Chapter 73

The whole internet was flooded with "9125," a label that became her new alias—and her death warrant. The once-superstar model Fu Sang was dragged off the runway.

Those numbers seared into Fu Sang's eyes, dredging up all kinds of memories. She felt cold all over, and pounded on the door in a frenzy—not because she was losing control, but because the memories in her head had resurfaced again.

Before she stabbed Song Qingre, Song Qingre's blade had been pressed against the artery in her neck. Song Qingre could have killed her with ease. Song Qingre had said, "These past few days, I've made a detailed plan. I'm going to start marking, to see how many tries it takes to find my treasure again. I'll call you 000, shall I?"

"And let me tell you a secret—I've discovered something. When I kill you, I won't use a knife. I'll drag you into my mental space instead, so it'll be silent and invisible, and it won't ruin my treasure's **."

Song Qingre's mental space was terrifying, like a cage. She'd drag people in tightly, and everything inside was twisted.

She kept peeling her apart, trying every single day, over and over, demanding her Qiuqiu back. For a while, Fu Sang suspected Song Qingre was testing the game's mechanics.

Better to kill me... better to kill me.

Fu Sang couldn't take it anymore. She raised the knife and stabbed her hard.

Back then, it was her first time using a blade. She wasn't skilled, so she didn't hit a vital spot. She didn't kill her. Later, when Song Qingre tried to kill her, she lacked finesse too, and that let Fu Sang survive. But the pain never left her. She'd only been gone for two years. In those two years, Song Qingre had extinguished 9,124 Hosts. Now she'd gone from 000 to 9125. And she remembered it all too clearly.

If only she'd stabbed Song Qingre to death back then, the System could have cleaned up, and that freak Song Qingre would have vanished for good.

Her assistant watched her throwing a fit, fear creeping into her heart. She thought Fu Sang was scarier than any of the envelopes in the room—she looked like she was losing her mind.

Clutching her phone, the assistant edged backward, terrified of Fu Sang getting close. Once she was sure Fu Sang wasn't looking, she bolted and frantically jabbed the elevator button.

Fu Sang snapped back to reality, but the assistant was already gone.

Fu Sang returned to her room to sort out her thoughts.

It was all Song Qingre's fault. Because the "protagonist" didn't love her, she had to torment her instead. Song Qingre deserved to die. But after Fu Sang stabbed her, the System said the character had twisted to the point of being unkillable. She wasn't afraid of death at all—in fact, she was willing to use death to test new things. She'd started probing the world's mechanics, trying to guess what its logic and rules really were.

Fear surged up, making her dizzy.

She couldn't tell if it was a delusion or not, but she kept feeling like she was back in that space, a skinned lamb.

After turning it over in her mind, Fu Sang picked up her phone and made a call. She steadied herself, suppressed the nausea, and the other side picked up quickly. Fu Sang lowered her voice. "Song Qingre, your target shouldn't be me. You don't have to keep tormenting me. We can—"

"Work together?" Song Qingre finished, letting out a soft laugh. "No can do."

Fu Sang tried to explain, "Don't you think you've been taking revenge on the wrong person? We can find a way to balance things out. You can be with the current Yan Qingqiu, and I'll complete my mission—"

"And share her life with Qiuqiu? Why should I? You really are presumptuous. When you forcibly took over Qiuqiu's body, did you ever ask her permission? When you tortured Uncle, me, and Su Xingjie so badly, did you ever think that you were using Qiuqiu's body, that you should have been gentler?" Song Qingre's voice was soft, like a breeze brushing past her ear. She added, "These years have gone just as you wished. My wounds always ache faintly, and that makes me restless, makes me feel like I'm not just a walking corpse. Then I find my target... and take my revenge."

She added another line, "Aren't you just enjoying Fu Sang's life now without a second thought? Back then, I asked you again and again, 'Where's my Qiuqiu? Give her back to me.' But you refused to leave."

Fu Sang gasped for air, feeling like she was bleeding out, every cell exposed. "You can make demands."

