Ding Mu Arrested#
This incident where Le Yiqiu was blacklisted across the entire internet came to a close with Ding Mu’s imprisonment.
A person who had lost his backing, having offended so many people before, how could he possibly walk away unscathed?
If he had kept himself clean, it might have been one thing, but any one of the things he did in the past was enough to put him away for two or three years. Sentencing him to over a decade was going easy on him.
Yu Man didn’t divorce him at first. It wasn’t until everything was settled—compensations paid and apologies made—that she finally divorced Ding Mu. She had done more than enough.
Le Yiqiu didn’t dwell on the matter for long. Online comments about her mostly called her ruthless, but there weren’t really any biased remarks.
After all, whether it was her looks or her work, she was impeccable. All those previous attacks were just baseless speculation.
After venting their frustrations, people felt refreshed, and she could focus on her own affairs in peace.
Lin Xianing had recently selected a script and was heading to a script reading session, along with some pre-production activities.
Le Yiqiu, meanwhile, was preparing to head abroad with Teacher Tu Sheng for filming at any moment.
The movie’s shoot was tentatively scheduled for April 17th, expected to last three months.
For a film, pre-production and post-production are the tricky parts; the main shooting phase in the middle actually doesn’t take too long.
But three months was too long for a young couple to be apart—it meant she wouldn’t see Lin Xianing for those entire three months.
And since she’d be shooting overseas, not domestically, meeting up would be even harder.
Le Yiqiu hadn’t even left the country yet, and she was already missing Lin Xianing.
Lin Xianing’s film wouldn’t start shooting until June, and it would probably take three or four months too, meaning the two wouldn’t see each other often for over half a year.
On top of that, while she was assisting Tu Sheng, Zhao Yu would help prepare the shoot for When Flowers Fall.
This film wasn’t a big production; it required limited locations and could be shot at Jianglin Film City, probably wrapping in two or three months.
Le Yiqiu couldn’t oversee the entire prep herself, so she had Zhao Yu handle the basics, and she’d take over when she returned.
These days, Le Yiqiu was listing out items: clothes and props needed for the crew—rent what could be rented, buy what couldn’t, and make what couldn’t be bought.
Many things from an opera troupe couldn’t be purchased; they’d have to be borrowed.
She spent a whole week just on the props list to cover everything needed.
Then there was crew prep, but she wasn’t worried about that at all. She was using Teacher Tu Sheng’s team, which had plenty of talented people who excelled at prep work.
The most crucial permits were quickly obtained with the teacher’s help, and venue rentals were no issue.
She just needed to return from abroad to start casting actors and setting up locations.
Procuring all the items on her list wouldn’t happen overnight anyway. The venue she wanted was currently in use by another crew; she’d get it after they wrapped and cleared out.
Zhao Yu was handling these matters, so she didn’t need to stress.
As for casting, after showing Zhao Yu the roles, Zhao Yu compiled a list for her to choose from.
Of course, these were just invitations; whether people accepted was another story.
Then came auditions and finalizing actors, which required Le Yiqiu’s presence.
For now, they could start with invitations and schedule auditions.
These would definitely happen after her return. Even a rough calculation showed how much she had lined up—probably no free time this year.
Lin Xianing had her own film to shoot, plus other engagements; she’d be busy for at least half a year.
Beyond the movie, Lin Xianing had other matters.
She had officially renamed all her businesses to start with “Summer,” unifying them under the Summer Group umbrella.
As chairman of Summer Group, even with Kang Han and her secretarial team handling most things, she still had responsibilities.
Between acting and Summer Group work, Lin Xianing was bound to be swamped.
In short, the two would be apart far more than together in the coming days. The thought of rarely being together was heartbreaking.
As departure loomed, the reluctance grew endlessly with each passing day.
But thinking of them shining in their respective fields, striving together toward their goals, there was nothing but reluctance—no regrets.
……
After wrapping the show recording, Lin Xianing’s schedule picked up.
Some commitments were in Jianglin, others in different cities or even abroad.
