Chapter 24

“Why are you spreading false stories? Qi Yu stayed at school overnight because he was helping a classmate redraw the bulletin board, and Shen Qingqing was asked to reflect because she blocked another student after class. They’re completely unrelated incidents. Also, Qi Yu isn’t some school bully. Sure, he has a bit of a temper, but a lot of students at school really like him.”

Zhong Yao stared at the screenshot she had mistakenly sent again. Thinking about how Qi Yu had now seen her entire long-winded explanation on his behalf made her feel so embarrassed she didn’t even dare look at QQ again.

How could I mess up like this? she thought. Now it just looks like I’m trying to score points!

QQ kept pinging nonstop. Zhong Yao threw the blanket over her head. Honestly, she couldn’t face anyone now.

After about a minute of hiding, she suddenly flung off the blanket and grabbed her phone.

She’d just remembered—messages can be unsent!

But…

The system prompted her: More than two minutes have passed. Unable to recall message.

Staring at Qi Yu’s “?”, Zhong Yao felt like she was about to have a meltdown.

Then another message from him popped up:

[Was that supposed to be your idea of comforting someone?]

Zhong Yao waited, expecting more. But aside from a few question marks and that one sentence, Qi Yu didn’t say anything else.

It felt awkward to keep ignoring him, so after a brief pause, she braced herself and replied:

[Well… did it work? Did you feel comforted?]

Qi Yu was taken aback by her question.

In truth, he hadn’t taken the trending post that seriously.

Ridiculous rumors and hate were just part of daily life for him. He’d been the subject of controversy since kindergarten. There had even been a girl who tripped on her own and somehow it turned into people accusing him of bullying.

That tabloid’s implication about him and Shen Qingqing spending the night at school was disgusting and over-the-top—but honestly, he’d seen worse. On other platforms, there were tens of thousands of fan-edited CP videos of him and Tang Yiming. If he cared about every single one of them, he’d never be able to live his life.

But what he hadn’t expected—was that aside from fans, someone would actually go out of their way to defend him like this.

He stared at the screenshot she’d accidentally sent him for a long time. Even when she’d said he had a bad temper, he didn’t feel angry. After a while, he finally thought of what to say.

[Most of these paparazzi are trash. Nine out of ten are unethical. All they need are a few blurry photos and they’ll spin whatever story they want. You really think I care?]
[Some even pretend to be fans to record conversations, then take things out of context and create scandals. If it were up to me, I’d fire the source of this leak in a heartbeat.]
[So you’re being dumb—wasting your time on people like that. Don’t be silly. Go to bed. That’s what actually matters.]

His tone was so cocky it almost made you want to punch him.

But strangely, Zhong Yao could see a trace of concern hidden in his words—a way of telling her not to waste her energy getting upset over people like that.

She thought of the way he’d brushed off the paparazzi so casually, and suddenly remembered the look in his eyes the first time they met. That cold, dismissive look had left a deep impression on her—because it was the same look Jin Chuan had given her when they met for the first time too.

Maybe… they both thought she was “one of those people” back then?

[Sorry… Regardless of what happened, this all started because of me. That’s why you ended up trending.]
[But I’m really bad at comforting people. This was the only clumsy way I could think of. Please don’t let those kinds of people get to you. I used to get scolded all the time too. Just ignore what others say and live your life the way you want.]

Zhong Yao finally managed to squeeze out a couple lines of sincere comfort.

Qi Yu had just typed “Anyway, the PR team will handle it,” but before he could send it, her warm and earnest messages popped up one after another.

In the past fourteen years, he had never met a girl like her. When she disliked him, she would bluntly tell him he wasn’t worthy; but once they became friends, she’d foolishly stand up for him and clumsily try to comfort him. She even got mocked as a paid internet troll and was bombarded so badly that her app froze—and she hadn’t even realized it, only taking a screenshot to ask her friend for help.

Qi Yu tapped his fingers on the desk, deep in thought. After a long while, he deleted the message he had typed and sent a new one:

[Actually, there is a way to comfort me.]

Zhong Yao:

[?]

Curling his lips into a grin, he shamelessly replied:

[Both my parents will be performing on National Day. If someone could keep me company while watching the parade, that would make things a lot more fun.]

——

Just as Qi Yu expected, the outrageous trending topic didn’t even last the night.

The next morning, as soon as Zhong Yao arrived at class, she heard the latest updates from He Lingli.

It was from her deskmate that she learned Qi Yu hadn’t been fighting alone—he had his own team, as well as his powerful parents’ teams behind him.

The night before, they had acted quickly and decisively: they blurred out Li Yandong and Shen Qingqing’s personal information, and directly posted the school-issued disciplinary notice stamped with the official seal. They also uploaded Qi Yu’s reflection letter, a photo of Class 9’s award-winning bulletin board, and even some earlier short videos from Douyin as evidence to refute the rumors.

Zhong Yao keenly noticed that among the three teams working together from the Qi family, every one of them had deliberately avoided mentioning her.

She turned and asked her deskmate, “He Lingli, could you send me the link to that clarifying post?”