"Demands... no. When I made my plan, you were part of it. A dead link." Song Qingre's tone drifted lazily. "If you really want to help me, then keep resisting. Resist seriously. Don't—"

Fu Sang said, "If Fu Ye recovers, I think the one you love now—"

She was cut off before she could finish. Song Qingre said, "He'll recover? Thanks for the reminder. Then I'll have someone castrate him again. I wonder if you'd like a eunuch with nothing below."

Fu Sang hung up. She lay on the sofa, trying to calm herself. Song Qingre was all bark and no bite.

But Song Qingre had become her shadow, her boogeyman—like a person must have a shadow, Song Qingre haunted her every step.

She tried to pick useful information out of Song Qingre's words, but after combing through them repeatedly, she came up empty.

Fu Ye had been crippled by her, and now he'd lost control of the money. At this rate, she'd lose all her cheats.

That night, Fu Sang didn't dare look at her phone. She knew what the internet was like by now. In the morning, a quick glance showed everyone cursing her.

Fu Sang slept poorly. She got up, took a sip of water, and her lawyer called.

After a day on the trending charts, Fu Sang's lawyer seemed to have figured things out. He said, "I have a way for you to avoid paying damages and escaping liability."

"What?" Fu Sang asked, curious.

Lowering his voice, the lawyer said, "To deal with the SSS-level protection law, you can claim your emotions were out of control—that you have some mental issues. Those few days, your mood swings got the better of you. Then you go get a psychiatric evaluation. As long as the assessment says you're not a danger to society, you can dodge their accusations. Then you only have to pay the repair costs. If they insist on 150 million, that's their problem. You can counter-sue them for trying to extort you over this."

"Are you sure that'll work?"

"It's a blind spot in the law. The country hasn't had an SSS-level omega in centuries, and back then, the legal restrictions on mental illness weren't strict."

"No other side effects?"

The lawyer laughed. "These days, everyone has some mental problem. Nine out of ten alphas have unstable mental strength."

Fu Sang twisted her fingers. She said she'd think about it.

Then she called her secretary to contact a PR team, telling them to stir up a frenzy online, spreading rumors that Yan Qingqiu was being abused at home, claiming Yan Qingqiu was covering up for Song Qingre—basically, drag the whole internet into chaos.

··

About what happened yesterday, Fu Sang hadn't planned to report it to the police. But when she went out that morning, the door opened to a crowd of police officers.

Fu Sang frowned, noticing Song Qingre standing behind them. Song Qingre had her hands in her pockets, wearing a black coat and a black scarf around her neck.

She stepped back, thinking Song Qingre had brought backup to do something to her. She asked warily, "What's this about?"

The officer said, "Your assistant called us yesterday to report an incident. Since these three happened to be coming to see you, we brought them along for questioning."

Fu Sang noticed the envelopes on the ground, identical to the one she'd sent out. She thought Song Qingre was trying to frame her—she hadn't touched those envelopes yesterday.

This time, Yan Qingqiu and Su Xingjie had come too.

When Fu Sang saw Su Xingjie, her first instinct was that she'd come to help solve the problem. But Su Xingjie didn't even glance at her. Fu Sang showed the police the video she'd shot a few days earlier.

The officer showed the video to Su Xingjie. "Does Song Qingre have this outfit too?"

Su Xingjie said, "It's not some expensive brand."

Her voice was cold, devoid of warmth. Fu Sang sank into a haze of illusion and reality, unable to figure out why she kept hoping Su Xingjie would look at her.

"Fu Sang? Fu Sang!" The officer called her several times, then said, "Anything else? Hand it all over. We need to take it as evidence."

Song Qingre looked up at her. Her eyes were deep, holding a faint smile. You couldn't see any danger in them, yet you could never ignore her.

Lately, everyone had been recalling the old Song Qingre, saying she felt gentle—like wind, like water, like a snowstorm that never raged beyond bounds.

But those ignorant people only saw her beautiful surface, never digging into the darkness inside.

Before a butterfly takes flight, isn't it just an ugly caterpillar?

Fu Sang said, "It's all in the room."

The door opened, revealing envelopes scattered all over the floor.

Yan Qingqiu craned her neck to look too, but her eyes were covered. "Hmm?"

She couldn't see anything, but she felt Song Qingre's warm palm against her face.

