Flirting Recklessly With the White Moonlight Will Get You Marked - Chapter 27
27:
The sound of slaps filled Yan Qingqiu’s ears, one after another, making her bury her head deeper into the pillow, struggling to breathe.
It hurt, and it burned.
Song Qingre, this jerk.
Song Qingre didn’t hold back at all, her fingers carried such weight.
The pain was real now. Song Qingre asked curiously, “What kind of blooming are we talking about?”
“You…”
“Does it hurt?” Song Qingre asked.
Her voice was so soft it carried a teasing itch.
Of course, it hurt—she wasn’t made of steel. A few slaps she could endure, but more than that? It really stung. Yan Qingqiu bit her lip. “It’s… fine. It hasn’t bloomed yet.”
Song Qingre said, “I know what you’re thinking. But Uncle won’t be back until midnight, if he comes back at all.”
As she spoke, the sound of a car engine came from outside, giving Yan Qingqiu a glimmer of hope. She lifted her head excitedly, twisting her neck to look toward the window, shouting, “Dad, Song Qingre’s hitting me!”
Smack—
“Ow.”
“What did you say?” Song Qingre asked.
Yan Qingqiu glared at her. Yan Fu hadn’t even gotten out of the car yet, how could he know what was happening inside? As Yan Fu entered, hearing no response, he asked, “Where’s everyone in the house?”
The butler, who had just returned to his room, got up to turn on the light. “Miss came back exhausted. I thought too many people would disturb her, so I sent everyone to rest.”
“Dad.” A voice came from upstairs.
Yan Fu heard it and asked, “Qiuqiu, why aren’t you asleep yet? Rest early.”
After speaking, Yan Fu strained to listen, but there was no clear response from upstairs—just a murmur or two, oddly subdued.
“Go on, tell your dad I’m bullying you,” Song Qingre said softly, sitting on the bed’s edge, rubbing Yan Qingqiu’s skin. “Remember when you were a kid? Every time you get hurt, I’ll blow on it for you.”
Blow on it?
This time, Yan Qingqiu didn’t make excuses or ramble. She admitted outright, “I don’t remember…”
She eyed Song Qingre warily, afraid she’d actually do it. “No, no, don’t blow.”
As she spoke, she thought she heard footsteps, her dad was coming upstairs. He knocked on the next room’s door but got no response. Then Yan Fu approached their door. “Qiuqiu, are you in there?”
Song Qingre brushed the hair from Yan Qingqiu’s face, feeling her breath hitch. Noticing her silence, Song Qingre replied, “She’s not here. She’s probably asleep. You should rest too, Uncle.”
“Alright,” Yan Fu chuckled. “You watched the live stream today, right?”
“I did. Qiuqiu was impressive, her moves were unexpected. The company must’ve sold a ton.” Song Qingre continued rubbing, glancing at Yan Qingqiu as if to say, “Sorry for hitting you. Let me make it up to you.”
Yan Qingqiu bit her lip, feeling like she was losing it. Could Song Qingre stop talking and pinching her? It wasn’t about soothing the pain, Song Qingre was deliberately teasing her, getting revenge.
What an artist, such a two-faced, lowlife move.
After three or four minutes of chatting, Yan Fu said, “I’ll head out then, so I won’t wake her. I told the butler to cook when she wakes up tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Song Qingre responded.
“Thanks for looking after Qiuqiu lately,” Yan Fu added.
Looking after?
Yan Qingqiu wanted to leap up. She’s humiliating me!
She shifted, and Song Qingre thought she was about to resist. Instead, Yan Qingqiu flipped over, glaring at the door. “What are you looking at? Switch sides.”
“…Oh.”
As soon as Yan Fu left, she got another slap. This jerk, definitely on purpose.
She planned to fight back after the next one, but Song Qingre stopped, as if she’d had her fun. “Are you showering here or back at your place?” she asked.
Yan Qingqiu wasn’t foolish enough to stay. She got up from the bed. “I’m going back.”
At the door, she turned the knob and looked back. “You’re not allowed to be mad anymore, okay?”
“…Mm.” Song Qingre nodded.
Opening the door, Yan Qingqiu glanced around and sneaked back to her room. Song Qingre followed, using her phone to light the way since Yan Qingqiu’s phone was still on the downstairs sofa.
