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“The topic for today’s video is the very basics of foundation. Before applying foundation, we first need to understand our own skin type…”
Inside 2202, everything was perfectly quiet.
Fan Shengmei had shut her door, switched on the ring light, positioned her phone in front of her, and adjusted the angle so her face appeared slimmer and flawless.
For this shoot, she even used her most expensive face mask—something she normally saved for special occasions—because nothing could be more cost-effective than looking perfect on camera.
Ever since Guan Ju’er and Qiu Yingying learned about her video project, they had cooperated fully. When she asked for silence, they respected it. Now they were even more careful, so much so that the apartment was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Fan Shengmei demonstrated different foundation products as she spoke.
“Alright, that’s it for today’s video. I hope this episode was helpful! Bye-bye!”
The moment she pressed the stop button, the smile she had worn throughout the recording collapsed.
Holding a smile for that long was exhausting.
It wasn’t just the smiling—it was maintaining good posture, keeping her expression natural, explaining clearly while applying makeup—all of it was draining. She had dreaded making a slip of the tongue and having to start all over again. Luckily, she had rehearsed in her head beforehand and managed to get through it without mistakes.
After tidying up, she went straight to the bathroom, removed the foundation with cleansing oil, applied her skincare, and finally collapsed into bed.
Still, she didn’t rest. She opened her editing software and began cutting the video.
These days, the earlier she finished a task, the more at ease she felt. Leaving things undone only made her restless, and she knew procrastination was a bad habit.
She reminded herself of the future she was chasing—and the money. Mostly the money. That was enough to force herself to keep going.
When the editing was finally done and the video uploaded, she let out a long breath.
Then she noticed her room, cluttered again. She had set up one corner just for filming, which meant shoving most of her things to one side, making the space feel even more cramped.
Her “room” was really the converted living room, the largest space in the apartment. But with all her belongings, it still felt small.
At least, after her recent decluttering, it was better than before.
Without dwelling on it, she tossed her phone aside and fell asleep instantly. She was exhausted.
The alarm woke her the next morning. Still half-asleep, she got up, washed, applied her makeup, and headed out for work.
In the elevator, she unexpectedly ran into Qu Xiaoxiao.
The sight of Shengmei startled Xiaoxiao—she instinctively shrank back a step. She had been avoiding her these past few days. Even though she knew Shengmei had deliberately teased her, she still kept her distance. Now, trapped in the same elevator, there was no escape.
But Shengmei didn’t even seem to notice her. Between filming, editing, and her poor sleep the night before, she simply didn’t have the energy.
It was Qu Xiaoxiao who spoke first.
“Sister Fan, I heard from Yingying that you’ve been working on a side hustle lately. How’s it going?”
She crossed her arms, tilting her head in her usual cocky pose.
In psychology, a crossed-arm stance often signaled defensiveness. But in Xiaoxiao’s case, it was just her trademark posture.
Shengmei turned her head toward her, nodded lightly.
“It’s going okay.”
She wasn’t surprised that Xiaoxiao knew about her videos. After all, there were only a few of them on the 22nd floor. She had already told the other three, so Xiaoxiao finding out wasn’t unexpected. And really—what did it matter?
Qu Xiaoxiao continued,
“So you’re filming beauty videos? I’ve got a lot of makeup lying around that I’ve never even used. If I don’t touch it soon, it’s going to expire. Do you want it? I can send it over.”
“Sure, bring it over,” Shengmei replied without hesitation.
Qu Xiaoxiao blinked, caught off guard. She had expected Sister Fan’s usual pride to flare up—that she’d see the offer as a humiliation, or stubbornly refuse just to save face. Instead, she had agreed!
Since she agreed, then Qu Xiaoxiao would deliver.
“Alright, I’ll bring it to you when I get back tonight.”
When the elevator doors opened, Shengmei stepped out first, remembering to add,
“Thanks.”
To her, the priority now was simple: make money. If she could get free makeup, why wouldn’t she?
And since Qu Xiaoxiao was rich, her cosmetics were bound to be high-end brands. Using them in her videos would draw attention and help her grow followers. Shengmei saw that clearly—it only made sense to accept.
As for pride or temporary stubbornness? Those were the least important things.
She knew what her goal was—money. Everything else could be tossed aside.
Besides, she didn’t actually hate Qu Xiaoxiao. They were neighbors; they’d keep running into each other. Since Xiaoxiao had reached out first, Shengmei wasn’t going to keep holding grudges.
And if Xiaoxiao was willing to be generous, Shengmei had nothing to lose.
Why not?
Shengmei walked away briskly, leaving Qu Xiaoxiao standing in the elevator, stunned.
“This big sister… she’s really changed.”
At work, Shengmei slipped back into her usual routine. She worked seriously, but in between tasks she couldn’t resist sneaking peeks at her phone, checking the performance of her videos.
She had already posted two clips, and the follower growth was astonishing. Views, likes, comments—the numbers were skyrocketing.
The beauty niche hadn’t really taken off yet, and she was riding that wave.
Reading the comments and seeing the likes, Shengmei couldn’t help but smile, her happiness spilling across her face.
The thought that this could one day turn into real money thrilled her.
“Xiaomei, what are you grinning at? A message from your boyfriend?” a coworker teased after catching her smiling at her phone.
Shengmei quickly closed the screen.
“What boyfriend? Don’t be silly. Just a friend sending me a funny joke.”
Her colleague wasn’t the nosy type, so they dropped the subject.
That afternoon, Shengmei took advantage of another quiet moment at work to jot down ideas for her next script. She thought of something that had become popular in later years: seasonal color analysis—tests that determine whether your skin tone suits spring, summer, autumn, or winter shades.
She began incorporating it into her notes, tying it to eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick choices.
Checking vein colors on the wrist, natural eye tones, and hair color—she simplified the more complex theories and wrote them down.
The science was sound, but she knew she had to present it in a way people could easily grasp. First she would push out simplified concepts, then follow up with deeper content later.
For now, the key was building recognition. To stand out. To leave a mark.
On the internet, that was what mattered most—impressions, memory, traffic.