Starlight Descends - 33

The Photograph

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Calling it coaxing wasn’t entirely accurate.

He just stood there, expression cold, restrained and faintly impatient, softening only a fraction when his gaze landed on her.

But his voice was low, the final syllables drawn out just slightly, trailing into the air with something almost tender.

Qi Yao’s heart trembled. She stared fixedly at him.

His eyes were long and narrow, pupils dark as ink. Their gazes met in midair, and her heartbeat skipped a beat before racing wildly.

So strange, Qi Yao thought.

This person always had a way of making her feel better.

No matter what kind of situation she was in, as long as he looked at her once and tossed out a few absurd remarks, she would feel as though nothing in the world was truly a big deal.

The elevator doors slowly slid shut, carrying the two stunned and bewildered bystanders downward with them.

It wasn’t until another resident pressed the button and the elevator reopened on a different floor that the two finally snapped back to themselves, staring at each other blankly.

“…What just happened?” Xiao Wang opened his mouth.

Lizi shook her head, expression complicated. “…No idea.”

"I probably should walk you out and come back up."

After dawdling for over ten minutes, estimating that the two of them were probably done by now, Lizi finally made her way back upstairs.

She unlocked the fingerprint lock and stepped inside.

The two people in the living room hadn’t noticed her at all.

“Which one do you want to play?”

Yu Jiashu plugged in the cables and sat back down, loosely holding the controller, thumbing the buttons.

Rows of white pixelated text appeared on the screen. The selection cursor moved downward with his actions, accompanied by crisp beeping game sounds.

“You actually have one?” Though still somewhat absentminded, Qi Yao was genuinely surprised.

The last time she borrowed Zhou Qi’s camera, she'd casually mentioned the Famicom in passing. Even she had forgotten about it herself, yet somehow they had remembered.

Yu Jiashu gave a lazy chuckle. “Don’t underestimate it. It's not much younger than you."

“Really?”

Qi Yao was skeptical. She hadn't been that interested at first, but now her curiosity was piqued. She leaned closer to inspect it.

“This can't actually be the one you played with as a kid, is it?”

The little machine sat on the coffee table, its red-and-white plastic casing pristine and spotless, not even a scratch on it. She would’ve believed him if he claimed it was brand new.

Qi Yao looked back at him doubtfully. “You’re not messing with me again, are you?”

Yu Jiashu raised a brow. “What, I've got nothing better to do than tease you all day?"

“Hard to say.” Qi Yao pouted and sat back down.

The weather had turned cold recently. She'd laid out a fluffy rug in the living room. Now the two of them leaned against sofa cushions, sitting side by side on the carpet.

"Haven't you teased me plenty?"

Using Laifu to tease her, repeatedly bringing up Laifu’s old name, claiming he was an intern, making her ask him out to dinner during the interview…

Yu Jiashu lowered his brows slightly. On second thought, fair enough. He laughed. "Don't know why, but you're just especially fun to tease."

Qi Yao paused for two full seconds. “…”

What was this guy even saying?!

Yu Jiashu glanced at her, the corner of his mouth hooked upward. He propped an elbow on the sofa cushion and offered a thoroughly insincere apology.

“My bad.”

His usual cool, careless drawl tilted into something deliberately un-serious, pure irreverence.

Qi Yao: “……”

Why was he so annoying?

“But I’m not lying this time.” Yu Jiashu tapped his fingertips lightly against the knee he had drawn up. “It really is the one I played with in elementary school.”

“Then why does it still look so new?”

She hadn't touched English in years, but thankfully she could still understand enough. Though she asked the question, her attention remained fixed on the screen instead of him.

Yu Jiashu looked at her lazily. “Took it apart to study in high school. Figured I might as well replace the shell."

Qi Yao let out an “oh,” eyes still glued to the screen.

Super Mario. Contra. Adventure Island. Chip ’n Dale Rescue Rangers…

As the icons scrolled down, long-buried memories slowly pieced themselves back together from scattered fragments.

