Starlight Descends - 12
Citrus
Even on break, Qi Yao couldn't really be without work.
For the entire week, she left early and came home late, carrying her DSLR and tripod everywhere to gather video footage.
In between, she also squeezed in the recording of a variety show. Fortunately, it wasn't an outdoor reality program, so filming wrapped in half a day.
Her packed schedule filled her life to the brim, leaving no room for wandering thoughts, though the exhaustion was unavoidable.
Thankfully, her assistant Lizi had finally returned from leave, lightening her workload considerably.
"Hey, Lizi." Qi Yao sat on the rug in her living room, fiddling with her camera.
"Hm? What's up?" The petite, youthful girl poked her head out from the kitchen where she was blanching beef.
Qi Yao was frowning. "You got a sec? Do you know what it means when an SD card can't be read?"
"Coming!" Lizi tossed the beef into the pot, slapped the lid on, washed her hands, and hurried over.
"No idea. The card reader isn't working?"
"Mm." Qi Yao hugged her knees, her back against the sofa. "The data won't export. I've tried several different card readers. Still nothing."
Lizi experimented with it for a while without success, and handed it back. "I really don't know either. Should I ask around for you?”
Qi Yao exhaled softly. "Forget it. I'll go ask someone myself. You get back to cooking."
She rose to her feet, balancing the camera and laptop awkwardly in her arms as she freed one hand to send a WeChat message.
[1]: Are you home?
Zhou Qi replied instantly.
[Happy Little BuzzCut]: What's up?
[1]: Having some issues with the camera I can't figure out.
[Happy Little BuzzCut]: Oh oh oh oh!
[Happy Little BuzzCut]: Yeah, here! Just come knock on the door!
Zhou Qi then went to fired off a text to Yu Jiashu:
"BRO!!!!! MY GODDESS IS COMING OVER! PLEASE BE NICE TO HER!!!!!! WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T GIVE HER THAT COLD FACE!!!!! I'M BEGGING YOU!!!!!"
Of course, Yu Jiashu never saw the message. He was just as oblivious as Qi Yao.
Since it was only Zhou Qi, whom she already considered familiar by now, Qi Yao didn't bother changing clothes. Wearing loose long-sleeved loungewear, black-rimmed glasses, and no makeup, she crossed the hall and knocked.
Knock, knock, knock.
She waited a moment. No response.
Both her hands were occupied, no way to grab her phone and ask again. She could only continue knocking.
Her pale fingers curled lightly as her knuckles rapped against the heavy security door. On the fourth knock, her hand greeted empty air. The black door suddenly swung open. The motion-sensor light in the hallway clicked on, flickering to life.
A draft swept in through the open window, brushing gently past the person who answered the door, and instantly her nose filled with the crisp, cool scent of mint.
A shadow fell across her vision.
The man wore a plain T-shirt hastily thrown on after a shower. Water still dripped from the ends of his damp hair, soaking dark patches into the collar. He had one hand casually rubbing a towel through his hair, his eyes lowered, expression nonchalant.
"Remember your key next time.”
Without looking up, his gaze swept briefly across the doorframe as he tossed out the remark and turned to walk away.
Qi Yao froze. Her mouth reacted before her brain could catch up.
"...But I don't have a key."
Yu Jiashu stopped mid‑turn.
Then, slowly, he lifted his eyelids, turning back to look at her.
***
The huge living room held only the two of them. The ticking of the clock on the TV cabinet sounded unnaturally oppressive in the silence.
"Give me a second."
Qi Yao sat stiffly on the sofa with the camera and laptop in her arms. For some reason, she felt a little nervous. At his words, she nodded and watched him disappear into the bathroom.
He must've just gotten out of the shower. Her knocking had clearly interrupted him before he could properly settle himself.
Yu Jiashu was dressed as casually as she was. His tall, lean figure stood straight, a white towel draped loosely around his neck.
The upper half of his black T-shirt was still damp, the wet fabric clinging to his back. Beneath it, the smooth lines of muscle shifted subtly with dynamic, vigorous tension as he walked.