Yan Qingqiu wanted to slam the door to vent her anger but was afraid Yan Fu would hear, so she crept in like a thief.
Inside, she rushed to the mirror. It was red, Song Qingre hadn’t held back. The handprint was huge. She pressed her hand against it, but her fingers couldn’t cover the mark.
It reddened too quickly.
Outside, Yan Fu, at the staircase, paused, thinking of something to tell the butler: “?”
—
After a wild day, Yan Qingqiu slept until 11:30 a.m.
The main household members got up late too. As she came downstairs, breakfast was being served.
Descending, she saw Song Qingre talking to Yan Fu.
She didn’t dare tell her dad about last night, so she pretended nothing happened and headed to the Xitu Lanya restaurant.
Yan Qingqiu hesitated to sit, not because it hurt, but because it was her first time being spanked, and repeatedly. The sensation lingered, making her butt feel tingly.
“What’s wrong? Are you uncomfortable?” Yan Fu asked with concern, looking her over before focusing on her. “Does your butt hurt?”
“…”
Yan Qingqiu lowered her head, not responding. Yan Fu assumed her wild live stream antics had caused a strain. “Besides your butt, anywhere else hurt?”
Why say it so bluntly? “Butt” sounded so crude.
“Qiuqiu?”
“I fell off the bed last night and landed on my butt,” Yan Qingqiu said, preparing to sit but hesitating, glancing around instinctively.
Yan Fu told the maid nearby, “Get a cushion for Miss.”
The maid moved quickly. Yan Qingqiu wanted to say it wasn’t necessary, but the maid was too fast, placing the cushion on the chair. Yan Qingqiu sat, feeling her dad’s gaze saw right through her.
“Maybe see a doctor. What if you hurt something? That’d be painful,” Song Qingre said.
The chef served the dishes. Yan Qingqiu shot her a side-eye. Song Qingre had a bowl of egg custard in front of her, tapping it lightly with a spoon—tap, tap, tap! The custard jiggled, lively under the hits.
Song Qingre was… indescribable. She seemed to be gently concerned, but it felt more like, Need a doctor? I can play one.
Yan Qingqiu was sure if she said she needed a doctor, Song Qingre would instantly transform into one.
She raised an eyebrow. Go on, transform. Let’s see who’s more shameless.
Song Qingre stopped tapping. Yan Fu sensed something off between them, tilting his head toward Song Qingre. “Qiuqiu, you didn’t fight with Xiao Re and fall, did you?” His expression was loaded.
Yan Qingqiu hadn’t eaten yet, but her throat caught. Why was her dad so perceptive?
“No way,” she said, avoiding Yan Fu’s gaze and sipping her oat milk. “Dad, I just had a flash of inspiration. What if we put the eighteen models in professional outfits, like nurse or doctor uniforms, for the live stream? Wouldn’t that be more exciting?”
Yan Fu fell silent, then said after a pause, “Eat your food!”
Song Qingre added, “Models are already a great professional identity, sexy and thrilling. Adding random stuff would dilute the vibe.”
Fair point.
Yan Qingqiu sighed. Her tastes were all over the place, she could handle anything.
Nurses, doctors, teachers, principals—she was game for it all.
If possible, all 360 professions, let her dive in.
She only thought about it, keeping quiet and eating. She was glad she hadn’t blurted out something crazy during the stream setup, like trying all 360 professions.
That would’ve been a battlefield.
Even the toughest person might struggle with 360 professions…
At breakfast, Yan Qingqiu ate just enough to feel satisfied. She’d need snacks during the live stream, or talking and performing would tire her out.
Yan Fu was worried, today might be even more intense than yesterday, the heart-pounding kind. He didn’t want his daughter pushing so hard. He worked so she could live well, not sacrifice her image for sales. Though, admittedly, she was bolder than most.
Yan Qingqiu bent to change into six-centimeter heels at the door—light yellow, making her feet look sexy and elegant. She propped herself against the wall, fingers reaching for the clasp. The maid crouched to help, but Yan Qingqiu lifted her foot, wanting to say it wasn’t needed. The maid was too quick, though.
“You don’t have to do this in the future,” Yan Qingqiu said, embarrassed. Before, she’d let the maids do it to fit her persona.
Now, she wasn’t used to being waited on hand and foot for things she could handle.
