Chapter 43
Qin Yao nodded firmly. Xu Chun’s spirits lifted, and she asked quickly, “Does it have to be at night? Can’t it be now? I have time right now.” She blinked innocently. “Sister, do you still have other things to take care of?”
Three impatient questions fired off in rapid succession, and even Qin Yao was silent for a long moment.
In the end, Qin Yao shot her down without mercy. “I still have work during the day.” With that, her deep, narrow eyes flicked toward the livestream device Xu Chun had set aside. Xu Chun caught the hint, grinned, and rushed to defend herself: “I turned the livestream off ages ago.”
“Don’t worry,” she assured Qin Yao.
She’d shut off the stream the moment Sheng Yigui came over. She’d originally planned to settle accounts with him properly. Who’d have guessed he’d fold so fast? Not only had he apologized so nicely, but he’d also dropped such a bombshell.
Qin Yao seemed at a loss for words, but in the end she stuck to her principle: “We’ll talk at night.”
Xu Chun was disappointed, but since night wasn’t far off, she nodded with eyes gleaming. Once Qin Yao had said her piece, she turned and went off to work. Xu Chun sat in the car thinking for a while, then drove back to the hotel.
She’d just parked when she ran straight into Jiang Zhaolie coming the other way. Xu Chun greeted her and moved to pass, but after two steps she stopped and called out to Jiang Zhaolie: “Has Yu Sui’an ever let slip any little secrets to you before?”
Jiang Zhaolie looked at her, baffled. “?” What little secrets?
Xu Chun wanted to figure out whether Yu Sui’an knew about her own origins. The gossip had run rampant at her old school, so there was no way Yu Sui’an hadn’t heard something. The key question was whether she’d ever investigated her background over the years, or whether she’d successfully found her fabulously wealthy biological father.
If it was the former, fine. But if it was the latter…
Xu Chun almost didn’t dare imagine what Yu Sui’an might become once armed with power and status.
Jiang Zhaolie didn’t quite understand what she was getting at. She frowned unconsciously. “Is Yu Sui’an supposed to have told me some secret?”
Her expression made it clear the answer was no. Fair enough. She and Yu Sui’an had fallen out before anything had even gotten off the ground, and who knew when the two of them would ever own up, apologize, and make peace. Perhaps Yu Sui’an hadn’t had time back then before the two turned into enemies.
“Nothing,” Xu Chun said perfunctorily. “Just asking. Nothing particularly important.”
The more she said that, the less Jiang Zhaolie believed her. She stood frozen, staring after Xu Chun until she vanished. Had Yu Sui’an confided something to Xu Chun recently?
A vague, inexplicable sense of crisis surged in her heart. Her feelings for Xu Chun were muddled and complicated, which was why she was quietly biding her time. That didn’t mean she was happy to see Yu Sui’an beat her to the punch.
She and Yu Sui’an had torn away all pretense of civility; they were practically enemies. Anything Yu Sui’an wanted to do, anyone she wanted to win over, Jiang Zhaolie didn’t want her to get her way.
She’d never so badly wanted to oppose someone, to watch them fall hard from a great height, to see them lose everything and everyone.
Her eyes darkened. Jiang Zhaolie turned, picked up her phone, and dialed a number. “Look into something for me.”
Ever since Qin Yao dangled that carrot, Xu Chun had been impatiently waiting for night to fall. After returning to the hotel, she turned on her livestream, and the comments flooded in: 【What have you been sneaking around doing behind our backs again? That’s way too cold of you—we’re this close, what can’t you tell us?】
【Have you all noticed that Sister Xu’s gotten smoother and smoother at cutting the stream lately? Before, she’d at least do it once a day, but now she cuts it at the drop of a hat, several times a day, and who knows what shady things she’s up to after the stream’s cut.】
【Seconded! If you don’t give us a proper explanation today, we’re going to riot!】
The backlash in the comments was overwhelming. Xu Chun took a sip of hot water, without a hint of shame, and shamelessly brushed off the audience: “This phone’s signal isn’t great—that’s an act of God, nothing I can do about it.”