It was faint and undeniably...
Qi Yao jerked her gaze away.
Yu Jiashu gave his hair a few perfunctory rubs, then emerged in a fresh, clean shirt.
The sofa dipped slightly when he sat down, neither too close nor too far. Leaning forward with one elbow braced on his knee, he extended his other hand toward her.
"Let me see."
The scent of cedar and mint swirled around her once more.
Qi Yao hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly before she handed over the camera. Her voice unconsciously dropped to nearly a whisper. “I don’t know why the SD card won’t read. I can’t export what I’ve filmed.”
The DSLR was heavy, especially with the long lens attached, yet it settled effortlessly into his hands. His long fingers supported it with ease, his forearm muscles tensing just slightly, their lines smooth and defined.
Yu Jiashu tapped casually through the settings. Then something seemed to occur to him, he glanced up at her. "Can I look?"
"Huh?" Qi Yao didn't follow. "What?"
"You didn't film anything…” He paused, his expression turning subtle, "...that I shouldn't see, right?"
Qi Yao: "...NO!"
After a beat, she added firmly: "It’s all proper stuff!”
The corner of Yu Jiashu's mouth twitched. He gave a casual “mm.”
“It’s either the data cable or your laptop’s USB port not supplying enough power.”
Yu Jiashu diagnosed the problem after only a few quick glances. Eyes down, he reached over for her laptop, his fingers sliding smoothly across the trackpad.
The moment the screen lit up, they both saw the wallpaper, and simultaneously fell silent.
Qi Yao's wallpaper was something she'd set on random. And by some catastrophic cosmic coincidence, it happened to be a collage of fan praise she'd seen not long ago.
She'd found it on her fan community. The background was pale buttery yellow, covered in sticker-like cutouts of every role she'd played since debut.
The innocent schoolgirl in uniform, the naive and otherworldly junior disciple, the sweet and charming princess, and some reaction screenshots from variety shows.
Surrounding it were the usual over-the-top fan compliments. Qi Yao had only thought the image itself was meaningful, she’d never bothered to examine the text too closely. Who could've known that, right there, smack in the center, was:
“[heart][kiss] Radiant and Resplendent Qi Xiao‑Yao [rainbow] Unparalleled Beauty Qi Xiao‑Yao [rainbow] You're done for [rose] Just you wait [rainbow] I've never liked anyone this much [heart] I truly believe [rose] My entire existence is meant to protect you [kiss][heart][rose]”
[Heart] [Rose]”
"... "
What a strangely, terribly familiar text.
For a long moment, the vast living room plunged into dead silence.
Yu Jiashu smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He said, one syllable at a time: “Proper stuff?”
Qi Yao: "..."
At that exact moment, both of them mentally cursed Happy Little BuzzCut at least a hundred times over. Elsewhere on campus, Zhou Qi sneezed violently out of nowhere, startling his entire classroom to turn and stare.
Whatever Yu Jiashu did next, it looked effortless. A few taps of his long fingers later, the laptop displayed a file transfer in progress.
"Done." He set the laptop on the coffee table. "It was the data cable. I'll get you a different one in a bit. That should solve it.”
"Okay."
She nodded.
“Then… I’ll head back?” Qi Yao hesitated.
She had worked hard all week, recording every bit of useful, and even marginally useful, footage. The transfer progress bar crawled painfully slowly across the screen.
Yu Jiashu glanced at it once.
Planting a hand against his knee, he rose and walked around the bar counter, his drifting lazily behind him.
"Stay a while. If you take it back now and accidentally disconnect it, you'll have to restart the whole transfer."
"Oh." Qi Yao sat back down again.
"Want something to drink?"
She tilted her head, watching him stand tall behind the bar counter. His hair was only half-dry, loose dark strands falling across his forehead. His eyes were lowered.
His jawline was sharp, a thin layer of skin and flesh stretched taut over bone, giving him a cold, razor-edged appearance.
The coffee machine hummed softly.
