Chapter 54

*Crush: A Glimpse of Dawnlight*
When Qin Sang followed Xie Yuncheng out of the room to bring in the laundry, she didn’t see Grandpa Xie anywhere. She craned her neck, peeking around like a thief. Xie Yuncheng couldn’t help laughing. “Grandpa’s rarely at home. He’s gone to the nearby park to play chess.”
“He’s that down to earth?” Qin Sang was astonished. Grandpa Xie always looked stern and imposing, the kind of presence that made people tremble. She hadn’t expected that after retirement he’d become such an ordinary old man—so trendy he even went to the park to play chess.
Xie Yuncheng lifted a brow. “Down to earth? Sang-sang, are you sure you’re not overestimating my family?”
“Mm.” Qin Sang pressed her lips together and smiled, a bit embarrassed. “I scare easily. Back in school I was afraid of my teachers; later, when I was getting my driver’s license, I was afraid of my instructor. Now, I’m scared of meeting your family. What if they don’t like me?”
Families like his were all very particular, weren’t they? In the idol dramas she’d seen Tong Lu act in, the male and female leads always had to clear the parents’ “final boss” stage in the end.
Speaking of it in a quiet voice, Qin Sang’s brows flew as she gestured. “Do you know Tong Lu? She’s really famous—the ‘Queen of Idol Dramas.’ We used to be in the same company. She’s great, just… not that into men.”
“Don’t get me wrong—I mean she’s equally exasperated with men as a群体. If she found out I…”
Qin Sang broke off. Xie Yuncheng teased her. “Found out what? That you have a boyfriend? Is Sang-sang planning to give me an official title?”
Only then did she realize that she still hadn’t fully said yes to him. The “intern boyfriend” condition had been something she herself proposed. Who would have thought she’d lose all composure and go running around all night with him like this? Their relationship progress felt a little too fast—like they’d strapped into a rocket.
“No matter what it is, even if it’s just that some guy starts pursuing you—if she finds out, she’ll absolutely scrutinize you, picking you apart. She’s really good at finding faults.”
After Qin Sang terminated her contract, Tong Lu had done the same not long after. Early on, they hadn’t really been that close. After all, they were in the same film and television company, and resources were limited. It was inevitable that there’d be competition now and then.
Ironically, it was only after they left that things changed. Both of them were targeted by the company in turn. Their terminations were messy; their reputations tanked one after another. On top of that, Qin Sang focused on feature films and wasn’t much interested in television, rarely accepting TV scripts. Tong Lu was different. Her first attempt at film had gone badly—it was a star-studded ensemble piece the old company had swapped for her. It wasn’t just her; several well-known actors and directors got chewed out alongside her.
That disastrous first attempt snuffed out her desire to break into film. She simply focused on television instead. Tong Lu’s self-positioning was crystal clear: she specialized in idol dramas. You could say she had foresight—TV had been booming in recent years, to the point its buzz had faintly overshadowed film.
The popularity and hype were in no way lower than that of film actors, though the “gold content” of movie work was still higher. Each had pros and cons.
Qin Sang was lazy. She didn’t strictly limit herself—if she ran into a TV script she genuinely liked, she’d take it, but most of the time she didn’t. Tong Lu was lazy too, but in a different way: she was too lazy to leave her comfort zone. In her own words:
“Babe, aren’t these marketing accounts ridiculous? Every day they say I’m washed up, that I’m living off my old fame. What am I supposed to do? There’s only so much work to go around. I tried switching tracks and it didn’t work; if I can’t transform successfully, I can’t go back to what I’m good at? They really have time on their hands. How many people in real life actually manage a successful career switch? They haven’t even figured out their own lives, yet they’re always pointing fingers at other people’s. So annoying.”
Tong Lu’s words sounded fine at first, but you couldn’t examine them too closely. Qin Sang didn’t comment. Most of the time, Tong Lu was the one ranting, and Qin Sang simply listened quietly, rarely chiming in. But their shared experiences did pull them closer together than they’d ever been at the old company.
Without the tension of competing for resources—and with a common enemy—having a shared “nemesis” was always more reliable than a shared “friend.” Their relationship slowly thawed and turned into something else. You could even say… they became吐槽 buddies.
Lately, though, Tong Lu had been tied up filming. She’d been on set for over three months straight, without time to meet or even really chat. Supposedly, it was some big-budget S+ romance Xianxia epic—a tragic love story on a grand scale.
The moment Qin Sang heard the description, her scalp tingled. Translated, it was basically an old-school, sadistic “scummy man, suffering heroine” melodrama. Tong Lu had complained about similar plots to her many times—the producer must have a screw loose, always piling on dog-blood scenarios and not even allowing her to argue back.
So this time, she hadn’t taken the lead role. She’d gone gloriously off the rails instead, fully letting go and playing a villainous second female lead. Before she joined the project, Qin Sang hadn’t yet become a film queen and hadn’t won any awards. The two had simply bumped into each other at an event.
Tong Lu had griped, “The minute I play the second female lead they say I’m washed up and only good for propping up新人. Please. Have they looked at that trash script? Whoever wants that female lead role can have it. If the production company weren’t paying so well, I wouldn’t bother. What do I care about their little white-flower heroine and their stupid dad-core male lead? I’ll kill, kill, kill—wipe them all out! Scatter their ashes to the wind!”
Qin Sang felt a little melancholy. Next time she saw Tong Lu, there’d probably be at least one more name on that “assassination list.” Maybe two.
