2023

“There’s nothing not to believe.”

In 2023.

Chi Xiaoman, now thirty, lay in a hospital bed. Like a deserter, she fled from a video from eleven years ago, and in her panic, she also closed the app.

Her whole body was trembling as she stared at the ward door, tightly shut.

The video from 2012 wasn’t long, but from the very first second she saw it, her face went deathly pale and cold sweat broke out over her skin.

The bedsheet was wrinkled again.

Chi Xiaoman drew several difficult breaths, lifted her curled fingers, and wiped at the burning corners of her eyes.

Then, in a daze, she remembered—

She had apparently still forgotten to explain the film to Chen Yue, and forgotten to make it clear to Chen Yue that—

Neon was the film she was going to make.

But she had never once thought of using that fact to unsettle Chen Yue ten years later.

And the rumor that Chen Yue was going to star in Neon had never been something she’d had anyone make up, either.

They had been face-to-face for so long just now, and yet she hadn’t said a single word about it.

She had no idea what Chen Yue would think.

Would she think that ten years had passed, everything had changed, and that Chi Xiaoman really intended to make Neon herself, which was ridiculous?

Would she think Chi Xiaoman was still so impulsive, still overestimating herself to the point of stupidity?

Would she think she was trying to ride on her fame?

Or would she...

think even her congratulations were fake?

Or maybe.

That she had gained something from this, that she was a coward. That she was awful now, despicable, and had made her life into a complete mess.

That she didn’t even have the courage to explain herself?

At the thought of this, Chi Xiaoman barely managed to prop herself up.

Just like before.

One hand in a cast held the phone.

With the other, she fumbled to unlock it, swiping several times before she finally managed.

She opened Weibo.

And froze.

Because before she had, Chen Yue had already posted.

[The script is a private script and has nothing to do with the rumor; please stop spreading it.

Lastly.

Thank you. All the best.]

Just like the last time, when she couldn’t resist posting that Weibo, the result this time was also that the news spread and caused a huge uproar.

And once again, it was Chen Yue who came out to clean up the mess for her.

That woman had always been forgiving, kind, and never made anyone feel uncomfortable when they were with her.

No wonder back then, Chi Xiaoman had mistaken her for a living saint sent to save the world.

Right now, Chi Xiaoman’s eyes were red as she clutched the bedsheet. She didn’t know whether she should feel relieved by Chen Yue’s gentleness and consideration, or whether it should make her sad and helpless.

Because she seemed to have rarely brought Chen Yue anything good. In the past it was because she had rushed ahead too impulsively; now it was because she no longer had the chance.

In her panic, her hand slipped. The phone slowly slid from her palm and hit the edge of the bed.

Chi Xiaoman hurriedly reached down with one hand to catch it, and accidentally opened Chen Yue’s Weibo post; then she suddenly saw the top comment.

The first one came from a repost by some marketing account and already had thousands of replies.

After reading it clearly, a dull, prickling pain rose in her arms and neck. Chi Xiaoman clenched her fingers, her fingertips digging into her palm; numbness spread through her, and she almost felt as if she couldn’t move.

Because this top comment seemed sarcastic, but in fact it asked the question she herself didn’t even dare to ask:

[Do you believe this really had nothing to do with Chi Xiaoman today, or do you believe I’m Qin Shi Huang?]

And below that comment.

Chen Yue’s reply was exceptionally brief, and equally familiar:

[There’s nothing not to believe.]

-

Unlike Chi Xiaoman’s Weibo account, which was controlled by the publicity team.

Chen Yue’s Weibo wasn’t very active; over the course of a year, she only posted a few times.

But today.

She not only posted on Weibo, but also replied to a marketing account at the center of the storm.

In an instant, public opinion surged in from all directions.

[If there were an award for the most graceful person in the entertainment industry, I’d nominate Chen Yue...]

[I can’t take it anymore. Why are there so many sweet, naive people in the comments? Don’t you see that once this blew up, Chen Yue got the traffic and goodwill for free?]

[If you want it, take the reputation yourself. She already had enough heat and name recognition from winning Best Actress, didn’t she? She kindly explained one thing and still got dragged through the mud again. I really feel for her.

[I feel for Chi Xiaoman too, okay.

She was hit by a car and was genuinely hurt, and being accused of riding someone else’s popularity was one thing; look at how many black fans are stirring things up in the comments, even saying she should stay in the hospital longer? Is that something a human being would say?]

[Why can’t you people think of something better? Why do you have to imagine such scheming between two actresses? I’m seriously sick of it. Can this world please be a little kinder to actresses?]

At the airport, Xiao Qi was urgently checking the state of public opinion.

With lingering fear, she said to Chen Yue beside her, who was wearing a baseball cap and resting with her eyes closed, “Sis, you really can’t be this impulsive in the future.”

At the moment, this really didn’t seem to have any impact on their side.

But if it dragged on, that might not stay true.

Public opinion changed in the blink of an eye.