The orphanage didn't have a Famicom.

Only one stationery shop in town had one. A battered arcade cabinet sat by the entrance, screen garish and flickering, drawing crowds of nearby middle school students every day.

Qi Yao had gone to watch before too.

Standing at the very back of the crowd, rising onto her toes to peek through the gaps.

The stationery shop owner was considered wealthy by town standards, so his skinny monkey-like son became the first kid in class to own a game console. It wasn’t even a Nintendo, just a cheap Little Tyrant knockoff.

Little Monkey enthusiastically invited everyone to take turns coming over to play games. Qi Yao was among the invited.

But the orphanage didn’t allow them to leave casually on weekends, so in the end, she never got to go.

Back then, she had even comforted Grandma Ren and Auntie Ren, saying it was fine, that she didn’t really want to play that badly anyway.

But kids are kids. Once they wanted something, they can't stop thinking about it.

Auntie Ren once said that even in her sleep, Qi Yao looked like she was clutching an invisible game controller.

Thinking about it now, Qi Yao couldn’t help laughing softly.

Lost in thought for a while, she turned her head and found Yu Jiashu propping his face up with one hand, watching her with a raised brow.

“……”

Qi Yao paused for two seconds. “What are you looking at?”

“Seeing how long you’re going to sit there grinning like an idiot.”

Qi Yao pressed her lips together and turned back awkwardly, pressing the confirm button on the controller to enter the game.

“Let’s play this one.”

Yu Jiashu slowly withdrew his gaze and glanced at the screen. The Super Mario logo stood out brightly.

He laughed.

"Need me to go easy on you? One hand behind my back?”

Qi Yao: ?

What, did he think she’d drag him down?

“I’m not bad, okay? Don't you look down on me!” Qi Yao snapped indignantly.

“Really?” His voice carried obvious amusement, the lazy drawl stretching at the end. He locked in the green character first. "Show me, then. How good you are."

The 2D graphics were almost painfully simple. Blue sky, white clouds, two pixelated figures running across red brick blocks, climbing green pipes, collecting coins, stomping on patrolling guards.

It seemed he really was good at every game. Unhurried, effortless, completely at ease, yet always staying exactly half a step ahead of her, tossing out teasing remarks to rile her up along the way.

All the emotions Qi Yao had been suppressing gradually dissolved away. She no longer had the spare attention to think about anything else, fully immersing herself in the fast-paced, exciting rhythm of the game.

Cheerful background music and the chime of scattering coins or level completions sounded again and again, mixed with his lazy drawl and low chuckles, filling the living room.

Even Lizi, washing vegetables behind the closed kitchen door, could sense the joyful atmosphere outside from the scattered snippets of conversation. Her mood unconsciously lifted too.

Her phone rang. She dried her hands and answered it.

“Hello? Qiao Nian-jie.”

The other end was noisy, as though Qiao Nian was rushing around in utter chaos. It sounded like she had finally found a brief moment to herself before lowering her voice to ask:

“What’s Yaogmei doing right now? She’s not answering her phone.”

Before Lizi could respond, Qiao Nian continued:

“We're working hard to suppress the negative buzz. It's quieted down a lot since we released the schedule comparison. It won't clear things up instantly, obviously, but still, tell her not to worry."

“And don’t let her pay too much attention to the comments online. Confiscate her phone if you have to, get her to eat and sleep early…”

“Qiao Nian-jie.” Lizi couldn’t help interrupting. She poked her head out and glanced into the living room.

Qi Yao sat upright cross-legged on the carpet, her slender back straight, both hands gripping the controller, negotiating with the person beside her. “You go stomp him.”

Yu Jiashu lazily controlled his character, cleanly knocking out the NPC before asking, “Why?”

“I want to collect the coins,” Qi Yao replied.

Her expression was gentle, even her voice soft.