At the door, she saw Song Qingre heading out, phone in hand, seemingly tagging along. Yan Qingqiu turned, puzzled. “Is it okay if you come? You don’t know about live streaming.”
Song Qingre said, “I want to see it for myself. I’ve never been to a live stream set. Can I be a guest? The free kind.”
Song Qingre’s presence would definitely boost sales.
Yan Qingqiu was tempted but worried she’d feel restricted.
Yan Fu thought it was perfect, Song Qingre could keep an eye on Yan Qingqiu. If she got too wild, challenging her “weakness” by sleeping on models or being carried to a bath, what then?
Even as her dad, he couldn’t handle that.
Forget “indecent”, a group of beauties was pleasing to the eye. He was more concerned about Yan Qingqiu’s health. Seven of those eighteen models were Alphas!
Yan Fu drove, with the two in the back. Yan Qingqiu occasionally asked about sales. Yan Fu said, “Yesterday’s sales hit about 19 billion.”
“How much? 19 billion? That much?”
“Yeah, for one day,” Yan Fu said, pleased. “Profit hasn’t been calculated yet.”
Yan Qingqiu pulled out her phone to use the calculator but realized it wasn’t charged, only 16% left.
Song Qingre offered her phone. “Use mine.”
“No, I’ll charge in Dad’s car.” Yan Qingqiu started tapping. 19 billion yuan, how many zeros was that? Damn, her math was never great; she had no clue how to calculate profit…
After fumbling, she noticed Song Qingre sneaking glances. She turned off the screen to avoid embarrassment. “What?”
Song Qingre just looked at her quietly. The car moved slowly, and she occasionally glanced out the window.
Yan Qingqiu couldn’t ignore her gaze. She lowered her voice. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
At first, Song Qingre just smiled, saying nothing. When Yan Qingqiu pressed, she softly said, “It reminds me of when my parents were still around.”
The car fell silent. It stopped at a red light, and outside was a candied hawthorn shop.
Song Qingre’s parents died when she was fifteen, ten years ago. “It’s been so long,” she said. “I’ve forgotten most of the time with them. All I remember are little things… It’s like my memory’s been wiped, slowly fading.” She paused. “You don’t remember anything about them, do you, Qiuqiu?”
Yan Qingqiu’s mind was blank. She’d never even seen Song Qingre’s parents. She’d searched the house for clues, but there wasn’t a single photo. She wondered why everything was cleared out so thoroughly but didn’t dare ask, fearing the answer might be that “she” had burned them.
Later, she read the butler’s journal. It described a rainy day, strange weather—clear skies in broad daylight, then sudden thunder and lightning splitting the sky.
It was odd, whipping the daylight.
Even odder was “her.” “She” ordered the household to pack up all of Song Qingre’s things, stuff them into boxes, and throw them outside. Song Qingre picked them up one by one in the rain, soaked through, the boxes in her arms drenched too. “She” forbade anyone from helping.
The rain matted Song Qingre’s eyelashes.
Yan Qingqiu, an orphan herself, understood that lonely pain. Compared to Song Qingre, she had it slightly better, she’d never been cast out. Song Qingre was. Yan Qingqiu had seen kids return to the orphanage, each one growing depressed, silent, curling up in corners, wilting like flowers at the end of the world.
Song Qingre later dragged her boxes back to her own yard. When Yan Fu returned from the company and learned of it, he was furious, whipping “her.” “She” grabbed his hand, pushed him back, and bluntly told him if he dared touch her, she’d call the Women’s Federation tomorrow, letting the whole circle—nationwide—know he was abusive.
Yan Fu was so angry he was hospitalized that rainy night. As for Song Qingre, the butler wrote that she changed, becoming quiet. Living close by, he’d hear her cough through the walls.
[“Cough after cough, as if she’d cough out her heart and lungs. When I went to bring her medicine, I found the gate locked tight, bolted from the inside. She didn’t answer, refusing anyone who tried to help.”]
[“Waiting for death, or death waiting.”]
“Qiuqiu?”
Yan Qingqiu snapped back, her heart aching. “What? You scared me.”
The butler’s writing was evocative, and recalling it now, her heart throbbed. She pressed her hand to her chest.
Song Qingre called her name gently, likely thinking of happier times. Yan Qingqiu scooted back, seeking support, feeling guilty, she truly remembered nothing.
