Zheng Mengyao slowly got ready, her body stiff from lingering in bed too long. She had taken yesterday off after collapsing from exhaustion, having pushed through a full schedule despite her fragile mental state.
She glanced through her phone, her eyes flickering with something unreadable.
Following Manager Li's request, she hadn't contacted Meiqi. She told herself it was for the best—to give them both space. But deep down, guilt gnawed at her. She didn't know how to face Meiqi anymore—especially now that the truth had surfaced.
Meanwhile, the rest of her members—aside from Si Yu, who still gave her the cold shoulder—seemed to treat her the same.
Then a thought slipped into her mind. If Xiuying and Lina knew the whole truth, would they ignore her too? Would they leave her side and choose Meiqi instead?
Mengyao blinked. The silence of her room pressed in, thick and suffocating, until even breathing felt like an effort. Then, as if snapping back to herself, she drew in a sharp breath and forced the thought away.
A while later, her doorbell chimed.
Manager Li stepped into the apartment, her expression unusually complex. The moment Mengyao saw her, she already knew what was coming.
It had been days since that incident.
Meiqi was probably back.
…
A few hours later…
The SUV rolled to a stop in Star Entertainment's underground parking lot. Ceiling lights glinted off its polished white paint as Mengyao stepped out, Manager Li close on her heels.
They were heading toward Everbloom's practice room when Mengyao suddenly stopped midway, her face paling, lips pressed tightly together.
Noticing the change, Manager Li frowned. "What's wrong?"
Lately, she had noticed Mengyao's composure beginning to slip. She had always been someone controlled and unbothered—as if no matter how big the problem was, she could handle it with effortless calm.
What had happened between her and Meiqi was something they needed to resolve on their own. But as their manager, she couldn't allow her artist to be distracted to the point that it affected their work. That was precisely why she had suggested they take time to calm down before facing each other.
Zheng Mengyao shook her head. "Maybe I just need a breather."
Manager Li studied her for a moment, then nodded, deciding not to press further. She watched as Mengyao's figure disappeared down the corridor, unease settling quietly in her chest.
With a soft sigh, she turned and headed back the way they came.
Meanwhile, Mengyao stepped out of the Star Entertainment building, the cool air brushing against her skin as she made her way toward Puff and Bean, a coffee shop just a five-minutes away.
She ordered her usual drink, along with a few more for the rest of the group—Meiqi included. At least this way, she wouldn't return empty-handed.
Then, her gaze fell to the drink.
Maybe… just maybe, if Meiqi saw it, she would remember.
This was the place where everything had once felt simple—when they were still trainees, sharing quiet pauses between exhaustion and dreams.
Yet just as she was about to exit, her eyes landed on a familiar figure.
For a brief moment, silence seemed to settle over the room, broken only by the rapid thrum of her own heartbeat as she froze, her gaze unable to pull away.
The gentle brightness she remembered had been replaced by a calm that flowed like sunlight through late autumn—collected, composed.
Mengyao's fingers tightened around the cup carrier as the person she had been avoiding for days stood before her, Song Meiqi.
…
Elsewhere in City Z.
"Cut… okay," the director called out, his lips finally curving into a faint, satisfied smile after several takes.
Si Haoran, however, only frowned. Sweat beaded along his temples, tracing slow lines down his skin as the relentless heat of the sun pressed against him. The dusty ground beneath his feet clung to his shoes, each step stirring faint clouds into the air.
Before he could move, Xiao Wu came rushing over, nearly tripping in his haste, an umbrella already opened and tilted carefully above him to shield him from the harsh glare.
Haoran then sat on a stool beneath his designated tent.
Old Hu made his way to his side at an unhurried pace, a folding fan in hand. He waved it in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement measured and almost refined—so composed that one might wonder whether it brought him any relief at all.
"After this next scene, you'll probably have no scenes left. You can head back to H. City and get some rest."
At his words, a faint smile tugged at Haoran's lips, though he quickly masked it, making sure Old Hu wouldn't catch the trace of relief in his expression.
Ever since the dating scandal broke out, Old Hu had been keeping a close eye on him—tracking every itinerary, making sure he wouldn't even think of going to find Meiqi. For the past three days, he had no choice but to remain obedient, burying himself in work.
Now that he would finally have some free time, he was determined to look for Meiqi and explain everything to her. He was certain that, after a few days, her temper would have cooled enough for her to listen and understand his side and that soon, they would be together again.
"Oh, by the way, Wenhao invited you to dinner with the other investors. Make sure to go," Old Hu said, as if Haoran's own decision didn't matter.
At the mention of the name, Haoran frowned again. Wenhao—the reason he had ended up at that club, met Zheng Mengyao, and stumbled into a night of mistakes.
"I won't go," he snapped, clearly pissed.
"You must," Old Hu insisted, then added, "It's not like you have a big backer to give you the privilege of saying no."
Haoran pressed his lips, unable to argue.
…
As noon struck over H. City, spilling golden light across the streets, Puff and Bean stood in quiet contrast—its greenery-lined interior inviting anyone to linger over a cup of coffee.
Yet in the farthest corner, at the most isolated table, the air felt cold and suffocating as Meiqi and Mengyao faced each other.
Sunlight streamed through the glass wall, warming Meiqi's cheeks and catching in her bright, round eyes. Across the table, Mengyao remained still, her gaze drifting somewhere between the tabletop and the floor.
The soft chatter around them—the clink of cups, the hiss of the coffee machine—faded into the background, as if the world had shrunk to the narrow space between them.
For a long, tense moment, no one spoke. Perhaps neither knew where to begin.