Flirting Recklessly With the White Moonlight Will Get You Marked - Chapter 25
25:
Song Qingre held the car keys, her fingertips pressing against the ridges, leaving faint marks on her skin.
Yan Qingqiu finished speaking and waited for her response, but there was no reply from the other end. All she could hear was the sound of the car starting, and because the car’s performance was so good, the engine’s hum quickly faded.
It was quiet. Yan Qingqiu listened closely, sensing the car speeding along rapidly. She started to panic—why wasn’t Song Qingre responding?
Biting her finger, Yan Qingqiu wondered what Song Qingre was hinting at this time.
Her fingers hovered over the phone screen, almost touching it before pulling back.
This was killing her.
After a moment, she mustered the courage to break the silence, her voice soft as she asked, “Master, did you hear what I said?”
Yan Qingqiu clutched the pillowcase, twisting it hard until her fingers ached. She hadn’t even done anything, yet she was already drenched in sweat.
Why wasn’t Song Qingre saying anything?
Am I not being bold enough?
“Master is driving. Don’t disturb.” Song Qingre’s voice came through, cold and commanding.
“Oh.” Yan Qingqiu wriggled on the bed for a bit before lying still, sprawled out.
Feeling something was off, she corrected herself, “Alright, Master.”
She let out a small hiss.
Yan Qingqiu wanted to say something but bit her lip hard, holding back.
No talking.
“I almost ran a red light,” Song Qingre said with a slight sigh.
Yan Qingqiu bit her lip harder, almost drawing bl00d. “I’m sorry, Master.”
The fingers gripping the steering wheel tingled, as if some nerve had been struck, sending a tingling, itchy sensation that made her glands heat up.
The car came to a stop along the way. The window rolled down, letting in a breeze that eased the stifling heat. The person in the car took deep breaths.
Forty minutes later, the lights in the courtyard lit up. The butler opened the gate downstairs and asked, “Miss Song, have you eaten? I had the chef keep some food for you.”
Song Qingre stepped out of the car, handing the keys to a servant before heading inside. As she approached the living room, she paused, taking a step back and glancing up toward the second floor. A shadowy figure by the window ducked down with a whoosh.
A few seconds later, only a few fireflies remained, circling the light.
Song Qingre’s lips curved slightly.
“Thank you, Uncle Dong.”
The butler went to fetch the meal. Song Qingre washed her hands and sat at the table to eat.
Upstairs, Yan Qingqiu paced barefoot on the floor, occasionally pushing the door open to check for any movement outside. Song Qingre hadn’t come up yet—she was still eating. Yan Qingqiu returned to the bed, sitting down. On the nightstand was the essential oil for tonight’s use. The maid, worried one bottle wouldn’t be enough, had thoughtfully prepared several more.
Yan Qingqiu picked up a bottle, sniffed it, and chuckled to herself.
From now on, it should be her giving Song Qingre a massage, right?
She wasn’t as skilled as Song Qingre, though.
As she thought about it, Yan Qingqiu’s sharp ears caught the sound of footsteps coming upstairs. She stood and pressed her ear to the door. The footsteps stopped. Her heart pounded—Song Qingre seemed to be standing right outside her door.
Should she open it?
Yan Qingqiu figured since she’d already called her “Master,” hesitating now would seem insincere. She needed to be bolder. Gripping the doorknob, she gently turned it and opened the door—
No one was there. She glanced to the left and locked eyes with Song Qingre, who was unlocking her own door with a key. In a flash, Yan Qingqiu darted back inside and slammed the door shut.
Her speed was so fast that Song Qingre worried she might have caught her neck in the door.
This is killing me.
Yan Qingqiu’s heart was racing. She leaned against the door, sliding down to sit on the floor.
Song Qingre had probably gone inside by now, right? Definitely.
As Yan Qingqiu braced herself to stand, two knocks came at the door.
The sound hit her ears like it was striking her very body.
“Are we still doing the massage today…?”
Massage? Massage?
Yan Qingqiu glanced at the essential oil on the nightstand, closed her eyes, and said calmly, “Yes.”
She forced herself to stand tall, not wanting to look cowardly. “Then… wear something lighter.”
