Chapter 7: Not Good

Miss Qiao Yi-Yi today failed to live up to her name—three takes, all ruined. The director turned from the monitor, eyes sharp.

“Jingjing,” he said, voice dripping with disappointment, “the emotion’s still off. There’s no sense of desolation in your eyes.”

“Your master abandoned you. Your senior brother betrayed you. You should feel utterly alone—no one to rely on, no path ahead…”

“Look at yourself! What *is* this?!”

It had to be the angle of the sunlight. It just wasn’t hitting right. Not me. Not my fault. Not mine.

Qiao Yi-Yi was scolded into silence, trudging toward the trailer like a defeated soldier. As soon as she stepped out of the director’s line of sight, her pace lightened instantly. Betrayal? Abandonment? Loneliness?

What even *was* that?

“Today’s shoot’s over. Time’s up.”

“Jingjing, here—”

“What?”

“The script. And your notebook. Go back and… rework your emotions.”

“No way! The director said we’re done for today!!”

The instigator didn’t flinch. She repeated, quoted, emphasized—just like the big director—but without a single ounce of that biting frustration.

She lunged onto the couch, grabbed her phone. No red dot. Carefully, she played the audio file at just barely audible volume—loud enough for Xiao Zhu to hear, but not clearly enough to understand. Listened once. Then again.

Silence settled in the trailer. Qiao Jingjing clutched her phone, eyes bright, lips gently bitten. Her slender fingers slipped out from the wide sleeves of her historical costume.

She tapped into the file name, then—very seriously, very deliberately—renamed it. Then opened WeChat and sent it out:
**Yu Tu’s Love Letter to Qiao Jingjing (1).mp4**

Yu Tu finally emerged after one o’clock. Da Meng was already yelling, “Hurry up! The canteen’s closing!”

“You go first!”

Yu Tu fumbled slowly with his locker key, moving like a sloth. By the time the door swung open, a pack of hungry wolves had already vanished down the hall.

The screen stayed dark. Yu Tu held his phone, dazed, stepping into the sun. Light stung his face. His finger hovered over the power button—couldn’t bring himself to press.

Professor Zhang and Hu, head of the 158 Institute, walked out of the canteen, deep in conversation. Yu Tu passed them without a glance.

They exchanged a look.

“Xiao Yu!”

“Oh—Professor, Hu.”

“You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately. Don’t burn out. Your health is everything,” said Hu.

“Yeah, take a nap this afternoon. Come back tonight,” added the professor.

“I’ll go back and rest a bit. I’ll be back later.”

Yu Tu really was at his limit—tired, drained, the phone in his hand almost burning. His temples throbbed.

He shuffled back to the dorm building in the corner of the compound, collapsed onto his bed the second he stepped inside. The phone clutched so tightly in his palm left sweat marks.

Still black.

This time, he pressed the unlock button. The WeChat icon showed six new messages. He opened it. Only one name stood out at the top: **Qiao Jingjing**.

Was it trembling hands or sheer exhaustion blurring his vision? He fumbled several times before the page finally loaded.

Two messages:

10:29 — *Yu Tu’s Love Letter to Qiao Jingjing (1).mp4*
12:17 — *Qiao Jingjing’s Love Letter to Yu Tu (1).mp4*

The first second of sound hit him—and he knew. It was the same mash-up audio, but now the lead voice was male, the harmony female. Like the ocean… and the waves.

Less than five minutes long. By the end, Yu Tu was asleep.

He woke up starving. The clock read 6:20. He shifted, and the phone slid off his chest onto the bed. He picked it up—dead.

He sat up, blinking, trying to shake off the dream.

No. This was real.

He reached for the table, found the power bank—also dead. Plugged in the phone, grabbed clothes, headed for the shower.

When he came out, he was back to that familiar version of himself—the “Light of the Eighth Institute,” the one everyone joked about.

Even with fast charging, the battery was barely half full. He powered on, locked the door, walked down the corridor. By the time he reached the gate, the icon had fully loaded. No new messages.

Was she stringing him along again? He frowned. But the words he typed were calm, gentle:
*Have you eaten dinner yet?*

*Already did. Dinner needs to be before six.*

The reply came slow. Yu Tu paused mid-bite on his chicken leg.

“Why?”

“To keep my figure,” she said.

Oh. Right. Not because of his chicken leg.

They chatted casually through the meal. Yu Tu ate slower than usual. Then, as always, Guan Zai sauntered over.

“Old Yu!”

Everyone wondered why Guan Zai kept calling the tall, handsome young man “Old Yu.” Guan Zai claimed it didn’t matter what you called him—it was still *him*.

Da Meng said it was to distinguish him from the other “Big Sister” in the office. Xiao Hu said it made people feel trusted. Yu Tu just shrugged: “I’m jealous.”

“Old Yu,” Guan Zai said, “you’ve been acting weird lately. Got something on your mind? Talk to your brothers.”

“Three fools can match Zhuge Liang. We two? We could beat three Zhuge Liangs.”

Yu Tu took a beat before replying: “Nothing serious. Just high intensity multiplied by long duration. The coefficient’s getting too high.”

A pause. Then, half-joking: “I’ve owned the apartment for over a month. I’ve only been inside for ten minutes.”

Guan Zai slapped his shoulder. “Let me ask my sister-in-law to come clean it up for you.”

“You’re officially part of the property-owning class in Shanghai. Congrats.”

“Nah, no plans to renovate. Old Dong lived there less than two years. Hey—your orbital modeling project? I think you should consider solar wind effects. Even if the probability’s low…”

Inside the lab, Yu Tu realized he’d accidentally locked his phone with Guan Zai. He turned around immediately.

“I forgot something.”

“What? You left with nothing.”

Yu Tu pulled out his phone again. Saw her new profile picture—a rabbit with wildly exaggerated buck teeth.

He smiled down at it, fingertips brushing the screen. After a moment, he sent a voice message:
“Well… millions read it every day… but you can’t take it back.”

Qiao Jingjing’s crew was preparing to move locations. Four days of break in between. She hesitated—should she go back?

One day to get from here to Shanghai. Another day to reach the desert. At most, two days and three nights in between.

Like a weekend trip to the suburbs. She was exhausted. Didn’t have the energy.

But… she might see him. At least in the mornings.

So—yes. She’d go.

Honestly, she didn’t trust this guy’s work schedule. So she said nothing. Let it be surprise—or shock. Shock would be fine.

As the plane touched down in the twilight, she counted: twenty-one days since that fleeting moment on the mountain.

Almost three months now.