She protested, “Don’t you think I’d love to livestream for you twenty-four hours a day, chat and shoot the breeze, strengthen our bond? But the carrier just won’t cooperate—what can I do?”
“My hands are tied!”
She lied through her teeth, tossing the blame to the carrier without batting an eye. Just then a colored comment sent a gift and typed: 【Me, me—I’m a carrier. Sister Xu, send your address and I’ll immediately dispatch someone to deliver every phone on the market to you. I refuse to believe a few dozen phones streaming at once could all have bad signal at the same time.】
Xu Chun was instantly full of question marks: “???” A few dozen phones streaming at once? Are you trying to work this little cutie to death?
【I’m a carrier too—Sister Xu, send your location and I’ll bring you a phone.】
【I’ll send Sister Xu a laptop with mobile network.】
【I’ll send Sister Xu a telecom company to develop a mobile signal that never drops for her.】
【I’ll crowdfund a whole planet for Sister Xu, with the mobile signal the big shot above mentioned covering the entire globe. As long as Sister Xu never goes offline, everything’s negotiable.】
A crowd behind immediately jumped on the bandwagon with wild nonsense. As the comments grew more and more absurd, Xu Chun’s eye twitched. “I’ll politely decline—no need to send phones or computers. I think Director Guo’s phone works just fine.”
She refused cleanly, but the comments paid no heed. They immediately called the production team, got Xu Chun’s address, and had the goods delivered to her hotel within the hour.
Xu Chun looked at the cartload of stuff. “…” Could, but no need.
But the things had already arrived, so Xu Chun had no choice but to face the camera and say, “I really don’t need this much—I only have two hands, and I’m usually by myself anyway. Where would I even put all these phones and computers? Let them gather dust in a corner?”
Comments: 【You can strap them to your body.】
Xu Chun: “?”
Amazing. A real talent.
Her eyelid twitched, and she ruthlessly dumped the pile in a corner. “Thanks for the kind thoughts, everyone. If the sponsors agree, I’ll give all the phones away as holiday gifts another day.”
The sponsors expressed no objections, so Xu Chun posted a Weibo raffle, with the draw set for three days later when she’d be back.
Once the Weibo post went out, the reposts and comments grew at a terrifying rate and didn’t stop until very late, once again redefining everyone’s understanding of Xu Chun’s popularity. If anyone asked who the hottest person in the entertainment industry was now, it was none other than Xu Chun.
With the boost of two dating reality shows, Xu Chun’s fanbase kept growing and her mainstream recognition kept expanding. Thanks to the dramatic reversal in the breakup with Yu Sui’an, Xu Chun had gone from the guilty party to the wronged party, winning a wave of sympathy that made her old fans’ loyalty even stronger and new fans’ affection purer.
Xu Chun’s longtime fans were filled with mixed emotions seeing her current situation, marveling at how hard-won her journey to today had been.
All the setbacks of the past hadn’t defeated her; the road ahead was bound to shine brilliantly, dazzling beyond measure.
While the fans were busy sighing over it, Xu Chun waited all day until nightfall, and finally Qin Yao finished her work and returned to the hotel. The moment she got word, Xu Chun immediately slipped over.
Qin Yao was in the hotel’s meeting room. The door was ajar, not fully closed. Xu Chun curved her knuckles and tapped lightly on the door. When a cool “Come in” came from inside, Xu Chun perked up and slowly pushed the door open with her pale hand. “Sister, I’m here.”
She smiled brightly, and only after entering did she realize Qin Yao was standing tall and graceful in the dim light, drinking water. Her slender neck tilted slightly, eyelids half-lowered, and a single light glance sent her way carried an inexplicable sense of pressure and disdain. Xu Chun’s heart itched at the sight. After craving it for so long, she took the initiative: “Sister, you…”
She trailed off, both wanting to know the truth and afraid that asking too directly would put Qin Yao off. For a moment her brows knitted together, and she hemmed and hawed, hesitant.