The man lowered his head and laughed softly. His Adam’s apple shifted slightly, the curve of his lips lazy and careless, yet it held a trace of unmistakable indulgence capable of stealing anyone’s heart.

Lizi pulled her head back, her heart a complicated mix of emotions. She spoke into the phone.

“She’s actually in pretty good spirits right now. She’s not worrying about this.”

“Hm?” Qiao Nian sounded surprised. Someone on the team called for her from the background, and she only had time to say, “That’s good then,” before hurriedly hanging up.

After ending the call, Lizi stood by the doorway, listening to the two talk.

They kept teasing each other back and forth about Mario and Luigi, coins and pipes, as if those were the only things in the world worth caring about. Ordinary, trivial, and strangely adorable.

A small, relieved smile unconsciously appeared on her face. She shook her head and went back to cooking.

By the time night had fully fallen, they had cleared Super Mario too.

The victory animation was cheerful and cute. The background music was uplifting, yet somehow faintly wistful.

Qi Yao stood by the door watching Yu Jiashu leave, suddenly unsure what to say.

Saying “Take care” felt strange, the man lived right across the hall. They'd probably run into each other the next time he took out the trash.

And saying “Good night” felt… a little too early.

Yu Jiashu looked at her standing beneath the warm glow of the entryway light, clean and soft, and suddenly laughed.

His voice was deep, with a clear, resonant edge. Every time he laughed like that, careless and low, it gave off a roguish impression.

Sure enough, the words that followed were anything but proper.

“Can’t bear to part with me?”

“…Not at all,” Qi Yao replied.

The motion-sensor light above flickered brightly.

Yu Jiashu looked at her. One brow lifted in a minute, deliberate arc. He pulled his long legs back, making a show to step inside again.

“We could play another game. That’s not impossible.”

Qi Yao’s ears immediately burned red. She gripped the doorknob and shoved the door outward, narrowing the gap until only her beautiful face remained visible through the crack.

“Just go already! Bye!”

Bang.

The door slammed shut.

Yu Jiashu stood still for a moment. After a long moment, he laughed and clicked his tongue.

Qi Yao’s heart was pounding wildly. Sitting at the dining table, she scrubbed her face with both hands.

Lizi went to tidy up the living room, picking up the cushions they had left scattered across the carpet. Then she spotted something on the coffee table.

“Hm? Yao-mei, is this yours?”

She held out a USB drive.

Qi Yao reached out and took it, examining it for a moment. Small, squared-off, silver and black. Engraved with flowing cloud patterns. The base bore a single capital letter: S.

Considering she had just slammed the door in his face, she felt too embarrassed to chase after him now, so she took out her phone and sent him a WeChat message.

[1] : Did you leave your USB drive here?

The reply came a while later.

[S] : It’s for you.

…For her?

Qi Yao frowned, puzzled. What was he up to now?

Right then, Lizi brought out the duck soup she had just finished making, wrapping a cloth around the hot ceramic bowl as she carried it from the kitchen. Qi Yao temporarily set the USB drive aside and got up to help her.

The scent of sour radish and chopped duck meat drifted through the air, rich and enticing.

Perhaps she was too exhausted, Qi Yao suddenly realized she was hungry. She filled herself a large bowl of rice and sat at the table, picking up a piece of radish.

Once things quieted down, though, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to the troubles weighing on her mind.

“How’s the situation now?” Qi Yao asked.

Lizi sat down to eat as well.

“Qiao Nian-jie just called. She said they're suppressing it. Things quieted down a lot after they posted the schedule comparison, but they still can’t get in contact with the blogger.”

“Maybe it’s not that they can’t,” Qi Yao replied calmly.“Maybe she just doesn’t want to be contacted.”

“The schedule charts only covered three days, though. People are buying it?”

Lizi had just finished reading the comments under the studio's statement. "Most are, yeah. They figure half of it doesn't line up with you, so the odds of it being about you are low."

But there were still some netizens insisting otherwise, saying that maybe the couple had built a love nest together and the man had simply been staying home alone waiting for her. Three nights apart wasn’t impossible.