Yan Qingqiu raised her hand, her fingers resting over Song Qingre's. "Is it scary?"

"Maybe. You're so timid. What if it becomes a nightmare for you later?" Song Qingre said softly.

The officers put on gloves and gathered up the envelopes.

Once they were packed into clear bags, one officer turned and asked, "Have you seen these videos before?"

Yan Qingqiu nodded. Su Xingjie nodded. Song Qingre nodded too.

"Whose are they?" the officer asked.

"My father saw one yesterday too. Someone sent it anonymously," Yan Qingqiu answered.

Su Xingjie said, "Mine was given to me by Fu Sang."

Fu Sang looked up at her, forcing herself to stay calm. Su Xingjie's impression on her was too strong; she kept thinking Su Xingjie would side with her, would be shocked by her words. The officer asked, "When did you receive it?"

If Fu Sang said she got it at night, there'd be a time gap—she'd delivered it to Su Xingjie's office during the day. If she lied, it might come out that she'd made the video herself.

Fu Sang said, "During the day."

"What time exactly?"

"Around when I gave it to Su Xingjie."

The officer jotted it down. Fu Sang said, "I'd like to apply to move."

The officer looked at her door, ran through everything. Given her situation, she did meet the conditions for a change of address.

"Alright, just give us your new address."

"And I have to tell you—are you going to tell Song Qingre?" Fu Sang said crossly. "This is all Song Qingre's doing. Can't you see that?"

"It's mainly because the law requires it. We have to ensure Yan Qingqiu's safety. Once the two of you settle this and you've paid compensation, we don't have to tell her."

Fu Sang's expression soured. "Then what's the point of changing my address?"

The officer said, "There is one—if you move and still get harassed, then it's obviously them."

Fu Sang found it absurd. What was the difference, then? Song Qingre could slip in at any gap. She was truly terrifying.

She wanted to keep talking, to show the police Song Qingre's car—it was right there. But Su Xingjie spoke up, annoyed. "You're still moving. I came today to take back this house. It was provided by ER for you. Now that you've left ER, the house goes back."

Fu Sang couldn't believe it. She parted her lips. "You're kicking me out?"

"Yeah. What else?"

Fu Sang stared at her.

Su Xingjie said seriously, "That's right. I'm kicking you out."

Among those present, Fu Sang was the tallest. Her face was angular, and when she got angry, she had a high-class world-weary look. She was beautiful.

Su Xingjie said, "I'll give you two days."

"Xingjie—"

"One day. The company will come by tomorrow and change the locks. Everything in this place was bought by me, so you have no right to take it either." Su Xingjie wouldn't give her any room to negotiate. "Please stop bothering me from now on. Otherwise, I won't hesitate to send you back to the police station."

The police were getting dizzy from their tangled relationship, and didn't want to deal with their entertainment-industry scheming. "Who's stalking who, anyway? Why don't you sort it out yourselves before calling us? You're all adults. Stop bickering like schoolgirls."

Yan Qingqiu pointed at Fu Sang. "Right, she's the one acting like a psycho, constantly harassing my Xing Xing. She claims they're best friends, but she's got serious delusions."

Su Xingjie nodded, ignored Fu Sang's explanations, and turned to leave.

Yan Qingqiu didn't linger either. She tugged Song Qingre along, leaving Fu Sang and the police behind. But Fu Sang could tell the officers were already losing trust in her.

Fu Sang patted her pants, suddenly craving a cigarette. She didn't actually smoke—not originally—but this body did. Since it wasn't a habit of hers, she'd quit easily before. Now she realized the body had an addiction. She felt terrible, wanted to kick the door, but held back seeing the officers collecting evidence inside.

Fu Sang tried to pinpoint where she'd gone wrong. She had the Fu family backing her, her own company, Su Xingjie's help in business, and a good upbringing. But what had gone wrong? Her path was all laid out. Wasn't the current Yan Qingqiu also a fake?

Was it because she knew how to act?

But Yan Qingqiu's acting was so clumsy—she'd slip up at the slightest sign. Were everyone around her blind?

Fu Sang couldn't understand why they all trusted Yan Qingqiu so firmly.