After acting in so many idol dramas, Tong Lu really couldn’t summon much interest in conventional love anymore. So if she ever found out that Qin Sang was not only in a relationship but had also secretly harbored a crush… she’d probably go completely crazy.
Qin Sang didn’t know whether she should pity herself first, or worry about Xie Yuncheng. Maybe she should just delete Tong Lu from her WeChat contacts before the woman followed the trail, showed up at her place, and started screaming.
“The clothes are dry. Want to change into them?”
Xie Yuncheng didn’t seem worried about anyone picking on him. He just reminded her patiently that she could change.
He’d washed all the clothes she’d dirtied last night—including her more intimate things. Qin Sang felt mortified.
Her cheeks reddened as she hummed a quiet response.
In the bathroom, aside from his own toiletries, there was only one new set: a freshly unwrapped toothbrush and towel.
She realized she’d forgotten to ask for a bath towel only after she was already in the shower. Steam filled the room, water sliding down along her back. She hadn’t noticed last night, but seeing herself in the mirror now, she found the marks behind her knees were faintly visible—and there were light red traces at her chest and hips. Thankfully, they were all in private places; once she put her clothes on, no one could see.
It was Xie Yuncheng who was worse off. The marks on his neck were hard to hide. With a mist in her eyes, Qin Sang hesitated for a moment, then reached for the dark bath towel to pat dry the beads of water on her skin.
As she dried her hair, she drifted off a little. Did what they did “count” or not? If she said it did, they hadn’t gone all the way. It wasn’t that she was unwilling—they were both adults, and not just in this industry. Even for ordinary people, having a sex partner or a one-night stand wasn’t strange.
It wasn’t as if only men had needs. As a healthy adult woman, wasn’t it normal to fail to resist temptation? Especially when every inch of Xie Yuncheng seemed tailored to her tastes. That face alone had enough capital to be called the “top card.”
Qin Sang bit her lip. With a face like a playboy god, he turned out to be purer than anyone. He was strung so tight and still refused to cross the last line. He’d said he didn’t have any protection at home—he never needed it, never had the occasion. And he was afraid she’d regret it, so he deliberately left her room to back out.
He really was纯情. She felt like she’d desecrated some pure, innocent “school idol” and was horribly guilty.
Still, even a pure-hearted “school idol” knew how to please someone. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but his technique had been quite rough at first—only gradually feeling out the rhythm and getting smoother. The mental edge of it was far more intense than the physical.
Facing her own needs honestly wasn’t shameful. For her, Xie Yuncheng was lethally attractive. Beyond the emotional, there was now another layer—physical.
When Qin Sang finally shuffled out of the bathroom, her hair was still damp, hanging against her shoulders. Her peach-blossom eyes were dewy as she stared straight at Xie Yuncheng.
“Sang-sang, come here,” he said.
She went over obediently. He guided her into a chair, and the humming of the hair dryer filled her ears as his hands moved lightly, smoothing and drying her hair.
Qin Sang let her gaze wander around the room. Almost everything here was a trace of his past. He had been优秀 even as a child—certificates from math and science competitions, trophies from mechanical and electronic engineering contests, and micro:bit intelligent-design competitions.
She propped her chin on her knees, hugging her legs and curling into a small ball, quietly watching—as if she were watching his long ten years unfold.
The full-length mirror beside the bookshelf clearly reflected the two of them at that moment. He stood behind her, drying her hair. Warm sunlight spilled into the room like bright April spring light.
It was as if winter hadn’t yet arrived and spring had already slipped quietly into place.
Who would have thought that one day they would share an ordinary autumn day like this—living a sparse, everyday life like ordinary people? It was almost noon; the sun hung high in the sky. The autumn sunlight was warm and gentle, neither dazzling nor scorching.
Outside, vendors called out their wares—sweet rice wine, pancakes, popped corn. Qin Sang felt a little dazed, unsure which parts of her life were dreams and which parts were real.
Was this real? She and Xie Yuncheng were together. They had shared a spring night and then woken in each other’s arms on a normal autumn morning.
Everything that had happened in Jing City and the capital felt like a dream—a long, drawn-out nightmare. And now that she’d woken from it, was everything she’d gained real… or just another bubble of fantasy?
“You still haven’t answered me.”
Leaning on her knees, Qin Sang stared at the man in the mirror. He was so close, and yet so patient—so gentle that it made her want to cry.
Fearing he might not hear her clearly, Xie Yuncheng turned the hair dryer down. “What?”
Qin Sang asked in a low voice, “If your parents don’t like me… what then?”
Softly, she let out the worry in her heart. “I know you don’t have a good relationship with them. You can afford not to care what they think. I can’t. They’re still your parents, even if they’re irresponsible and unqualified.”
“Sang-sang.”
Xie Yuncheng turned off the hair dryer, bent down, and lifted her into his arms, settling her on his lap. His clear eyes were like glazed glass—focused and deep. “I’m sorry that my original family is so complicated, and that it makes things hard for you. But this isn’t something you should have to consider. I won’t let them trouble you. Whether they like you or not, I can promise you this: whether it’s now or in the future, whether we’re dating or married, you’ll receive the respect and care any woman should get from the man’s family.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll handle it. Just give me some time, and trust me—okay?”
Qin Sang looped her arms around his neck and looked straight at him, thoughtful. Her gaze moved inch by inch over his brows, his eyes, his lips. After a long moment of silence, she finally spoke:
“Are you… using this as an excuse to propose to me?”
Xie Yuncheng froze for a second. Then a pale, gentle smile spread in his deep eyes. He looked at her with full attention, his voice a little rough. “Then would Sang-sang be willing to marry me?”