Chapter 51

Yan Qingqiu had been spacing out, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest. She tried to suppress her racing feelings, but she was too flustered to act normally.

Across from her, Song Qingre took off her gloves and reached out, gently placing her palm on Yan Qingqiu's head. "Stop thinking so much. Eat."

Yan Qingqiu nodded, looking at the lunchbox. "What did you bring me?"

"Sukiyaki? Tom yum soup?" Yan Qingqiu noted that Song Qingre seemed to know her tastes well; these were exactly what she'd been craving.

Song Qingre said, "I saw what you liked on your video page."

Yan Qingqiu made an 'oh' sound. Big data really didn't care about privacy these days. Well, she was quite attentive.

"Thanks, this is just what I wanted." Yan Qingqiu kept her head down, picking at her food with chopsticks. Then she looked up. "What do you want to eat? Oh, have you eaten?"

"No," Song Qingre said honestly. "After we parted this morning, I didn't feel like doing anything, so I watched all the videos you'd liked. Then I started preparing food for you to pass the time."

"Oh." Yan Qingqiu found a new set of utensils in the lunchbox and handed them over. The two sat at the convenience store's table to eat. Worried the owner might mind, Yan Qingqiu went inside to buy two bottles of yogurt, offering one to Song Qingre.

Yan Qingqiu dipped a shrimp in sauce and spoke in a steady tone. "I actually had a nightmare last night. I dreamed I was working at a bakery, and you came to buy bread, but you didn't talk to me."

Song Qingre's chopsticks picked up some thin noodles, twirling them into a neat coil. She didn't eat—just paused, giving Yan Qingqiu a moment to wonder what she might say.

Would she say it wasn't her, that she'd mistaken someone else, or...

"I wouldn't rush to recognize you," Song Qingre said softly. "I'd first check why you were working there, observe where you live, how you live, and figure out how to bring you home safely."

Yan Qingqiu continued eating her shrimp—fresh and springy. She liked the texture, and she liked this answer.

She said, "It's just a dream, no logic, a bizarre dream. You don't have to take it seriously."

"Mm, I hope it was a dream, because little Qiuqiu always wanted a bakery, like in Kiki's Delivery Service."

Yan Qingqiu had first mentioned watching Kiki's Delivery Service and finding it healing. Actually, it was during the time she worked at a bakery after being laid off. She'd been struggling to find work and felt lost, then stumbled upon a clip of the movie. She'd wiped her eyes and decided to try the bakery.

Saying it out loud made her feel much better. Maybe Song Qingre couldn't fully understand her words, but she could express it another way, rather than keeping it bottled up. It was a relief.

Yan Qingqiu looked at Song Qingre. "You're so serious, answering my question so formally."

Song Qingre said earnestly, "I was nervous. I was worried you'd think I was too clingy." She ate the now-cold noodles. "I think about you every ten minutes on average."

Yan Qingqiu wasn't even eating, but she nearly choked. She couldn't handle the beauty's direct hit. She couldn't look at her. A sigh—who wasn't like that? I think about it too, about you.

She kept her head down, eating. So strange, so strange.

After the meal, Song Qingre cleaned up the table.

She asked Yan Qingqiu, "Do you want me to stay here with you?"

"No, I'm working." She didn't need company.

But wouldn't it be rude to wipe her mouth and send her away right after eating?

Yan Qingqiu said politely, "If you're bored, you can stay and hang out."

"I'll sit for a bit, see how you shoot. I'm curious." Song Qingre settled in and watched the scenery. They were at a small scenic spot by the sea. Earlier, shooting on the busy streets had drawn too many onlookers.

They didn't talk much—mainly because Yan Qingqiu didn't dare chat with Song Qingre. It was hard to explain, a kind of panic, her cheeks warming persistently.

She kept her head down, playing with her phone. The screen was still on the forum from earlier. It now had a 'hot' tag. These netizens were relentless—in less than an hour, it was already nearing 100 pages.

Yan Qingqiu didn't dare click in. This was bad.

If this continued, the whole internet would know they were getting married.

What a disaster. She'd never vent online again. What kind of devils were netizens? They were terrifying.

Yan Qingqiu didn't dare open the thread to see what had been posted. She let out a soft sigh and casually scrolled a video. It opened to a marketing account's voice: "Hilarious, ladies! Yan Qingqiu is a real-life seductress. She posts on the forum asking if she should marry Song Qingre, exposes that her family has recorded Song's iris, and even reveals they sleep together. Can we get more celebs like her who feed fans sugar?"