"We'll look into this properly. If you move, make sure to give us your new address," the officer said, having made several trips for their case. "If you ask me, if you've decided to pay, do it quickly. Otherwise, if they sue you, it'll hurt your credit. Later, they'll enforce it and restrict your spending. Think it through yourself."

Their cases were a mess of lies—you lie, I lie—and in the police's eyes, it was just two people fighting for attention. It would take days to untangle, and every time they had to spend plenty of effort investigating.

In short, today was the early bird catching the worm.

After everyone left, Fu Sang let loose, smashing things—these were all hers, so smashing them wouldn't ruin anyone else's.

When she finally tired herself out and lay down, her phone flooded with messages, all demands for payment. At their level, they earned a lot, but they spent even more.

Money burned like fire.

Fu Sang quickly tallied her current assets. The Fu family's money—Fu Ye had promised she didn't need to repay it, treating it as an investment. But now the Fu family was shamelessly demanding it back, so she'd have to return it, or she'd be sued. Being entangled with the Fu family wasn't good.

If she paid back the money, paid the compensation, and gave up the house, she'd not only be strapped for cash, but she'd have to find a new place to live.

Song Qingre had cut off her escape routes. All that was left was to wander the streets.

·

The matter of someone splashing blood on Fu Sang's door and stuffing things inside was solved that very night.

The police had said their cases were a hassle, but they'd been playing dumb. That evening, they waited by the door and caught the culprit red-handed.

It wasn't Song Qingre, as Fu Sang had claimed—it was a male omega.

When the male omega saw Fu Sang, he got excited, saying he was her fan, asking if she liked his paintings, and boldly confessing to her.

Fu Sang didn't believe it. She thought Song Qingre had arranged it, and told the police to check if he had any connection to Song Qingre. She refused to accept that the thing stalking and threatening her all this time was this kind of nobody.

The officer said, "He's a delusional obsessive fan. He's been eating and sleeping at the shelter lately. The clothes were scavenged from donation bins. He has no connection to Song Qingre."

Fu Sang said to check the clothes—maybe Song Qingre had deliberately dropped them.

The officer said, "We already compared them. His clothes are a different brand from Song Qingre's. Song Qingre wears international high-end brands; his is just a plain black coat. Other than both being black, there's no other similarity."

The officer even had the male omega put on the clothes for Fu Sang to identify. Once he put them on, it matched the surveillance footage exactly.

Fu Sang caught a sour smell, covered her nose, and stepped back. "So that's it?"

"We'll have experts do a psychiatric evaluation. If he's determined to have mental issues, he'll be sent to a psychiatric hospital. If not, we'll hold him for a while, then release him."

"That simple?"

"What else?" The officer added, "We also checked the envelopes. Besides the ones you touched, which had your fingerprints, the rest had no fingerprints at all."

Fu Sang frowned, wanting to argue, but she figured Song Qingre was capable of it. She left the police station, thinking about the mental case the whole way. When she got back and tried her fingerprint, the door wouldn't open. She punched in the code—nothing. She clutched her phone, kicked the door.

ER had changed the locks.

It was pitch dark, and she didn't even have her ID. Where was she supposed to go?

This was deliberate, wasn't it?

She kept wondering what Song Qingre's next move would be. Would she become victim 9125?

And Su Xingjie still wouldn't believe her.

She was trying so hard to save her.

Su Xingjie had no idea what kind of freak she was dealing with—a madman who'd kill anyone.

She was really trying to save her. Why wouldn't Su Xingjie believe that? She'd become this way because Song Qingre forced her.

Fu Sang typed furiously. If Song Qingre wouldn't let her have peace, she wouldn't let Song Qingre have peace either.

She'd make everyone know that "Miss Yan" was back.

She sent her lawyer and the police her new address.

Both parties stared at the address, equally baffled.

Fu Sang sat on the street corner, shivering in the cold. She looked around, unable to believe she had nowhere to go—tonight, she'd be homeless.

··

At the Yan residence.

Everyone had received the news, but they all tacitly agreed not to ask Song Qingre about it. Su Xingjie occasionally got messages from peers asking what was going on with Fu Sang, and what was up with Yan Qingqiu's video.