Zhong Yao, who was usually uninterested in gossip, suddenly asking for Qi Yu’s Weibo post made He Lingli’s inner gossip flames burn even brighter—she instantly forwarded the link.

Zhong Yao quickly noticed that under the clarification post, there were mentions of her.

Some people speculated that Qi Yu had broken the rules because of her; some praised her for the miraculous bulletin board redo; others said she was quite pretty, even posting blurry photos of her. But somehow, all of those comments were buried in the middle of the replies, hard to find.

The top comments—all in clear view—were uniform in style: red heart emojis arranged in a large, hollow heart shape, inside of which were supportive messages defending Qi Yu and praising him.

Zhong Yao didn’t quite understand how it worked, but she imagined scenes from office dramas—teams of people with laptops neatly fighting back against malicious commenters online.

“Yaoyao, did you see Qi Yu’s latest Weibo post?” He Lingli interrupted her daydream with an infatuated sigh. “Turns out he did see what his fans did to protect him. He’s such a softie under that sharp tongue, oh my god!”

As soon as she said that, several girls nearby chimed in:

“Right?! You have to understand—Qi Yu never updates his Weibo. But now he actually posted a sweet thank-you message. Who wouldn’t fall for that?!”

“Must be a new fan. It’s got that total newbie vibe. No one bothers explaining one by one anymore—now it’s all pre-made graphics and comment control services.”

“Do you think if I copy that style and help manage comments next time, he’d post a Weibo for me too?”

Zhong Yao couldn’t help but peek at He Lingli’s screen, and what she saw stunned her:

“@Qi Yu: Thank you
[Image]”

She recognized the image immediately—it was the screenshot of her replies from the night before.

Qi Yu had just thanked her, publicly, in front of the entire world.

——

National Day arrived on schedule. Everyone quickly turned their attention to the grand parade and the long holiday. The once-explosive trending topic about Qi Yu faded into oblivion just as fast.

But Zhong Yao had a new dilemma on her hands.

On September 30, Jin Chuan got home even earlier than she did.

The TV was set to CCTV Channel 13. He was lounging on the sofa, flipping through a magazine absentmindedly. Zhong Yao knew right away that he was waiting for her—because when he actually watched something, he’d do it in the home theater room.

“You don’t have work today?” she asked, initiating conversation for once.

Jin Chuan gave her a sidelong glance and put the magazine down. “Just because I’m a movie star doesn’t mean I’m a robot, little radish head.”

“Oh.” Zhong Yao hesitated, then asked again, “So what are we eating tonight?”

Jin Chuan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just stared at her intently.

“Do I have something on my face?” Zhong Yao grew uneasy under his gaze and wiped her cheek.

No wonder she’s being so unusually chatty—definitely hiding something again.

Seeing her hesitation, Jin Chuan didn’t press further for now. He simply told her, “The assistant’s bringing over braised beef with tomatoes, stir-fried cabbage hearts, and meatball soup.”

The girl sat obediently on the sofa beside him and fell silent, just staring blankly at the TV.

Truthfully, she was conflicted.

After thinking it over and over, Zhong Yao had decided not to use Jin Chuan’s money. She didn’t want to compromise her principles just to fulfill her wish of going to Tiananmen.

So, if she wanted to watch the parade and flag-raising with Shiwu and Aunt Liu, her only choice was to return to Yunshui Town.

She wanted to ask Jin Chuan if she could go back for National Day. But seeing him waiting in the living room so early, she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

After a long while, Jin Chuan finally broke the silence.

He asked, “Little radish head, is there something you want to tell me?”

Zhong Yao was startled.

Was it that obvious?

Jin Chuan folded his arms and stared at her as if to say: Yes, that obvious.

Zhong Yao pressed her lips together and finally asked, “Do you have work on National Day?”

Jin Chuan chuckled, assuming she just didn’t want to spend the holiday alone. He asked back, “What are you hoping for?”

Zhong Yao glanced at him and mumbled, “I’m not hoping for anything.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. She quickly stood up to escape: “The assistant must be here. I’ll go wash my hands.”

Jin Chuan chuckled and shook his head.

At dinner, both of them were quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.

Seeing his earlier smile, Zhong Yao suddenly had a hunch that Jin Chuan wouldn’t be working on National Day. That made her all the more conflicted—should she go home alone, or should she invite him to go with her?

In truth, his last trip to Yunshui Town hadn’t been pleasant—and when she imagined Aunt Liu and Jin Chuan watching the parade together, the thought was just too awkward.

That made it even harder for her to bring it up.

At the same time, Jin Chuan was also thinking about how to naturally present his surprise to the child.

He didn’t want it to feel too deliberate.

“Little Radish Head,” Jin Chuan broke the silence first, “do you have plans for National Day?”

“Hmm?” Zhong Yao cautiously asked back, “You’re not working, right?”

Jin Chuan’s lips curled subtly. “Smart girl. So if you don’t have any other plans—”

With a magician’s flourish, he produced an invitation card: “We can go watch the parade live at Tiananmen.”

All the words Zhong Yao had prepared got stuck in her throat in an instant.

Her longing for Aunt Liu and Shiwu, the invitation to the parade, and Qi Yu’s invitation all collided in her mind. Now she truly had no idea what to do.