The incident of the two changing their couple names had already been fermenting for the duration of a two-hour movie, and netizens had long since discovered it.
Names like “Tongtong, what are you eating today?” and “Today, I ate Tongtong” were truly a first-time sight, carrying multiple suggestive meanings that sparked wild imaginations.
Now, the topic had exploded, dominating the top of the trending list—practically everyone knew about it.
At first, fans and netizens thought it was just another playful interaction between the couple, just like how Yan Chi would change her profile picture to one taken by her wife.
So, when Gu Qingtong clicked on the latest comments under her and Yan Chi’s Weibo posts, this was the scene she encountered:
[Holy crap, am I allowed to witness this couple’s name for free?]
[Tongbao[mfn]Baby Tong[/mfn], are you okay?? Blink twice if Teacher Yan has kidnapped you! Girl, aren’t you embarrassed using a name like this?!]
[So Teacher Yan always knew we secretly called her ‘Eater’—but using it this way is way too bold!]
[‘Eating Tongtong’… It’s not what I think it means, right? Teacher Yan, you???!]
[I knew it! That old aloof, cold-as-ice Teacher Yan was just a disguise—she’s actually a cunning, dominant top! Please, eat more, hehe.]
Meanwhile, their CP “Silent Gaze” was blown up by old lurking fans resurfacing because of this interaction:
[Teacher Yan and Tongtong, you two never disappoint. You go months without any activity, and when you do show up, you scare the hell out of us!]
[A couple’s name this flirty and sweet was actually chosen by the main characters themselves? It completely overshadows our old CP!
I hereby submit a blood petition—let’s rename ‘Silent Gaze’ to something that actually suits the wild energy of our faves!]
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It wasn’t until the topic hit the trending list that a few fan site admins who had attended the premiere finally stepped in to explain that the couple’s names were actually part of a punishment from an event challenge.
Naturally, everyone assumed that the cringeworthy couple names had been chosen by the event’s promotional team:
[Oh, so it was a punishment! I knew it—there’s no way these two, who have been keeping such a low profile for months, would suddenly change to such an explosive CP name!]
[The event organizers are absolute geniuses. This ridiculous couple name, hahaha. More, more! I’m willing to buy two more movie tickets just for this!]
As someone who knew the truth, Gu Qingtong was well aware that the event organizers had absolutely nothing to do with this.
After all, she could still vividly recall the moment Yan Chi had caught her red-handed that night. Back then, Yan Chi had even gone so far as to change her WeChat name to that ridiculously embarrassing nickname.
From start to finish, only the two of them knew the truth! There was no doubt about who had actually changed the names.
Thinking about it now, Gu Qingtong couldn’t shake the feeling that Yan Chi had planned this all along—that she had secretly wanted to change their names to this for ages.
Of course…if she hadn’t failed the challenge first by not answering the question correctly, the punishment wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
But even if it was her fault, Yan Chi was still the one who personally changed the name!
Gu Qingtong couldn’t hold back anymore. She launched herself at Yan Chi, pouting as she complained:
“Big sister, you, you, you! Did you do this on purpose?!”
Yan Chi’s long lashes fluttered slightly. She met Gu Qingtong’s gaze unhurriedly, her lips curving into a soft, affectionate smile as she feigned innocence:
“Hm? On purpose about what?”
Gu Qingtong knew all too well that behind Yan Chi’s gentle facade lay a mischievous streak dedicated solely to teasing her.
She refused to be fooled again like before.
“These two mortifying names—only the two of us knew about them! How could you just use them like this? Wuwu!”
Her delicate brows furrowed so tightly they almost knitted together.
She wasn’t actually crying, but the way she flailed her arms and fussed made it seem like she was throwing a tantrum.
“Oh, you mean ‘Tongtong, what are you eating today?’ and ‘Today, I ate—’
Yan Chi deliberately repeated the names, but before she could finish, Gu Qingtong let out a yelp and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Ahhh! No more! You’re not allowed to say it again! Change it back right now!”
