the tablet, on which she had already drawn up the entire process—point by point, clearly written, with all the risks planned out. Except for one worst-case scenario that hadn't been written down...

"The worst-case scenario..." Song Qingre said, "The worst-case scenario is that you sell poorly, I lend you the money to get your father through this, and then I become your creditor."

Song Qingre sighed. "I might have to be your master for a very long time."

Yan Qingqiu's face was about to change. She turned away, pretending to apply face cream on her cheeks. Then, with great resolve, she scolded herself internally: *This is what you get for running your mouth!*

"Assuming you don't sell the house, how much can you lend me?" Yan Qingqiu asked.

"How much do you want?"

"One hundred million!"

*If you want to get rich fast, fight for a hundred million first.*

"Alright, one hundred million."

Yan Qingqiu's eyes widened slightly. *That was fast?*

She looked at Song Qingre suspiciously. "You actually have that much money? You're not planning to sell the house behind my back, are you?"

"No, I can easily put up a hundred million. My parents left me some money before they passed, and I've earned a fair amount myself over the years."

*A hundred million counts as 'some'?*

Yan Qingqiu felt something was off. She stared at her and asked, "Then why did you want to sell the house?"

"Mm, if you hadn't come up with a solution, I would have bought out your uncle's company. If I couldn't buy it outright, I'd inject capital and become a shareholder. That would require a large cash flow, and I can't mobilize it all at once. Your uncle's company was in urgent need, so selling the house and getting the cash quickly was the fastest option," Song Qingre said.

She said it calmly, but Yan Qingqiu was stunned. *Buy out the company...* Song Qingre didn't finish the rest, just looked directly at her.

Some things lost their art when said aloud, but the unspoken parts were a different kind of heartbeat.

"So if I do sell everything, make a profit, and pay you back, you don't want anything?" Yan Qingqiu looked at her, her voice soft. "How about I split the profits with you?"

"No need. Just congratulations on your success," Song Qingre said, merely looking at her, speaking gently, as if utterly without desire.

Yan Qingqiu was almost moved to tears. She nearly blurted out, "Good person, even after I repay your money, please let me be your captive!"

The two got off the bed, and Song Qingre led her to see the paintings. Standing on the balcony, looking at each canvas, Yan Qingqiu felt deeply moved and couldn't help glancing at Song Qingre repeatedly. She had prepared so thoroughly.

On the canvas:

The golden-haired girl flew like the wind, head tilted back, eyes shut. A drop of cinnabar red decorated the center of her brow. Her blue dress spread across the entire canvas, a garden of flowers blooming upon the fabric. A three-story villa tilted as if gazing up at her, bearing the golden radiance of the sun as her crown.

"There's more." Song Qingre brought out the canvases behind the first one.

A lone golden-haired girl wearing a crown, head tilted back, bathed in light, eyes closed beneath the glow. Every inch of her skin was as delicate as real leather.

Yan Qingqiu really wanted to touch it.

The original Ye Group packaging was simple, just blue wrapping with a pattern of auspicious flowers—a style popular last century. It used to sell out immediately upon release, but now, against the times, it looked rather crude.

Song Qingre had painted two versions: one realistic, depicting Yan Qingqiu exactly as she was, and one romantic and abstract, steeped in strong artistic flair.

Back then, she'd deliberately been mischievous and refused to let Song Qingre paint her—running from the flower garden to the swing, then from the swing upstairs. She never expected Song Qingre to have painted her anyway, and so beautifully.

"Let me pick..." Yan Qingqiu felt embarrassed. She examined each one, but they were all beautiful. Even the realistic one seemed lovely. She'd never realized how radiant she looked in the light—every strand of hair like golden sunlight, with the light casting a layer of dazzling gold upon her.

"They're all yours," Song Qingre said.

"All of them?" Yan Qingqiu was shocked.

"There are more in the room." Song Qingre looked toward the interior. Yan Qingqiu set down the canvas and went inside. In the bedroom, there were several more canvases covered with cloth. She uncovered them one by one.

There was a golden-haired girl opening a window; a golden-haired woman standing in a curtain of rain; her lying on the sofa with shadows falling across her pink toes; and her lying on the floor with sunlight spilling over half her body.

The people viewing these pieces could see every strand of down on her skin, and the delicate lines of her body.

Yan Qingqiu didn't know what to say. She almost wanted to ask Song Qingre: *Did you know something was going to happen and paint all of these in advance?*

The answer was clearly no.