A soft “mm” came from outside. After a moment, the footsteps faded. Song Qingre had returned to her room.
Yan Qingqiu stood there for a bit, placed the essential oil bottle on the bed, then grabbed some clothes to take a shower. She’d been sitting on the floor earlier and didn’t feel clean.
Half an hour later, it was getting late.
Song Qingre had washed her hair as well. She dried it with a handkerchief, then opened her door to find Yan Qingqiu standing there.
Yan Qingqiu didn’t know how long she’d been waiting. Song Qingre was startled, caught off guard, and looked at her in confusion.
Yan Qingqiu, quick on her feet, said, “Master, Customer Service Agent No. 298 is here to serve you.”
Perhaps due to nerves, her fingers gripping the wooden box were white from the pressure.
The wheel of fate turns, Yan Qingqiu. Did you ever think you’d see this day?
Normally, Miss Song wore her hair up, but now it hung wet and loose, clinging to her collarbone. Droplets of water gathered at the ends, dripping onto her skin.
A strand of hair fell over her forehead, partially covering her eyes. Soaked and heavy, it slid down past her nose.
“Master, do you need any services?”
Yan Qingqiu’s fingers tingled, and the essential oil bottles in her hands clinked together.
“Mm.” Song Qingre stepped back slightly. Yan Qingqiu walked in, her steps heavy enough that it felt like the people downstairs could hear.
The room’s lighting was dim, casting a hazy glow. Song Qingre switched the lights, brightening the room. “I turned on the light when I came in.”
“No problem.” Yan Qingqiu placed the essential oil on the bed and glanced at Song Qingre, who was still drying her hair with the handkerchief. Eager to help, she asked, “Need me to blow-dry your hair?”
Song Qingre set the handkerchief down, picking off a stray hair before draping it over a chair.
Yan Qingqiu grabbed a hairdryer from the bathroom. Song Qingre sat on the edge of the bed, and Yan Qingqiu climbed onto the bed behind her, kneeling as she began drying her hair from the roots to the tips, then back again. “Should I dry your bangs?”
Song Qingre turned around. Yan Qingqiu reached past her forehead to gather her hair, but as she moved, Song Qingre’s lips parted slightly, and she said, “Touch me.”
“Huh?” Yan Qingqiu’s fingers grazed her brow bone, rubbing it hard. She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Song Qingre sat sideways, the light casting half her face in shadow, half in light.
Song Qingre’s eyes locked onto hers. Yan Qingqiu could see her own reflection in them, looking flustered. She could also see Song Qingre clearly, Song Qingre was commanding her.
Touch her. Touch her.
Yan Qingqiu lowered the hairdryer, her other hand tracing Song Qingre’s brow. She couldn’t describe the shape, only noting the gentle curve. Her fingers moved to the end of the brow, then brushed her cheek, as if outlining her features, touching her thoroughly.
Song Qingre’s eyes fluttered shut. “Call me Master.”
The words felt like heavy shackles snapping onto Yan Qingqiu’s wrists.
“Master.”
After tracing her features twice, Song Qingre’s form became vivid in her hands. Yan Qingqiu felt her coolness, yet also sensed a deeper yearning.
Her palm rested on Song Qingre’s cheek, feeling the cold. Yan Qingqiu’s hand was warm, and she gently squeezed.
Yan Qingqiu thought to herself, If I keep touching her, will she make me fulfill a servant’s duties?
Like… doing some technical work to please my Master.
With that thought, she quietly used the hairdryer on Song Qingre’s bangs, drying them bit by bit. Song Qingre didn’t tell her to stop or demand anything embarrassing. She dried her hair to a half-dry state.
When she turned off the hairdryer, Song Qingre stood, took an essential oil bottle from the box, and poured some into her palm, rubbing her hands together.
Yan Qingqiu caught this out of the corner of her eye and panicked. Her fingers fumbled with the hairdryer’s button, pushing it hard. One word flashed in her mind: Lubrication.
Though she lacked experience, she knew the steps.
“Lie down,” Song Qingre said, her gaze fixed on the bed.
Yan Qingqiu had been kneeling on the bed to dry her hair. Hearing this, she licked her lips. “Isn’t this a bit fast?”