Yan Qingqiu had posted that clarifying video, and there were still some extremists yapping, but those were minor issues. You can't be on the internet without a few haters.

It was the New Year anyway, so losing a few endorsements wasn't a big deal. Su Xingjie wasn't worried about Yan Qingqiu—she was worried about Qiang Wei. She'd sent out messages, but the woman still hadn't responded.

Qiang Wei was usually tough. She'd endured career setbacks, lost a leg, and still walked the runway despite the pain. After leaving the stage, she'd adapted to many things, staying behind the scenes. She had resilience. Su Xingjie could understand why she'd run—her cocoon had been unraveled, exposing her swollen body.

No one likes to reveal their swollen body, so they hide away.

If I'm covered in scars, I can wear clothes, hide them, and stay proud. But if one day someone tears off my bandages—even just to ask if I'm okay—I can't stand it.

Su Xingjie wished she didn't understand Qiang Wei so well.

She called her secretary to update her on Qiang Wei. The secretary said the police hadn't responded, so they probably hadn't found her trail. In the afternoon, they'd called asking for Qiang Wei's address, probably to search the place. The secretary asked if she wanted to stop by.

"No need. I'm going to Qiu Bao's place for dinner."

During the whole ordeal with Fu Sang, the secretary had noticed they hadn't been in touch. "Miss Yan seems tough, but once you get to know her, she's actually pretty nice. Director, is this your first falling-out with Miss Yan?"

"It's not a falling-out," Su Xingjie said. "I've just been busy."

She paused mid-signature. "Do I seem like I'm in a fight with her? Would she notice?"

The secretary could see her confusion, eyes wide behind her glasses. "She might notice, but I don't think Miss Yan would blame you, Director."

Su Xingjie let out a breath and nodded. Yes.

The secretary said, "Director, that's how close friends are—there are bound to be bumps here and there."

Su Xingjie paused, then grabbed her coat and changed. When she stepped out, it was snowing again. Her memories weren't clear—she couldn't recall if there'd been heavy snows in recent years.

This year, it had snowed on and off, five times already, and the weather had turned much colder than before.

As she got into the car, a message came through.

Yan Qingqiu had sent: 【It's snowing. Drive safe.】

Su Xingjie opened the keyboard, ready to type, but paused before hitting send. She pulled into a large supermarket first, bought some gifts, then replied: 【Got it!】

Meanwhile, Yan Qingqiu was hoping Su Xingjie would hurry up. Ever since that video came out, Yan Fu had been giving the two of them strange looks.

To the outside, they'd claimed it was just some naughty fun, but Yan Fu might think there was something more to it, always eyeing them with suspicion.

Yan Qingqiu didn't think her father was a prude—when she'd been Song Qingre's little slave, her dad had even sympathized.

Could it be that she'd slipped up in front of her dad? Had that previous transmigrator told Yan Fu that Song Qingre had once threatened her?

If so, acting like she knew nothing would indeed be suspicious.

Yan Fu was reading on the sofa, looking serious. Yan Qingqiu felt touched—her father was worried she was being bullied by Song Qingre, and she could feel it.

Song Qingre was in the kitchen, apron tied around her waist, making pear and tremella soup. Her back was to the room, movements slow. Yan Qingqiu watched with appreciation. Not bad, not bad. You know my dad's worried, so you're showing off your virtues—gentle, caring, a good wife. Nice move.

The steam from the pot drifted out, carrying the fresh scent of pear.

Song Qingre asked, "Want some?"

Yan Qingqiu raised her hand. "Me, me, me! I want some."

Just then, she heard a car outside, so she lowered her hand and said, "Xing Xing's here. Save a bowl for her too."

"Mm," Yan Fu responded.

Yan Qingqiu didn't hear him and dashed to the door to greet her best friend. Su Xingjie was wearing a black cloak, her glasses fogged up. Yan Qingqiu handed her a warm hand-warmer pillow she'd been hugging. Su Xingjie took off her hood and slipped her fingers into it—warm and cozy.

After days of awkwardness, seeing each other again melted everything away.

