He could not figure it out. He had asked Si Nanchong about it, but Si Nanchong did not know either, and had instead suggested that Yan Boxuan ask the master himself. This amounted to a dead-end for Yan Boxuan; he was too far down the hierarchy to be able to meet the master in person.
Qing Yao, on the other hand, was constantly visiting him and asking him to tell her what it was like below the mountain.
Yan Boxuan harbored a grudge against her for stripping him naked against his will, but he was eventually persuaded by her sincere curiosity. He set his petty grievances aside and began to regale her with tales of the mortal realm, to which Qing Yao listened with vicarious pleasure. She sat above him on the steps, her clear eyes fixed upon the far distance. Her hair brushed against her shoulder as it swayed in the gentle wind. The expression on her face was one of unspoken longing.
Freeze frame.
The viewers sitting before the TV finally snapped back to reality—two episodes had zipped by, just like that. And the show had ended just when it was getting good. The adorably naive expression on Qing Yao’s face had melted the hearts of everyone: the men, the women, the elderly, and the young.
Her other iconic moment in the day’s episodes was the scene in which she stripped Yan Boxuan naked. All the viewers had howled with laughter at the dead-pan, innocent look on her face as she methodically outraged Yan Boxuan’s modesty, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her nonchalant naivete in that particular scene was extremely endearing.
The viewer ratings for Journey to Fairyland had shot to the top of the rankings after only two episodes. Its spot at the top was well-deserved, as the ratings never dipped below 5%,
Yan Huan had been a new, relatively unknown face before the show aired. Within the span of four episodes, however, her popularity rocketed into the stratosphere.
Lu Yi shut the lid on his laptop. He checked the time, remembered Fang Zhu’s instructions, and got out his phone. He was required to call her every night, without fail, even if their phone conversations consisted solely of:
“Hello.”
“It’s me.”
“Oh.”
That usually marked the end of their phone conversations.
The line connected.
“It’s me,” Lu Yi said impassively, his voice devoid of all emotion. He did not even miss her. Most other couples could not bear to be apart for more than a day, but Lu Yi and Fang Zhu could go a month without seeing each other and still not miss one another.
“Don’t call me for the next few days.” Fang Zhu was working on a research. “I’m busy.”
Lu Yi set the phone down. He did not mind. It made no real difference to him whether he was going out with Fang Zhu or not. In fact, he felt relieved to not have to remember to call her every day, for however long she was busy. Calling her felt like a chore to him.
He opened his laptop once more and began working. He had a lot of work to do, but he was in good spirits—he had tomorrow’s episodes of Journey to Fairyland to look forward to.
He was surprised by this. He had not expected to actually look forward to a TV show, of all things.
“Action!” Director Jin shouted.
Yan Huan had already slipped into character. She stared blankly at her father’s body; it lay on the ground, already stiff from death. A vast, empty void had opened up within her. Her clothes fluttered in the wind, but she remained entirely motionless.
After a long moment, her lips finally trembled. She looked up at the man before her as a large tear rolled down her cheek.
“Why?” Her voice was hoarse, but calm. She did not give in to hysteria. She did not yell, scream, or attempt to go for his throat. She merely asked for a reason in her hoarse, gravelly voice—a voice that sounded close to breaking.
“Why did you kill my father? Why did you destroy Qingshan Sect? Why are you doing this to me?”