Song Qingre’s slick fingers flexed. “It’s not early anymore. It’s already past midnight.”
Yan Qingqiu swallowed hard, gripping the hairdryer like it was a gun—either aimed at herself or someone else. “But I haven’t been paid yet. Isn’t this too rushed? And… shouldn’t there be some foreplay, like a kiss or some touching…”
Song Qingre stepped closer, their noses almost touching. Her breath was urgent. “So, should we kiss now?”
“No, no, no!” Yan Qingqiu pushed her back and stood, thinking it was too fast. At least wait until she got paid. She held the hairdryer against Song Qingre’s chest.
Song Qingre stared at her, her brown eyes glinting with something like desire. Suddenly, she laughed softly. “What are you thinking? Didn’t we agree on a massage?”
“Then… who’s massaging who?”
“I’ll massage you,” Song Qingre said. “The money hasn’t hit your account yet, so I’ll still listen to you. If you don’t want to do it…”
“I’ll do it.” Yan Qingqiu didn’t hesitate. She lay down immediately but then panicked. Did I lie down too quickly? What if she thinks I have ulterior motives?
Before she could say anything, cool fingers slipped under her shirt, touching her back. The familiar sensation sent Yan Qingqiu’s thoughts spiraling. She decided to learn the technique today so she could use it to earn money next time.
Tomorrow, the day after, she’d give Song Qingre massages too. At 298 yuan a session, how many years would it take to pay off her debt?
Ugh.
Feeling both thrilled and melancholic, Yan Qingqiu was drifting off when she forced herself to stay awake. “You don’t have to sell the house. I’ll think of another way. That house was left to you by your parents… Don’t sell it, really.”
Song Qingre’s lips parted slightly, but Yan Qingqiu added, “I haven’t even gone inside to see it yet…”
Her fingers paused, then pinched Yan Qingqiu’s shoulder.
“Massage a bit more in the middle. My glands are a little itchy.”
—
In the morning, Yan Qingqiu woke up, stretching her back but collapsing back onto the bed when she failed to get up. A thin blanket was draped over her waist, slipping off to reveal her narrow waist.
Turning her head, her cheek pressed against the back of her hand. Song Qingre, fully dressed, sat neatly on the edge of the bed.
Yan Qingqiu snapped awake, unsure how to handle the situation. She flipped over to face Song Qingre, who looked back at her. “Awake?”
The window was open, and a breeze blew in.
Yan Qingqiu nodded, sitting up. Thinking of last night, her heart raced. How should she address her?
Should she say good morning?
“Why aren’t you talking?” Song Qingre asked.
“Master…” Yan Qingqiu’s voice was low and hoarse. “Good morning.”
She knelt on the bed, fingers clutching her shirt hem, wanting to say something bold but too shy to. She’d already called her “Master,” so making money was the priority. Money!
“Tell me your plan, and I’ll help you brainstorm,” Song Qingre said gently, holding a tablet and sketching on it with a stylus.
Yan Qingqiu took a moment to clear her mind, then explained her ideas in detail. Rubbing her face, she realized this would take a while. She hopped off the bed. “Wait, I’m going to brush my teeth. I’ll be right back.”
She dashed off, grabbing her toothbrush and cup from the next room. In Song Qingre’s bathroom, she cleaned up thoroughly, then sat back on the bed, applying moisturizer to her face, dabbing white cream on her cheeks.
“So, what do you think?”
“You look pretty like this,” Song Qingre said.
Yan Qingqiu’s fingers paused. She pursed her lips, realizing what Song Qingre meant. “Not that. I mean the plan. What do you think of it? Is it feasible?”
“Not very feasible. Weibo’s traffic for product promotion isn’t great anymore,” Song Qingre said. “Giving away my paintings in a raffle will likely lose money. It’d be better to list them on an auction site for competitive bidding. You’d earn more.”
“I could do livestreaming, but… my dad’s company won’t give me inventory. I don’t have the authority,” Yan Qingqiu said softly. “And my dad only allocated a million yuan worth of goods for reform. Selling the original stock won’t work—it’s not enough.”