"What smells so sweet?" Su Xingjie asked curiously, sniffing the air.

"Really? Complimenting me on being sweet right away," Yan Qingqiu said, a little embarrassed.

"She's talking about the pear soup, I think," Song Qingre said.

Yan Qingqiu turned and grinned. "I think I'm sweet too."

Su Xingjie walked over, and the two settled at a small table in the side room, both cradling bowls in their hands. Their palms quickly turned pink.

Yan Qingqiu sipped spoonful by spoonful. Song Qingre glanced at Yan Fu, who hadn't said a word, but kept stealing glances at the two in the side room.

Yan Qingqiu chatted with Su Xingjie, asking when she'd be on break and when she'd move in, saying the snow would get heavier in the coming days.

Su Xingjie pulled out her phone and checked the calendar. "January thirteenth."

"Oh, right, it's already January. We could still spend New Year's Eve together before that."

"We can do it next year—you, me, Song Qingre, and my dad," Yan Qingqiu said.

The last part was said in a low voice, and Su Xingjie could tell they were a bit stiff with each other. "What's going on between you and Uncle? A fight?"

"Maybe my dad's a bit old-fashioned. He saw the video and couldn't handle it physically. But it's my fault—I embarrassed him," Yan Qingqiu said.

They gathered around the table for dinner. Everyone seemed to want to say something to ease the tension. Yan Qingqiu thought for a moment, then stood up and picked a piece of meat for Yan Fu. "Dad, have this. I know that video bothered you a lot, but Song Qingre was just fooling around with me."

Yan Fu picked up the beef she'd given him with his chopsticks and brought it to his mouth.

Then the doorbell rang. The butler went to answer it.

Song Qingre looked out at the yard. When she heard the butler say it was the Omega Investigation Bureau, her brow furrowed slightly.

Because Fu Sang had spread rumors online about "domestic violence," and regardless of the truth, Yan Qingqiu was an SSS-level omega—they had to come check.

The butler let the investigators in. They stared at them, and Yan Qingqiu's family stared back. Song Qingre was eating a fried egg. She glanced up, and the investigator's eyebrows shot up.

Song Qingre finished the egg, and the male investigator in front pointed to the female behind him. "Here's the thing—we might need to do an assessment on you later. This lady is an omega doctor. Don't worry. Could we borrow a room?"

Yan Qingqiu wiped her mouth and nodded. "Sure."

The male investigator would ask questions downstairs. Worried her father might slip up, Yan Qingqiu kept glancing back as she headed upstairs with the female doctor.

Once inside, she said, "Let me show you something, and you'll understand."

The investigator thought it might be another video and tensed up. "Don't worry, we'll make sure you're safe."

Yan Qingqiu understood why she'd think that—the video was indeed alarming.

She pulled an iron box from a drawer under the wardrobe.

The female investigator opened it to find a red booklet. She opened that too, revealing a photo of the two of them together.

"You two are married?" she asked.

"Yes, secretly. We've been married for a while now. It really was just roleplay. She and my dad—the three of us live together. The video was from when I was thinking about trying acting instead of modeling. I asked her to rehearse with me... I don't know who got hold of it and spliced it together, posting it online as if it were something else."

Yan Qingqiu said it sheepishly, then took off her coat. The female investigator was a forensic doctor and gave her a thorough exam, finding no signs of injury.

Yan Qingqiu smiled. "I'm really not hurt. If she dared hit me, my dad would kill her. He was actually sulking today, thinking I was the one holding Song Qingre down."

"Ah, well..."

The female doctor certainly found no scars or old wounds on her. When the exam was done, Yan Qingqiu took the marriage certificate back.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?"

Coming back downstairs, she kept reminding the investigator.

Yan Fu saw her from below, thinking she was bribing the investigators. "Qiu Qiu, mind your manners."

"Mm-hm, mm-hm," Yan Qingqiu said, going over to sit by him. "Thanks for worrying about me, Dad."

The investigators also questioned Su Xingjie. Since they hadn't coordinated their stories, Su Xingjie told the truth. "I didn't know about this. That video was so private, and it did look affectionate—she'd have no reason to tell me. But Fu Sang came to see me with it that morning, so I suspect she copied it."

