Can't Hide My Love for You - Chapter 52

The debate program Cheng Yixin had recorded previously was finally broadcast. She hadn’t intended to watch it, but the algorithm pushed related videos to her feed, so she clicked in.

She expected netizens to be nitpicking her speech again. However, the comments section left her with mixed emotions. Unlike the previous bitterness, the comments this time were much more rational, with many people sharing their own stories.

@YayaLin: I really envy Cheng Yixin for having such a mindset. You wouldn’t say that if you’d faced real setbacks in a relationship. My ex and I met in high school and dated until graduation. I thought we’d be together forever, get married, and I’d even picked out names for our kids. But after he passed the civil service exam, he started giving me the cold shoulder. His parents felt I wasn’t good enough for him. Even though I made over ten thousand a month, it couldn’t compare to the “iron rice bowl” job in their eyes. I struggled for over a year before finally deciding to break up. I agree with Lu Qing—having matching backgrounds at least prevents the inferiority of “climbing up” or the frustration of “settling down.” I hope girls never encounter such trash.

@EatingVegOnEmptyStomach: This reminds me of my first love. We were so in love and had endless things to talk about every day. But her father looked down on me because I was a poor kid, and we eventually parted ways. Later, she married the son of her father’s comrade and lived a happy life. I got married and had my own kids too. Sometimes I wonder if things would be different if we had just a little more courage. But… love isn’t enough; reality will always wake you up.

As netizens shared their failed romances, Cheng Yixin felt herself sinking into a “moody” (emo) state until Li Wenjing’s voice pulled her back to reality.

“Yixin,” Li Wenjing said, pushing the door open. “We’ve coordinated with Liu Min. Our people went to the orchard; it’s huge, and there are indeed many oranges left to harvest.”

“Liu Min is stuck at the hospital, so we’re coordinating with a friend of his father at the orchard. He says this year’s yield is about 50,000 kilograms (100,000 jin). As for the livestream stock, there’s no upper limit. He hopes to help other villagers sell their stagnant stock too.”

Cheng Yixin nodded. “He’s very kind to think of helping others.”

“I think it’s fine. I estimate one livestream can sell several thousand orders, helping him reach up to 30,000 orders. The profit should cover the medical bills. However, the orchard hasn’t handled this volume before, so shipping might be slow. Liu Min plans to hire local village women to help, which provides them with income. They’ve given us a shipping window of 5 to 10 days.”

“When do we start? On Weibo? Or Douyin?” Cheng Yixin listed a few major platforms, but Li Wenjing shook her head.

“The platform Liu Min used before is called ‘Douya Video.’ It’s a newer platform from the last two years. He wants you to use his account to help him gain followers. Also, he researched it—Douya’s commission on gifts and sales is very low, which minimizes his expenses.”

“Is the platform safe?” Cheng Yixin voiced her concern. “People won’t have to register separate accounts or bind bank cards just to buy something, right?”

“I checked. The site has good credit. Users can one-click register using Weibo, WeChat, QQ, or their phone numbers. It supports Alipay and WeChat Pay, so it’s convenient. It’s not as famous as the big ones, but some celebrities have accounts there, and the traffic is decent.”

Li Wenjing paused. “It’s up to you. If you want a standard platform, we can host the link on our backend and settle the payment with him later.”

“No, that would mean we’re collecting the money ourselves. It could lead to financial disputes,” Cheng Yixin said after some thought. “Let’s use Douya. That way, he gets the money as soon as the buyers receive the goods and can pay off the hospital debt sooner.”

“If there are no issues, we’ll stream tonight. I want to get this resolved so I can stop worrying about it.”

“Alright, I’ll arrange it.” Li Wenjing sent a message to the work group, then crossed her arms and stared at Cheng Yixin with a smile.

“Is there something on my face? Your smile is making me nervous,” Cheng Yixin said, touching her cheek.

“Nothing. Our big star is just as beautiful as ever,” Li Wenjing laughed. “I was just thinking that if other brands knew you were doing a livestream for someone for free, they’d be green with envy.”

“It can’t be helped; this is a life-saving matter,” Cheng Yixin replied. “And he’s a fan who supports me. I can’t just stand by. I hope he can get through this hardship.”

She seemed to open up, continuing, “When I first started, I just wanted to make a living. As my fan base grew and I made a name for myself, more people liked me… I felt I should do something for them. But with so many eyes on my every move, I became afraid of saying the wrong thing. Even when I wanted to do something, I’d hesitate.”

“Many people are biased against ‘stans,’ thinking they’re idle and delusional. But I hope that the people who support me, even if they eventually stop being fans, won’t regret the experience. I want to bring them positive energy; that is my purpose as an actress.” Her eyes shone with aspiration, as if she were looking at a dream utopia.

She often replied to fan DMs when they were at their lowest points. Even if she was busy, if she saw a message from someone feeling discouraged, she would reply. Those fans were always surprised and heartened by her warmth.