Lizi didn’t say any of that aloud.

Qi Yao drank a spoonful of soup and checked the comments herself.

Among the trending comments beneath the studio statement were several highly upvoted dissenting ones.

[And the rest? There's three days unaccounted for. Couples in love can happily wait around alone for half a month. What’s three days?] 

[The hell is this? An alibi? A partial one at that. This is way too flimsy. Does this prove you two aren't together? Even random bystanders are facepalming.]

[Not interested in excuses. Just apologize, already. Homewrecking whore. Absolutely shameless.]

Exiting the page, she saw her name still trending. Now the topic had become #GuHengQiYao#.

Qi Yao locked her screen.

Honestly, their reasoning did make sense.

Even if these accusations were completely baseless, the incomplete overlap in their schedules was flimsy evidence at best.

This was the timeline she'd prepared back when the dating rumors first surfaced. They weren’t remotely thorough enough against a boiling nationwide scandal like this. 

The labels attached by negative public opinion were terrifyingly persistent. Unless the rumor could be completely extinguished during its golden period, she would likely carry this stain forever.

How ironic.

When none of it had anything to do with her.

In that moment, Qi Yao remembered a law school lecture she'd audited back in university. The old professor had spoken passionately from the podium about the reversed burden of proof.

Under special circumstances, to protect the victim, the responsibility of proving the presence or absence of causation between an act and damage is shifted onto the accusing party.

But life wasn’t a law textbook.

And the entertainment industry certainly didn’t care about fairness.

The burden of proving her innocence wouldn’t disappear just because the other party vanished. It still loomed over her like a mountain, squeezing her heart, tightening around her throat until she could barely breathe.

Qi Yao lowered her gaze, staring at the bottom of her bowl. The pale soup reflected the light overhead.

She needed evidence.

She needed to proof she truly had nothing to do with Gu Heng. Beyond the scheduling gaps, beyond the six days of zero contact, she had to figure out who Gu Heng had actually come to see.

But how?

Her phone rang again. Qi Yao’s head throbbed painfully as she answered Ye Qingman’s call.

"I asked a friend to look into it. Quite a few female artists in your complex have crossed paths with Gu Heng.” Ye Qingman said. Papers rustled loudly on the other end, it sounded like she were flipping through files.

“His resources have been insanely good these past two years.” Qi Yao got up from the dining table and entered the study, rubbing at her temples as she sat down.

“Go on.”

Qi Yao wasn't surprised Ye Qingman could get the list.

Property owner records existed in a gray area. Not quite private information, but not exactly public records you could just request either.

Her company had tried before, but every attempt had been rejected on the grounds of privacy concerns and lack of legitimate reason.

Ye Qingman, however, was a bona fide heiress. Her connections were on a completely different level from people like Qi Yao or Qiu Lang, who had built themselves up from scratch.

Half the owners in this luxury complex probably knew her family.

Ye Qingman skimmed the list.

“I can only check registered owners, okay? Anything bought under an assistant’s name or owned through an agent doesn’t show.”

Qi Yao acknowledged softly as she inserted the USB drive into the side of her laptop.

“Actresses around our age, with two-character names, and currently single… there’s Ling Xi, He Lu, and Xia Yi.”

“It’s probably not Ling Xi. I filmed a vlog with her in Hengdian earlier this month.”

Qi Yao listened, mentally running through them. All three were actresses she'd crossed paths with to varying degrees and on decent terms.

“Not He Lu either. She hasn’t been home this month. Xia Yi’s in Beijing though.”

“Fuck, then who is it?” Ye Qingman swore. "I don't know anyone past those three. No way for me to judge."

Qi Yao paused for two seconds. “Any non-leads? Like supporting roles, third or fourth female lead types?”

“Uh… hold on.”

Ye Qingman asked someone beside her a few questions.

“There are two. But one’s never worked with Gu Heng before. The other one who has is called…”

“Ye Yue.”