The company didn’t belong to Yan Fu alone. With so many stakeholders, no one would risk real money on her venture, especially since she’d caused the mess. They didn’t trust her, and she didn’t dare make guarantees.
Song Qingre said, “You could buy inventory.”
“Buy?” Yan Qingqiu had considered this, but the problem was she had no money.
“How much do you need?” Song Qingre asked.
Yan Qingqiu didn’t dare ask for too much, afraid Song Qingre would sell her house.
“Your uncle’s company won’t give you inventory because there’s no precedent. You could offer a deposit. Sell what you can, split the profits with them, and if you don’t run off with the goods, they’ll refund the deposit.”
That was a good idea.
She definitely wouldn’t run off with the goods. Selling as much as she could would help without putting pressure on her.
Song Qingre continued, “They’d need to reform the goods your way. You’d share the risk, but if you make a profit, they must share it with you. You’d earn more than just signing a streaming contract.”
Yan Qingqiu didn’t understand much about this. In the real world, this wasn’t her field. Embarrassingly, she only used skincare when her face felt dry in the cold, grabbing a cheap one- or two-yuan packet to rub on.
She listened to Song Qingre, who handed her the tablet. Song Qingre had outlined the process clearly, with risks accounted for—except for the worst-case scenario.
“The worst outcome…” Song Qingre said, “is that you don’t sell well, and the money I lend you goes to helping your dad through the crisis. Then I become your creditor.”
Song Qingre sighed. “I might be your Master for a long time.”
Yan Qingqiu’s face paled. She turned away, pretending to rub the moisturizer on her face, inwardly scolding herself for her big mouth.
“Without selling the house, how much can you lend me?” Yan Qingqiu asked.
“How much do you want?”
“A hundred million!”
To get rich, aim for a hundred million first.
“Alright, a hundred million.”
Yan Qingqiu’s eyes widened. She agreed so quickly?
She looked at her suspiciously. “Do you really have that much money? You’re not secretly planning to sell the house, are you?”
“No. I can manage a hundred million. My parents left me some money before they passed, and I’ve earned a bit myself over the years.”
A hundred million is just ‘some’ money?
Yan Qingqiu sensed something off. She stared at her. “Then why were you going to sell the house?”
“Well, if you hadn’t come up with a plan, I’d have bought your uncle’s company. If I couldn’t buy it outright, I’d inject funds to become a shareholder. That requires a lot of cash flow, which I couldn’t raise quickly. Selling the house would’ve been the fastest way to get the money,” Song Qingre said.
She spoke calmly, but Yan Qingqiu was stunned. Buy the company… Song Qingre didn’t finish, just looked at her.
Some things were less artful when said aloud, but her unspoken words carried a different kind of heartbeat.
“If I sell the goods, make money, and pay you back, you don’t want anything?” Yan Qingqiu looked at her softly. “Should I split the profits with you?”
“No need. I’d just congratulate you on your success,” Song Qingre said gently, her gaze selfless.
Yan Qingqiu was nearly moved to tears. She almost blurted out, “You’re so kind. Even if I pay you back, please let me be your captive forever.”
They got off the bed, and Song Qingre took her to see the paintings. Yan Qingqiu stood on the balcony, looking at the canvases, her heart swelling with emotion. She kept glancing at Song Qingre, who had prepared everything so thoroughly.
On the canvas:
A golden-haired girl moved like the wind, head tilted back, eyes closed, a dot of vermilion at her brow. Her blue dress spread across the canvas, blooming with a garden of flowers. A three-story villa leaned as if gazing up at her, crowned with the golden glow of the sun.
“There’s more,” Song Qingre said, pulling out the other canvases.
One showed the golden-haired girl wearing a crown, basking in light with her eyes closed, her skin rendered with lifelike detail.
Yan Qingqiu really wanted to touch it.
The Yan family’s packaging was simple, blue with a few peony patterns. Popular last century, it sold out instantly back then but now looked dated.
Song Qingre had painted two versions: one realistic, identical to Yan Qingqiu, and one romantically abstract, brimming with artistry.
Back then, Yan Qingqiu had playfully refused to model, running from the garden to the swing, then up to the house. Yet Song Qingre had painted her, and so beautifully.