“Uh…” Yan Fu started to say something up front, but the light changed, and the car moved on.
Yan Qingqiu had no memory of Song Qingre’s parents, but Yan Fu did. The families were old neighbors with a great relationship. As a child, Yan Qingqiu often played at their house, cared for by Song Qingre’s parents. Her father was a trader in exports, her mother ran a flower shop. Song Qingre’s father, passing by the shop, saw her mother watering flowers and fell in love at first sight.
Very romantic.
Sadly, they died in a plane crash while traveling abroad for medical treatment.
Yan Fu couldn’t fathom his daughter’s change toward Song Qingre afterward. He even secretly consulted a Taoist, suspecting possession.
Song Qingre likely thought of this too, falling silent after speaking.
Since Yan Qingqiu transmigrated, this was the first time Song Qingre mentioned her parents. If only she’d arrived earlier, she could’ve stopped things, like not casting Song Qingre out or saving her parents.
Yan Qingqiu clutched her phone, draining the last 16% of its battery.
At the company, Yan Fu’s secretary opened the car door. Yan Qingqiu got out, and the secretary nodded. “Miss.”
“What’s up?” Yan Fu asked.
“Reporters called today wanting to interview Miss. At 8 a.m., someone from the Fu Corporation came, trying to catch her.”
Yan Fu frowned deeply. “Tighten security. No one gets in. If Fu Ye shows up…”
Yan Qingqiu cut in, “Demand money from him. He messed with me last time, and I haven’t settled that score. Secretary, put up a banner at the entrance: ‘Fu Ye, no entry without 500 million yuan.’”
The secretary, having witnessed Yan Qingqiu’s wild side, was still shocked. Miss was no ordinary person.
She looked at Yan Fu. “Should I do it?”
“Go order it,” Yan Fu said.
Yan Qingqiu grinned, looking up at the skyscraper, her dad’s empire.
Awesome!
Take that, scumbag.
Inside, Yan Fu was about to lead them upstairs, but Yan Qingqiu shook her head. “You go ahead. I’ll sit in the lobby for a bit. Waiting for someone.”
Assuming she meant Su Xingjie, Yan Fu didn’t press, instructing the secretary to call extra security in case Fu Ye caused trouble.
As Yan Fu and the secretary walked off, he said, “We owe Xingjie big time for lending us those models.”
Yan Qingqiu and Song Qingre sat in the lobby. Yan Qingqiu fiddled with her dead phone, trying to turn it on, the screen flickering before shutting off.
Song Qingre watched her hands. After a while, someone outside shouted, “Meteorite Angel, your delivery! Or is it Hathaway? Ugh, hard name to read. Your phone’s off, come get your delivery!”
Song Qingre glanced at Yan Qingqiu, who blinked warily. How’d you know it’s mine?
She got up to sign for it, opening the package as she walked. Back at Song Qingre, she pulled out a stick of candied hawthorn and handed it to her.
Old-school style, sugar-coated hawthorn with sesame.
Yan Qingqiu bit into one, her cheek puffing out as she chewed. The hard sugar cracked, revealing sweet-tart fruit. “You really like candied hawthorn?”
Song Qingre tilted her head, touching Yan Qingqiu’s cheek. “Not really.”
“Then why’d you stare at that shop so long in the car?”
Song Qingre’s brow twitched. She wasn’t looking at the hawthorn, she was thinking of the person buying it. As kids, she’d take Yan Qingqiu to her mom’s flower shop, next to a candied hawthorn stall. Her mom would buy them some, and they’d sit on a bench outside the shop, eating all afternoon.
Qiuqiu would say, “We’re like Kiki’s Delivery Service, but she had a bakery. When my dad gets back, he’ll buy us a bakery.”
Song Qingre would lick the sugar off her lips, wondering what Qiuqiu would be like in the future.
“I don’t eat it often, but in autumn and winter, I crave it if I don’t have one,” Song Qingre said.
“Oh.”
Yan Qingqiu dodged her touch, the spot feeling sweet and tingly. She headed to the elevator. “Eat one first. Don’t eat in the elevator.”
She added, “I should’ve gotten one for Xingxing.”
“You’re not eating? Don’t like it?”
“No, I love it.” Song Qingre crunched a hawthorn, following her leisurely.