Yan Qingqiu just didn't get it. She replied below: 【Sorry, I still don't understand. Why is it a problem that Yan Qingqiu let Song Qingre scan her iris and sleep with her? Aren't they childhood friends?】

A reply came fast: 【Sis, Yan Qingqiu and Song Qingre are both 25—they're adults! Would you let your bestie into your home's iris system? Would you sleep next to your sister? Not even neighbors are as close as besties, think with your toes!】

Damn, her toenails were working overtime to dig a castle. She hadn't even thought of that. God, when put that way, it did seem suspicious. But she could explain—her father had made Song Qingre do it!

But that explanation sounded even weirder.

Yan Qingqiu didn't dare act rashly. She casually scrolled the comments.

She spotted a teasing one: 【It's definitely her. Su Xingjie posted yesterday about street shooting. Yan Qingqiu probably didn't reply to the forum because she was filming. Hahaha, amazing. Do you think Song Qingre will see this? If we spill all her tricks, will they break up? Hahaha.】

【If I were Song Qingre, I'd do nothing but camp in the comments, copying whoever has the most likes. Hilarious.】

【Now I think everyone is Yan Qingqiu, lurking and typing, trying to defend herself.】

Yan Qingqiu quietly withdrew her fingers: Thanks, I'm about to die laughing too.

She thought it was just a quick scroll, but it was like she'd hit a hornet's nest of marketing accounts. Everything in her feed was about her and Song Qingre. She suspected someone was fanning the flames—the hype was too big. As she scrolled, she looked up.

She found Song Qingre across from her also on her phone, lounging lazily, eyes smiling—not at all looking serious.

Yan Qingqiu took a sip of yogurt, got up from her chair, and snuck over to peek at Song Qingre's phone. Looking down, she saw a comment: 【I thought the marketing accounts were annoying, but the more I scroll, the cuter Yan Qingqiu seems—dumb and adorable. I want to hug her and smooch her cheek, kiss kiss kiss. She's so soft, I like her so much, I want to marry her, I'm dizzy.】

Yan Qingqiu laughed—netizens were having their usual meltdowns. But even more deranged was that Song Qingre's thumb pressed on the like button.

"???" Was Song Qingre crazy? Headache. Sorry, actually, I'm the one who's been crazy all along. I shouldn't have posted directly on the forum.

Yan Qingqiu quietly sat back down, pulling her gaze back within bounds.

Song Qingre was on her phone; several friends had sent congratulations.

Ye Sichun: 【Congratulations, you've won the beauty.】

Song Qingre didn't explain, just replied, 【Prepare your gift money.】

You Liyin: 【My mistake. I didn't recognize true talent. Last time I said you'd get married before I had kids, but I didn't expect you to aim for a one-step solution.】

Song Qingre didn't reply to that, just kept smiling as she read the other congratulations.

Yan Qingqiu slumped on the table, miserable, feeling she'd made a huge fool of herself. She reminded Song Qingre, "Can you stop looking at that?"

Song Qingre lifted her eyes, a bright smile on her face, as if to say: I want more.

Shooting resumed at two in the afternoon. Yan Qingqiu felt everyone's gazes on her were different. She didn't know how to explain; anything she said would sound like protesting too much.

She changed into a new outfit, just finished tying her belt and reaching for her bag, when she noticed Song Qingre talking to the assistant, about to leave. She hurried over. "You... stay a bit longer. I have something to tell you later."

Song Qingre nodded. "Okay, I'll wait for you here."

The reason she didn't want her to leave was simple: Yan Qingqiu didn't want to hear the System's nagging. If the System came online later and found the whole internet urging her to marry, how would she explain?

With that thought, she let out a heavy sigh.

The rest of the shoot was simple. She just had to hold a bag by the railing, not smile, and give an aloof, world-weary look.

They shot for two hours, trying every color scheme. Yan Qingqiu didn't suit the current cold, aloof model style. Her looks, along with her spoiled temperament, still best suited the extravagant, flashy heiress vibe.

Su Xingjie was generous, loading her with gold, pearls, and diamonds—all accessories from collaborators.

Su Xingjie said this style suited her well. Yan Qingqiu was worried, feeling it was just her friend's thick filter.

Everyone has their own style. If they all followed one route, they'd be no different from mass-produced goods, and fans would just scroll past without remembering faces.

It wasn't hard for Su Xingjie to boost her. Yan Qingqiu had been famous before—her stunt of rolling over eighteen oiled models during a livestream was still unforgettable. Even internationally, she was known as a savage in the modeling world.