Painting required inspiration.

Song Qingre didn't just paint people—she painted rain, painted houses.

This was different from her previous style. When visiting the exhibition earlier, Yan Qingqiu had never seen Song Qingre's works so bright and radiant. Her paintings shared a common trait: when you looked at a mountain, it was upside down; when you looked at rain, it fell at a slant; even swirling snow twisted and changed color.

Yan Qingqiu remembered one painting that was on display but never sold—a stretch of white with a few black specks scattered like random splashes of ink.

Yan Qingqiu had thought, *So this is art? Well, I could paint that too.* Later, she looked it up online: it was snow. A flurry of snow, and at one moment, the snow turned black.

Black as dried blood.

Yan Qingqiu had wanted to examine those ink drops more closely for color, but the exhibition had already ended. She genuinely admired Song Qingre. An artist, for sure. Amazing.

But now...

Whoa.

Yan Qingqiu stared at the room full of paintings, shocked. "You're this prolific?"

"Being prolific doesn't necessarily mean satisfaction. A painter keeps painting, but it just depends on whether she likes it and whether it resonates artistically. If she doesn't like it, then the painting is a waste—utterly worthless."

"Oh..." Yan Qingqiu thought to herself, *And I've stopped understanding again.*

But she really liked these paintings.

"They're really all for me?" Yan Qingqiu asked, incredulous.

Song Qingre nodded. "All for you."

Yan Qingqiu felt touched. She thought to herself, *Song Qingre's not a bad person. She knows me well—she gave them all to me before I even said I wanted them all.*

Song Qingre said, "I can sign them. You can make them limited editions—release them only once, never restock. Scarcity marketing."

"Great, great, great!"

All day long, Yan Qingqiu looked at the paintings, gobbling down her meals. When the butler saw her, he always sighed with worry, thinking the young miss was troubled by something.

Song Qingre, however, wasn't too concerned. She contacted the studio's legal team to draft two contracts, which she brought to Yan Qingqiu that evening. "Take a look. Bring this one to your uncle's company tomorrow. The other one is between you and me."

Yan Qingqiu didn't sign right away. She read through them herself first, then found a law firm online, paid a small fee, and had it verified multiple times before signing and giving it to Song Qingre.

The next day, Song Qingre took her to the bank, then drove her to the Yan Corporation building.

"Come with me," Yan Qingqiu said.

Song Qingre looked at her questioningly.

Yan Qingqiu sat in the back seat, clutching the bank check. She fiddled with it for a moment, then handed it to her to hold. She was too embarrassed to admit she didn't dare carry that much money—too cowardly. If she lost it, she'd never be able to repay it in her lifetime.

She also wanted to bask in the female lead's aura.

"Alright." Song Qingre helped her hold the money.

The two went to meet Yan Fu. He had just finished a meeting and was coming out, surrounded by a group of senior executives. His face looked haggard. When he saw them, he immediately mustered up his spirits and asked, "What are you two doing here?"

Song Qingre handed the check to Yan Qingqiu.

Yan Qingqiu took it, then looked at Yan Fu. She mustered her courage. "This is a check for one hundred million. Give me one hundred million worth of goods. If I run off with the goods, this entire hundred million is yours. Deal?"

Yan Fu was stunned. He hurriedly asked his daughter, "Where did you get so much money?"

Yan Qingqiu said, "I borrowed it. I borrowed a little from Xing Xing, and Song Qingre chipped in too. We pooled it together to make a hundred million." Her fingers holding the check were shaking. *Damn it, I swear I've never held this much money in my life.*

"Dad, don't worry. I know what I'm doing. I'll sell through live streams, and whatever I sell is all yours. Just open an account for me. This hundred million is a deposit, okay?"

Yan Fu held the check for a long time without speaking. His heart felt warm. He knew his daughter was trying to help him.

Song Qingre helped out by saying, "Trust her this once. She's been preparing for a long time, and she's serious. I can act as guarantor."

Yan Fu turned to look at the other senior executives. They looked at the check in his hand. That hundred million, once received, could immediately solve their cash flow crisis.

One executive said, "What if you withdraw the money in a couple of days? We'd have already used it, and if you ask for it back, we wouldn't have the money to return."

Yan Qingqiu pulled out another contract and handed it over. "This is for that. If I ask for the money back, I must pay you penalty fees within three days."

