CHAPTER 107
Xiaoyuan remained sad for a long time, unable to sleep.
Feiyi positioned her as an actress—which she was—not necessarily a glamorous star who had to stay in the spotlight. She just wanted to act in projects she loved and earn the awards and recognition she deserved through her skills.
She was never a "traffic idol," so dating wasn't a big problem, and she hadn't had any scandals until now.
Xiaoyuan had always believed her private life belonged solely to her and didn't need to be made public. Yet sometimes, she still felt the urge to share with friends.
Xiaoyuan tossed and turned in bed. There was something else that made her even sadder: she had no idea what Wei Zhuang was thinking, and she couldn't figure out her intentions.
Sometimes, Wei Zhuang felt so close—like on her birthday, when she had granted every request.
Other times, she felt so distant—like when Xiaoyuan texted that she missed her, only to receive no reply.
Trying to distract herself, Xiaoyuan logged into her long-neglected Weibo account, which Tiantian had been managing for her. The posts were infrequent and low-key.
When joining the production of "Huo 3," she subtly posted a picture of Bincheng's snowscape.
She also kept a low profile when posting about wrapping up filming.
Then a few days ago on her birthday, she simply posted, "Another year older—hope to gain something new tonight." Not even a single selfie included.
Her Weibo followers had surged by millions due to the popularity of "Drunken Wanderer," but Feiyi hadn't bought her fake followers, nor was she on the "traffic idol" path. After months of "low-key management," most comments under her posts now came from genuine fans who truly appreciated her—her so-called "gardeners."
In this late-night hour with no one to confide in, she felt particularly lonely. Suddenly, she had an urge to shout something to the world. Since she couldn't say it outright, even a subtle hint would do—otherwise, she might really burst from keeping it all in.
After some thought, she posted: [Can't sleep in the middle of the night, watching the movie Frances Ha. I really like it. #ZZ]
She deliberately added spaces before and after "Frances" to subtly highlight it, then appended a hashtag with the initials of Zhuang Zhuang. She was certain no one would figure it out—hah!
Xiaoyuan reread the draft several times, satisfied with her covert message, and hit send.
After getting up to take a quick shower and wiping her face, she hurriedly checked the Weibo comments:
[Such an indie arthouse film—I love this one too!]
[Not that indie anymore, it has an 8.4 on Douban with nearly 40,000 ratings.]
[My tastes are so close to Xiaoyuan's! I also adore the director-actor duo Noah Baumbach and Greta Gerwig.]
[Yuanyuan still awake? When will we get to see a selfie from you!]
[Goodnight, Yuanyuan ^^]
The comments were lively as usual, but no one seemed to notice her emphasis on "Frances" or the "#ZZ" tag.
Seeing the responses still comforted her somewhat—it turned out there were so many silent "gardeners" who cared about her.
Feeling sentimental, she searched the term "gardeners" on Weibo and scrolled through the results. Suddenly, one ID caught her eye: "Baby-0's Secret Garden," with only a few hundred followers. At first glance, she assumed it was some gardening-related account and clicked in casually.
[The post tonight was definitely written by Baby-0 herself. But there are two odd details—wonder if anyone else noticed? (doge)]
Xiaoyuan browsed through this account, which had only three posts so far.
The first, posted last November: [Baby-0 is so adorable!]
The second: [Hope Baby-0 wins Best Actress soon, finds love, gets married, and reaches the peak of life!]
The third was posted tonight.
Initially, she wasn't sure if "Baby-0" referred to her. But cross-referencing the details—the account belonged to an actor, updated shortly after her post tonight, and clearly followed her—confirmed it.
But why "Baby-0"?
After a moment's thought, it clicked. Not the number "0," but "yuan" (圆), which sounded like her "Yuan" (园).
So that was it. Having solved the puzzle, she concluded this must be a meticulous fan's alt account with few followers and no comments. Smiling to herself, she quietly followed the account—she was curious to see what those "two odd details" were.
But after waiting a while, there was no further update.
Xiaoyuan lay on the bed, her flawless white calves dangling in the air before dropping onto the quilt, repeating the motion absentmindedly. No matter how she tried to distract herself, she still longed for comfort from that special person—just hearing her voice would be enough.