After one round, Yan Qingqiu glanced at Song Qingre, who smiled gently at her, watching warmly. She'd said she wouldn't leave, and she didn't.

Su Xingjie styled her hair, brushing her bangs. "She really listens to you. Standing there all this time."

She meant it as praise for Song Qingre, but it made Yan Qingqiu's ears burn. Damn wind kept blowing, teasing her ears, turning warmth into itch in an instant. She didn't dare rub them, afraid of being noticed.

"Why are you blushing?" Su Xingjie pinched her ear in surprise.

"How could I blush? My skin is so thick."

Su Xingjie laughed at that. If Yan Qingqiu's skin was thick yet she still blushed, imagine how shy she really was. After fixing her makeup, Yan Qingqiu walked over to Song Qingre, hands resting on the table.

Song Qingre's gaze landed on her face. "What's wrong?"

Yan Qingqiu said, "You go back first."

If Song Qingre stayed longer, she'd become everyone's target for teasing. She was an artist—she shouldn't be made fun of.

"Okay, I'll pick you up tonight," Song Qingre said.

Yan Qingqiu nodded, watching Song Qingre get into the car. A moment later, it hit her: she could just ask Su Xingjie for a ride home. Why did she need picking up? Her brain was dizzy from all the netizen chatter.

Once Song Qingre left, the pressure on Yan Qingqiu eased. She glanced back at the direction the car had gone, until the photographer clapped for her attention, snapping her back to focus.

··

Back at her place, Song Qingre couldn't do anything either, couldn't concentrate. She sat in her office, staring off, thinking of Yan Qingqiu's expression earlier, occasionally smiling.

An assistant knocked, calling her several times with no response.

The assistant wondered—had her boss caught lovesickness?

The assistant knocked again, saying a friend had come to see her.

Song Qingre finally looked away, telling her to bring the friend in. The friend came in and said a few things, but Song Qingre didn't respond.

Song Qingre sat in her office chair, staring intently at a painting on the wall. Previously, her office had been covered in her own paintings—artists seemed to have a bit of narcissism.

Now she'd cleared a space for one painting. Her friend wouldn't have noticed at first, but this painting was unusual, completely unlike Song Qingre's style. It looked like messy colors smeared together.

"Did you paint this? It's not your style."

She looked at the wall, feeling the painting was a mismatch. Song Qingre's art was always oil paintings, even in chaotic styles, but you could see the content, a strong expressive desire.

This one showed nothing. And, how to put it—at first glance, you couldn't even tell what style it was going for.

"Whose masterpiece is this?" the friend asked.

"A unique piece." Song Qingre smiled at the wall.

The friend looked too, arms crossed, trying to see the art. "Does it have a name?"

"Yes. Fireworks."

"Fireworks..." How does it look like fireworks?

"It has a name? I thought it was random scribbling. But honestly, this painting... it does have a sense of fireworks. The fireworks I've seen were always dazzling, using every color. This one uses a lot of paint too, but there's a clean, innocent feeling. Mmm... and a slight distortion I can't quite name."

Song Qingre said tenderly, "Indeed, from different angles, a painting offers different experiences. I find it quite lovely. But you're right about the innocence."

"Mm, nowadays many artists paint beautiful scenes, more and more refined, but there's no real content. Sometimes it's not as good as looking at web artists drawing pretty characters."

Song Qingre said, "It's hard for artists to survive these days."

That was about small painters—if an artist wasn't famous, their paintings had no value, just scraps of paper. Buying them at high prices was worse than getting photos from a studio.

There often appeared a topic: "Death of the Artist."

Song Qingre was different—she was a talent, peaking at debut.

The friend moved closer. The brushwork was rough yet... balanced. "How much did you pay for it?"

Song Qingre didn't answer. She pressed her lips together, her gaze as soft as water.

"You're bold, hanging such a valuable painting here. Aren't you afraid it'll be stolen?"

"My house isn't ready yet. If I hang it, it should be at Qiuqiu's place. That would be more meaningful." Song Qingre said.

"True, if you don't hang a painting, just collecting it is boring." The friend was still curious. "How much was it?"

"You want to buy it?" Song Qingre saw right through her.

"Just asking. It's pretty nice, don't look down on me. I do buy paintings, I know a bit."

Song Qingre looked at her friend. "Know a bit but not much?"

"Don't say that. I'm moderately knowledgeable. I like collecting things that interest me. I feel like this painting and I have a connection. Not many of your paintings here I can understand, but this one fits my taste. I could see it."

