Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, before anyone could react, the figure on the red carpet had already vanished in the blink of an eye.
The host stood frozen, microphone in hand, mouth slightly agape.
With over a decade of hosting experience, he’d seen all sorts of unexpected situations—but never anything like this.
First, an unfamiliar young actress, likely left behind by some film crew, had suddenly appeared. Relying on his quick wit, he’d smoothly guided her to the backdrop for a signature—only for her to bolt before even writing her name. She ran… just like that… gone.
Gu Ran, clad in ten-centimeter heels, sprinted at an astonishing speed, repeatedly muttering “Sorry, sorry!” as she weaved past one backstage staff member after another, setting a personal record for the fastest escape of her life.
Once she reached the outside of the venue and confirmed no one was around, Gu Ran finally stopped to catch her breath.
Her phone buzzed insistently from her clutch.
She answered.
Ding Ze’s voice crackled through the line: “Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you here yet? The red carpet’s almost over!”
Hearing his frantic tone, Gu Ran recalled the disaster that had just unfolded and, overwhelmed, smacked her forehead against the venue’s outer wall.
“I’m done. I’m really done.”
“There’s no future for me anymore. I need to disappear, change my name, go somewhere no one knows me—and never come out again.”
Ding Ze was startled by Gu Ran’s sudden existential crisis. “What happened? Where are you right now?”
Gu Ran glanced around, sniffling. “Twin Stadium.”
“Twin Stadium?” Ding Ze repeated. “That’s correct…”
Then it hit him. “Holy shit! Don’t tell me you went to the South Hall!”
True to its name, Twin Stadium had two halls—North and South. Today, the Cat’s Paw Carnival was being held in the North Hall, while the Golden Feather Awards ceremony took place in the South Hall.
Gu Ran looked up at the sign above her that read “Twin South” and replied miserably, “Yeah.”
Ding Ze exhaled in relief. “It’s fine. Send me your location; I’ll come get you.”
“You’re not the only one. Several Cat’s Paw streamers got dropped off at the wrong place by their drivers today. Just come back—no big deal.”
A glimmer of hope flickered in Gu Ran’s voice. “R-really?”
Ding Ze: “Really.”
Gu Ran sniffled again. “But… did they walk the wrong red carpet too?”
Silence.
Then, slowly, Ding Ze typed out a single “?”
As far as he knew, the other Cat’s Paw streamers who’d gone to the wrong venue had been stopped at the entrance when their invitations didn’t match, realizing their mistake before stepping foot inside.
A sinking feeling hit Ding Ze. He rapid-fired three questions:
“You weren’t stopped?”
“You went in?”
“You… walked it?”
Gu Ran’s silence was answer enough.
Silence meant confirmation.
Ding Ze staggered back, clutching his chest as if in dire need of a heart attack pill.
Gu Ran: “I swear I didn’t mean to.”
Ding Ze’s face twisted, already envisioning the flood of scathing headlines: “Desperate low-tier streamer shamelessly crashes awards red carpet.”
Every industry had its hierarchy, and in the entertainment world, celebrities sat comfortably above online streamers. If a star had accidentally walked the Cat’s Paw Carnival’s red carpet, it might’ve been laughed off as a harmless mix-up. But for a streamer to “mistakenly” stroll onto a prestigious awards show’s red carpet? No one would believe it wasn’t intentional.
Ding Ze: “I’ll draft an apology statement for you first.”
Gu Ran was on the verge of tears.
Hanging up, she kicked off her heels, carrying them in one hand as she trudged barefoot, head bowed, from the South Hall toward the North Hall.
The awards ceremony had already begun, leaving the area outside the venue nearly empty. After walking for a while, Gu Ran finally encountered a small group of fans who seemed to be running late.
They huddled together, whispering and eyeing Gu Ran before nudging one forward as their representative.
“Miss, could we take a photo with you?”
Gu Ran lifted her head.
The fans immediately noticed her dejected expression.
Forcing a smile, she replied, “Don’t waste time on me. The show’s started—hurry inside.”
One concerned fan pulled a tissue from her bag and handed it to Gu Ran.
Gu Ran accepted it. “Thank you.”
The stadium was massive. It took Gu Ran nearly half an hour to circle from the South Hall to the North Hall.
By then, the Cat’s Paw Carnival attendees had all entered, leaving only security outside.
When Ding Ze came jogging out to meet her, Gu Ran’s pent-up emotions finally overflowed, her nose stinging with unshed tears.
The entire walk, she’d agonized over every possible outcome, each one leading to the same conclusion: she was screwed.
A hundred thousand people were about to tear into her, calling her shameless, delusional, and utterly unworthy.
Since enrolling in Yingde International High School, the two words she’d heard most often were “not worthy.”