Before she could stop herself, Qi Yao said: "Moonshine."
The air went still for two seconds.
Yu Jiashu lifted his eyes toward her. A faint half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Don't have any."
Three simple words.
Yet somehow, she could clearly read the subtext written across his face: You're probably the only one who stock that stuff at home.
Qi Yao: "..."
He turned to open the fridge, dropped ice cubes into his coffee, then pulled out a bottle of orange soda.
Condensation still clung to the chilled glass bottle. With a crisp clink, he set it on the ceramic coffee table.
Half turning, he tapped lightly against the bottle neck, his voice trailing off in a lazy drawl.
"You'll have to make do with this for now."
"... "
For some inexplicable reason, Qi Yao felt her ears warming. She let out a small "oh" and reached for the bottle.
The metal cap resisted stubbornly beneath her fingers. Though designed for grip, the ridges still scraped her palm red.
Qi Yao pressed her lips together and took a sip. The familiar, crisp sweetness bloomed across her tongue.
Sweet but not cloying. Refreshing and clean, with a lingering aftertaste. The taste of summer.
A host of unbidden feelings swelled in her heart. Like carbonation foaming over the mouth of a freshly opened bottle. Sudden, unstoppable, a rising tide.
Scent is the strongest anchor for memory.
The fragrance of osmanthus always brought her back to that September—walking along the winding, tree-lined path beside the school, an elderly woman hanging freshly washed sheets from a half-open window, calling out to her warmly.
The smell of baking was tied to the days she'd worked at the dessert shop. The sweet milky scent, the searing warmth of the oven, a comfort so profound it could melt away, if only briefly, life’s cold bitterness.
The smell of a brand-new textbook and printer's ink would transport her back to that classroom, to that seat in the second-to-last row by the window.
A teenage girl, seemingly absorbed in her Chinese literature textbook as her thoughts and the corner of her eye helplessly drifting out to the basketball court, following the figure in jersey number seven.
Freshly washed school uniforms dried beneath fierce sunlight carried the scent of warmth itself.
Citrus. Mint. Cedar. Every note that formed the foundation of the finest perfumes. All of it tied to him.
Sensing the man settled back beside her, Qi Yao lowered her eyes quietly.
With startling clarity, she suddenly remembered: The day she'd watched him play basketball had been September of their second year of high school.
Autumn wind had blown noisily through the classroom windows, flipping through her textbook pages until it stopped on a passage printed in sharp black ink:
‘Though we may gaze, our voices do not reach;
I wish I could follow the moonlight as it shines on you.’
Suddenly, a roll of white athletic tape was pressed into her hand, the real, tangible sensation yanking her abruptly back to the present.
A small, compact roll, brand new, rested in her palm, its smooth surface soft against her skin.
She turned toward him.
Yu Jiashu raised a brow slightly. "Doesn't a female celebrity need to protect her hands?"
Gesturing his chin lazily toward the tape, he leaned forward with elbows braced against his knees.
"Next time you need to open a bottle yourself, wrap a layer around your palm first."
His voice was calm, casual, drawn out lazily at the ends, and yet it sent ripples across her heart.
Qi Yao paused, curling her fingers slightly.
The faint redness in her palm had only been a slight, nagging discomfort before, but now it burned.
Outside the high-rise windows, autumn wind howled. The aroma of Lizi's simmering beef drifted through the not-quite-sealed kitchen door. Somehow, against the bleakness of autumn and the simple warmth of home, the gesture became unbearably gentle.
Qi Yao curved her eyes slightly, deflecting with a teasing half-joke. “What if I don’t want to open it myself?”
The man sat before the coffee table, his profile sharp and refined, eyes lowered as his fingers checked the progress of her transferred files. Without looking up, he answered lazily:
"Then knock."
Qi Yao paused, clutching the roll of tape. "Hm?" she asked, uncertain.
This time, he finally lifted his eyes and meet hers.
"I'll open it for you."
...I wish I could follow the moonlight as it shines on you.
Here and now, this person was standing right there under the moonlight.
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