The executives crowded around to look. The contract was full of sincerity, but they all still eyed Yan Qingqiu suspiciously. *Has she really changed her ways, or is she just playing around for fun?*

Yan Qingqiu knew she'd already half won. She stood tall in the hallway, the light falling on her shoulders, radiating confidence.

Yan Fu made the final call. "Go notify the downstream factories. Follow the young miss's instructions on the packaging. List that packaging as a pre-order on the official flagship store. We'll have a meeting later."

Yan Qingqiu let out a breath.

Yan Fu wanted to say something—something like "Don't let Dad down, Qiuqiu"—but the words stuck in his throat. He didn't want to pressure her.

Yan Qingqiu knew he was busy, so she said, "Then I'll head off, Dad."

"Mm. Travel safe."

Yan Qingqiu's fingers had turned red from pinching. Song Qingre pressed the elevator button, and the two went down together. Now that she had nothing in her hands, the fear hit her all at once. She stepped out into the autumn day, as if awakening from a dream.

*My god, how did I dare? One hundred million. Oh my god, a hundred million.*

Yan Qingqiu didn't dare look at Song Qingre. What if Song Qingre set her up? She shook her head. *No. The contract said that if she didn't run off with the goods, the money would be returned to her.*

Yan Qingqiu had been acting on sheer momentum, but now it faded and a wave of fear washed over her. She turned to look. The blue glass reflected nothing of the person inside, but she could still sense Yan Fu standing at the window, watching her.

It felt strange.

Yan Qingqiu thought, *Is this what it feels like to have a family?*

Even if she took the wrong path, her father would protect her.

She waved at Yan Fu. "Dad, go inside."

Yan Fu nodded at her through the glass.

Back in the car, Yan Qingqiu sat in the passenger seat. Song Qingre turned to look at her and asked, "Scared?"

Yan Qingqiu's fingers were trembling as she buckled her seatbelt. She forced a laugh. "Are you kidding? A person has to seize opportunities. Opportunity doesn't wait for anyone. Chances are always for those who are prepared."

Song Qingre squinted her eyes, looking serious. "I didn't catch that."

Yan Qingqiu chuckled. *So you do have moments when you don't understand.*

*Funny, I don't understand what I just said either.*

She watched the scenery outside and remembered a question she'd wanted to ask for a while but kept forgetting. She said, "Song Qingre, you're so clever. Why don't you go into business? With a mind as sharp as yours, you could make a fortune."

Song Qingre looked at the road ahead. She waited until they stopped at a red light before answering. "Because of one sentence."

"What sentence?"

Song Qingre didn't answer. The light turned green, and the car moved forward. Yan Qingqiu didn't dare press further, afraid it might be related to her, and if she didn't know, she'd blow her cover.

She muttered to herself, "Whatever. Work is just so exhausting. After running around these past few days, my back and legs are killing me. Better to be an artist like you—paint when you want, and when you don't, just lie around like a lazy fish."

Song Qingre only said, "Mm."

·

Afterward, Yan Qingqiu ran to several more places, keeping an eye on the packaging factory's samples herself, occasionally studying how other streamers sold their goods.

She stopped having Song Qingre run around with her—after all, Song Qingre had her own work too.

A woman building her career had to stand on her own.

When you're busy, time flies. Yan Qingqiu also told Su Xingjie about her plans for live-stream sales, omitting the contract and the loan. She had her reasons for not borrowing money from Su Xingjie too. After ER cleaned up its act, Su Xingjie had sunk a lot of money into it. If she went to her again, Su Xingjie would be in danger.

She didn't want to cause Su Xingjie to end up in trouble after just getting her out.

Yan Qingqiu didn't stand on ceremony where Su Xingjie could help—she went straight to her. In the morning, she sent a voice message.

"Xing Xing, lend me a few models to help sell our goods. Let's do a live stream."

"Sure." Su Xingjie agreed readily. She immediately called Qiang Wei over and decided to personally pick the best ones. She said, "Wait for it. I'll send you some pictures in a bit."

After the model-related incident last time, Su Xingjie had done a thorough purge of the models around her. What remained were mostly younger ones, fresh to the industry—young, small, and delicate-looking.

Su Xingjie first sent her ten options, then asked via voice message: "How about these? Their skin is great, perfect for your products."

"Mm... not bad." Yan Qingqiu felt they were too young to work with. She said, "I need them to be 20 or older. Anyone younger, no."

Su Xingjie cut half of them and added a few more, then asked, "How about now?"