With one turn of the hand, black could be turned to white, and white could be turned to black.

“Okay, I know,” Chen Yue said. She could tell Xiao Qi’s concern was genuine. After a pause, she nodded. “Did I cause trouble?”

Xiao Qi relaxed a little when she heard her agree.

“What trouble? It’s not even that big a deal. It’s just that the media here likes to blow everything out of proportion. I just called Sister Shen, and she said it was fine too. Your own Weibo—if you want to explain, explain; if you want to post, post. As long as you’re not usually posting things you shouldn’t, it’s fine.”

“And her?”

Chen Yue asked softly,

“Won’t this Weibo be worse for her?”

“Teacher Chi Xiaoman’s side?”

Xiao Qi thought about the comments she had just seen—there were indeed more voices speaking up for Chi Xiaoman, and there were also voices saying the two of them probably had nothing going on at all. But...

“Right now, we don’t know the exact situation. Usually, once things are explained clearly, they’ll be fine after a few days.”

Actually, this clarification couldn’t really be called impulsive. Those wild rumors; once they were made clear, it would be good for both sides, and it could bring things to an end sooner. It was just that... one had to watch out for people stirring up trouble in the middle.

Xiao Qi noticed Chen Yue rubbing her brow and really couldn’t help asking, “Sis, do you already know Teacher Chi Xiaoman from before?”

Chen Yue’s hand at her brow paused for a moment.

Her lips parted.

It seemed like she was used to smiling; it also seemed like she wasn’t. “Why would you ask that?”

“This whole thing, if you think about it a little deeper, it becomes clear...” Xiao Qi said carefully.

“I just saw that her manager, Song Yingying, has a male artist under her who only yesterday caused a cheating scandal and made his girlfriend get an abortion... This is obviously her manager dragging her into the mess, using her traffic to shield that guy’s scandal.”

That kind of thing wasn’t rare in this circle. Chen Yue didn’t seem especially surprised. She looked down and said nothing.

Xiao Qi looked at the tired curve of her face hidden in the shadow of the cap brim and sighed. “On our end, honestly, we can just leave this alone and it’ll pass after a while.”

“It’s just that you’ve come out to explain it so deliberately now; doesn’t that drag you into it too?”

“I know.”

“If you know, then why do it?”

The plane to Hong Kong was about to take off. Chen Yue said softly, “Because if I don’t explain, people might think I’m admitting it.”

Xiao Qi was stunned. “Admitting what?”

Chen Yue paused.

Turning her profile toward Xiao Qi, she smiled very gently.

“That I hate her. That I detest her. That I dislike her riding on my popularity. That I resent her...”

“Even in the future.”

“Every time our names are put together, people will say she... they’ll bring this up.”

“I don’t want people to talk about her like that.”

On this spring night, with rain sweeping everywhere, she had turned over and over without stopping; dusty from travel, she finally said softly,

“At the very least, it shouldn’t be because of me.”

The last sentence.

The end of her words was swallowed by the noise outside the airport, so Xiao Qi almost didn’t catch it.

“Because maybe I don’t hate her.”

That also made Xiao Qi suddenly remember that there had always been a photo hidden under a covering in Chen Yue’s home. Three people were in that photo.

One was Chen Yue herself, wearing a pair of now somewhat old-fashioned round glasses; her smiling eyes looked gentle beneath the blurry pixels.

Another woman had a head of explosive golden curls, and a face that would be unfamiliar to anyone who saw it.

And the girl in the middle, a little younger, had her features blacked out; only that head of hair that also looked a little messy, like weeds or like fire, remained, along with the brows and eyes that had been heavily crossed out with black pen, faded and blurred so they were almost impossible to make out, yet still seemed bright and vivid.

Thinking of this, Xiao Qi looked again at Chen Yue’s lazily tired eyes hidden beneath the brim of her cap and suddenly formed a frightening guess in her heart—

The girl in the middle of that photo, whose face had been painted over.

Could it be Chi Xiaoman?

-

Two hours after Chen Yue posted on Weibo.

Chi Xiaoman was discharged from the hospital and returned to the place she normally lived in Beijing.

The first thing she did.

Was call her manager, Song Yingying.

Clutching her casted hand, and having barely slept all night, she sat on the cold staircase waiting for the call to connect. Exhausted, she said to Song Yingying,

“Can you stop dragging Chen Yue into this?”

Nine years ago, she signed a management contract with Song Yingying. Back then, she was a nobody, and the only lifeline she could grasp was Song Yingying. She knew this might be her only chance to get close to her dream, and at that time she had no choice but to agree to the company’s nine-to-one profit split.

Over the years, Song Yingying had indeed never forced her to do anything outrageous, and had never broken with her either.

But after working together for so many years, Chi Xiaoman wasn’t ignorant of Song Yingying’s methods of controlling public opinion.

Right now, with Chen Yue stepping out to explain, it was exactly what Song Yingying wanted.

Hearing her call and saying only that one thing right off the bat, Song Yingying laughed on the other end.

