The high heels under the tablecloth

There was no time to linger. As reason returned, they hurried back, and the interrupted livestream flickered back on.

“We’re very sorry, there was a minor issue with the streaming equipment. We’re resuming now.”

The dark screen lit up again, but the vague explanation sparked a flood of question marks across the comments, demanding answers.

The director, watching it all, grimaced. She, too, wanted to give an explanation, but she knew nothing—only the sound of rushing wind through the earpiece, a door slamming, and the earpiece being yanked off, leaving only static. Only the two involved knew what happened.

But…

Her eyes flicked to Liu Tingsong on the screen, reapplying lipstick, her eyelids twitching with a faint guess.

The baffled audience grew angrier—nothing was worse than a half-told story, and this was no different.

Unable to vent their frustration, they turned to the culprit.

[Streaming equipment issue? Can’t the crew come up with a better excuse? Clearly someone deliberately disrupted the broadcast, and now the crew’s covering for them.]

[What a joke. This is how newbies act now? Throwing tantrums, acting like they’re some big shot, ditching a room full of seniors.]

[This crew’s in trouble. Why invite someone like that? So much chaos waiting to happen.]

The director, reading one comment, wiped her brow, a twinge of regret surfacing.

Someone tossed out a puzzled remark.

[Why’s Liu Tingsong touching up her lipstick?]

[Yeah, something’s off. Someone finally noticed—she was only gone a moment. Why reapply?]

[Didn’t they say their relationship was rocky? This feels… weird…] @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

But these doubts were quickly drowned out. Xu Fengluan, standing there with a cold expression, seeming still displeased, drew more criticism.

Only those who knew her could tell—she was dazed again. Her lips pressed into a line, her spine aching faintly from being pressed against the door earlier.

Her glance slid sideways, quickly retracting. Her fingers brushed her pants, where a tissue stained with Liu’s lipstick lingered.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t find a trash can—there were at least two in the lounge.

Xu’s mind flickered, recalling Liu pulling a tissue from the table, her focused gaze as she gently wiped Xu’s lips, clearing the smeared red and dampness, folding the tissue, and slipping it into Xu’s pocket…

Xu’s eyes darted over again.

Liu, just finished touching up, looked up, meeting her gaze. Unlike Xu’s furtiveness, Liu was open, her watery eyes reflecting Xu’s face, her freshly coated lips slightly swollen.

Xu yanked her gaze away but couldn’t resist stealing another glance.

She caught Liu’s eyes dropping to the tissue’s spot, as if checking.

Xu’s spine stiffened, and she looked away, refusing to meet Liu’s eyes. But the tissue burned in her pocket, its presence undeniable through the fabric.

The brief pleasantries ended. The first episode’s opening wasn’t intense—after dazzling debuts, it moved to relaxed solo performances. Perhaps because of the upcoming competition, everyone held back, singing lesser-known tracks, simple yet promotional, keeping the mood light.

The livestream’s tension had faded. It was only the first episode; the director wouldn’t let those comments fester, deploying paid posters to shift the topic.

Now, the livestream was filled with praise for this or that singer, with some debate over skills—exactly what the director wanted.

Later, the first episode’s recording ended, but the livestream continued.

In a spacious room, a long table was laden with prepared ingredients, even a considerate clear broth, its pot simmering with bubbles.

Though pre-arranged, everyone feigned surprise.

The director, hidden off-camera, coughed and said, “Thank you, teachers, for your hard work. To celebrate our show’s smooth launch, the crew prepared some food as thanks…”

These words were for the audience, but the group played along, praising the crew, heating up the livestream’s vibe. Viewers loved seeing dazzling stage stars but also relished this casual bonding, though…

[What’s the crew doing? Liu Tingsong and Xu Fengluan clearly have issues—why seat them together?]

[Is the crew doing this on purpose? Not enough drama, so they put them face-to-face?]

[Checked V-Blog trends—Xu’s topic was cooling off, now it’s heating up again.]

[Sympathized with the director for a second, but she’s clearly stirring trouble.]

[Heh, just here for the chaos.]

Amid the online and offline clamor, Xu found the farthest, least-camera-covered seat. Unexpectedly, someone followed, deliberately sitting across from her.

Liu’s eyes locked onto her.

Xu wanted to tell her to sit elsewhere.

Despite the online hate, Xu didn’t care much, especially after causing a scene. Feeling guilty, she didn’t want to fight for camera time.

Among the group, aside from a few newcomers destined for early elimination, Xu was the youngest, least experienced, and should naturally step back.

But Liu was different. Though not old, she debuted long ago, her awards countless. No one would object if she took center stage, yet she chose to sit here.

