Frivolous - Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Yu Lanzhou’s gaze suddenly turned cold.

Chen Ran, who was half-kneeling and about to ask, “Should we go to Jiayuan tonight?” saw that freezing look and faltered.

“Teacher Yu, what’s wrong?” Chen Ran’s voice held a faint tremor, like unshed tears. She didn’t know what she had done wrong this time.

She hadn’t been close to her in a long time; every pore of her skin was aching to be near her. But ever since that last encounter, Yu Lanzhou seemed to have developed a certain resistance.

“Go back to your room.” Her voice was devoid of warmth.

Chen Ran looked at her darkened expression and asked hesitantly, “Did something happen?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you tired?”

Yu Lanzhou’s voice grew even colder as she called her by her full name. “Chen Ran. Go back.”

Tonight’s Chen Ran couldn’t help but remind herself of the night she had been called “Mom.” She lightly squeezed Yu Lanzhou’s hand, her fingertip brushing against the center of the palm before letting go. She said obediently, “Okay.”

Her intuition told her it was still the same rift from before. Did she regret it? Did she regret having sex with me? Her heart felt as though it were being covered in dust once more.

The day Chen Lie went abroad, Chen Ran joined Yu Lanzhou at the airport to see her off. Yu Lanzhou stroked Chen Lie’s face and said tenderly, “Don’t always read with just a small lamp. Don’t stay up late when you should be resting.”

The young girl, with her long black curls and a distinctive beauty mark under her eye, nodded against Yu Lanzhou’s palm. “I know. You don’t have to worry too much about me.”

She turned to give Chen Ran a light hug, whispering in her ear, “Sis, take care of yourself.”

Chen Ran smiled. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“Then let me tell you one more thing.”

“What?”

Chen Lie’s voice was tiny. “Take care of her.”

A thought flickered in Chen Ran’s mind but was quickly suppressed. Her hand, which had been stroking Chen Lie’s hair, paused for a split second. “I will.”

That brief pause felt like a subtle, unspoken understanding. She knew Chen Lie hadn’t truly “entrusted” Yu Lanzhou to her.

Chen Ran’s flight was in two and a half hours. After saying goodbye to Chen Lie, Yu Lanzhou didn’t look at Chen Ran again. Without so much as a parting nod, she walked out of the hall.

Chen Ran followed a few steps behind, her eyes lingering longingly as she watched Yu Lanzhou’s car drive away. Her mind uncontrollably drifted into a fantasy: When will I be able to walk openly beside her? Or would it be too much to ask for her to even see me off once?

While waiting in the VIP lounge, Xiao Jiahe sent a message: The magazine cover sales broke 50,000 copies in one hour.

It wasn’t a mainstream women’s magazine, nor had it been heavily promoted. The fans had given Chen Ran a massive surprise. Selling 50,000 copies quietly was a feat. Chen Ran felt a surge of pride: I’m actually doing quite well.

Xin Xin hopped excitedly beside her. “Teacher Chen, you’re amazing!”

Chen Ran knew that much of this “amazing” success came from her looks. She had always known she was beautiful—from the many classmates who swarmed around her in elementary school to the love letters that filled her high school desk.

And, especially, when Yu Lanzhou looked at her.

She was so happy. She wondered how Yu Lanzhou would react if she knew so many people liked her.

Not far away, a girl in a mask was pointing a professional camera with a long lens at her. Chen Ran pulled her hat down lower. The girl lowered her mask, waved a letter, and showed off a pink pony charm on her phone.

Chen Ran recognized her. It was her “fansite master,” the owner of the site “Jin Ran” (meaning “Burning Out”), which produced many photos and videos that went viral. This trip wasn’t public; she had no idea how the girl knew.

Chen Ran nodded and gave her a small smile. “Jin Ran” pointed to a spot a few meters away, asking if she could move a bit closer. Chen Ran smiled and gestured for her to come over.

The girl ran over and handed her the letter. She didn’t stay too close, speaking in a voice only they could hear: “Ran Ran, remember to use a privacy screen on your phone. Also, don’t forget to hide your boarding pass information in the future.” Otherwise, she had to manually filter out “trash” photos that leaked private info every time.