“So our big star is fine now? First call after discharge is to yell at me?”

“And you don’t even thank me for handling the rest of the mess for you, after I’ve been busy from yesterday until now without even a sip of water?”

That part was true.

Although Song Yingying’s methods were impossible for Chi Xiaoman to agree with.

In a certain sense.

She really was a capable manager.

But no matter what, she couldn’t let Chen Yue get dragged in. “Whatever you’re going to do next, don’t involve her.”

Song Yingying was probably thinking about her health and hoping she recovered quickly without delaying too many future arrangements.

She didn’t waste words with her.

“Fine.”

Chi Xiaoman hadn’t expected Song Yingying to agree so readily.

Instead, all the words she had prepared got stuck in her throat and wouldn’t come out.

She pressed her lips together.

Not knowing whether she should hang up.

Song Yingying really was busy on her end too, with people calling out to her and talking to her from all around. She answered a few times.

When she finally had a free moment, she asked Chi Xiaoman,

“Chi Xiaoman, what do you think I should do now to make you willing to renew your contract with me?”

If she were being fair, Chi Xiaoman had to admit she admired Song Yingying’s especially strong psychological endurance. One second she was quietly pulling little seemingly harmless schemes to use her; the next she could calmly sit down and negotiate.

But over these years, Chi Xiaoman’s temper had been restrained quite a bit. She couldn’t be impulsive anymore, and she didn’t feel like fighting for pride. She was too drained to do much, so she pressed a hand to her forehead and said softly,

“Let’s talk later.”

“Okay, then I won’t keep you from resting.”

Song Yingying hung up.

Chi Xiaoman held the phone and sat blankly on the stairs.

Song Yingying was a smart person.

She had always understood best how public opinion backlashed, and had always understood best the rule of giving a slap and then a sweet date.

Hearing over the phone that there was still room to negotiate with her, even if she knew this might just be a way of dealing with things, Song Yingying would still coax her first; she would probably really think of a way to calm things down.

What’s more, the longer this dragged on, the less benefit it had for Song Yingying either.

Sitting on the stairs and sorting through the sequence of events in her head, Chi Xiaoman still didn’t relax at all. She couldn’t help checking the news on Weibo.

Fortunately, Chen Yue had basically made no enemies in the industry, and her manager didn’t seem as ambitious as Song Yingying. Even though Chen Yue had spent these past few years with little exposure aside from filming, her manager still let her do as she pleased.

As long as Song Yingying didn’t seize the opportunity to use Chen Yue’s popularity, use her usual tactics of releasing publicity statements and hiring large numbers of real-person trolls to steer the trend, or even use methods Chi Xiaoman had never been able to learn about.

Then there wouldn’t be many people on Weibo criticizing Chen Yue for the time being.

As for the person who had previously argued with Chi Xiaoman about Chen Yue not going to Nepal to be a volunteer, that person had also gone quiet now.

As long as it didn’t touch her, Chi Xiaoman.

Chen Yue could remain peaceful forever.

Chi Xiaoman hugged her knees and sat on the stairs for a long time. By the time her hands and feet had gone numb and the cold sweat had gradually turned icy, like a spider crawling up from underground and clinging to her skin in the chill,

she finally saw her studio post a clarification on Weibo, and saw the comments under Chen Yue’s post turn positive.

She also saw the marketing account that had first posted the rumor delete its Weibo, only to be chased down by everyone.

And “Chen Yue Chi Xiaoman,” those two names once lined up side by side, slowly disappeared from the Weibo hot search.

They became two separate, completely unrelated trending topics.

#ChenYueBestActress

#ChiXiaomanDischargedFromHospital

And when she clicked into Chen Yue’s topic.

The very first post on the page.

Was already the content of Chen Yue’s acceptance speech when she won the Golden Image Award.

A one-minute video.

The cover was Chen Yue.

She was wearing a gown, standing in a glittering place, holding a glittering trophy in her hand; even the beautiful, moving smile on her face had a distant, glittering quality to it.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t dare watch even for a second.

By then, the sun was high overhead.

She put down her phone.

Tilting her head back with difficulty, she hid in her sunroom in Beijing and let out a long breath.

Then.

She curved her lips, truly and sincerely.

She was right.

As long as it didn’t touch her, Chen Yue would still be that low-key, dedicated, dazzling Best Actress who was never speculated about with the worst malice...

And Chi Xiaoman had better forever be like this moment; able to sincerely feel happy for her.

And never, ever dare to hope for another chance to be close to her again.

[Author’s Note]

The seventh day of updating Little Neon on schedule [sunglasses]

One very sorry thing is that because I need to control the word count for the rankings, I can’t update tomorrow. But starting the day after tomorrow, I’ll update every night on time (don’t worry, I’ve worked it out; there won’t be a similar situation [let me see]), and after V I’ll also update six thousand words every night on schedule, so everyone has to come, you still have to come see me [crying][crying][crying]