Here she was feeling miserable, while that big meanie was probably asleep! Even if she didn't pick up, Xiaoyuan was determined to disturb her.
Originally frustrated and upset, the moment the WeChat call rang, Xiaoyuan suddenly lost her nerve.
Glancing at the time—nearly midnight—she hesitated. Wei Zhuang was always disciplined and must be asleep by now. Would this disrupt her rest? She was so busy...
Yet, to her surprise, Wei Zhuang answered.
Her voice, usually a deep, resonant tone, now carried a lazy, drowsy quality Xiaoyuan had never heard before.
"Mmm?"
That simple sound melted half of Xiaoyuan's resolve. Before she could speak, Wei Zhuang murmured again, "What time is it?"
Not a reproach, not an accusation—just a soft, unfiltered question, as if she were lying beside her, half-asleep and unguarded.
"...Almost twelve?" Xiaoyuan's cheeks burned as she clutched her phone tighter.
She wanted so badly to see Wei Zhuang's drowsy, half-awake face right now!!!
Silence stretched on the other end, broken only by faint rustling—maybe Wei Zhuang sitting up, or perhaps moving around.
Xiaoyuan listened quietly, her heart gradually settling.
"Can't sleep?" Wei Zhuang asked, her voice clearer now, the sleepiness fading.
"Ah... yeah..." Xiaoyuan stammered.
"Did filming start?" Wei Zhuang continued.
That wasn't the reason—or at least, not the main one.
"Mm, tomorrow."
"Nervous?"
"A little, but not too bad."
"Uncomfortable with the hotel?"
"No, the assistants are here."
She just wanted to talk—about anything. Every word was proof of their connection.
Xiaoyuan remembered how Wei Zhuang's face would lean in to kiss her, her long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, stirring storm after storm in her heart.
"I miss you," Xiaoyuan murmured, her voice trembling with each word. "Tonight, especially. I feel like if I don't tell you I miss you now, I won't be able to focus on filming tomorrow."
Her heart pounded wildly after speaking, and Wei Zhuang's breath seemed to hitch before silence swallowed the line again.
Whenever there was silence between them, the atmosphere became subtle.
How would she answer?
Would she answer?
What expression was she making now? What was she feeling?
In this subtle silence, Xiaoyuan's heart beat faster and faster, anticipating Wei Zhuang saying something. She couldn't possibly remain silent, could she?
She didn't know how long she waited—maybe only seconds—but it felt unbearable. Just as she was about to hang up, Wei Zhuang softly called her name.
"Xiaoyuan..."
Her voice was cool, yet undeniably tender.
Xiaoyuan adored the way Wei Zhuang said her name—though she rarely did. When she did, her emotions always ran deeper, heavier.
Heat flooded Xiaoyuan's face, her grip wrinkling the sheets. The other end remained so quiet she could only hear her own breathing and heartbeat.
It had only been a few days since they parted—how could saying these things make her feel so shy?
"I'm going to sleep." Xiaoyuan immediately chickened out, first ending the voice call. She covered her face, flopped back onto the bed, and let out a deep sigh.
Useless. So utterly useless.
She giggled foolishly a few times, feeling her mood lighten instantly.
Filming would start tomorrow—she needed rest now. Pulling the covers over herself, she closed her eyes just as her phone screen on the nightstand lit up. Xiaoyuan quickly grabbed it, eagerly opening WeChat with anticipation.
[I'll find a time to go to Xicheng mid-month.]
The corners of her lips curled up as she buried her face in the blanket, giggling quietly.
Coming to Xicheng meant they could meet.
......
The night was pitch black.
After waking, Wei Zhuang found herself unable to fall back asleep.
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, where only darkness stretched outside.
The crystal glass reflected a sliver of warm light from above, like a faintly glowing crescent moon—reminiscent of the crinkle in Xiaoyuan's nose when she smiled.
"I feel like If I don't tell you I miss you now, I won't be able to focus on filming tomorrow."
Like a gentle breeze rustling pages, her smile gradually gathered in her eyes. In this quiet, unnoticed moment—even to herself—Wei Zhuang allowed a faint smile.
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