Chen Ran’s face flushed. She remembered her wallpaper was still a photo of Yu Lanzhou’s back. It was just a silhouette, so it shouldn’t be recognizable unless “Jin Ran” had seen her standing with Yu Lanzhou just now.

Chen Ran looked up, her eyes full of questions, trying to read the girl’s expression. “Jin Ran” took a few steps back, putting distance between them again. She smiled and made a zipping motion over her lips, signaling she wouldn’t say a word.

Chen Ran’s heart felt like a plucked string, the vibration echoing in her chest: Yu Lanzhou is mine. Now, it’s a secret that I’m not the only one who knows.

In truth, she had never been good at hiding it. Despite being warned by Xiao Jiahe several times, she simply couldn’t change. It was hard. Every time she thought about the intimacy between her and Yu Lanzhou, her heart throbbed so loudly she felt she had to vent it somehow.

That was why her new album was originally titled “Zhou,” though Yu Lanzhou had quickly vetoed it.

That day, Chen Ran had just come off stage when Xin Xin handed her the phone. It was a message from Yu Lanzhou: Call me when you’re not busy.

Chen Ran called her immediately, taking a sip of water from Xin Xin. After a few gulps, the call connected.

“Hello, Teacher…”

Yu Lanzhou was startled by the title, but then she heard the thunderous noise in the background and realized Chen Ran had likely just finished a set. There were people around, so she couldn’t call her “Yu.” Yu Lanzhou felt a bit displeased; she had said to call when not busy, but Chen Ran hadn’t listened.

“If you’re busy, hang up.”

“I’m not busy, Teacher.”

“I’m not busy at all, do you hear me, Zhouzhou?” The last word was a short, whispered syllable.

Yu Lanzhou had intended to be stern, but hearing Chen Ran’s vibrant voice, like a little magpie, she found her quite cute. She cleared her throat to hide it. “Change the album name.”

“Oh, okay.” The surrounding cheers were fading. Chen Ran asked, “How about ‘Z’? The letter Z.” Her first album was ‘Y’; surely having another letter after it wouldn’t hurt…

Yu Lanzhou was silent for a moment before consenting. “Fine.” She allowed Chen Ran this small bit of vanity.

In the lyrics of the new album, Chen Ran wrote with a bittersweet touch: You are clarity, you are disdain, you are a poem written in tenderness. I am the storm, I am the loss of control, I am the flower that falls repeatedly. Ten thousand gazes, ten thousand heartbeats.

Three days later, when the digital and physical albums were released, fans were stunned by the sugary-sweet style:

• “You’re just not hiding it anymore, are you? Ran Ran, do you still want us fans?”

• “Is there anyone more ‘soured’ by love than 23 at this stage?”

• 23 Sings at Bird’s Nest: “I beg you to just go public. Stop torturing me.”

• “Are Y and Z the same person or two different people?”

Soon, the fans’ attention shifted to Chen Ran in the music video. It was just a simple montage of the band recording, but whenever the camera landed on Chen Ran, it had the texture of a cinematic masterpiece.

• “I’m buying every copy of this album!”

• “When is she going to act in a movie?”

• (There’s a rumor Yu Lan is in talks with her.)

• “Ran Ran in full-diamond nail extensions—I’m obsessed.”

Following the magazine sales breaking 100,000, the physical album sales broke 30,000 in twenty-four hours. This was enough to shock everyone in the indie rock circle. Simultaneously, the criticism grew louder:

• “The #1 harvester of ‘leeks’ (fans) in the rock scene.”

• “She doesn’t cherish her reputation at all. It’s ugly to see her sell out.”

Music critics also chimed in: “There is no doubt that the musical value of Chen Ran’s album is extremely low; the industry is in consensus. She is moving toward the mundane, losing the integrity of a true musician.”

Many old fans commented:

• “Expel Chen Ran from the rock genre.”

• “CR, do you even hear what you’re writing? What is this trash?”