"Not for sale. I told you, it's a unique piece. I had to beg for it for a long time, even painting a portrait for the owner to get it."

"You painted a portrait for it? Then this painting must be worth a fortune." The friend got even more curious. Song Qingre never painted portraits—all her figures were abstract. Outsiders said she never saw anyone worthy of painting.

"Name your price. I'll take it."

Song Qingre shook her head. "Not selling. I don't need money."

"You still need money for your wedding, right? Let me help you cash it in. You set a price, I buy the painting, you get married. We're all friends."

Song Qingre shook her head again.

The friend liked it more and more, muttering, "Stingy. Ugh."

She leaned back. "That painting just makes me feel good."

But Song Qingre was too firm. The friend gritted her teeth; it felt like trying to snatch food from a dog's mouth.

··

She came at dusk, the sky a dull yellow. Because it was cold, the yellow flashed away, leaving only a struggling bit of sunset on the horizon.

Song Qingre didn't mind the trouble, making two trips there a day. She just watched Yan Qingqiu work, never disturbing. She parked along the tree-lined road and stood where the view was best.

Yan Qingqiu changed poses several times, and each time her peripheral vision caught Song Qingre standing still, hands in pockets, like a quiet streetlamp—but different, her eyes followed Yan Qingqiu.

Yan Qingqiu shot until seven in the evening. The cold crept in, and she zipped up her padded coat. Because she kept looking at Song Qingre, she accidentally pulled the zipper all the way up, nearly catching her lower lip. She frowned, keeping her head down to fix her clothes, afraid someone would notice.

Song Qingre opened the car door and stood waiting for her. Yan Qingqiu stayed put. Su Xingjie nudged her shoulder with her elbow. "Want me to load your clothes into her car?"

"That's too much."

Yan Qingqiu hadn't counted how many outfits she'd worn that day, guessing around ten. Su Xingjie said, "They're just clothes. Why are you overthinking? You sent me a ton of essential oils and skincare last time." She clapped her hands. "Xiao Zhang, Xiao Li, no need to pack the clothes. Put them in gift boxes and load them into Miss Song's car."

Luckily, Song Qingre's car was big enough today, or it wouldn't have fit.

"Thanks, Xingxing."

"You're always so formal."

The staff organized the clothes and stuffed them one by one into the trunk, filling it completely. Su Xingjie pressed down on the pile, and Song Qingre closed the trunk. "Thanks."

"For my darling." Su Xingjie smiled.

Yan Qingqiu went to get into the passenger seat, but then remembered what Song Qingre had said earlier, so she switched to the back. She rolled down the window and waved at Su Xingjie. "Xingxing, I'm heading off."

"Take care, bye."

"Get home early." As Song Qingre drove off, Yan Qingqiu stuck her head out to say, watching Su Xingjie nod before slowly pulling back in.

Yan Qingqiu sighed. She'd finally earned a little money for her friend, only to send it all back.

"You should treat your friend to a meal later, and give her a gift. Though I think you can accept it without guilt," Song Qingre said from the front.

Yan Qingqiu wasn't sure why, but she'd grown up receiving charity, so she shouldn't feel ashamed when others gave her things. After thinking it over, she guessed the difference was between charity and family affection—the "giving" was very different.

Noticing Song Qingre looking at her, she remarked, "I don't have any money right now..." She frowned. "Hey, am I cursed with money? Why am I always broke when I feel like I'm pretty rich?" She shook her head. Poor fate—Yan Qingqiu, poor fate!

As she moped, she heard Song Qingre say, "Oh, right. I'll transfer you some money later."

"What money?" Yan Qingqiu looked at her warily. She'd just paid off her debt. "I sacrificed my dignity yesterday as your model." Then she remembered her bag and checking her accounts, but realized she didn't have it. She quickly called Su Xingjie to grab her bag from the convenience store table.

Su Xingjie hadn't left yet, said okay, and asked if she should check the contents.

Yan Qingqiu hesitated. Her bag had everything in it; she was really embarrassed to have Su Xingjie see it. After a long pause, she said, "Just send me a photo."

Su Xingjie sent a picture. She counted, nothing missing, replied "OK," hung up, then looked at the driver. "What money?"

Song Qingre stopped at a red light, waiting patiently. As she drove on, she said, "I sold your painting."

Yan Qingqiu's eyes widened slightly. "Sold for how much?" Wait, this wasn't what she expected. She'd thought since Song Qingre was wooing her, she'd cherish the painting, not sell it. The plot wasn't very novel-like.