“I’ll choose…” Yan Qingqiu felt shy, looking at each one. They were all stunning, even the realistic ones. She hadn’t realized how radiant she looked in the light, every strand of hair like golden sunlight, cloaked in a dazzling golden sheen.
“They’re all yours,” Song Qingre said.
“All of them?” Yan Qingqiu was shocked.
“There are more inside.” Song Qingre glanced toward the room. Yan Qingqiu set down the canvas and went inside, where more covered canvases waited in the bedroom. She uncovered them one by one.
There was the golden-haired girl opening a window, standing in the rain, lying on a sofa with shadows on her pink toes, or sprawled on the floor, sunlight illuminating half her body.
The viewer could see every fine hair, every delicate texture of her skin.
Yan Qingqiu didn’t know what to say. She wanted to ask if Song Qingre had painted so many because she knew trouble was coming.
The answer was clearly no.
Painting required inspiration.
Song Qingre didn’t just paint people—she painted rain, houses.
This was different from her usual style. At past exhibitions, Song Qingre’s work was rarely so vibrant. Her paintings had a common trait: mountains were upside-down, rain slanted, and even swirling snow was distorted, colored unnaturally.
Yan Qingqiu remembered a painting Song Qingre displayed but never sold—a white canvas with a few stark black dots, like ink splattered carelessly.
Yan Qingqiu thought, “is this art?” I could paint that. Later, she looked it up and learned it was snow—swirling snow that, in a moment, turned black.
Black like dried bl00d.
Yan Qingqiu had wanted to examine those ink dots closer, but the exhibition ended. She genuinely admired Song Qingre. An artist. Amazing.
Now…
Good lord.
Yan Qingqiu stared at the room full of paintings, stunned. “You’re this prolific?”
“Being prolific doesn’t mean satisfaction. Artists keep painting, but it depends on whether they like it, whether it resonates artistically. If they don’t like it, it’s just wasted paint, worthless,” Song Qingre said.
“Oh…” Yan Qingqiu thought, I’m starting to not understand again.
But she loved these paintings.
“You’re really giving them all to me?” she asked, incredulous.
Song Qingre nodded. “All yours.”
Yan Qingqiu’s heart warmed. Song Qingre really understood her, she didn’t even need to ask for them all.
“I can sign them,” Song Qingre said. “Make them limited editions, sell them once, and never restock. Hunger marketing.”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
All day, Yan Qingqiu looked at the paintings, eating quickly. The butler sighed, thinking the young lady shouldn’t be so worried.
Song Qingre wasn’t concerned. She contacted the studio’s legal team to draft two contracts and showed them to Yan Qingqiu that evening. “Look them over. Take one to uncle’s company tomorrow, and this one’s for you and me.”
Yan Qingqiu didn’t sign right away. She reviewed them, paid a law firm online to verify, and signed after confirming they were fine.
The next day, Song Qingre drove her to the bank and then to the Yan family’s building.
“Come with me,” Yan Qingqiu said.
Song Qingre looked at her, puzzled.
Yan Qingqiu sat in the back, clutching the check. She handed it to Song Qingre, too shy to admit she was scared to carry so much money. If she lost it, she’d never pay it off in her lifetime.
She also wanted to borrow some of Song Qingre’s “protagonist aura.”
“Alright.” Song Qingre held the check for her.
They went to see Yan Fu, who had just finished a meeting, surrounded by executives. He looked weary but perked up when he saw them. “What are you doing here?”
Song Qingre handed the check to Yan Qingqiu.
Yan Qingqiu gripped it tightly, mustering her courage as she faced Yan Fu. “Here’s a hundred-million-yuan check. Give me a hundred million in inventory. If I run off with the goods, the money’s yours. Deal?”
Yan Fu was stunned, quickly asking his daughter, “Where did you get so much money?”
“I borrowed it,” Yan Qingqiu said. “I got some from Xingxing, and Song Qingre lent me some too.
Together, it’s a hundred million.” Her fingers trembled holding the check. Damn, I’ve never held this much money in my life.
“Dad, don’t worry. I’ve got this. I’ll sell through livestreaming, and whatever I make goes to you.
