Yan Yu leaned against the headboard, looking at the photo she had just taken.
The girl in the photo had skin that was a cold pale from lack of sunlight, glowing like porcelain under the bedside lamp.
Her eyelashes drooped low, concealing the emotions in her eyes, leaving only two quiet arcs.
The entire photo exuded a sense of cold, ethereal beauty.
She was fairly satisfied.
She opened her WeChat Moments, planning to first “immerse” herself in the information flow of this world.
As expected, the first thing to flood her screen was Jiang Muyun’s posts.
This “White Moonlight’s” Moments were practically an exhibition of her persona.
A nine-grid of meticulously edited photos was standard, each with perfect lighting and precise angles. The backgrounds were either literary cafes or high-end galleries, or her own terrace filled with flowers and art pieces.
The girl in the photos was always perfectly made up, her smile at just the right angle. Sometimes she rested her chin in thought, sometimes she elegantly sipped tea, or else she focused on painting at an easel (of course, both the easel and herself had to be in the frame).
The captions were even more carefully crafted:
“Afternoon sunlight and latte are the perfect pair~ Stealing a moment of leisure from a busy life” (Photos: coffee cup, book, side profile with light and shadow)
“It feels so good to pick up a paintbrush again. Art is lonely, but the act of creation itself is so warm~” (Photo: a corner of the art studio, slender fingers stained with paint)
“My first exhibition with Qinghan since returning home. Met many interesting souls and works~ Grateful for the encounter~” (Photo: blurry back view of her and Su Qinghan, emphasizing the sense of ‘connection’ as they walk side by side)
“Mom says girls need to love themselves well. So, today is another day of striving to be better! Go for it!” (Photo: mirror selfie, full outfit of designer brands, sweet smile)
Yan Yu scrolled through with a blank expression.
The acting was exaggerated, overdone, but it did fit Jiang Muyun’s consistent self-positioning of being “elegant, artistic, kind, and hardworking.”
Just looking at it too much was a bit tiring.
The next post was from Su Qinghan.
Su Qinghan’s Moments were extremely sparse, almost barren.
The latest post was from a week ago. No photo, just a single sentence: “Rereading.”
Attached below was a photo.
The composition was incredibly simple, almost casual: a hardcover book lying open on a dark wooden table, next to it a half-drunk cup of black coffee.
A hand with long, slender fingers casually rested on the edge of the page. On her wrist was a bracelet made of shells of varying sizes, each with a warm, lustrous sheen.
Yan Yu’s gaze lingered on that shell bracelet for a moment.
She remembered that, in the original book’s setting, this unremarkable-looking shell bracelet held extraordinary significance for Su Qinghan.
It was a keepsake from the girl who had rescued and comforted her when she fell into the water as a child, fearful and helpless.
That girl was also one of the few warm imprints in Su Qinghan’s cold inner world, the most important token she had acknowledged.
It was because Jiang Muyun claimed to have the other half of this bracelet that she secured the identity of the “savior,” leading Su Qinghan to dote on her.
Yan Yu averted her gaze, letting out a silent, derisive laugh in her heart.
An important token?
Just a plot device to move the story forward.
Scrolling further down, she saw Ruo Xiaozhen’s daily posts.
The style shifted abruptly: a close-up of steaming hot pot, captioned “Auntie didn’t shake her hand today! Tons of meat!”;
A messy desk and pulled-out hair, captioned “3D design is killing me!! Old Chen, do I have a grudge against you?”;
A brilliant sunset outside the window, captioned “Saw this after class! Sharing with Xiao Yu and everyone~”.
Ruo Xiaozhen’s life was full of the warmth of daily life; looking at it made one unconsciously relax.
Then, she saw Bai Yan’er’s Moments.
To Yan Yu’s surprise, Bai Yan’er’s update frequency was low, and the content was extremely monotonous.
No selfies, no showing off life, no emotional outpourings. The recent posts were all about a white, blue-eyed Ragdoll cat that looked quite aloof and proud.
The cat rolled on the carpet in the sunlight, showing its soft belly.
The cat curiously pawed at a ball of yarn with its claws.
The cat tucked its paws in, staring seriously at the camera, as if scrutinizing something.
Yan Yu looked at the blue-eyed Ragdoll cat in the photos and inexplicably found it somewhat familiar.
It seemed… she had seen it somewhere before?
But the memory was very fuzzy; she couldn’t recall it.
She shook her head and exited the browsing.
Finally, she tapped on her own Moments homepage.
It was time to see what kind of image “Yan Yu” originally had online.
And then—
“Pfft—!”
The hot water she had just drunk nearly sprayed all over her phone screen.
Yan Yu coughed violently, tears almost streaming from the choking sensation.
No… What was all this?!
She knew the original host was obsessed with Su Qinghan, and she knew that the “Yan Yu” persona was as humble as dust in matters of the heart.
But she never expected that this humbleness, in her Moments, could be so concretely manifested into such a devastating, era-defining scene of “non-mainstream pain literature”!
The screen was full of shared links, all heart-wrenching online songs like “Sea of Tears,” “One-Woman Show,” “The Last Tenderness”…
Just reading the song titles made her chest ache.
The original captions were even heavier, each sentence filled with a self-indulgent depth:
“Is it because I’m not good enough that you want to run away?” (3:15 AM)
“Shadows are the prisoners of light, and I am the abandoned pawn in your memories.” (Photo: gray sky outside the window)
“If the heart has no place to rest, anywhere is a wandering. And my resting place no longer has room for me.” (Shared song link)
“Maybe I’m just a sneeze in your life, forgotten after it’s done. But I’ve used my entire youth to remember the shape of your longing.”
“Do lickers really end up with nothing in the end?” (Photo: dim streetlight and a blurry line that looked like tear stains)
Yan Yu’s eyelids twitched as she watched, her toes frantically curling in imaginary embarrassment. She nearly dug out a Magical Castle with her mind on the spot.
Awkward, too awkward!
Even if she was supposed to play the “tragic substitute,” this level of public execution of deep affection was way ahead of its time!
This wasn’t just humility; this was self-destructive social behavior, sis!
Without a moment’s hesitation, she long-pressed, deleted, and finished it in one smooth motion.
She swiftly cleared out all the cringe-worthy black history on her homepage that made her scalp tingle. Seeing the finally blank page, she let out a long sigh of relief.
Then, she picked up her phone again, adjusted her angle and expression in the mirror, and pressed the shutter.
In the photo, the girl was still pale, but thanks to the S-Class appearance and the tendency towards a “quiet and obedient” temperament, she presented a completely different kind of beauty.
The slightly open collar and scattered strands of hair inadvertently emphasized the slenderness of her collarbone and the graceful lines of her shoulders and neck, but not in an abrupt way. Instead, it had an unknowing, almost naive allure.
She looked at the photo, her fingertips pausing over the caption box for a moment before typing a line:
“Recently, my skin feels a bit dry. (Moon)”
The tone was calm, with a small, harmless worry, fitting for a sickly girl occasionally paying attention to the little details about herself.
No complaining, no seeking attention, but the photo itself was enough to convey certain unspoken messages.
Click. Send.
Alright, the new persona for the tragic supporting role was initially established.
Next, it was time to wait for the audience’s reaction.
Almost the second after it was sent successfully, her phone began to vibrate with a buzz.
Hearts (likes) rapidly increased in number.