But before she could finish her outburst, she suddenly felt something soft, warm, and wet against her palm.
Startled, she yanked her hand away as if she had been electrocuted.
Her momentum disappeared in an instant. A deep blush crept up her neck, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears as she mumbled in a small voice:
“D-Don’t… lick me… It tickles…”
They were still in the backstage lounge of the premiere. In the distance, Yuan Jingyu was discussing things with the promotional team.
Even though everyone was probably used to seeing her and Yan Chi being all lovey-dovey by now, getting her palm licked in front of others was just too much for Gu Qingtong—she was utterly mortified.
The true culprit, however, remained completely at ease, as if her earlier actions had been nothing more than an attempt to answer a simple question:
“The host didn’t provide a name, and at the time, I couldn’t think of anything else on the spot. Besides, aren’t the netizens all assuming it was chosen by the event organizers? If you change it now, they’ll realize we picked it ourselves.”
Hearing this, Gu Qingtong couldn’t help but get swept along by her reasoning. She froze for a moment, realizing that what Yan Chi said actually made sense.
But that logical thought only lasted for a fleeting moment before frustration took over—she had been completely outplayed.
That damned “Today, I ate Tongtong” would haunt her for at least a week! The internet wouldn’t let her live this down!
She clung onto Yan Chi, whining dramatically:
“Wuwuwu, what do we do then? It’s ‘ate Tongtong’, not ‘ate big sister’! I’m the one getting embarrassed here! I don’t care, big sister, you fix this!”
Yan Chi, utterly unbothered by her dramatics, simply smiled and responded,
“But in the challenge earlier, Big sister also got embarrassed because of Tongtong. Now everyone knows my little secret. Why don’t you tell me what we should do first?”
Yan Chi let Gu Qingtong fuss all over her, showing not the slightest hint of impatience—if anything, she seemed to be enjoying it.
And that was exactly where she had Gu Qingtong trapped.
After all, in that earlier Q&A challenge, it had totally been her fault.
If she hadn’t messed up, with Yan Chi’s usual composure, there was no way the event organizers would have caught them off guard.
Even though she was already feeling guilty—her voice had even softened a little—Gu Qingtong still tried to weasel her way out of blame:
“The worst thing that got exposed…you were the one who actually said it out loud! S-So it’s not my fault…”
Yan Chi gently pressed down on Gu Qingtong’s hand, preventing her from sneaking it away, pulling her even closer.
In the midst of all the noise in the backstage lounge, Gu Qingtong—who had been teetering on the edge—was finally drawn fully into Yan Chi’s embrace. Her gaze locked onto Yan Chi’s, unable to look away.
“Tongtong, you’re misbehaving again.”
At those words, Gu Qingtong finally quieted down, pouting as she buried her face against Yan Chi’s shoulder. Her voice was soft and muffled:
“Fine… fine… we’re even now. We’ll just be embarrassed together, wuwu.”
That ridiculous couple’s name stayed all the way until the movie’s release a week later.
With such an unspeakable username, Gu Qingtong barely posted any selfies or updates on social media the entire week—she practically disappeared from Weibo.
The moment the week was up, she immediately changed her name back and even kept a close eye on Yan Chi to make sure she got rid of “Today, I ate Tongtong” as well.
But even though the two of them stopped using the names, their CP fans certainly didn’t. The Silent Gaze fandom went wild, remixing the names into endless variations of “Tongtong” and “Chi Chi”, freely combining them however they pleased.
—But that was a story for another time.
The Premiere of Bai Mei Sheng.
On the day of the film’s release, forums were flooded with real-time discussions. The rave reviews started pouring in immediately.
A full two hours of breathtaking cinematography—the film had been polished to perfection, with every single frame a work of art.
Gu Qingtong and Yan Chi’s performances had enthralled the audience. Though their real-life personalities were nothing like their characters, it was as if they had breathed souls into them.