She was a bit upset. Why sell her painting?

"Sold for five hundred thousand pieces of one."

"!!!" Yan Qingqiu's eyes bulged. She sat up straight. "Five hundred thousand? Who bought it? That much faith in me?"

Song Qingre smiled reservedly. Yan Qingqiu was too curious. "Are you sure it was five hundred thousand?"

"Mm."

Yan Qingqiu still couldn't believe it. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

"It hung for only a short time, no one bid against it. Otherwise it could have sold for more," Song Qingre said.

"Damn, damn, damn! Who was that sucker... with such great ability, so, so into art? They must really understand me. They're my soulmate."

Song Qingre kept driving, hands on the wheel, while Yan Qingqiu speculated wildly, guessing this person and that, even Luo Xi—her number one anti-fan. "Luo Xi? She wouldn't come to you, right?"

Song Qingre stayed silent, listening to her chatter.

"Not Fu Ye, is it? If it were Fu Ye, I think it should sell for five million. No, five hundred million."

"Let's celebrate. What do you want for dinner?" Song Qingre changed the subject.

Yan Qingqiu realized Song Qingre really understood her, and it got her excited. Her mind was full of this art-loving soulmate. "Song Qingre, honestly, do you think I have artistic talent?"

"I think you do. My very first painting sold for seventy thousand. Yours sold for more."

Yan Qingqiu wriggled happily in the back seat, then asked suspiciously, "It wasn't you who bought it, was it?"

"No," Song Qingre said. "You gave it to me. If I paid for it, that would be insulting you."

"True, true." Yan Qingqiu couldn't stop smiling. "Painting seems like a good way to make money."

"Mm. If you'd wanted to be a painter, I could have made you famous," Song Qingre said. "But you seem happier working with Su Xingjie, so I didn't bring you into my studio."

Yan Qingqiu didn't know what to feel. She felt like Song Qingre saw right through her. How did she know her so well? Did she have mind-reading? Even mind-reading couldn't be this accurate. Because sometimes I don't even know what I'm thinking.

Here we go again, I can't help it. I want to do something.

Yan Qingqiu ended the topic herself. She looked out the window. It was late, the streetlights and rough billboards along the road flashing by, messy enough to make her blush. As she watched, she saw in the window reflection that her cheeks had reddened.

Winter was a hateful season—with just a bit of warmth, her face would flush.

"By the way, I'm not that hungry yet."

"Then we'll eat later."

Song Qingre parked and took her to the nearby mall. They strolled around; Yan Qingqiu wasn't in a shopping mood.

Song Qingre bought tickets on a shopping app and took her to the movies. There was a decent animated film out. Watching it, Yan Qingqiu felt she'd seen it before, but movies in this game world shouldn't match the real one, so why did she have a memory of it?

Their evening was simple: movie, dinner, playing the claw machine in the hallway—things Yan Qingqiu had wanted to do but never dared.

Especially the claw machine. She'd always wanted to try but never had the nerve. Song Qingre said she hadn't either.

Song Qingre told her to wait.

Yan Qingqiu waited, watching her play.

She watched Song Qingre stare at the machine, then walk over, push the joystick, and clunk—a doll fell. Then clunk—another doll fell.

Yan Qingqiu was amazed, crouching to pick up the fallen dolls. "What did you do? How did you get it so fast?"

"Nothing special, just calculated it." As she spoke, another doll dropped. Yan Qingqiu scrambled to grab it. Song Qingre bent over and continued. In a few minutes, she'd gotten quite a few. Song Qingre grabbed, Yan Qingqiu crouched to collect, not having brought a bag. Her arms were overflowing. She estimated—not bad, they'd made their money back.

A couple nearby was watching. The girl nudged her boyfriend. "Go ask how they do it."

Yan Qingqiu felt so proud, so triumphant!

Song Qingre set aside twenty coins for her, placing them in her palm. "Now you can play freely. No matter what, you won't lose."

Yan Qingqiu felt like a kid again. She handed the dolls to Song Qingre and took the joystick herself. At first she wasted coins, but then she got one out, and she was thrilled, trying again and getting a few more.

Song Qingre asked, "Want to keep playing?"

Yan Qingqiu wagged a finger. "No need, no need. I've already won. If I get more dolls, I'll have nowhere to put them."

On the way back, they carried armfuls of dolls through the mall, like two immature adults, both a bit silly—neither thought of grabbing a bag.

Yan Qingqiu worried about being recognized.