Yan Qingqiu looked through each one, resting her chin on her hand. She swiped through the photos, her golden hair falling forward, then tucked it behind her ear. "Not bad. But the model styles shouldn't be too uniform. Try to have a variety—since all of them are good, take them all. Let's get as many as eighteen."

"Sure." Su Xingjie adjusted the lineup. This time, she mixed dark-skinned and light-skinned, bold and fiery, gentle and reserved—eighteen models, each with a completely different personality.

Yan Qingqiu replied: 【OK】

【I'll pick them up at your company this afternoon.】

Yan Qingqiu felt a bit embarrassed going to ER again. She'd made a fool of herself there last time, so she bought a mask to wear. But it didn't help much—her cascade of golden hair practically shouted, "Hello, I'm Yan Qingqiu, and I'm back!"

As she walked up to the upper floors, quite a few people came over to gawk at her. Su Xingjie had already called the models over. Eighteen of them stood in a row, and Su Xingjie was giving them instructions on how to behave during the live stream, telling them not to embarrass her.

When Su Xingjie finished, Yan Qingqiu crossed her arms and looked over the models seriously. "You're all pretty tough and hardworking, right?"

The models didn't know what that meant; their nodding wasn't even in sync.

Su Xingjie said, "I picked them specially. They're also great talkers."

"Talk doesn't matter much." Yan Qingqiu stayed standing, observing. Su Xingjie offered her a chair, and Yan Qingqiu sat down. These models were all stunningly proportioned, with high-class, world-weary faces. Yan Qingqiu couldn't quite hold back. She asked Su Xingjie, "Mm, uh, can they light my cigarettes and pour me drinks?"

Su Xingjie clapped her hands. She took a cigar, expertly snipped off the tip with a cutter, and handed it to Yan Qingqiu. The models all leaned in to light it for her. Yan Qingqiu was surrounded by these sultry, statuesque figures, and as several lighters flicked to life, the flame's heat grazed her cheek.

It felt like being encircled by wolves, yet also like holding the reins that tamed them.

"You think it's good?" Su Xingjie asked.

"It's damn good." Yan Qingqiu handed the cigar back.

Waist was waist, hips were hips. Perfect figures, each and every one beautiful.

Yan Qingqiu had only ever seen models on video before, and she always thought they looked cool and fierce. She thought, *If we weren't doing business, I'd want to grab them and slap their asses.*

"Alright, Xing Xing, let's do a contract. I'll pay you."

"For money?" Su Xingjie frowned. "That's too distant."

"It's just that I might need them for more than a day. I don't want to tie you up for too long." Yan Qingqiu felt awkward and said directly, "I have a lot of goods. I won't be able to sell them all in one go, so I might need a few more days."

For live-stream sales, a contract was necessary. If something went wrong one day, they could use the contract to manage it. It wasn't that she didn't trust Su Xingjie—it was that she feared her models might cause trouble.

Su Xingjie agreed with her caution but refused to take any money. She said, "How about this? Do another promotional shoot for me, and I'll lend you the models. Consider it a mutual exchange of our teams. What do you say?"

"Sure, that works." Yan Qingqiu wouldn't have any emotional baggage then.

Su Xingjie called someone to set up the shooting space. "I'll add one or two models for you. You can use them for promotion too. Qiang Wei, go call Jasmine over."

Yan Qingqiu spent the entire afternoon at ER taking photos. When she left, she carried away a pile of clothes. Only when she got downstairs did she realize: *Wait, did I just come out ahead again?*

Everything was set. Finally, Yan Qingqiu was ready to start her live stream. The Yan company already had a live-stream account. Yan Qingqiu didn't plan on selling conventionally—she intended to ride the wave of trending topics. She had her own ideas for the stream, but she hadn't told anyone yet.

Over the past two weeks, netizens were still relishing her old, messy history with Fu Ye.

Yan Qingqiu decided to just open every live-stream platform she could at once. The venue was provided by the Yan company. Yan Fu had specially arranged a cute, pretty setting for her, sitting outside the camera himself to keep an eye on things.

Yan Fu was so nervous his secretary had handed him tissues several times. He wiped the sweat from his palms. In the middle of it, he took a call from the butler, who said he wanted to come watch in person.

Yan Fu said, "What's there to worry about? What's there to fear?"

After hanging up, he said to the person beside him, "This is her first time working... her first time working. She's never worked before."

The secretary said, "Understood. The staff have already been notified to record it. Please don't be nervous, sir."