Every scene between them crackled with chemistry, and even the moments that pushed the limits of censorship were executed with just the right touch.
A beauty both eerie and mesmerizing—one that bloomed in its fullest splendor, only to wither away.
And in the final snowfall, as Gu Qingtong’s character cast one last glance into the vast white abyss…
The audience sat stunned, unable to pull themselves away from the sheer impact of that moment.
She had always been skilled at channeling her emotions to influence those around her, and Yuan Jingyu magnified this strength, striking directly at the audience’s hearts.
Yan Chi, as expected, delivered a consistently stellar performance, her level of execution unwavering.
But it was Gu Qingtong’s final long take that truly ascended to legendary status.
As a newcomer, her outstanding performance took everyone by surprise—like a dark horse charging into the spotlight, seizing the attention of both the industry and the public in one fell swoop.
A long-lost gem, finally revealed in all its brilliance.
Beyond the undeniable box office success, a flood of accolades and awards followed.
This summer belonged to Gu Qingtong and Yan Chi—a season of triumph, a summer in full bloom.
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Three years later, another Golden Statue Awards ceremony arrived.
The scene of Bai Mei Sheng sweeping the awards last time was still fresh in everyone’s memory.
Not only had Yan Chi, as expected, taken home the second Best Actress award of her career, but Gu Qingtong—an unexpected dark horse in her film debut—had won Best Newcomer.
Bai Mei Sheng had become one of the most successful commercial erotica films in recent years, earning both critical and commercial acclaim.
Three years had brought countless changes.
Since Bai Mei Sheng, Gu Qingtong had skyrocketed with two consecutive blockbuster lead roles in television dramas, securing her place as a household name and an A-list actress.
But just as she reached the pinnacle of TV success, she decisively pivoted to film, leaving many confused by her choice. She simply smiled and brushed off the questions, offering no explanations.
Meanwhile, Yan Chi had taken over her family’s business, managing both Huayan Entertainment and Yan Corporation. She had not filmed a single movie in two years, gradually fading from the entertainment industry’s spotlight.
Now, after three years, the two reunited on-screen as co-leads in the art-house film Birds and Fishes.
Despite Yan Chi’s near-retirement, her return with this new project reignited the industry’s enthusiasm—her popularity had never truly waned.
And with Gu Qingtong, the reigning queen of popularity, joining her, the combination was explosive.
Birds and Fishes had been considered a niche art film, yet it surpassed Bai Mei Sheng in box office revenue.
Even more impressive than the numbers was the overwhelming praise it received.
Audiences were deeply moved by the film’s story—two souls seeking solace in each other, their emotions lingering between love and friendship. The raw authenticity of their performances left countless moviegoers in tears, turning casual viewers into passionate advocates.
As soon as the film was submitted for the Golden Statue Awards, industry insiders began speculating:
This year’s Best Actress award would undoubtedly be a battle between the two leads of Birds and Fishes.
The only question was—who would win?
When the nominations were announced, both Gu Qingtong and Yan Chi were indeed shortlisted for Best Actress.
The internet went wild with speculation.
A showdown between a rising A-list actress and an established film queen? The buzz was unprecedented.
And given their well-known relationship, the competition took on an unexpectedly amusing and lighthearted twist.
From the moment the nominations were revealed, the anticipation built for nearly a month—until finally, the awards night arrived.
The live broadcast reached record-breaking viewership, as audiences eagerly awaited the final result.
Who would claim the title of Best Actress?
The award presenter, Wu Yuzhen—an esteemed retired film queen—had turned down award show invitations for years. But this time, she agreed to present the award, as one of the nominees was her beloved protégé, Gu Qingtong.
Standing on stage, she glanced toward Gu Qingtong before deliberately drawing out the moment:
“And the nominees for Best Actress at this year’s Golden Statue Awards are—”
As a clip from Birds and Fishes featuring Yan Chi played on the screen, the room erupted in applause and cheers.
The camera panned to Yan Chi, who had been whispering something to Gu Qingtong just moments before.
