In that meeting room, every sound felt like layered background noise. The staff's jokes, Jiang Fan's comments, the echoing laughter—all entered his ears, but none truly reached his heart.
Wei Yu Chen leaned back on the black leather chair, his fingers still playing with the ring on his right hand. His gaze was fixed on the big screen in front of him, showing the image of a girl in a worn-out t-shirt and cargo pants.
Who are you?
His head was noisy, filled with overlapping questions.
How could you appear out of nowhere? Are you a fan? Impossible. A fan wouldn't have such a calm expression in front of a crowd. Then… why did you look at me like that? Your eyes seemed to recognize me, yet didn't care at all.
There was a sting of curiosity, but Wei Yu Chen's face remained expressionless. Even his smile was thin and cold—like a mask he had worn for years, both in front of the public and those close to him.
"Gege, should we investigate her?" Jiang Fan's voice sounded careful, cautious.
Wei Yu Chen glanced sideways, eyes calm. "No need. If she's important, she'll appear again on her own." His tone was casual, almost cold, as if nothing weighed on his mind.
Yet, as his gaze returned to the screen, his heart was far from still. His thoughts clashed noisily, betraying the cool exterior he displayed.
Just a random girl holding a fire extinguisher. Why does she bother my mind?
Wei Yu Chen exhaled softly, straightened his posture, then closed the meeting curtly. "That's enough. End the discussion. Let's focus on tomorrow's schedule."
Everyone nodded obediently, and the room slowly quieted. But inside the laoban's mind, the voices wouldn't stop—her name, her face, and that loud, fearless voice kept circling, refusing to fade.
Xiaoxi
The small mirror in the bathroom was fogged. Wang Xiaoxi brushed her teeth lazily while half yawning. Her shoulder-length hair was messy, and her faded t-shirt hung loosely over her tall, slender frame.
178 cm. People often said her height was like that of a model.
But Xiaoxi never cared. What's the point of being tall, what's the point of being beautiful—if in the end everyone leaves, leaving her alone after her grandmother's death.
Her grandmother was the only family she had left. After her passing, Xiaoxi truly had no one. Her parents had died when she was three. She only had her grandmother from her father's side.
Her father was her grandmother's only child. Xiaoxi had no other relatives. Her mother grew up under the care of an orphanage.
She rinsed her mouth, then patted her face dry with a random towel.
Just as she stepped out of the bathroom, her phone buzzed repeatedly.
Xiaoxi frowned, grabbing the cracked phone from the couch.
One of the notifications from an entertainment news app showed a bold headline:
"Who Is the Fire Extinguisher Girl? The Mysterious Woman Who Saved Wei Yu Chen at the Airport Goes Viral, Netizens Start Searching for Her Identity."
Xiaoxi paused for a moment. Her narrow eyes squinted even more—not in surprise, but in annoyance.
"Good grief… such a fuss…" she muttered, voice half lazy.
She scrolled down, seeing blurry photos taken from the crowd: her fierce expression, mouth open mid-shout, and her hand gripping the fire extinguisher tightly.
Xiaoxi snorted, then tossed her phone onto the sofa. "Idiots. That's all it takes to cause chaos. I just wanted to pass through, not play hero. These people really have empty brains."
She sat down, turned on the old television in her cramped apartment. Once again, the same news filled the screen. The presenter discussed, fans speculated, netizens commented endlessly.
Xiaoxi bit her lower lip, her expression flat. No pride, no fear. Only one thought crossed her mind:
If this mess affects my job… then it's a problem.
With a shrug, she grabbed her work bag, checked her wallet, then got ready to leave her apartment. Money came first. The world could make noise about the "Fire Extinguisher Girl" all it wanted—Wang Xiaoxi didn't care, as long as she could survive, on her own terms.
The night air bit coldly, the chill sweeping through the city streets.
Shop lights were dimming, while a few roadside food stalls remained open, the aroma of their cooking mixing with a faint haze of smoke.
Wang Xiaoxi zipped her thin jacket up to her neck, hands tucked into the pockets of her worn-out sweatpants. Her shoulder-length hair blew messily in the wind, but she didn't care. Her stomach growled—it was time to find dinner.
As she walked slowly, her lips mumbled softly:
"This world's insane. The rich keep getting richer, the poor keep struggling. Life's really unfair."
She stopped briefly in front of a small noodle shop's glass window. Her eyes were blank, staring at her own reflection.
A 26-year-old woman, expressionless, living alone after her grandmother's death.
Everyone in the country knew who Wei Yu Chen was. His name was too big to ignore. From commercials, entertainment news, to cheap gossip—his shadow was everywhere.
Of course Xiaoxi knew the rumors about him. A top celebrity, full of controversy, always the center of attention. But what did any of that mean? To Xiaoxi, fame was meaningless.
"I don't care who he is…" she whispered, her voice lost in the night breeze. "As long as I can eat dinner today. That's enough."
She stepped into the noodle shop, choosing the quietest corner seat.
The outside world could buzz endlessly about the "Fire Extinguisher Girl"—but for Wang Xiaoxi, only one thing mattered: survival.
The bowl of hot noodles was gone in minutes. Wang Xiaoxi stood up, grabbed the cap that had been hanging on the back of her chair, and pulled it over her head.
The small shop buzzed with people busy with their own lives. No one looked her way—and that was exactly how she liked it.
Before leaving, Xiaoxi bought a pack of boiled peanuts and a small bottle of cheap liquor. She held the bottle tightly as she walked along the sidewalk, her steps unhurried, following the path lit by neon lights.
The night grew colder, yet Xiaoxi felt more at ease. She straightened her back, eyes gazing at the rows of tall, glowing buildings that still felt foreign.
Her mind wandered.
How can I make more money?
Writing scripts didn't always pay off. Editing other people's work was often paid late. Sometimes she had to double as a lobbyist—visiting film production houses, knocking on doors, pitching scripts that weren't even hers.
It was exhausting, but it was the only way to survive.
Xiaoxi took a small sip of liquor, the heat running down her throat. She snorted. "As long as there's money, I can keep going. That's it."
Under the streetlights, her figure looked slim but steady, her steps firm.
A 26-year-old woman who didn't care about the world, knowing only one thing: work, survive, and live.