Separated by the slight delay of the phone connection, the two women spoke in perfect unison, down to the syllable.

The study fell silent.

A massive weight inside Qi Yao suddenly lifted. She closed her eyes briefly and let out a long breath.

Ye Qingman paused, surprised. “You knew her?”

Qi Yao lowered her gaze, eyes fixed on the silently playing video on her laptop screen.

“…At first, it was just a guess.”

Wild Pear Branches had been filmed nearly two winters ago. During promotional interviews afterward, she and Gu Heng had been asked on camera about the unavoidable "ideal type" question.

"At the time, he said he liked the pure, soft, gentle type. Those who usually play white moonlight characters.”

It had been too obvious.

Even the reporters had assumed he was laying groundwork to hype their CP. Only Qi Yao knew he was telling the truth.

That was why, back when the dating rumors first broke out, when she'd asked in the car and Li Zi had named He Lu and Xia Yi, she immediately remembered that beside every glamorous or cool lead actress, there was always a quiet, gentle supporting actress.

“…At first?”

Ye Qingman repeated slowly, sensing something unusual in her wording.

“Then now?”

Qi Yao didn’t answer. She stared blankly at the laptop screen, lost in thought.

Even the USB drive was named with an S. Inside, the folder was clean and sparse, containing only three files.

One was the video she had just watched.

The surveillance footage from outside the convenience store in the residential complex. A man in a mask and baseball cap stood waiting in the shadows. A girl in loungewear emerged from the store and threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

Their side profiles were unmistakable.

Gu Heng and Ye Yue.

What could she even say?

From an outsider’s perspective, the joy and delight on their faces didn’t seem fake in the slightest. Even their tightly clasped fingers spoke of intimacy and sweetness.

But the situation was far too complicated.

It involved morality, fidelity, capital, calculation, and ambition. It was not something she, an innocent bystander dragged into the mess, was in any position to control.

Yet what truly left Qi Yao stunned wasn’t the video.

Ye Qingman was still rambling over the phone, saying she had never even heard of this actress before.

"Just searched her Weibo. Barely over a million followers. She’s only played second female lead roles in a couple web dramas. The one she just wrapped with Gu Heng and Xia Yi? She was like seventh or eighth billing."

“God. No wonder she's so unconcerned. Posted a selfie an hour ago. I'm so done."

“No wonder that XiaoLiCan’tSleep account refused to clarify things. The other side’s just some influencer barely stepping into the entertainment industry. No CP popularity, no hype. This scandal never would’ve blown up this much otherwise.”

Ye Qingman kept talking.

But Qi Yao didn’t hear a single word anymore.

Her grip on the phone loosened. The earpiece slipped away from her ear. Her gaze followed the movement of the cursor across the screen, eyelashes trembling faintly.

The phone call, the ambient noise around her, everything receded like a tide pulling back from shore.

Inside the folder was an old photograph, one she had accidentally appeared in.

The original electronic copy had long been lost to time. This version was merely a photograph of the photograph itself.

The slightly yellowed edges were carefully pressed beneath glass inside a frame, standing quietly atop the side table.

Beijing’s late autumn sky was vast and lonely, crystal clear blue. The sunlight from many years ago fell upon both of them at once.

Twenty-year-old Yu Jiashu stood on the national competition podium, at the center of all the assembled teams. He held the national prize certificate loosely in one hand, gazing lazily toward the camera.

Detached, proud, untouchable.

The image overlapped, in an instant, with the way he had looked at her just now in the stairwell.

The man who couldn’t even be bothered to feign humility on an award stage had bent slightly at the waist, lowering himself to meet her eyes. His dark pupils fixed on her as he suddenly said, entirely out of nowhere:

“Don’t be so kind, okay?”

"A crush that long, you have to tell him."

…

After so many years, after everything had changed with time—

The lamp that once briefly illuminated his life…

This time, he was the one handing it to her.

 

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