I owe her

Sunlight streamed through the slats of the blinds, slipping into the simply decorated office, slicing into vertical beams of light.

Inside, two women sat across a desk from each other.

The woman outside the desk, in her thirties, dressed sharply, her earlobes adorned with bold gold hoop earrings that swayed with her animated speech.

Across from her, Liu Tingsong’s expression remained neutral, betraying no emotion, occasionally nodding to show she was listening.

Du Yurong spoke until her mouth went dry, grabbing the water cup on the desk and downing it in one gulp. Glancing at Liu Tingsong, still calm and detached, her frustration made her heart ache, her face twisting.

She’d known Liu Tingsong for years. Once, like Pear now, she was the little assistant trailing behind, handling tea, water, and driving duties.

When Liu Tingsong’s former manager—Xu Jinghong—grew too busy, her ambitions stretching beyond entertainment into real estate, Liu Tingsong recommended Du Yurong.

The assistant soared, becoming the manager of the promising Heavenly Queen Liu Tingsong, clinging to this golden ticket.

From domestic to international and back, breaking with the old agency to start a studio, she lacked her predecessor’s grand ambitions, content to guard Liu Tingsong, her cash cow.

In the studio, aside from Liu Tingsong, Du Yurong held the most shares, earning her the nickname “second boss” among staff.

With Liu Tingsong’s current status, even doing nothing, her top-tier luxury endorsements could sustain the studio and then some.

By all accounts, Du Yurong should’ve been satisfied, but Liu Tingsong kept her on edge. Last time, she ditched an event to sneak off to some performance, got recognized, and trended.

Du Yurong had her team work overtime to bury it.

Liu Tingsong, unfazed, simply said to let it go.

Did she not consider it was Bulgari’s gala? As their new ambassador, snubbing the sponsor—what would they think?

The artist caused chaos; Du Yurong cleaned up, scrambling to appease Bulgari’s people.

But before that mess settled, Liu Tingsong lowered herself to guest on a small variety show, sitting on a tiny, backless stool. When had *her* Heavenly Queen ever been so slighted?

Anywhere else, she was center stage, the camera glued to her face!

But this live stream?

Du Yurong, watching just ten minutes, was so furious she wanted to drive over and grab Director Zhang by the collar.

What are you doing? *What are you doing?*

That’s *our* Heavenly Queen, and you dare stick her on the edge, on a hard stool without a backrest?

She sat there so long without even a glass of water—what’s wrong with you people?

Why’s the topic not about *our* queen? How dare you!

Hot search!

Get me a hot search *now*! Why’s Zhang so slow?

In short, Du Yurong was like a career-driven mother hen, both pushing Liu Tingsong’s career and tirelessly cleaning up her messes.

Her words could be harsh, but her heart was soft—otherwise, she wouldn’t have stayed by Liu Tingsong’s side so long.

Fans didn’t know this, storming the studio’s X-blog to curse them for taking any gig for money, accusing them of neglecting Liu Tingsong.

Thinking of this, Du Yurong’s heart ached more. She wanted to plan properly, but the woman across from her had to cooperate! And…

She gritted out: “You rushed over there for nothing?”

Liu Tingsong nodded, offering no explanation.

“Oh, come on!” Du Yurong leaned back, clutching her chest, groaning in distress.

No pay, and she took the blame. A few more years as “second boss,” and she’d be hunched over.

Just then, an employee knocked and entered: “Sister Du, Director Yang called again.”

Du Yurong’s face shifted, holding back her frustration, telling them to make an excuse that she wasn’t in.

No need to guess why Yang called. He was prepping a music competition show, live-voted, featuring singers with iconic hits.

Even before filming, it had buzz, with unofficial polls on who should join running multiple rounds.

With Liu Tingsong’s return, the invite came naturally. Du Yurong had been stalling, aiming to leverage her artist’s first show back for better terms.

This was standard in the industry—not only acceptable but praised. If the manager didn’t fight, should fans storm in to demand spotlight?

Better to settle camera time, ranking, and editing now than let it spiral into public drama, losing favor.

Why join a show to be someone’s backdrop?

But now, her leverage—Liu Tingsong’s first show back—was gone. Yang, who’d been ignored for days, was now eagerly calling, three or four times that morning.

Du Yurong rubbed her temples.

“Liu Tingsong wasn’t dense or stubborn. Seeing this, she softened: “I’ve caused a lot of trouble lately. Thanks for handling it.”

Du Yurong’s unnoticed irritation faded at her sincerity.

“The music show,” Liu Tingsong paused, “I can give it a try.”

Du Yurong finally smiled. The delay was partly Liu Tingsong’s vague stance, never giving a clear answer. Now, with her agreement, Du Yurong relaxed.

She promised: “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the production team. Just focus on preparing your songs.”

They shared a smile, moving past the earlier tension, but…

Liu Tingsong’s tone shifted: “But with A-Feng, I… you know…”

Her words faltered, her eyes holding apology and a touch of quiet loneliness, then firming: “Anything about her, I can’t control myself.”

Du Yurong’s smile faded, turning to resignation. She sighed: “Why bother? Don’t know what you owed her in a past life.”

Before she finished, Liu Tingsong interrupted: “I *do* owe her.”

“I…” Her eyelids lowered, long lashes casting faint shadows, untouched by the sunlight’s warmth, like untouchable mist by a lake, fleeting and unmoored.

But as her gaze dropped, Du Yurong saw the unhealed cut on her lip, small but glaring, pulling the lofty moon to earth.

Irritated, Du Yurong waved her off: “Fine, fine, I’m done. Do whatever you want.”

Liu Tingsong gave a faint, fleeting smile.

The topic ended, shifting to casual small talk.

Until Du Yurong glanced at her phone, freezing at a notification.

“What’s wrong?” Liu Tingsong sensed something.

Du Yurong looked up stiffly, blinking, stunned: “Your girl’s trending again.”

Liu Tingsong frowned, her calm vanishing, quickly unlocking her phone.

It wasn’t the live stream. A paparazzo had posted a video of Xu Fengluan at the hospital, implying she chose a quiet time to visit, stayed long, and left an ambiguous ending, fueling wild speculation.

Rock circles had their share of scandals, and people assumed Xu Fengluan was no different.

But unlike before, she didn’t stay silent. An hour later, she posted on her main X account.

Four blunt words: *None of your business.*

With a photo of the bag she carried leaving the hospital, clearly showing cold medicine and a medical slip stating “common cold.”

Though visiting her friend, it was a public hospital, so she followed protocol, just during a quiet lunch hour.

She’d removed the mole treatment meds from the photo, keeping that private.

Her response crushed the rumors. Fans had seen her looking unwell in the live stream, coughing occasionally, and the bag matched the paparazzo’s video.

Her fans erupted, flooding the paparazzo’s X-blog with curses.

In the end, the paparazzo deleted the video and apologized to Xu Fengluan on X.