Xu glanced sideways—others froze, unsure how to position themselves.

But Liu calmly picked up her chopsticks, clearly intent on staying.

Xu frowned, wanting to nudge her. “Teacher Liu, there’s a seat over there.”

Liu nodded, her tone casual. “Mm, I saw it.”

Xu nearly laughed in frustration. Liu wasn’t blind—how could she miss it? That wasn’t the point.

Grinding her teeth, Xu restrained herself. “I saw Senior An Xiwen and others over there. Wanna chat with them, Teacher Liu?”

Her words were as tactful as a brash rebel like her could manage, used to bluntness but now tiptoeing.

Liu played dumb. “After dinner.”

Xu’s expression froze.

Was dinner the issue?

After dinner?

By then, everyone would be gone—who’d stay to chat? @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Angry and exasperated, Xu had no leverage against Liu in front of cameras. Her leg shot up under the tablecloth, deliberately kicking Liu’s calf.

Not hard, but not light, making Liu’s leg shift before slowly returning.

Liu didn’t get mad, giving a half-smile, like watching a child throw a tantrum.

Xu huffed, turning away, ignoring her.

The cameras caught it, and the livestream comments shifted. Even bickering fans sensed something off—what was going on with these two?

As they faced off, others sat, chatting and clinking cutlery as if nothing happened.

Perhaps due to earlier events, no one engaged Xu. The older group exchanged pleasantries, younger ones chimed in, while Liu, occasionally pulled into conversation, responded briefly before trailing off. Others, seeing her disinterest, left her alone.

Only Xu knew Liu was busy with something else.

For the show, Xu wore a modern Chinese-style black suit, white floral embroidery from left shoulder to right hem, a loosely tied tie, and black-gold half-rim glasses.

Her half-up, half-down hair added maturity, but she couldn’t escape being teased. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Under the tablecloth, a high heel hooked her pant leg, inching upward.

Her chopstick-holding hand tightened, nearly dropping a meatball.

Liu, seeing this, kept up her mischief.

Suddenly abandoning the pant leg, her heel tapped Xu’s shin, not climbing higher but tapping in place.

It reminded Xu of cocky types, legs crossed, toes tapping aimlessly.

But when she looked up, Liu was poised, her moon-white cheongsam pristine, her features refined, expression elegant—like a master’s meticulous painting, even her stray hairs perfectly placed.

No hint of her secret antics.

Xu gritted her teeth, powerless against her.

The earpiece crackled—the director, noting her silence, urged, “Teacher Xu?”

“Talk to Teacher Liu a bit. Don’t be so stiff—the comments are saying you two don’t get along.”

“I already spoke to Teacher Liu—she’ll cooperate.”

Xu tugged her lips, glancing over. Liu, aware, smiled expectantly, waiting for her words.

Xu took a deep breath, but before she could speak, Liu’s heel lifted, sparking a tingling pain.

Xu gripped her chopsticks.

Someone nearby, unaware, offered Liu a meatball. “Teacher Liu, try this—it’s great.”

Liu turned, giving a faint smile. “Thanks.”

Just two words, but the young singer lit up, taking it as friendliness. “Call me Xiao Shi! I’m with Hengjia Entertainment. So happy to meet you, Senior.”

Interrupted, Xu quietly exhaled in relief.

Liu’s heel crept upward along her bone, her pale ankle stark against Xu’s wheatish calf—an odd contrast, hidden by the tablecloth.

“Hello, Xiao Shi,” Liu said politely, nodding.

How she managed to multitask was a mystery.

Xiao Shi, thrilled by Liu’s response, gushed, “Teacher Liu, I’ve always admired you—my mom, too. No, my whole family loves you.”

Overexcited, she rambled, “If they knew we’re on the same show, they’d be thrilled. Our Shi family’s ancestors must be beaming…”

Liu’s expression stiffened, at a loss.

Xu, watching, stifled a laugh, then pinned Liu’s heel down, stopping her mischief.

Looking up, away from cameras, Xu mouthed, “Quite popular, huh, Teacher Liu?”

Liu, unable to retort, maintained a polite smile, saying to Xiao Shi, “Thank you for your support.”

“No, no thanks needed!” Xiao Shi waved, then backtracked. “I mean, you’re so amazing, Teacher Liu—it’s normal we love you. You’re just too great…”

Xu smirked, pressing harder on Liu’s heel, quashing her antics.

Soon, the dinner ended.

In the underground parking lot, a black car pulled up. The window rolled down, revealing Liu’s stunning face. “You barely ate tonight. Hungry?”

“I got some ingredients. Wanna eat at home?”

She paused, then softly added, “Fat Cat misses you.”

Xu stared for a moment, then reached for the door handle.