Open an account for me, and this hundred million is the deposit. Is that okay?”
Yan Fu held the check, silent for a long time, his heart warming. He knew his daughter was trying to help.
Song Qingre chimed in, “Give her a chance. She’s been preparing for a long time and is serious. I can vouch for her.”
Yan Fu glanced at the other executives, who eyed the check. A hundred million could solve their immediate crisis.
One executive said, “What if you pull out in a couple of days? If we’ve used the money and you demand it back, we won’t have it.”
Yan Qingqiu handed over a contract. “If I ask for the money back within three days, I’ll pay a penalty.”
The executives reviewed it together. The contract was sincere, and they looked at Yan Qingqiu with suspicion. Has she really changed, or is she just playing around?
Yan Qingqiu knew she was halfway to success. She stood tall in the hallway, light falling on her shoulders, exuding confidence.
Yan Fu made the call. “Notify the factories to follow Miss Yan’s instructions for packaging and list it for presale on the official store. We’ll have another meeting later.”
Yan Qingqiu exhaled.
Yan Fu wanted to say something like, “Qiuqiu, don’t let Dad down,” but swallowed the words to avoid pressuring her.
Knowing he was busy, Yan Qingqiu said, “I’m heading out, Dad.”
“Be safe on the road.”
Yan Qingqiu’s fingers turned red from gripping so hard. Song Qingre pressed the elevator button, and they went down together. Yan Qingqiu’s hands were empty now, and fear hit her like a wave. She faced the autumn sky, feeling like she’d just woken from a dream.
My God, how dare me?
A hundred million!
She didn’t dare look at Song Qingre, afraid she’d been tricked. But she shook her head, the contract ensured the money would be returned if she didn’t run off with the goods.
Before, she’d acted on impulse. Now, the adrenaline was gone, and she was terrified. She glanced back at the blue-tinted glass, unable to see inside but feeling Yan Fu watching her from the window.
It felt strange.
Is this what having a family feels like?
Even if she took a wrong step, her dad would protect her.
She waved at Yan Fu. “Dad, go back inside.”
Through the glass, Yan Fu nodded.
Back in the car, Yan Qingqiu sat in the passenger seat. Song Qingre glanced at her. “Scared?”
Yan Qingqiu’s trembling fingers fumbled with the seatbelt. She laughed. “Scared? No way. You have to seize opportunities, they don’t wait. They’re for those who are prepared.”
Song Qingre squinted, saying seriously, “I didn’t understand that.”
Yan Qingqiu chuckled. You have moments you don’t understand too.
Funny, I don’t even know what I’m saying.
Looking out at the scenery, she remembered a question she’d always wanted to ask but kept forgetting. “Song Qingre, with your sharp mind, why don’t you go into business? You could make a lot of money.”
Song Qingre watched the road. At a red light, she stopped and said, “Because of a single sentence.”
“What sentence?”
Song Qingre didn’t answer. The light turned green, and the car moved forward. Yan Qingqiu didn’t press, afraid it was about her and she’d expose her ignorance.
She mumbled, “Forget it. Working is exhausting. These past few days have left me sore all over. You’re better off as an artist, paint when you feel like it, or just lie around like a salted fish when you don’t.”
Song Qingre just hummed.
Later, Yan Qingqiu visited several places, checking samples at the packaging factory and studying how other streamers sold products.
She didn’t drag Song Qingre along, she had her own work to do.
A woman building a career needs to stand on her own.
Time flew when she was busy. Regarding the livestreaming plan, Yan Qingqiu told Su Xingjie, omitting the contract and loan details. She hadn’t borrowed from Su Xingjie because Su had already lost a lot cleaning up ER’s mess. Borrowing more would put Su Xingjie at risk.
If I get out and she gets dragged in, it’s not worth it.
Yan Qingqiu didn’t hold back when she needed Su Xingjie’s help. That morning, she sent her a voice message.
“Xingxing, lend me some models to help sell my family’s products in a livestream.”
“Sure thing,” Su Xingjie replied generously, calling over Qiangwei to pick some good ones. “Wait, I’ll send you pictures soon.”
After the last model incident, Su Xingjie had overhauled her roster, keeping mostly young, fresh faces.