“You’re curious?” Qin Yao didn’t answer right away; instead she asked with a hint of interest.
Of course! Xu Chun answered silently in her heart. Would anyone not be curious about this? As a veteran gossip, Qin Yao’s marital status and Jiang Zhaolie’s biological father were arguably the most interesting topics in the entire book.
But in front of Qin Yao, she still had to show some restraint. So Xu Chun smiled bashfully. “I’m not really curious—I just care about you more, sister.”
“So anything about your past or your news, sister—I want to know every last word.”
The girl’s little schemes had more twists and turns than a mountain road. Round and round she went, clearly dying to know, yet insisting on pretending to be calm and rational. Qin Yao’s red lips curved slightly. “Since you’re not curious, then I won’t say it.”
Xu Chun: “?” I’ve already taken my pants off, and this is what I get?
Her expression instantly turned more colorful than a paint palette, successfully amusing Qin Yao. Seeing that Qin Yao truly didn’t intend to say anything, Xu Chun gritted her teeth and had no choice but to brazen it out: “I’m actually quite curious—just don’t know if you’re willing to tell me, sister.”
“Is this very important to you?” Qin Yao suddenly asked. The gaze she fixed on Xu Chun gradually deepened, her dark, unreadable eyes shifting, a dangerous intent creeping into the pitch-black depths.
Xu Chun blanked at the question, then instinctively nodded.
Important and not important. Important because she wanted to know, wanted to very, very much. Not important because she and Qin Yao had no real connection, weren’t even that close; Qin Yao hardly seemed obligated to share her private affairs with a near-stranger she’d met only a few times.
“I’m not her biological mother.”
When Qin Yao spoke, it was either silence or a nuclear bomb, leaving Xu Chun’s head spinning, unable to react for a long while. “???”
What the hell? Qin Yao wasn’t Jiang Zhaolie’s biological mother?!
Then who were Jiang Zhaolie’s biological parents? How had Jiang Zhaolie ended up as Qin Yao’s child, been brought back to the country by her, and then handed over to the Jiang family to raise?
Xu Chun only had to think a little to realize that Jiang Zhaolie’s origins were likely a forbidden topic that couldn’t be mentioned around Qin Yao.
Wait—how come both female leads, Jiang Zhaolie and Yu Sui’an, had problematic backgrounds? As the villainous supporting character who stirred up the most trouble in the original novel, was her own background also problematic? Maybe she wasn’t actually her parents’ biological child—when she was born, a nurse accidentally switched her with Yu Sui’an or Jiang Zhaolie, changing the fates of all three children.
Or maybe she was actually Qin Yao’s biological child…
No way! A forbidden romance is a no-go! It’d never pass censorship!
The more Xu Chun imagined, the more absurd it got. She couldn’t help but raise a hand to rub her brow. It must be those trashy old novels He Qingli had been recommending lately, too full of melodrama, making her fantasize like this.
Her expression shifted endlessly, one moment blank, the next frowning, the next giving Qin Yao a strange, suspicious once-over. Qin Yao didn’t need to guess. She knew the wild horses in Xu Chun’s head had already broken loose and galloped off somewhere.
She cut off Xu Chun’s chaotic imaginings: “She’s actually the child of an old friend of mine.”
Xu Chun snapped back to her senses. “Thank goodness—” No, she swallowed and promptly changed tack: “Then why didn’t your friend raise her herself? Why give the baby to you to bring back and raise?”
“That friend of mine has already passed away.” Qin Yao’s tone was faint, but Xu Chun was stunned.
“Back then, she and I went abroad together. We were both excellent students… no, strictly speaking, her grades were better than mine, her mind sharper, her abilities stronger in every respect. She was outstanding, but her family was extremely poor. Her mother was mentally ill, and her father had been paralyzed from the waist down when an accident during an operation at the factory crippled him.”
