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Add... QQ??

When she said that, Shao Xinghui’s mind practically short-circuited.

He hadn’t really used that app since graduating from university, and after becoming a celebrity, he’d tossed QQ aside entirely.

Who would have thought—someone these days would actively ask for a QQ contact?

Of course, that wasn’t the point. The real question was... is everyone in your folksong sect this frugal?

What era are we in, and you’re still using the oldest model of smartphone?

Can that thing even make calls anymore?

Shao Xinghui felt himself about to lose composure, but thankfully, his iron self-control kept any hint of surprise from showing on his face.

Even so, the embarrassment from earlier was instantly replaced by fluster. He fumbled, “Teacher Su... wait a moment, let me check... let me see if QQ still works on my phone.”

As he spoke, he tapped open the familiar little penguin icon.

Register a new account.

Register with phone number.

It took him three to five full minutes of fiddling before he finally had a QQ account.

Then, he opened the scan-to-add feature. “Teacher Su, let me scan your code.”

“Um... or, maybe you could just enter my QQ number?” A trace of rare embarrassment appeared on Su Yunjin’s face.

Scan-to-add... she didn’t have that option. Her QQ was the most basic version, without any scan feature.

Simply put, her QQ account was just for communication.

“Oh, sure, of course.”

Shao Xinghui nodded hurriedly, then opened the account input screen.

After Su Yunjin recited a string of numbers, he entered the account and clicked add.

Once the verification message was sent, Su Yunjin’s phone immediately chimed with a notification.

She tapped accept, and only then did Shao Xinghui breathe a sigh of relief.

Only at that moment did he remember to glance at her profile.

With her right there, he couldn’t browse her Moments, so he just took a look at her status message and profile picture.

Nickname: Su Yunjin

Status Message: 圄ㄖ彡渻圄裑，怓劦娝，怓劦娝，怓劦娝.

Shao Xinghui: “...”

Is that... Martian script?

“Teacher Su, your status message is... quite unique,” Shao Xinghui managed to squeeze out through gritted teeth, forcing himself to smile as naturally as possible.

He had no idea his expression looked as awkward as it did.

“Mmm, that’s from over a decade ago. Back then, the ‘non-mainstream’ aesthetic was all the rage, and Martian script was one of its trends.”

Compared to Shao Xinghui’s astonishment, Su Yunjin was composed.

Everyone has their youth; she was no exception.

But unlike those who can’t face their younger selves, Su Yunjin was someone willing to accept hers.

Moreover, Martian script was a piece of her youth, too.

After coming down from the mountain and getting her phone, she hadn’t bothered to change anything, keeping it as a keepsake.

Besides, QQ was just a communication tool to her, like her phone—nothing worth fussing over.

“Heh, yeah, I remember I was in high school then,” Shao Xinghui laughed awkwardly.

Su Yunjin returned a polite smile. “Is there anything else, Teacher Shao?”

“No, nothing else.”

“In that case, I’ll be going, then.”

Since Shao Xinghui had nothing more to say, Su Yunjin didn’t linger; she turned to leave.

She hadn’t finished her coursework for the day because of the meeting, so she needed to hurry back to the hotel to study. She also had to check in with her grandparents that evening.

What a strange woman, he thought, watching her retreating figure with a wry smile.

He’d originally wanted to chat about music with Su Yunjin, but after just a few exchanges, he felt like her leaving was a relief.

Otherwise, he’d probably have lost his composure completely.

Once she was gone, Shao Xinghui no longer suppressed his curiosity and opened Su Yunjin’s Moments. A single glance was all it took for him to exit.

Not because of self-restraint, but because her profile was utterly blank.

In other words, the only noteworthy thing about this account was that string of Martian script!

If not for the five-digit account number, he’d never have guessed it was such an ancient, long-used QQ account.

Never mind. I’ll talk music with her another time.

With nothing to discover, Shao Xinghui pocketed his phone and hurried out of Lu Entertainment; he had other matters to attend to.

At the same time, on the 30th floor in Lu Yiqing’s office—

The spacious office was deathly silent, a faintly oppressive air hanging over everything.

Across from Lu Yiqing, whose face was stormy, sat a young man about his age, but with a completely different temperament.

Where Lu Yiqing was steady and mature, none of that could be found in the young man opposite. Instead, he exuded that particular insouciance unique to the children of the wealthy, his entire appearance from head to toe a display of luxury, as if to drive that point home.

“Tell me, was bringing Su Yunjin here Grandfather’s idea?”

Lu Yiqing’s gaze was as sharp as a blade, boring straight into Pei Xuan’s eyes, his presence dark and intimidating.

“Yiqing, don’t be mad—I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Pei Xuan hurried to defend himself. “You know how Uncle Lu gets when he’s serious; I had no choice.

“Besides, this Su Yunjin seems nice enough, and I hear she’s mastered all the skills of the Seven Sects and is their sole heir. You haven’t dated anyone all these years anyway, so why not get to know her? Give it a try.”

“Get lost!” Lu Yiqing barked, frowning deeply.

Pei Xuan just laughed it off, slinging an arm around Lu Yiqing’s shoulders. “Honestly, Yiqing, there should be a limit to your purity. That singer—what’s her name, Dahuo?

“It’s been ten years! Do you even know if they’re tall or short, fat or thin?

“To make it worse, what if she’s a man? If you found her, would you say, ‘I’ve looked for you for ten years and liked you for ten years?’”

Lu Yiqing’s already sour expression turned thunderous. He gave Pei Xuan a sidelong glare. “No one would mistake you for a mute if you kept your mouth shut.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. I’ll disappear, I’ll disappear. Call me if you need me,” Pei Xuan conceded at once, sensing Lu Yiqing’s genuine anger.

If Lu Yiqing dismissed him, he’d really be in trouble.

He’d managed to live the carefree life of a rich second generation all these years—no job, no family business—simply because he stayed close to Lu Yiqing and fed information to the Lu family patriarch.

The Pei family depended on the Lu family, so his own grandfather turned a blind eye.

But if he lost Lu Yiqing as a shield, his family would surely marry him off and throw him into the grind of inheriting the family business, just like Lu Yiqing.

He had no intention of following in those footsteps.

Still, who would have thought that the person occupying the eldest grandson’s heart all these years was a nearly genderless online singer, her identity so vague they could barely confirm she was even a woman?

Frankly, it wasn’t much better than a virtual idol.

At least with a virtual idol, you could see what she looked like—this “Dahuo” didn’t even have that.

“Wait.” Just as Pei Xuan was about to step out of the office, Lu Yiqing spoke.