Su Wan sat on the edge of the bed, her phone screen still glowing. In the memo app, a single line lay quietly: “Title: A Guide to Avoiding Pitfalls for Yellow-Skinned Star-Lovers | Never Buy These Three Liquid Foundations.” She pondered for a moment. Her fingertip hovered over the keyboard; after a brief hesitation, she decided to note that the first video was indeed inappropriate.

She took a soft breath, cupped her phone in her palm, stood up, and pushed open the door, walking into the living room.

Su Chen was curled up on the sofa, watching a soccer match. He held half a can of Coke in his hand, his eyes glued to the TV, muttering under his breath, “Is the referee blind or what? It’s obvious he’s offside, yet he can’t even see it!”

Su Wan walked over and sat down beside him. Without saying a word, she reached out and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, hitting the mute button.

“Hey!” Su Chen turned his head. “What are you doing? We’re at the crucial moment!”

“Brother, I really need to use the phone tomorrow,” she held up the old fruit-shaped phone right in front of his eyes, her voice soft but firm. “If you’re not comfortable with it, I’ll write you an IOU right now—sign it with your fingerprint if you like.”

Su Chen sat up straighter and tossed the Coke into the trash can with a loud thud. He looked at her and said, “Are you serious? You’re going to shoot a video with my crappy phone? The front camera is so blurry it looks like a mosaic puzzle.”

“I’m not taking selfies,” she smiled, placing the phone between them. “I’m filming content. As long as the shot is clear, that’s all that matters.”

“So how exactly are you planning to shoot it? On a clothesline? Or maybe by putting it on the kitchen stove while you’re cooking and talking?”

Su Wan kept her tone calm. “First I’ll register the account and decide on the direction. I just finished drafting the outline for the script.”

Su Chen stared at her for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “You’re actually getting started? I thought last night you were just saying it on a whim, trying to scare me into not bringing up City S.”

The living room fell silent for a moment. The TV screen kept flickering—the players were running, the crowd was cheering—but no one bothered to press the resume button.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. If you want to use it, go ahead.”

“And one more thing,” he pointed at her. “Don’t use it to film anything weird or bizarre. If I ever find a bunch of failed shots in your photo album—eyeliner drawn like earthworms—I’ll be heartbroken.”

“Get lost,” Su Wan rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Everything I’m going to shoot is something that can really help people. No filters, no fancy sets—just stuff ordinary folks can easily follow.”

“Oh?” He perked up. “So what are you planning to talk about?”

“The first one: ‘An 8 a.m. commuter faux no-makeup look.’” She unlocked her phone and opened the browser. “The key is how to get ready in five minutes, looking like you haven’t put on any makeup at all—while still hiding dark circles, minimizing pores, and boosting your complexion. And all the products I’ll be using are affordable, easily available for under fifty yuan.”

Su Chen was taken aback. “You’ve actually been researching this?”

“Who else would I research it with?” she said as she scrolled through the information. “Do you think everyone wakes up at 7:50, puts on their shoes at 7:55, and heads out without even washing their face? Most people are just like me—they can’t get up early, and they certainly can’t show up at work with greasy hair. They need a little bit of gentle help.”

“So you’re not going the influencer route?” he asked.

“I don’t make a living off my looks,” she closed the webpage, her tone crisp and straightforward. “And I’m not going to spout those ‘ladies, this is only for the elite’ kind of flashy, wealth-showing rhetoric. I’m just going to talk about things ordinary people can actually use—cheap, effective, and easy to replicate. Anyone can learn it, and anyone can feel a little bit lighter.”

Su Wan lowered her head and began cleaning up her phone. She plugged in the charger, and the screen lit up, showing only twelve percent battery life. Then she opened the photo album, which was packed with pictures Su Chen had saved over the years—smoky scenes from hotpot restaurants, smiling faces from friends’ gatherings, screenshots from games, and even a few random photos of cats. She deleted them one by one, moving slowly but steadily.

After uninstalling three games, two food-delivery apps, and a social media app she hadn’t used in ages, there was finally plenty of free space in the memory.

The system felt a bit smoother now, so she opened the app store and searched for “C.me.”

The download process was a bit slow, the progress bar inching forward little by little. But instead of just waiting, she went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of warm water. When she came back, the download was already complete.

End of Chapter 5: Chapter 5