You forgot to get one for Xingxing, and I love that too.
—
Yan Qingqiu didn’t like wandering the company, so she took Song Qingre straight to the live stream studio, explaining what everything was for.
“It’s like this and that, find the camera for the stream, like that.”
Song Qingre nodded.
Yan Qingqiu said, “You’re so smart, understanding all that from my vague explanation.” In truth, she barely knew the equipment herself, having only touched it the first day. She didn’t know most of the staff either.
She scooted closer to Song Qingre’s chair, her phone dead and no power bank borrowed, watching what Song Qingre was looking at.
Song Qingre was checking the trending list. Number one: Tune in at 7 p.m. to Yan Corp’s flagship store, Yan Qingqiu vs. eighteen models.
Who paid for that?
By 7 p.m., the hype hadn’t died down. Yan Qingqiu started the stream, but Su Xingjie was delayed by traffic and couldn’t make it yet.
With Song Qingre there, several staff, her fans—sneaked over for autographs. She politely declined, smiling, holding something.
Everyone saw it was a candied hawthorn stick.
But she hadn’t eaten it since arriving, why not toss it or set it down?
Some schemed to get Song Qingre and Yan Qingqiu to co-stream, but Yan Qingqiu refused. Song Qingre was an artist, selling products would lower her status, and Yan Qingqiu’s antics were too risqué. No way.
Once the equipment was set, the stream began. Yan Qingqiu sat briefly, and ten million viewers flooded in, startling her. She almost closed the stream.
She had the remaining products prepped.
The comments were still discussing her and Fu Ye’s love story.
Yan Qingqiu sat, showing her face, frowning at the screen. “Was I really that dumb before? I didn’t know until I saw this, shocking. Thanks for the history lesson, netizens. From now on, I’m done with being a lovesick fool…”
Netizens: [Focus on your career, sister!]
She quickly shut down the idea. “No, no, no, stop. If I could, I’d be a slacker 365 days a year. A bit more allowance from my dad each month, and I’m set.”
She shook her head repeatedly. “My ultimate dream is to be a slacker.”
The comments got her: [Isn’t your ultimate dream is to have 365 wives, getting spicy with them every day?]
Yan Qingqiu couldn’t hold back a laugh.
Comments: [Or 365 gorgeous people, spicy wives with different personalities, all rich, occasionally letting you seek new flings?]
Damn it.
The netizens were being too much.
Her laugh nearly got out of control. If her mouth were bigger, it’d stretch to her ears. “Don’t say that. I’m loyal, 365 wives are enough. Honestly, one more and I’d be stuffed, haha… But, maybe I’ll challenge my weakness.”
“Buy the products! All talk, no action. I still haven’t rolled over eighteen models.”
She stood, stretching, cracking her neck, glancing at Song Qingre, who wasn’t looking at her.
Good…
She sipped water, deliberately passing Song Qingre, who sent a gift: [To the streamer, one Love Cruise, 1314 yuan.]
She nearly choked.
Yan Qingqiu avoided lingering near the stream setup until Su Xingjie arrived with models in trench coats.
“Sorry, Qiuqiu, I’m late—traffic,” Su Xingjie said.
Yan Qingqiu hadn’t planned to sell everything in one go, but she was stunned by the models.
Frowning, she approached to guide them to take off the coats, too many layers to generate buzz.
Su Xingjie stopped her. “I did it on purpose, Qiu-bao. What if you actually have to roll?”
“It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ve got this. Isn’t it hot in those? Take them off.”.
The eighteen models unbuttoned their coats. Yan Qingqiu’s eyes widened, then she blinked, raising her hand. “Put them back on!”
It was probably too hot for trench coats this season. Underneath, they wore even shorter tank tops and hot pants, practically Victoria’s Secret-level…
Insane.
The stream audience saw the coats and got excited: [She loves me, she knows I’m thirsty.
Wearing coats just to add a strip show. There’s definitely something good underneath!]
Su Xingjie glanced over, nearly crying.
Did I help or make it worse?
Today’s crowd was larger and more aggressive, not giving Yan Qingqiu a chance to stall.
[Add one more, if the Artist Song lies in the 19th spot, you roll over and back, we’ll clear all your links right now. Whoever refunds is a dog, and they can’t buy it later. Wanna play?]