But the more they cursed, the more popular it became. Eventually, all ten songs on the album were at the top of the music charts. New fans were attracted by the new sound: “Is it normal for a rock singer to sing love songs so beautifully?”

In an instant, Chen Ran was surrounded by a cacophony of voices, but her heart remained quiet and peaceful. She was thinking of Yu Lanzhou. She was wondering when she could see her again—to let her be even just a little bit proud of her.

She picked up her phone and messaged her: Teacher Yu, I’m going to Switzerland next Monday to record a new variety show. Before that, can I see you one more time?

Yu: No need to meet.

Chen Ran couldn’t tell if she was happy or angry from the text. She asked: Can I call?

Yu: Yes.

The voice call connected after five seconds. Chen Ran said, “I’ll be gone for half a month.” She hated that she had to spend half a month away from their already brief time together, but since this show was arranged by Yu Lanzhou, she couldn’t complain.

There was silence on the other end. Chen Ran asked, “Teacher Yu, can you bear it?” Can you bear me leaving like this? “I really can’t bear to leave you. I have something to give you.”

“Are you free this weekend? Can I come to the Yu residence to find you?”

Yu Lanzhou still didn’t speak. She was looking at a short clip of surveillance footage. Seeing the silence, Chen Ran changed the subject. “Teacher Yu, have you heard the new songs? So many people like them now. The album sales are at the top of the rock charts.” It was like she was asking, Am I good?

Yu Lanzhou didn’t praise her. She only said flatly, “Okay, I know.”

“Also, my magazine cover sold over 100,000 copies.” It was a massive number.

“Mhm, good.”

It sounded perfunctory to Chen Ran. Until she heard Yu Lanzhou say: “Come over this weekend.” Her heart felt like a rabbit jumping over a wall, falling fiercely before landing.

A day later, a rumor broke online claiming Chen Ran’s album sales were fake that a “sugar daddy” had contributed significantly. The post was suppressed when it had only a few likes. Xin Xin was furious: “Some people are just jealous!”

Chen Ran didn’t care much at first. Sugar daddy? Yu Lanzhou? Was it possible? But then she thought of the “Z Squad” that had suddenly appeared among her fans. This group had never existed before. Even the “Big Fire” fan account was asking who this mysterious mogul was, but no one claimed the title. Of the 50,000 sales, the “Z Squad” had bought nearly 20,000. Spending nearly two million at once was indeed strange. But it certainly wasn’t Yu Lanzhou’s style.

That evening, outside her company, Chen Ran ran into someone she hadn’t seen in a long time. The person sat in a car and honked twice at Chen Ran, who was wearing headphones. Chen Ran looked up to see her—still long, straight black hair, mature and charming, though her lip color was much paler than before.

Chen Ran looked around. No one was there. She smiled and called out, “Ping’an.”

Su Ping’an invited her into the car. Remembering Yu Lanzhou’s words to “interact normally with others,” Chen Ran didn’t refuse. She wasn’t surprised when the door of the black Maybach opened to cast light on the ground. Su Ping’an was no struggling student; she was a rich young lady out experiencing real life. Chen Ran had guessed as much from how much she knew about Yu Lanzhou.

Later, Chen Ran had looked up news about her: after they lost contact, Su Ping’an went to Africa to film a documentary and recently won a prestigious award for a rising director.

“What is it?”

“It should be fine to meet me now… is she still keeping you on a tight leash?”

Chen Ran laughed. “Don’t make her sound so scary.”

“But even though you’re sitting here, you’re worried she might find out we met, aren’t you?”

Chen Ran released her tense, interlaced hands and nodded.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Su Ping’an said, turning off the car lights. “Can you really not try to leave her?”

“Why would you say that out of the blue?” It’s impossible.

Su Ping’an placed another photo in front of her. “Yu Lanzhou bought these.”

In the photo, copies of Chen Ran’s new album and magazines were piled up some neatly, some in a mess inside a house. Many of the albums were crushed or deformed, and several magazines seemed to have been violently torn during transit. On the covers, Chen Ran’s head and neck were separated, making the image look eerie and horrifying.

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