The investigators nodded and left.

After dinner, Song Qingre followed Yan Fu into the study. Yan Qingqiu watched them, and Song Qingre said, in the tone of humoring a child, "The snow's thick. Why don't you two go build a snowman?"

"We're not kids anymore," Yan Qingqiu mumbled. But when the butler brought over a shovel and a little bucket, she nodded in surrender. Out in the yard, she kept glancing up at the house.

"Do you still like Song Qingre as much as before?" Su Xingjie asked.

"Huh?" Yan Qingqiu brought her gaze back, cheeks stinging from the wind. She shoveled snow, patting it into a small mound, then said quietly, "I do."

She didn't hear Su Xingjie respond, so she looked up. Su Xingjie was watching the snow fall, her hood slipping off as flakes spiraled down. Yan Qingqiu looked up too, noticing the snow getting heavier. When Su Xingjie lowered her gaze, her lashes were coated in thin ice, cheeks red from the cold. She smiled. "See, only Qiu Bao would love Song Qingre with all her heart. Once you love, you love deeply."

"I—I really..." Yan Qingqiu stammered. Su Xingjie said, "Have you told her you like her?"

"No. Not yet."

Su Xingjie said, "You used to say that if you like someone, you should say it over and over, so they know your love grows. She likes you, you love her—now that you finally like each other, don't hold back when it comes to love."

A snowflake blew into her eye, and Su Xingjie blinked, her eyes still dry. But Yan Qingqiu's eyes were already wet. Su Xingjie took her hand and said firmly, "I've got you."

Yan Qingqiu didn't understand what she meant. She thought for a long moment, then said, "You touched me today. It feels so warm."

Su Xingjie didn't reply, her lips blue from the cold. "Not at all."

Yan Qingqiu's eyes curved with a smile. "Back then—when I was sad, scared, walking home alone at night—all I had to do was look up. As long as I saw the stars in the sky, I wouldn't be afraid..."

【Please don't over-share about your real life, Host.】

"...No matter what, I never felt like I was alone," Yan Qingqiu said, pointing at the night sky. "I have a star."

The scariest nights were winter nights with no stars. Yan Qingqiu said, "Sometimes I think, with how much I love stars, I should be called Yan Yueliang."

Su Xingjie was briefly stunned, then lowered her head, shovel in hand. "Let's build the snowman. Otherwise, we'll turn into snowmen ourselves."

Yan Qingqiu squeezed her hand—the one Su Xingjie had just held—feeling it warm up. They both bent down, shoveling and patting. Yan Qingqiu wasn't scared anymore, but she couldn't help asking, "Xing Xing, we're best friends, right? You're my best, my only best friend. Everyone else is just a friend."

"Mm, yeah," Su Xingjie nodded.

They built a big snowman, their hands growing warm from the work. They found a few twigs and wrote "LOVE" across the snowman's belly.

The belly was huge. The butler brought a carrot, and they jammed it in as the nose.

When they finished, they stood under the eaves, rubbing their hands.

Su Xingjie said, "I should go. I'll come back tomorrow."

"Why go back? It's freezing."

"To grab some clothes. I said I'd stay over, didn't I?" Su Xingjie said.

Yan Qingqiu nodded, thinking that made sense. The butler grabbed a broom to sweep the snow off Su Xingjie's car. "Hey, you two wait. Let me get a camera and take a picture of you two."

They waited while the butler ran up and down, then came back with a camera. Su Xingjie linked her arm through Yan Qingqiu's, and the butler snapped several photos. Su Xingjie drove off alone—she'd meant to stay the night, but she went back to find something.

Once home, Su Xingjie riffled through her bookshelf. She found a slip of paper with: 【Sometimes I think, with how much I love stars, I should be called Yan Yueliang. Hehe.】

Below that was a line she'd written.

High-school Su Xingjie: 【But a clear autumn is really beautiful, isn't it? The sun is warm, and golden maple leaves fall everywhere.】

Su Xingjie pressed the note to her heart. Nothing could shake her now. No one else could say something so heartwarming except Qiuqiu.

The current Qiuqiu was the one they'd all lost.