*A Bit of a Backache*
Yan Linda resigned herself to staying late at the office.
[What’s Lin Yajie trying to say? Does she know some inside story?]
[That’s a really passive-aggressive remark.]
[Is she implying there’s some shady relationship between this nobody and the Best Actress?]
Many people @-mentioned Lin Yajie, demanding she explain herself.
But right after posting that update, she logged off without replying.
[Is Song Qingxu trying to go for a black-red (infamy-for-fame) route now? I used to like her—great acting, never made a fuss—but I didn’t expect her to turn out like this. Instant unfan.]
[Has her company made any statement?]
[Her lousy company never defends her.]
[Anyone else notice? The photos of the Best Actress and that ordinary girl are gone.]
[Did her company do it?]
[That penny-pinching Weizhi Culture? They wouldn’t spend the money.]
[Then whose doing was it?]
[Don’t tell me it was that nobody.]
[She’s just an assistant, right? No way she has that kind of pull.]
At the height of the buzz, Wilderness Diary’s official account dropped a teaser:
[Tomorrow night at 8 PM—join @Song Qingxu in exploring the wild rainforest.]
[Mystery solved—the production bought trending spots for promo.]
[The Best Actress has fallen so far she’s doing livestreams? Is the economy that bad now?]
[Honestly, I’ll watch. I’m curious how she’ll survive seven days out there.]
[So that’s why she was buying outdoor gear—preparing for the show.]
[Boring. I thought we had a real scandal.]
[Then what was Lin Yajie’s comment about?]
[She did it on purpose. They’ve always been sworn enemies.]
The online bickering only grew louder.
Meanwhile, far away on a sunny beach, Yuan Lai—skirt hem in hand—was getting a call from Yan Linda.
Her hands were full, so the phone kept ringing in her pocket.
Bending down to pick up seashells, Song Qingxu straightened up and lifted her skirt hem herself.
“You should answer—it might be urgent.”
Yuan Lai finally freed a hand to pull out her phone.
“What’s up?”
Yan Linda summarized the situation over the line, and sent the more detailed info to Yuan Lai’s phone. Yuan Lai hadn’t checked her messages earlier, so she hadn’t seen it yet.
Not wanting the online drama to upset Song Qingxu, Yuan Lai deliberately stepped away while on the call, worried that hearing it might sour her rare good mood.
She also avoided checking the details in front of her.
But in Song Qingxu’s eyes, that avoidance took on a different meaning.
She turned slightly away—she hadn’t planned on looking anyway.
Yuan Lai quietly saved two paparazzi shots of them together. Yan Linda had already bought the negatives from the photographer to ensure they wouldn’t surface again.
The photos had an unexpectedly warm atmosphere, like a couple out for a stroll.
But her smile quickly faded as she scrolled further—mindless comments from haters made her brows knit.
She couldn’t hold back. She registered a burner account and started firing back.
Hater: Song Qingxu’s so washed up she’s doing shows with internet nobodies. Might as well go have kids. Who even wants to see her?
Yuan Lai: What, a donkey kicked your head and you’ve done nothing useful since?
Hater: Oh look, another brain-dead fangirl.
Yuan Lai: Shake your brain juice back into place before talking to me.
Hater: You xxxxxxxx
Yuan Lai instantly reported the account, getting it banned.
After hanging up, she kept her eyes glued to her screen. Song Qingxu, now with a decent haul of seashells, scooped them into her shirt hem and walked toward the shore.
She’d found so many that Yuan Lai took off her shirt to use it as a bag, leaving her in just a sleeveless top.
Song Qingxu sat down under a palm tree. Bending over to collect shells hadn’t bothered her earlier, but now that she’d stopped, a dull ache spread in her lower back. She clenched a fist and pressed it lightly to ease the tension.
In the middle of her online battle, Yuan Lai decided she was too outnumbered and asked Yan Linda to hire more “troops” to back her up.
But she soon found the hired posts too robotic, not nearly as satisfying as doing it herself. She practically wished she had eight hands.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Song Qingxu lying back to rest. She walked over to join her under the palm tree.
Seeing Song Qingxu still rubbing her lower back, Yuan Lai finally surrendered her phone war and crouched in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, eyes fixed on her slender waist. “Your back hurts?”
“Probably just from bending too long earlier. A little sore.” Song Qingxu answered.
Yuan Lai tossed her phone aside and placed her warm hands on Song Qingxu’s waist. The moment her palms met that soft curve, Song Qingxu flinched.
Even through fabric, the heat seared right through.
Song Qingxu lay sideways on the lounger, back to Yuan Lai, eyes flicking briefly to the abandoned phone before lowering again—her gaze holding feelings only she knew.
A considerate masseuse, Yuan Lai kept checking in. “Is this pressure okay? Not too light?”
“Mmm… heavier on the right.” Song Qingxu replied.
“Mm—”
Yuan Lai stopped instantly. “What is it?”
Tears shimmered at the corners of Song Qingxu’s eyes. “That last one was too hard.”
“I’ll go lighter, then,” Yuan Lai said softly.
Neither realized just how suggestive that whole exchange sounded.
By dusk, the setting sun painted the sky red, tinting the clear sea with a warm glow. The rolling waves sparkled with scattered light, endlessly rushing the shore.