She sent Yan Qingqiu ten groups first, asking via voice message, “How are they? They have great skin, perfect for your products.”
“Not bad…” Yan Qingqiu felt they were too young to start with. “Age 20 and up. Below that, no thanks.”
Su Xingjie cut it in half, added a few more, and asked, “How about this?”
Yan Qingqiu scrolled through the photos, her fingers propping her chin, golden hair falling and tucked behind her ear. “Pretty good. Don’t make their styles too similar. I want a variety, all kinds. If they’re all good, I’ll take them all. Ideally, eighteen.”
“Got it.” Su Xingjie adjusted, selecting a diverse group—dark-skinned, light-skinned, fiery, gentle, eighteen models with distinct personalities.
Yan Qingqiu replied: [OK]
[I’ll pick them up at your company this afternoon.]
Yan Qingqiu felt awkward returning to ER after the last fiasco. She wore a mask, but it didn’t help much, her golden hair screamed, “Hello, it’s Yan Qingqiu again!”
Upstairs, people crowded to see her. Su Xingjie had already gathered the eighteen models, who stood in a line. Su was coaching them to perform well in the livestream and not embarrass her.
When Su Xingjie finished, Yan Qingqiu crossed her arms, eyeing the models. “You’re all hardworking, right?”
The models, unsure what she meant, nodded unevenly.
Su Xingjie said, “I picked them carefully. They’re good talkers too.”
“Talking doesn’t matter,” Yan Qingqiu said, sitting in a chair Su Xingjie offered. The models were stunning, with high-fashion, aloof faces. Yan Qingqiu couldn’t resist asking Su Xingjie, “Can they light my cigarette or pour me a drink?”
Su Xingjie clapped, took a cigar, clipped the end with a cigar cutter, and handed it to Yan Qingqiu.
The models leaned in to light it, surrounding her with their graceful figures. Lighters sparked, flames warming her cheeks.
It felt like being encircled by wolves, or holding their leashes.
“Good enough?” Su Xingjie asked.
“Very good.” Yan Qingqiu returned the cigar.
The models had perfect waists, hips, and stunning looks.
Yan Qingqiu had only seen models in videos before, always finding them cool and fierce. She thought, If I weren’t here for business, I’d want to pinch them or pat their butts.
“Let’s sign a contract. I’ll pay you,” Yan Qingqiu said.
“Why talk about money? That’s too formal,” Su Xingjie frowned.
“It’s just that I might need them for more than a day. Don’t want to hold up your business,” Yan Qingqiu said, embarrassed. “I have a lot of inventory. If I can’t sell it all, I might need them longer.”
A contract was necessary for livestreaming in case anything went wrong, they could use it to settle disputes. She trusted Su Xingjie but was wary of the models causing trouble.
Su Xingjie agreed with her caution but refused payment. “How about this: you shoot another promotional campaign for me, and I’ll lend you the models. We’ll call it a mutual exchange. Sounds good?”
“Deal. That works.” Yan Qingqiu felt less burdened.
Su Xingjie called to prepare the shoot. “I’ll throw in one or two extra models for your promotion. Qiangwei, go get Jasmine.”
Yan Qingqiu spent the afternoon shooting at ER,
leaving with a pile of clothes. Downstairs, she realized, Did I just make a profit?
Everything was set. Yan Qingqiu was ready to start livestreaming. The Yan family had a livestream account, but she didn’t plan to play by the rules, she wanted to ride the wave of hype. She had her own ideas for the stream but hadn’t shared them yet.
For the past half-month, netizens were still buzzing about her old drama with Fu Ye.
Yan Qingqiu went all-in, activating every livestream platform available. The Yan family provided a cute, well-decorated set, and Yan Fu sat off-camera, watching nervously.
Yan Fu was a wreck. His secretary handed him tissues several times as he wiped sweaty palms. He took a call from the butler, who wanted to come see the livestream in person.
“What’s there to worry about?” Yan Fu said.
After hanging up, he told those around him, “This is her first time working… her first job ever.”
The secretary replied, “Got it. We’ve told the staff to record it. Don’t be nervous.”
