The living room was silent.
Qiu Qiu sat cross-legged on the soft sofa, holding Su Yu's personal phone in her hands, her cheeks flushed with focused redness.
She was immersed in an almost dizzying sense of fulfillment.
As a diehard fan, she knew everything about Su Yu like the back of her hand.
The directors she had worked with, her genuine friends in the industry, and the rivals who were polite on the surface yet subtly hostile in private—
She handled these private messages and comments with almost instinctive familiarity.
She knew exactly which seniors required respectful replies, which peers warranted only brief responses, and which fan messages were worth replying to.
An idol became an idol not only because people looked up to them spiritually, but also because they embodied the illusion of one's own desires.
That was how Qiu Qiu felt about Su Yu.
At that moment, she was experiencing a kind of spiritual "possession."
It was as if she had truly become one with that radiant goddess for a moment, taking her place to receive the love and praise of the entire world, basking in glory as vast as crashing waves.
This ultimate fan experience made even her fingertips burn slightly as they touched the screen.
Once she had finished replying for the moment, she realized her mouth was dry.
She put down the phone and got up, heading toward the open kitchen.
Water flowed into the glass with a soft splash.
She turned off the faucet and took a sip.
The surroundings fell silent again.
Then—
An extremely faint, intermittent sound drifted down the deep hallway.
Though this century-old apartment in the 16th Arrondissement of Paris had been renovated and had excellent soundproofing, it still retained the structure of an old building.
In the profound silence