Yan Qingqiu was stunned. How did they know Song Qingre was here?
[Don’t forget Director Su, I heard her voice.]
[We’ll even clear the models’ haute couture.]
[!!!]
“!”
Yan Qingqiu was at her limit, with only a few links left. Today’s crowd was bigger, clearly saving up for the show.
Netizens: She could’ve just grabbed the sales, but she gave me essential oil and moisturizer. I’m touched, I’ll spend it on her.
Thanks. I’ve earned enough. I’m stuffed.
Everyone looked at Song Qingre, who was easygoing, holding her phone. “Sure,” she said softly. “Should I change into something sexier, show off my waist and abs?”
“No, no, no!” Yan Qingqiu blurted, standing from behind the equipment, glaring at Song Qingre.
You’re an artist—noble, aloof. Don’t be as shameless as me.
Some things I can handle alone.
“Joking? An artist is an artist. No messing around.
Just eighteen models, I’ll roll. Put up the links.”
She missed the comments flying by:
[Nice, the taunt worked!]
[She’s too scared to roll over Miss Song.]
[Let me ship it: After Yan Qingqiu and the 18 models, she cheated with the aloof artist Song
Qingre. Spicy~]
When the models’ coats came off, Yan Qingqiu realized, Damn, why’d I agree to roll?
She tried rallying with a slogan, but the comments were impatient:
[Hurry up, list the products, even the refunded ones!]
She hinted to the staff, nervously asking, “Any refunds?”
One minute, no. Two minutes, no. Three minutes, still none.
Yan Qingqiu was shocked. Were netizens this determined? If even one is refunded… She signaled with her eyes, “Really none?”
Su Xingjie, watching offstage, couldn’t bear it, covering half her face. You have no idea how thirsty netizens are.
The stream surged with viewers. Yan Qingqiu had nothing left to stall with, having already warmed up.
“Alright, apply the essential oil to the models.”
“Okay.” The assistant brought the oil, standing beside her. “Miss, can you apply it by yourself?”
Yan Qingqiu was speechless, staring at the assistant. My trusty aide, do you see how daring I can be right now?
She had the assistant pass the oil to the models, who stripped down. Today’s outfits were even skimpier than yesterday’s, last time was ultra-short hot pants; this time, they barely covered the thighs.
The oil left their skin glossy and slick. One could imagine how soft and springy it’d feel when Yan Qingqiu rolled over.
She applied a bottle to herself. Someone picked a scent for her. Looking up, she met Song Qingre’s eyes. Song Qingre didn’t speak, not watching the stream, fingers resting on her lap, but Yan Qingqiu felt like she heard, “You’re so clever, even applying oil.”
After oiling up, Yan Qingqiu warmed up with a push-up on the floor, then another. At 170 cm, she looked like a fierce Alpha. Pressing down and up, sweat beaded.
Some suspected she was too fair and delicate to be an Alpha, maybe an Omega. But what Omega could be this wild, with at least six Alphas below her, unafraid of triggering heat? Too scandalous.
The eighteen models lay together in the center, spanning at least nine meters. The camera had to zoom out. Yan Qingqiu directed, “Tighter, don’t spread out.”
A staff member chimed in, “Yeah, beauties need to stick close!”
“…”
Not exactly, she was worried it’d be too long to roll back.
She got them in position, ready to count “three, two, one, roll” to the camera. Turning, she saw a crowd, not just Su Xingjie and Song Qingre, but her dad, company executives, and unfamiliar staff, all packed in to watch.
She thought she understood thirst, but this crowd was beyond her grasp.
This was deadly.
The pressure was immense, she couldn’t handle it.
Yan Fu, genuinely concerned, said, “Qiuqiu, maybe…”
“No way. I said I’d do it, so I will. Integrity matters, customers trust us, and we trust them.”
Her head ached as she spoke. She glanced at Song Qingre, hoping she’d act like a proper creditor and command, “Yan Qingqiu, if you roll, I’ll break your legs~”
No response. Out of options, Yan Qingqiu got down and started doing push-ups.
[Stop the push-ups, you’ll run out of steam mid-roll!]
[It’s fine, Qiuqiu’s push-ups are hot, an appetizer.]
After ten push-ups, Yan Qingqiu sat cross-legged, rubbing her fingers, addressing the models earnestly. “I’m gonna roll now, sorry in advance, okay?”
