Cheng Xiao

February 5, 2026 | Shanghai · Weibo Night Backstage · Afternoon

The backstage area at Weibo Night was even more bustling than the red carpet. Staff members hurried by, clutching garment bags, while makeup artists—brush kits in hand—navigated the corridors in search of the correct artist dressing rooms. Walkie-talkies crackled with simultaneous updates: "Car pickup for the red carpet starts in fifteen minutes" and "Lin Yun says she's missing an earring—never mind, found it." The clamor filtered through the door, muffled and indistinct, like a distant, unreal hum.

Cheng Xiao’s dressing room was small; a full-length mirror stood against the wall, and draped over a chair was the nude-colored, sheer haute couture gown she would wear that evening—an AADNEVIK deep-V maxi dress, its skirt adorned with intricate hand-embroidered floral motifs and sparkling rhinestones. For the moment, it hung quietly on its hanger, waiting for its owner to slip into it and face the barrage of camera flashes. She herself was dressed in a loose white knit cardigan and black trousers; her hair was loosely pinned up, and she wore only a light base layer of makeup—a clean, almost bare-faced look, like an unpainted canvas.

She was waiting for her team to return. Her assistant and manager had gone to coordinate final adjustments to the gown, while the makeup artist had stepped out to retrieve a forgotten accessory. You were the only two left in the dressing room. You had known each other for nearly three years—ever since her days as a lead dancer for Cosmic Girls (WJSN). Through her return to China to pursue a solo career, her stint as a dance mentor on Idol Producer, and her role in Falling Into Your Smile, you had always been the person behind the scenes, out of the public eye. You were her first love and her first man. Your relationship had never been made public, yet it wasn't exactly a secret—at least, within her team, it was an open secret that everyone tacitly understood.

She stood before the full-length mirror, turning slightly to check her waistline in the reflection before shifting her gaze to look at you. In that moment, her eyes held a quiet stillness—a stark contrast to the Cheng Xiao seen on the red carpet, who was constantly faced by hundreds of cameras. “……The red carpet walk takes an hour,” she said softly, her tone as casual as if she were discussing what to have for dinner. “And then we’ll be seated inside until late.” She took a half-step toward you and reached out, resting her hand lightly on your wrist; her fingertips felt cool. “……Before they get back.” She left the sentence unfinished, but her tone—and the way she tilted her head—spoke volumes. She took your hand and drew you back toward the only sofa in the dressing room. Outside in the corridor, someone ran past—quick, sharp footsteps—before silence returned. The lock on the dressing room door clicked softly behind you.