“Her family was so poor they couldn’t put food on the table, and she was a tiny baby waiting to be fed. The neighbors couldn’t bear to watch her starve, so they often fed her; she was raised on the kindness of a hundred households from the moment she was born.”
“Despite such a difficult lot in life, she grew up exceptionally clever. You could call her a genius.” Qin Yao sank into her memories, recalling the first time she’d seen Jiang Zhaolie’s biological mother at school. “When she entered my school, she was much younger than most of the students, but she was so brilliant that she skipped three grades in a row and the school made an exception to admit her, making her my senior, the youngest student in the school’s history.”
“At first everyone dismissed her, but in no time at all she stood out and proved herself, changing everyone’s attitude toward her. Later, the school launched a two-year exchange program abroad, and both she and I were selected.”
“She was in a higher grade, but about the same age as me, so we became good friends and went abroad together.”
Qin Yao’s tone had been calm, but now her voice suddenly dropped, as if harboring endless fury. “She should have had a bright future. She could have grown up smoothly and safely, blossomed into an outstanding talent, and changed her own fate. But not long after she went abroad, she fell in love with a man.”
“She was besotted with that man, reckless, even setting aside her studies, thinking only of dating him and being lovey-dovey every day. Then she accidentally got pregnant with his child, and she couldn’t bear to abort it no matter what.”
Remembering how the other had begged and pleaded, wailing and weeping, Qin Yao couldn’t suppress the chill radiating from her; the air around them seemed to drop several degrees. “But she didn’t stop to think. That man was over forty, and she was a child barely past ten. How could they ever be together?”
“She remained obstinate and unrepentant, until the eighth month of her pregnancy, when the man’s wife showed up at her door. Only then did she discover she’d been deceived. I thought she’d cut ties with him after that, have nothing more to do with him, but she insisted over and over that their love was real, that he’d promised to divorce his wife once she gave birth.”
“She said he’d give her a complete and happy family.”
She was just too young, fooled so easily.
The outcome was predictable: she gave birth to Jiang Zhaolie, but the man didn’t keep his word. Not only that, he came to fight for custody of the child.
The man was already so heartless and cruel, yet she still loved him desperately, and in the end she was even willing to give the child to him. Until later, when she inadvertently discovered that the man’s wife had been unable to conceive all along—that the man had come to her only because he wanted a healthy, excellent breeding tool to carry on his line.
But when she learned the truth, the first thing that came to her mind wasn’t to condemn the scumbag, to curse him or beat him. It was unbearable pain, an endless agonizing over why the man didn’t love her.
Her focus was skewed, and in the end, without any warning to Qin Yao, she jumped straight from a building and ended her life in its prime.
When Qin Yao got the news, she dropped her textbooks and rushed over, but she was already gone.
Just like that, she ruthlessly let down the hopes of the whole village, abandoned the child she’d carried for ten months and brought into the world with such difficulty, and went off on her own, free and unburdened.
Qin Yao couldn’t stand it. After burying her, she used her family connections to seize the child back with thunderous means, and schemed to make the faithless scumbag’s life worse than death.
It was the first time she’d ever moved against someone, the first time she’d trampled another person underfoot like an ant, leaving them unable to ever rise again. But what good did it do? She still couldn’t bring back the life of a young woman with boundless promise.
She watched helplessly as the brilliant, beautiful girl vanished before her eyes, powerless to stop it.
Later, after Qin Yao got the child back, she took the baby and returned home overnight, handing her to the current head of the Jiang family and his wife to raise. She never deliberately disclosed Jiang Zhaolie’s origins, even when rumors from the outside had turned outright malicious.
Xu Chun listened in a daze. Qin Yao’s account was calm, but the truth was so tragic it made one sigh.
“She had a lovely name,” Qin Yao said softly. “Wen Xiangyang.”
What a pity that Wen Xiangyang, with such a lovely name and such a radiant life, had passed away before she could see the spring sun rise, leaving not a single trace of her own in the world.
She came unnoticed and went unnoticed, not stirring a single ripple.