Sensing the camera’s presence, she turned her head slightly, a gentle smile on her lips.
The fondness in her gaze—the deep, indulgent love—hadn’t faded in the slightest.
The so-called “fierce rivals,” hyped up by the media, were anything but. Instead, they sat side by side, radiating an unmistakable closeness.
After three years navigating the business world, Yan Chi hadn’t changed much in appearance, but her presence had deepened—steady, commanding, and quietly overwhelming.
Beside her, Gu Qingtong had shed the youthful softness of her earlier years. Time had refined her, allowing her striking beauty to bloom at just the right intensity—every glance and smile carrying an irresistible charm.
Noticing the camera, she flashed a dazzling smile, her peach blossom eyes brimming with emotion, as if daring anyone to willingly lose themselves in them.
Following Yan Chi’s nomination clip, Gu Qingtong’s segment played next.
As expected, another round of applause filled the venue.
The camera panned back to the two, this time focusing on Gu Qingtong.
Amused by the repeated focus on them, she couldn’t help but cover her mouth and laugh—a laugh so carefree that, for a moment, she resembled the endearing, soft-hearted girl whom countless “mom fans” had once adored as their beloved “daughter.”
Time had passed, yet under Yan Chi’s indulgent love, she was still the same playful, sweet-natured soul.
She knew—this was the closest she had ever been to her dream.
But because the one she was competing against was her “big sister,” it suddenly didn’t seem to matter who won.
The clips of the other nominees played one after another, and finally, Wu Yuzhen lowered her gaze to the card in her hand.
Word by word, she announced:
“The winner of the 58th Golden Statue Award for Best Actress is—”
The entire venue fell silent.
All eyes were locked on the stage, waiting for the moment of truth.
The camera flitted between Gu Qingtong and Yan Chi, capturing their reactions.
And just then—before the name was even revealed—Yan Chi suddenly leaned over and placed a quick kiss on Gu Qingtong’s cheek.
Gu Qingtong, startled, turned bright red and immediately tried to hide.
A ripple of sound spread through the audience.
And in the midst of this stir, the final name was announced—
“Yan Chi.”
Thunderous applause erupted.
Yan Chi rose gracefully, lifting the hem of her gown as she stood—not with excitement over her win, but with her gaze dropping immediately to the woman beside her.
There wasn’t a hint of disappointment on Gu Qingtong’s face.
To her, every ounce of recognition, every honor, belonged to the person she had admired and chased after her entire life.
Without hesitation, she stood with Yan Chi, eyes burning with passion.
She didn’t say a word. Instead, she threw her arms around Yan Chi in a tight embrace.
“And—Gu Qingtong!”
A collective gasp swept through the venue.
No one had expected this shocking twist—a double Best Actress win.
But then again, thinking about it, wasn’t it the most fitting outcome?
Birds and Fishes was a dual-female-lead film, and both performances had been nothing short of breathtaking. This result was the most perfect ending.
For a moment, the hall remained frozen in stunned silence.
Then, the cheers exploded, even louder than before.
Gu Qingtong, still holding onto Yan Chi, was momentarily dumbfounded.
She looked up, utterly bewildered.
On stage, a pre-recorded voice-over played, narrating the achievements of both winners.
Yan Chi, who had maintained her composed expression upon hearing her own name, finally relaxed.
Her lips curled into a smile—tender, indulgent, enough to drown someone in its warmth.
And in the midst of countless congratulations, her eyes never left Gu Qingtong as she softly murmured:
“My Tongtong did it.”
At those words, Gu Qingtong finally snapped back to reality.
Her eyes shimmered, misted with unshed tears.
A decade of hard work, a decade of chasing after the one she admired the most—
And now, finally, they stood together at the very top.
She bit her lip, tears glistening with pure joy, and nodded fiercely.
“Mm! We did it! Together, with big sister.”
Fingers tightly interlaced, they stepped forward hand in hand.
And in that moment, they shone brighter than ever before.
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