The models were silent, some closing their eyes, others staring at the ceiling.
Yan Qingqiu exhaled, scooting back.
The first model said, “Just roll already.”
Fair point, not rolling would look cowardly. Rolling was best for everyone. She convinced herself it was fine, not weak. Her dad said yesterday’s sales hit 19 billion, rivaling top streamers. Today would be more.
19 billion and rolling over eighteen models?
She was winning, no question. The only regret was forgetting to plan how to roll after getting spanked yesterday.
Too much thinking, too much pressure.
Yan Qingqiu lay down, staring at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, her pupils reflecting white. She flipped onto her stomach.
The models were nervous, more than walking an international runway, their palms sweating.
Moments later, Yan Qingqiu’s back pressed against the first model. She was cautious, but the sensation was vivid, not like a push-up. The model’s oiled skin was slick and soft, nearly slipping her back. She accidentally pinched someone’s flesh… deadly.
With effort, Yan Qingqiu rolled like a wave over the eighteen models, her body pressing against their curves, gliding over oiled skin, wet and smooth.
Her rapid rolling felt like riding wave after wave, and when she finished, pulling away from the models, it was like stirring a puddle.
The rolling took so much energy, she felt dizzy, hitting the floor with a hiss.
She lay flat to catch her breath, then propped herself up, neck slightly raised. Her light yellow heels tapped the floor, legs lifting, the heels gliding on the white surface.
Rolling was exhausting, without training, it was impossible. She was instantly drained.
[Qiuqiu, roll slower, it’s too fast to see!]
[She actually rolled! Roll back, quick!]
Yan Qingqiu was slim but strong. Standing, she looked at the models, their eyes closed, eyelashes fluttering. This time, she rolled slower.
Not to please the audience, she’d used too much energy and was out of steam.
Her golden hair flowed like a golden wave, arms pressing onto the models as she rolled again, front and back.
This time, she heard muffled sounds from several models.
She deliberately offset her position to avoid excessive contact, not wanting to touch sensitive areas or leave the models traumatized.
But the more she avoided, the more she seemed to touch, her hands nearly pressing onto delicate throats.
Yan Qingqiu lay flat again, breathing heavily, chest heaving, blowing hair off her nose.
Her brain registered: So comfy. This is what rolling over eighteen models feels like.
A true gentle paradise.
The models’ breaths tickled her ear, their eighteen unique pheromone scents and skin textures like needles on her back, an exhilarating rollercoaster.
A model let out a sound, and Yan Qingqiu paused.
“Don’t move.” She couldn’t properly brace her hands on the models, relying on core strength. If her arms pressed somewhere they shouldn’t, it’d be over.
Hold it.
She rolled sideways, eyes closed, powering through to the last model. Her hair was sticky with various scented oils, a gooey mess. Lying on the floor, panting, she was exhausted.
Propping herself up, her face was sweaty, flushed red.
The live stream’s big screen faced her, and the comments started flooding in again.
She was done for. Yan Qingqiu wiped her cheek, utterly exhausted.
“What’s the big deal about rolling over eighteen models? Why the excitement?”
[I’m calling my bestie to roll right now.]
[Sister, don’t worry, I’m satisfied. I’d die before refunding.]
Yan Qingqiu stood up, stretching her legs and waist. After stretching, what now?
Her clothes were slightly damp.
She didn’t dare look at anyone, but it felt like everyone was staring at her.
What was wrong with these people? Someone needs to liven up the mood already!
The eighteen models below her were manageable, but the crowd behind her felt like a pack of wolves and tigers. She sneaked a glance, her dad’s expression was stern, Song Qingre’s face was blank.
The others seemed to be saying, “Look, your dad and your ‘wife’ are here. So cool.”
She pressed her fingers to her forehead, brushing back her bangs.
Turning her head, her ears were bright red.
Sure, she might get a beating for rolling, but she’d already done it. Being coy now would be pathetic. Life was about living a little, especially since she’d get a beating sooner or later. Not everyone got to roll over eighteen stunning supermodels.
And since she wasn’t beaten to death this time, she even thought about challenging her “weakness” by sleeping on those eighteen models, surely it’d be soft.
Just don’t look around too much.