Qin Yao lowered her lashes slightly. Perhaps the bad memories of so long ago had resurfaced, for her mood wasn’t good. Xu Chun hesitated, then gently hugged her. “Sister, you’ve done more than enough.”
“You gave Sister Wen Xiangyang a new legacy, and you raised Jiang Zhaolie so well…” Xu Chun’s voice caught; she couldn’t bring herself to keep praising. Strictly speaking, Jiang Zhaolie was just like her mother, a hopeless romantic through and through.
Right now—if not for some unclear reason changing Yu Sui’an’s feelings for her—Jiang Zhaolie in the original novel wasn’t much better.
Abandoning her company to chase her wife, and for love driving Qin Yao—who had saved her life and raised and taught her—to her death. Could you call that anything but ingratitude?
Just thinking about it made Xu Chun feel indignant on Qin Yao’s behalf.
She paused, then forced herself to change the subject: “Jiang Zhaolie is truly blessed beyond eight lifetimes to have met you.”
Whatever the two said after that, Jiang Zhaolie couldn’t quite hear clearly. She felt as if struck by lightning, nearly unable to stand steady. She staggered, lost and dazed, her whole body cold and weak, managing not to look too pathetic only by bracing herself against the wall.
She’d never imagined that one day she and Qin Yao would have no relation at all. She’d never imagined she and Qin Yao shared no blood tie whatsoever.
Then again… if Qin Yao were her biological mother, how young would she have had to be to give birth to her? Wouldn’t that fit those vicious rumors from the outside world?
Now that she wasn’t Qin Yao’s biological child, those rumors and whispers targeting Qin Yao would naturally dissipate.
That was good.
Jiang Zhaolie smiled bitterly, her mind a complete muddle. In the end, she didn’t even know how she left.
Her heart sank into an icy pit. Her hands and feet went numb, her brain like a crashed machine, unable to think about anything anymore. She walked alone down the corridor, lost and desolate, and suddenly felt the corridor was so very long—so long she could barely see the road ahead, could barely see her own future.
Now that she’d lost Qin Yao… Jiang Zhaolie’s eyes stung. She had nothing.
Without Qin Yao, she was nothing at all.
President Jiang? A Forbes rich-list celebrity? Those worldly titles were nothing but things Qin Yao had bestowed on her. And without Qin Yao, every halo around her would vanish entirely.
Qin Yao actually hadn’t mentioned this matter for a very, very long time—so long that now, when she spoke of it again, the anger and indignation of back then, along with her timidity toward love, her disappointment, and her fear, had all faded with the passage of time, no longer stirring a single ripple in her heart.
That matter had indeed happened long ago—so long ago that Jiang Zhaolie was now grown up, capable of standing on her own.
She pulled her emotions back from the past, and Qin Yao’s deep eyes settled on Xu Chun once more. She gazed at Xu Chun, who was gently hugging her in comfort, and the curve of her red lips was unreadable. “The story’s over…”
A bad premonition rose in Xu Chun’s heart immediately. She instinctively tried to pull away, but Qin Yao’s long, slender fingers pressed against her waist first. The unfamiliar warmth passed through the fabric where it touched Xu Chun, and Xu Chun’s insides quivered; she struggled even harder on reflex.
I’m dead, I’m dead! This is where I die!
The pressure of Qin Yao’s palm increased slightly, effortlessly pinning Xu Chun into her embrace and locking her in place. The woman’s husky voice was magnetic, unbearably pleasant and alluring: “Time to settle accounts.”
TL Note:
veteran gossip (吃瓜) = internet slang for an onlooker who enjoys watching drama or gossip.
dangled that carrot (画饼) = literally "draw a cake"; making an empty promise or giving false hope.
"I’ve already taken my pants off, and this is what I get?" (裤子都脱了，您就给我说这个？) = internet meme expressing disappointment when something is hyped up and then turns out anticlimactic.
raised on the kindness of a hundred households (吃百家饭) = a phrase for a poor child raised by neighbors/community because the family couldn’t provide.