The cool evening breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean as they lay under the palms, watching the sun sink slowly.
Song Qingxu savored the peace.
On the endless stretch of beach, it was just the two of them.
She turned to the woman beside her—Yuan Lai had drifted into sleep, her breathing slow and even.
Song Qingxu stared at the faint shadows under her eyes. When had they grown so close that they could sleep without a hint of guard between them?
Her too.
And Yuan Lai too.
She had always thought of herself as someone hard to approach—tense around strangers, only relaxed when alone.
And Yuan Lai didn’t seem like the type to fall asleep anywhere, either.
Gazing at her serene face, Song Qingxu fell silent.
When moonlight spilled over Yuan Lai, the dark smudges under her eyes seemed to fade. Her lashes trembled, and the next moment she opened her eyes.
“It’s dark already?”
She instinctively searched for Song Qingxu, spotting her a short distance away on the shore.
In the pale glow, she stood before the horizon, her white skirt swaying with the sea breeze. For a moment, she looked like a celestial being who had strayed into the mortal world.
Yuan Lai slowed her breathing, afraid to break the moment.
But as if sensing her gaze, Song Qingxu turned just as Yuan Lai sat up.
“It’s late. Let’s head back.”
“Mm.”
________________________________________
Although Yan Linda had gotten the production to post the teaser, making it seem like the trending topic was just show promotion, a small number of people still weren’t convinced—some even started rumors that Song Qingxu’s marriage was falling apart.
Behind her glasses, Yan Linda’s eyes skimmed the rapid flood of online chatter. Her finger tapped the desk, a new strategy forming in her mind.
She stepped out to address the PR team. “Leave it for now. The more we delete posts, the more people will push back.”
“Linda-jie, what about all the nasty posts still up?” someone asked.
“Let them be. Good work, everyone—go home.”
“Yay!”
“Off work!”
Then came her devilish whisper: “Except Xiao Li—you’re staying one more hour with me.”
Xiao Li’s smile froze, her mood plunging. Watching her coworkers clock out, she wished she could scorch them with her glare.
Linda chuckled. “Ten times your usual pay.”
“Thank you, Linda-jie! I love overtime!” Xiao Li beamed, eager to agree before her boss could change her mind. Her colleagues now looked at her with envy.
“Pack up—we’re going out on a job. Ten minutes,” Linda said, clicking away in her heels.
“Yes, Linda-jie!” Ten times the pay! Xiao Li grinned so wide her teeth disappeared. She swept everything she might possibly need into her roomy bag.
Ten minutes later, Linda appeared at her desk, tapping it with a knuckle. “Let’s go.”
Xiao Li leapt up, bag on her back, and hurried after her.
Her company was a small operation that had started with marketing accounts—just over a dozen people, plus a stable of online personas. Their daily grind was chasing trends and running accounts.
When a client paid, they became a hired army, attacking wherever they were pointed.
Linda was a parachuted-in boss, rumored to have a powerful backer—the one who had bought the company outright and installed her as manager.
Her very first day, she’d led them in a targeted strike in the entertainment world, a task Xiao Li was well-versed in. She’d easily turned the tide of public opinion—until Lin Yajie popped up. Luckily, Linda had connections, bringing in a variety show exec to speak up.
It was the most satisfying “battle” Xiao Li had fought, and she’d been in awe of Linda’s skills ever since.
“Where are we going, Linda-jie?” Xiao Li asked.
“To sign the future boss’s wife.” Linda replied.
Xiao Li’s heart skipped. They were social media mercenaries—when did they start doing talent signings? And who was this “future boss’s wife”?
She blurted out her thoughts. “Aren’t we just marketing accounts?”
The sharp click of heels stopped. Linda, in her business suit, turned.
“Remember this: right now, you’re not a marketing account. You’re part of a legitimate entertainment company.”
Xiao Li blinked. “When did that happen?”
Linda adjusted her glasses, the frameless lenses catching a cold gleam.
“From the moment I took over.”
Xiao Li thought she’d never seen anyone shine quite like Linda at that moment. She could practically kneel at her high-heeled feet.
Linda gave her a once-over—the hoodie and backpack made her look like a college student fresh from class.
“Do you think I look good in this outfit?” Linda asked.
“Uh… yes.”
“I believe you’d look good in it too.”
They went straight to Weizhi Culture—the company Song Qingxu was signed to.
The receptionist greeted them sweetly, “Who are you here to see? Do you have an appoint—”
Before she could finish, the CEO’s assistant strode over.
She ignored Xiao Li and looked directly at Linda. “Ms. Yan? Please follow me.”
Xiao Li hurried after them.
On the top floor, Linda sat at the negotiation table. Despite only having Xiao Li behind her, she projected the weight of an entire company.
“This is our proposed contract.” She slid the printed document to the center of the table. “If there are no objections, sign it as soon as possible.”
The other side hesitated, trying to bargain.
“Song Qingxu is our golden goose. This…”
Linda calmly pushed up her glasses and delivered a line that made Xiao Li’s breath catch.
“Sign it—you get the money, I take the talent. Everyone wins.” She swept her gaze across the faces opposite her. “Don’t sign, I still take her—but the money?”
She tapped the table.
“You won’t see a single cent.”