Yan Qingqiu waved at the comments, signaling the performance was over. “Fierce Alpha’s outta here. Gotta drink some water. Bye.”
The fans in the live stream begged her to stay, making it all emotional, and she felt a bit embarrassed.
She glanced at the comments.
Nice, nice, nice! Fierce, fierce, fierce! My dream Alpha! Please roll over me!
[Sister, can I get a bite? Just one!]
A bunch of naive Omegas, losing it over a model roll. Couldn’t handle themselves. But she really did have eighteen different essential oil scents on her.
Standing, Yan Qingqiu thought about helping the models up, but all eighteen pairs of eyes turned to her at once. She nervously retracted her hand, saying earnestly, “Thanks for your hard work. Did I hurt you?”
“It’s fine… not too heavy,” the models said, standing on their own. Some looked at her, others rubbed their arms.
Seeing some models’ flushed faces, Yan Qingqiu felt guilty. “Please, go take a shower and get a massage. Sorry, really sorry.”
“It’s okay, we volunteered,” one model said.
Yan Qingqiu felt uneasy. No matter how much she played it off, the models could sense her state. She glanced over, the one speaking was yesterday’s dark-skinned spicy girl, who looked at her with a hint of shyness.
Shyness…
As the models got up, Yan Qingqiu waved at the camera. “See ya.”
She walked off without lingering.
Tossing her hair back, she saw the stunned crowd below and said calmly, “Stream’s over. Why are you still standing there? Get to work.”
The staff nodded repeatedly. Yan Qingqiu walked to Su Xingjie, who hadn’t moved, and snapped her fingers. “What are you spacing out for? Check on your models. I’m worried I shocked them.”
Su Xingjie snapped out of it. “Right, right, right, okay.”
She dazedly went to her models, waving them over. Yan Qingqiu left the room, breathing in the fresh air outside. Taking a step, her high heel wobbled, she’d overdone it, and her hip ached sharply.
Damn it.
She shouldn’t have rolled.
Wearing heels today, she’d planned to play it up, maybe step on the models to shift focus from rolling. But those netizens came in hot, draining her completely, and now the heels were torture.
She heard a chuckle, like it came from the system in her head.
System: [Sorry, I couldn’t hold it in. You’re the first host I’ve met who creates difficulties for themselves when there are none.]
“What do you know? This is called basking in glory. Who else could achieve what I did?” Yan Qingqiu huffed, lowering her head to take off her heels.
System: [True, you’re wild.]
With no one around, Yan Qingqiu vented. “Damn, it’s insane… Rolling over eighteen models is such a workout… it’s like riding waves.”
Their soft bodies, coated in a whole bottle of essential oil—she’d struggled to roll, feeling like she was teetering over an abyss. One extra second, and she’d be swallowed whole.
System: “Exciting?”
“I gotta say, pretty thrilling. You really feel how sexy their bodies are.” Yan Qingqiu laughed, but the laugh faded. The voice wasn’t in her head this time.
It came from behind. Turning, she saw Song Qingre standing there, looking at her calmly. “Who were you talking to?”
Yan Qingqiu, startled by her voice, tried to move, but one foot was still in her heel, throwing her off balance. She stumbled, bumping into Song Qingre’s shoulder. Steadying herself, she groaned in pain. “Who else but you?”
“You knew someone was behind you and still got scared?”
Yan Qingqiu pursed her lips. “My legs are weak, okay?”
“Oh?” Song Qingre’s gaze slid down her jaw. “Qiuqiu, you really basked in glory today. I’m jealous.”
Yan Qingqiu’s breathing quickened, a sheen of sweat on her skin.
“Let me tell you a secret,” Song Qingre said suddenly.
“What secret?” Yan Qingqiu asked.
Song Qingre leaned closer, and Yan Qingqiu’s heart raced, terrified she’d say something like, I have a system too. Her heart pounded. Song Qingre heard it, glancing at her chest before saying, “The secret is, I realized I’m not as good as you. I thought I’d be fine supporting your career, watching you roll, but I’m so mad. Really mad.”
Yan Qingqiu froze, wanting to step back. Song Qingre smiled, her lips strikingly red. She leaned in, whispering, “I’m no match for you. You’re way better.”
Sister, don’t say that, you’re already a success.
If I were you, I’d have rushed over and killed myself by now.
You’ve got serious restraint.