They could have left directly, but on the stairs, Yan Qingqiu spotted something. She dragged Song Qingre over, fiddling with her phone. She printed out a photo from today's shoot, then went into a trinket shop to buy a frame. Though she wanted to complain—the frame was ridiculously expensive.

She came out to Song Qingre. "I'm giving this to Xingxing."

"Sure." Song Qingre glanced at it—it was a shot of her and Su Xingjie at the convenience store, Su Xingjie talking to her, hand on the table, pinching her cheek.

Yan Qingqiu said, "The photographer snapped it while we were talking. He said we should do a besties special."

She secretly watched Song Qingre's expression, wondering if she'd be jealous. Song Qingre's face showed nothing, neither good nor bad.

She placed the dolls in the back seat and sat in the passenger side.

The evening had been small things, but Yan Qingqiu had been happy for a long time.

Back home, everyone was mostly asleep. Yan Qingqiu had planned to give each person a doll. She left the dolls in the living room and carried the clothes into her room.

Song Qingre helped put the clothes by the door. "Want me to help inside?"

"No, I can manage." She huffed as she hauled them in.

As she was about to close the door, Song Qingre leaned against the frame, blocking it, hand extended. "Where's my photo?"

"What photo of yours?" Yan Qingqiu was puzzled.

"You gave Su Xingjie one, not me?" Song Qingre said.

Yan Qingqiu looked at her expression. But you didn't ask for one tonight.

Song Qingre sighed. "I was pretending... Actually, I was really jealous. So jealous I couldn't make an expression. I had to act like I was magnanimous." Her voice dropped. "Mainly, I wanted you to give it to me voluntarily."

Yan Qingqiu gripped the door, biting her lip. She turned and rummaged through her bag, pulling out a photo, but didn't hand it over immediately—she fumbled with it for a moment.

Finally, she turned. "This is Yan Qingqiu."

"Mm."

Song Qingre looked at the photo, then pressed it to her chest, the beautiful model in it against her heart. "Yan Qingqiu at twenty-four."

Yan Qingqiu nodded. This time Song Qingre went back to her room. Yan Qingqiu stood at the door, watching her, and called out, "Hey."

"Hmm? Something else?" Song Qingre turned, smiling as if she could see the color of her cheeks.

Also pink.

Yan Qingqiu said, "Since you're so jealous, why do you never stop me from being with Xingxing? Why don't you ever interfere?"

Song Qingre pressed a finger to her lips. "Secret."

"Tsk." Yan Qingqiu closed the door.

Song Qingre smiled softly.

Because Qiuqiu's best friend is Su Xingjie. If Qiuqiu came back and found her friend gone, how sad would she be?

Back in her room, Yan Qingqiu hung up all the clothes, then sat on the floor to admire them. After that, she showered and lay on the bed, smiling happily.

【Are you really going to marry Song Qingre?】 the System asked.

Yan Qingqiu was worn out from the day, lying on the bed, eyes blank, limbs splayed. She'd never felt this relaxed before. "You've been reading too many marketing posts too?"

The System reminded her again: 【You're going to derail the plot. I'm doing this for your own good, dear. Don't be ungrateful...】

She rolled over, too sleepy, and hummed in reply: 【Thank you, you're a good person.】

The System called her twice more. Yan Qingqiu said, 【Stop it. If you keep this up, I'm going to go sleep with Song Qingre.】

Yan Qingqiu felt she was going to dream. Dream about what?

She didn't know. She rolled over, face down, pressing into the pillow.

But she couldn't sleep. Today had left her a little restless. She sat up, by the window, and started folding paper rabbits and roses, many of them, examining them in the moonlight.

This was where she and Miss Yan were alike.

They both folded these little things.

She knew even more than Miss Yan—she could fold dinosaurs and roses.

Yan Qingqiu leaned on the windowsill, replaying the day's moments, feeling happy. She wasn't so melancholy anymore; her heart felt warm.

She held the little rabbit, not knowing how to express her feelings. Today's joy had made her a little giddy.

She looked at the moon, holding the rabbit.

She poked her cheek with her finger. Stop smiling.

The moonlight draped over her like a hazy veil. She didn't dream.

In the room next door, Song Qingre also couldn't sleep. She placed the photo frame on the desk by the window, soft light falling on the faded yellow photo. The girl in it was smiling at her.

She adjusted its position, sat in the chair, chin resting on her hand. After a moment, her fingers touched the back of the frame. It felt slightly raised, as if something was tucked in.

She opened it. A paper rose fell out.