Trending topic alert: The mysterious fan site administrator of a top celebrity has been exposed.

As Chu Yi carried Qi Yuan across the noisy dance floor, Qi Yuan practically clung to him, his burning cheeks pressed against Chu Yi's neck, his breath carrying the scent of alcohol mixed with the smell of menthol.

After getting drunk, Qi Yuan became unusually clingy, his arms tightly wrapped around Chu Yi's waist, mumbling incoherently, "One more drink."

The lights in the VIP area were slightly dimmer than outside. Just as Chu Yi was about to turn towards the exit, he suddenly heard someone call his name.

Cheng Yingzhi leaned against a gilded and carved pillar, holding a half-burnt cigarette in his hand.

He had just hung up the phone and turned around when he saw a figure passing by that looked a lot like Chu Yi. He casually called out Chu Yi's name.

I never expected it to really be Chu Yi.

"Hey—Brother Yingzhi." Qi Yuan suddenly struggled to lift his head from Chu Yi's shoulder, his eyes half-open with a silly grin, his index finger trembling as he pointed at Cheng Yingzhi.

Cheng Yingzhi raised an eyebrow, looking at Qi Yuan's completely drunk state, and reached out to straighten the baseball cap that was askew on the back of his head: "Out fooling around again?"

His gaze shifted to Chu Yi's face, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "How strange, you actually come to a place like this?"

Chu Yi supported Qi Yuan's sliding body, her white shirt wrinkled from the friction: "Stay with him."

The two concise words were interrupted by Qi Yuan's sudden lunge at Cheng Yingzhi.

The drunkard opened his arms to embrace, but Cheng Yingzhi nimbly blocked him with an index finger, placing it on his forehead and keeping him out of reach.

"It's hard to get a taxi here," Cheng Yingzhi said, gesturing towards the private room. "Want to come in and sit for a while? I'll have someone bring some hangover soup." He paused, glancing meaningfully at his watch. "The designated drivers are all busy at this hour."

Pushing open the heavy solid wood door of the private room, you are greeted by a luxurious atmosphere of cigars mixed with citrus scents.

Chu Yi half-supported, half-carried Qi Yuan to settle him on the leather sofa, unaware that someone else was sitting in the shadows.

The crystal chandelier was dimmed, and Zhou Ai was completely enveloped in shadow. The hood of her black hoodie covered most of her face, and only her slender, white fingers, holding a glass, could be seen.

He had a mouthful of vodka in his mouth but hadn't swallowed it yet, his tongue touching the roof of his mouth to taste the burning sensation of the alcohol.

The sound of Cheng Yingzhi pushing open the door made him lazily lift his eyelids, then lower them again without much interest, until he heard a clear, cold voice say, "Thanks."

As Chu Yi sat down, the sofa made a slight creak. He was looking down to check on Qi Yuan's condition when he suddenly felt a very strong gaze on his side.

In the blink of an eye, Zhou Ai had already pulled down her hood and leaned in close, her silver-gray hair brushing against Chu Yi's nose, carrying the scent of bitter orange and tequila in her perfume.

The two people's noses were only ten centimeters apart.

In the dim light, Chu Yi could even see Zhou Ai's pupils suddenly contract.

"Damn!" Zhou Ai sprang up reflexively, her knee hitting the edge of the coffee table, the ice cubes in the glass clinking.

As he backed away, he stepped on the hem of his own trousers, staggered, and grabbed the liquor cabinet to avoid falling. Vodka choked him, burning him so badly that he bent over and coughed violently.

Chu Yi subconsciously reached out to help, but froze mid-air. He saw Zhou Ai's red, cough-red ear tips and the scabbed wound on her brow bone.

"Are you alright?" Chu Yi withdrew her hand, her voice lower than usual.

Zhou Ai waved her hand, coughing so hard she couldn't speak.

He was wearing an oversized black hoodie today, the collar askew revealing his collarbone. Because of his coughing, the hoodie hood slipped down, revealing his signature short silver-gray hair that he had just dyed that day.

When Cheng Yingzhi returned with the hangover soup, this bizarre scene greeted him: Zhou Ai was coughing violently, leaning against the sofa, Chu Yi stood beside him, seemingly wanting to say something but unable to, while Qi Yuan lay slumped on the sofa, completely drunk and unconscious.

"You...know each other?" Cheng Yingzhi looked at the two of them suspiciously.

Zhou Ai finally stopped coughing, and her eyes were still red when she straightened up.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze fixed intently on Chu Yi: "What do you think, Dr. Chu?"

Chu Yi pursed her lips and didn't reply.

Cheng Yingzhi suddenly realized, "Oh right! You're the one who saw Zhou Ai's injury!" He slapped his forehead, smiling as he handed Zhou Ai a tissue. "What a coincidence."

Zhou Ai took the tissue, the silver ring on his finger glittering under the light. He hastily wiped the wine stains from his chin and then moved closer to Chu Yi.

The two were so close that Chu Yi could smell the vodka in Zhou Ai's breath. He subtly took half a step back, getting even closer to Qi Yuan.

Cheng Yingzhi handed the hangover soup to Chu Yi, saying, "Shall we let Qi Yuan drink this hangover soup first?"

Chu Yi turned to help Qi Yuan, using the movement to avoid Zhou Ai's gaze. He skillfully lifted the back of Qi Yuan's neck and fed him the hangover soup little by little.

Zhou Ai leaned against the edge of the sofa, her gaze falling on Chu Yi's well-defined fingers.

The doctor's hands were beautiful, long and clean, with neatly trimmed nails and a perfectly proportioned wrist bone.

"Dr. Chu," Zhou Ai suddenly spoke, "my wound seems to hurt a little."

Chu Yi paused, looked up at him, and said, "Drinking alcohol will affect the healing of the wound."

"What should I do then?" Zhou Ai tilted her head, her tone innocent. "Can you take a look for me?"

Cheng Yingzhi, listening from the side, frowned deeply.

Having known Zhou Ai for so many years, I've never heard him speak in such a tone—the last syllable rises slightly, carrying a hint of coquetry.