Yan Qingqiu sat at the desk, typing carefully. She set the title as the eighteen models crowded around, watching the screen.
Title:
#Click to Watch: Yan Qingqiu Smacks the Dog’s Head and the Full Story of Kissing Her White Moonlight#
Yan Qingqiu had edited the cover: her photo next to a dog. The internet was abuzz with her and Fu Ye’s drama, and marketing accounts were milking it. She decided to lean in and milk it too.
The livestream shot up the trending list, dominating it instantly.
In a minute, a million viewers flooded in.
[Hurry up! Tell us how you’re gonna keep chasing Fu Ye, the dog!]
Netizens poured in, with 60 million viewers across platforms, nearly overtaking the top streamers. Even a major streamer joined, sending virtual rockets.
[Are you cutting ties with the Yan family? Spill it, my patience is short!]
Yan Qingqiu glanced at the viewer count in the bottom right corner and said leisurely, “Hold on, three more minutes, and I’ll tell you. It’s a long story. I’m waiting for my assistant to finish the script. What’s the rush?”
“You can’t rush a good meal. Let me moisturize first.”
She grabbed a Yan family skincare product, rubbed it on her face, and massaged it in. Then she used a lip balm, treating the camera like a mirror, leaving her skin dewy and lips glossy.
No one could resist.
[Haven’t heard the story, but I already want to buy the products.]
[Stay strong, don’t fall for the capitalist trap!]
[If the product doesn’t match the cover, I’m blacklisting the Yan family for good.]
Yan Qingqiu didn’t idle. She had eighteen models showcasing the products, Song Qingre’s artwork.
They applied the skincare, their faces glowing and smooth, practically radiating allure.
Since the livestream couldn’t show too much skin…
The models were dressed in tank tops and shorts, and Yan Qingqiu had someone bring essential oil to apply to their skin.
Viewers flooding the livestream to gossip were growing impatient: What’s going on? So seductive! I’m tempted to buy some moisturizer.
The three-minute countdown was almost up. Su Xingjie hurriedly wrapped up her meeting, mobilizing all departments to go full throttle. They blasted advertisements for the Yan family, hiring marketing accounts to hype it up: Yan Qingqiu kicked Fu Ye to the curb! She’s thriving, don’t believe it? Check out her livestream!
Song Qingre paused her painting, setting her phone on a stand atop the canvas. The entire household crowded around to watch, ready to boost viewer numbers and snag orders if needed.
The butler was breathing nervously. Miss’ first livestream, we have to support her!
People from the Fu Group also opened accounts to monitor the livestream, ready to report her to the platform and shut her down if she said anything reckless.
Word was, the CEO himself had created an account and slipped into the livestream early. Indeed, Fu Ye was there. He wanted to know what those years meant to Yan Qingqiu. If she still had feelings for him, if there was any lingering attachment, he’d rush to the Yan family with a diamond ring, proposing to her no matter who tried to stop him.
In the livestream, Yan Qingqiu quietly went about her business, occasionally pursing her lips or pressing her dewy cheeks.
Her eyes sparkled like a serene, clear pool, transparent to the depths.
Friends said she was as beautiful as an oil painting, every stroke bursting with color. Under the light, she was breathtaking, her hair falling by her ears, slender fingers gently tucking it back.
The three minutes were up. Rich kids, side characters, and all sorts of onlookers flooded the livestream, clicking frantically. Another ten million viewers surged in.
The tension was electric. A legal team led the charge: [According to national laws, spreading rumors on public platforms can lead to criminal penalties…]
Then everyone saw the golden-haired beauty directing the eighteen models to lie on a cool mat, their arms touching, almost forming a blanket.
The golden-haired beauty held a cute bottle of moisturizer. She walked to the models’ side, shedding her jacket to reveal a tank top and shorts. She looked up at the camera.
“Today, anyone who orders the Golden-Haired Princess Package in the livestream for 999 yuan will get an extra bottle of citrus-scented essential oil!”
“Babes, let’s get those 999s rolling! If we clear out all the inventory today—right now—I’ll perform a special stunt! I’ll roll across all eighteen oil-slicked models and roll back!”
“Three, two, one! Here we go! Link’s up!”