Yan Qingqiu sat in her chair, typing out each word carefully. She set the title while all eighteen models crowded behind her, staring at the screen.

Title:

# Click to watch: The full story of how I, Yan Qingqiu, punched a dog in the head and forcibly kissed my first love #

She'd even edited the thumbnail—her beautiful photo next to a dog. Right now, the hottest topic online was her messy affair with Fu Ye. Marketing accounts were all hopping on the bandwagon, so she decided to jump on too. Nothing else to lose.

The live stream's trending rank shot up, and within seconds, it dominated the hot search list.

In just one minute, a million people had come in.

【Come on! Tell us how you're going to lick Fu Ye's boots next】

The netizens rushed in one after another. Across the whole internet, gossip lovers had reached sixty million viewers, nearly catching up to the hottest big streamers. Even big streamers came over to join the fun and launch rockets to boost the stream.

【Are you going to break ties with the Yan family? Spit it out—my patience has limits!】

Yan Qingqiu glanced at the viewer count in the corner and said unhurriedly, "Hold on, give me three more minutes and I'll talk. This story is a long one. I need to wait for my assistant to finish drafting the script. What's the rush?"

"Haste makes waste. Let me moisturize my skin first."

Then, holding the Yan company's moisturizer, she wiped her face, rubbed it in, and used a lip balm to moisturize her lips, using the camera as a mirror. Her skin was dewy and smooth, her lips glossy and moist.

No one could hold out against that.

【I didn't even want to hear the story, but I already want to buy the product】

【Stay strong, don't fall for the capitalist's tricks】

【Whatever, if the cover doesn't match the actual product today, the Yan family gets blacklisted forever】

Yan Qingqiu didn't idle either. She had the eighteen models display the products—boxes with artwork by the artist Song Qingre—and had the models rub their faces, making their skin dewy and radiant. It was practically a feast for the senses.

Since the stream couldn't show too much skin, they were all in tank tops and shorts. Yan Qingqiu then had them apply the essential oils to their skin.

The viewers who'd clicked in for the gossip were growing anxious: *What are you doing? So alluring... I want to buy some lotion and moisturize my skin now.*

The three minutes were nearly up. Su Xingjie quickly ended her meeting and had all departments on standby, spinning into action—spreading ads, buying marketing accounts to hype it up. She was basically shouting: Yan Qingqiu had kicked Fu Ye to the curb! She was taking a stand! If you don't believe it, go watch her live stream!

Song Qingre stopped painting. A phone holder now sat atop her easel, and the whole household was squeezed together watching, ready to help swell the numbers and place orders at any moment.

The butler breathed nervously. This was the young miss's first live stream—they had to support her!

The Fu Corporation staff had also created accounts to watch, ready to report the stream if she said anything out of line and have it shut down, making life difficult for her.

Word had it that the president himself had made an account and snuck into the stream early. Fu Ye was indeed there. He wanted to know what those years had meant to Yan Qingqiu. If she still had feelings for him, if she still yearned for him, he would charge into the Yan Corporation with a diamond ring, regardless of anyone's objections, and propose to her on the spot.

On the stream, Yan Qingqiu was calmly fussing with things, occasionally pressing her lips together and tapping her dewy cheek.

Her eyes were bright and sparkling, like a tranquil, clear pool—bottomless and pristine.

Her friends said she was as beautiful as an oil painting, every stroke saturated with color. Under the light at this moment, she was breathtaking—strands of hair falling around her ears, her clean, slender fingers hooking them back gently.

Three minutes were up. Within and without the circles, a motley crew of rich heirs, female and male supporting characters alike, also flooded into the stream, and the viewer count swelled by another ten million.

The tension was about to snap. A team of lawyers charged in first: 【According to the laws and regulations of our country, spreading rumors on public platforms can incur criminal penalties...】

Then everyone watched as the golden-haired beauty commanded the eighteen models to lie down one by one on cooling mats, arm against arm, forming what looked like a blanket.

The golden-haired beauty held a cute little bottle of lotion. She walked over to the models, took off her jacket, revealing a short top and shorts, then looked up at the camera.

"Today, if you order the Golden Hair Princess gift set in the stream—and if you spend 999, you'll also get a bottle of Tangerine Breeze moisturizing oil for free!"

"Babes, smash that 999! As long as we clear out all today's stock, I'll do it right here, right now—I'll roll over all eighteen oiled-up models, and roll back!"

"Three, two, one! Here! Link's up!"