A driver’s daughter didn’t belong at Yingde. A driver’s daughter had no right to be under Ji Shiyu’s protection. Later, it became: she wasn’t fit to stand beside Ji Shiyu, didn’t deserve the privileged life she had, and certainly had no business being with him.
Gu Ran hung her head before Ding Ze. “I’m sorry.”
“I caused trouble for you again.”
Ding Ze sighed in relief upon seeing her. “Relax—no one’s cursing you out yet.”
“Huh?” Gu Ran looked up, incredulous.
Ding Ze: “You and King Prawn should thank each other.”
Gu Ran: “W-why?”
Ding Ze: “He proved you didn’t crash the red carpet on purpose.”
“And you proved there’s someone in this world with even worse social embarrassment than him.”
Baffled, Gu Ran pulled up Weibo and found the trending topic related to her:
#Cat’s Paw’s Top Beauty, Humanity’s Most Cringe-Worthy Moment#
Turns out, she wasn’t the only one who’d gone to the wrong place. King Prawn had also messed up—while livestreaming to 100,000 viewers his debut strut down the red carpet in a custom 100,000-yuan suit. The moment he reached the entrance, the stone-faced Golden Feather Awards security had stopped him, bluntly stating that despite his dapper attire, his face “clearly didn’t belong.” The awkward scene had sent his livestreaming room into hysterics, even landing him a low-ranking trending topic.
But just thirty minutes later, someone topped King Prawn’s embarrassment.
This person had somehow slipped past security, strolling unimpeded down the red carpet. At first, she’d smiled confidently—until her expression grew increasingly uneasy, as if sensing something was off. When the host asked her to sign the backdrop, she finally looked up at the giant lettering overhead and realized her mistake.
She set down the pen, bowed apologetically to the crowd, and then… sprinted away.
Gu Ran now saw her own mortified, wide-eyed expression—captured in a close-up meme with the caption “I’m moving to the moon ASAP”—alongside a GIF of her fleeing in those sky-high heels.
The comment section was buzzing:
【LMAO this expression of realizing something’s wrong but still stubbornly pressing forward is killing me】
【This is literally me walking into the wrong classroom on the first day of school】
【As expected of Cat Paw’s top male and female streamers, even their embarrassing moments come in pairs hahaha】
【OMG is this what we call competitive embarrassment now? Hahahaha】
【Honestly, I totally get why security let her through. I would’ve done the same—she’s stunning】
【Damn! Wang Daxia getting stopped is feeling personally attacked right now】
Y’all might be laughing, but that figure running away at the end? I’m deceased.
【Her visuals are next-level. Not a single person doubted her when she walked up, and the host clearly mistook her for some rising starlet】
...
Gu Ran finished scrolling through her trending topics and let out a complicated sigh.
At least being laughed at was better than being hated on, right?
She returned to the Cat Paw Carnival venue, where a few male streamers were live-streaming games outside. She had her own private lounge.
Gu Ran checked her fan group chat on her phone. Everyone had been laughing at her mix-up, the mood light and cheerful—until someone reposted a photo from Weibo.
【Fck, guys, stop laughing. This broke me.】
The photo showed a young woman in a gown outside the venue, holding her heels in one hand and lifting her skirt with the other, walking barefoot, alone and visibly dejected.
It was clearly taken after she’d walked the wrong red carpet.
The loneliness and sadness in the image were palpable, even through the screen.
The reason for her low spirits wasn’t hard to guess: the awkwardness of being in the wrong place, and the overwhelming fear of being accused of gatecrashing the event.
Gu Ran watched as the laughter in her fan group instantly turned into waves of heartfelt comfort.
【Ranran, it’s okay! Don’t be scared!】
【I’m crying rn, I just want to hug her】
【Brb, gonna send Wang Daxia a “Carnival” gift. If it weren’t for him, how would she even explain this?】
【Let’s not start fan wars, guys. Even if we think it, don’t go around saying Ranran’s prettier than any of the actresses on that red carpet】
【Got it.】
Gu Ran was moved to tears.
Were there any fans better than this in the entire world?
She rubbed her sore eyes as a knock sounded at the door.
Assuming it was Ding Ze, she called out, “Come in.”
But it was Ji Shiyu who entered, holding a box.
Gu Ran frowned at the sight of him, quickly schooling her expression and straightening her posture. “What are you doing here?”
Ji Shiyu didn’t answer. Instead, he knelt in front of her, opened the box, and revealed a pair of russet-brown flat loafers inside.
Gu Ran froze at the sight.
Ji Shiyu looked up, took in her slightly reddened eyes, and sighed softly. In a low voice, he said, “It’s alright now. Everything’s fine.”