But only Cheng Yixin knew that in her five years in the industry, when she was attacked for her looks, her acting, or accused of buying “hot searches” and faking scandals, it was those warm words from fans that supported her. To sustain a person requires a lot of love—and Cheng Yixin was undoubtedly surrounded by it.

“Your fans will be proud to have an idol like you,” Li Wenjing said with genuine admiration. Although the artist in front of her was often a headache, the entertainment industry needed people who didn’t just treat fans like “leeks” to be harvested.

In the afternoon, Cheng Yixin went to the TV station. Inside the small, poorly ventilated recording studio, she felt dizzy. While other actors were recording their parts, she stepped out into the hallway for fresh air.

“Sister Xin,” Xiao Yu said, draping a coat over her shoulders. “Want something to drink?”

“Get me a latte. And get drinks for everyone else too.”

“Sure.” Xiao Yu headed downstairs.

Cheng Yixin stood by a window at the end of the hallway. The breeze was a bit chilly. After a while, her “muddy” brain cleared up. She heard footsteps behind her. She didn’t turn around, fearing the awkwardness of seeing an artist whose name she couldn’t recall.

The footsteps stopped right behind her.

“Yixin.”

She turned to see Lu Qing. Her expression immediately cooled.

Lu Qing raised her hands. “I swear, I’m not stalking you. One of my singers is recording here, so I just came to check in.”

“Oh. Goodbye.” As she moved to leave, Lu Qing blocked her. “Are you that afraid of me?”

“?” That successfully made her stop.

“Otherwise, why do you want to run every time I’m around?”

“Can you not distinguish between ‘dislike’ and ‘fear’?”

Lu Qing smiled. “I have no ill will toward you.”

“Well, I have nothing but ill will toward you.”

“And here I was, kindly wanting to warn you. It seems you don’t appreciate it.”

“What now? Want to tell me again that Chi Yi has a messy private life, plays with people’s feelings, and cheats?” Cheng Yixin looked at her with an “Are you stupid?” expression.

“Actually, yes.”

Cheng Yixin rolled her eyes and turned to walk away.

“This time, I have photo evidence.” Lu Qing pulled out her phone, showing a grainy, candid photo.

In the photo, Chi Yi and Huang Xinxi were sitting side-by-side at a bar, leaning toward each other. Their gaze looked incredibly intimate even in a still shot. Cheng Yixin recognized the background as the private members-only bar where she and Chi Yi had first started. Chi Yi had a soft, gentle smile on her face.

As she tried to look closer, Lu Qing pulled the phone back.

“You know exactly why the Feng Group chose Huang Xinxi over you for that film, right?”

“It’s because you aren’t as famous, your acting is average, and you have no major works. How could you compare? And why didn’t Chi Yi fight for you? Because she thinks so too.”

“You’ve been protected too well; you’re too naive about relationships. Did you see the comments on the debate show? Reality is much crueler. You think getting along is enough. But what if she meets someone who also gets along with her but is superior to you in every way? You become redundant.”

“You think you’ve found true love, but look at your own conditions. How can you compete with Huang Xinxi? She is a powerful rival. Besides, with Huang’s status, she doesn’t care about being outed. If Chi Yi is with her, she doesn’t have to endure a secret underground relationship.”

Lu Qing spoke at length, trying to shatter Cheng Yixin’s psychological defenses and crush her self-esteem. Cheng Yixin remained silent, her expression blank, her hands at her sides tightening.

“I told you, love isn’t that simple. There are no perfect people. You think Chi Yi is devoted? She’s meeting Huang Xinxi at bars late at night. Did you know? Do you want me to send you the photo so you can confront her? See her for who she is and cut your losses early.”

“I see her clearly now.” Cheng Yixin looked at her coldly, then suddenly laughed.

“You really are jealous of Chi Yi.”

“You’re jealous of her being young and successful, running a massive group alone. You’re jealous that she’s beautiful, kind, and devoted—unlike you, who has to hire marketing accounts to brag about your car. Your company probably scammed plenty of ordinary people with big dreams, too. Everything good about her, you lack. You’re jealous of her money, her looks, her career, and her girlfriend, aren’t you? You’re going mad with envy.”

She stepped forward, forcing Lu Qing back against the window. Lu Qing’s composed smile vanished.

“Lu Qing, you are so pathetic.”

Lu Qing’s pupils shrank.

“Teacher Cheng! It’s your turn to record!” a staff member shouted from the other end of the hall.

“Coming!” Cheng Yixin replied. She gave Lu Qing one last meaningful smile and turned toward the studio.

The moment she turned, her smile vanished. She pressed her lips together and straightened her back, walking tall so Lu Qing wouldn’t see any weakness in her retreat.

Inside, Cheng Yixin’s heart was trembling. Lu Qing’s words were a provocation, but they were also a truth she couldn’t ignore.

She was not as good as Huang Xinxi.