Lin Xianing hadn’t been home for several days.
That’s life as an artist: one city in the morning, another by afternoon.
Lin Xianing had it relatively easy—her schedule wasn’t overwhelming, and unless shooting a drama, she wouldn’t be away long-term.
Back when she didn’t come home for a whole year, it was during the tensest period with Le Yiqiu.
Right after their marriage, it coincided with her career peak, making her even busier.
Now things were just right: stable career, money and leisure to spare, and a great relationship with Le Yiqiu.
For the first time, Lin Xianing felt what it meant to be homesick for her partner.
She had chosen to marry Le Yiqiu, even if it was a sham marriage, and had anticipated their life together.
If she’d known a contractual marriage would make their relationship increasingly strained and block any progress, she might not have signed that agreement with Le Yiqiu—no matter how messy the aftermath or the inheritance risks.
At least she’d have had a chance to pursue her.
Lin Xianing had considered pursuing Le Yiqiu, but the Lin family crisis hit too suddenly, and with her inexperience, she made a regretful choice.
Fortunately, their relationship had mended.
After Le Yiqiu’s amnesia, the puppy-like bold and passionate confession, the tender and uninhibited pursuit—it melted her heart nonstop.
Even knowing Le Yiqiu had amnesia and forgot the past, she still fell for her.
As Le Yiqiu had said, if your heart was moved, why not try?
No matter the outcome, as long as they were happy now, there’d be no regrets later.
Lin Xianing wasn’t sure if she’d regret it; Le Yiqiu wasn’t sure if her post-memory-self would.
What they were sure of: separating now would bring regret and heartbreak.
That made the choice seem not so hard.
Their recent intimacy and flirtation had become each other’s strength.
Though they hadn’t crossed that final line, they acted like most young couples.
Sharing a bed, holding each other.
Out on work trips, Lin Xianing first learned what missing home felt like. Lying in bed, she’d instinctively reach out—only to grasp cold emptiness, no warm body beside her. The void peaked instantly.
She felt it; Le Yiqiu did too.
These past few nights apart, Le Yiqiu would reach out in her half-sleep, habitually embracing the person who should be there—only to hug air.
Disappointment surged, sleepiness fled, and she’d wake to an empty room.
She’d open their chat, wanting to message, but seeing the late hour, she’d back out.
That night, as usual, Le Yiqiu half-dreamed and reached out to hold the person beside her.
This time, she held a full, soft, warm body, the familiar scent filling her nose.
Lin Xianing?
Realizing who it was, Le Yiqiu’s eyes snapped open, instantly awake.
In the dark, she couldn’t see clearly, but she knew it was Lin Xianing in her arms.
When had Lin Xianing come back?
Le Yiqiu grabbed her phone, lit the screen, and in its faint glow, saw the face she’d longed for day and night.
She wanted to caress it but feared waking her.
Even asleep, Lin Xianing’s exhaustion was visible. Le Yiqiu’s heart ached as she held her tighter.
“Le Yiqiu…” Lin Xianing suddenly rasped.
They’d talked these days; by rights, Lin Xianing should still be working, not back so soon.
She hadn’t expected Lin Xianing to return early.
“It’s fine, go back to sleep.”
Hearing the fatigue in her voice, Le Yiqiu quickly turned off the screen and softly soothed her.
Lin Xianing shifted in her arms and drifted off again.
Le Yiqiu gently stroked her back. With the familiar sensation back, she soon fell asleep too.
They slept straight through to noon the next day, undisturbed.
Until Le Yiqiu’s phone rang, waking them.
It was Zhao Yu calling?
She didn’t answer, hanging up immediately, but Lin Xianing still woke.
“What time is it?”
“11:30.”
Le Yiqiu checked her phone. She hadn’t slept this soundly in days.
Lin Xianing thought for a moment, eyes closing then flying open. “11:30?”
“Yeah. Do you have a schedule today?”
Had she overslept for an engagement? Le Yiqiu sat up and asked.
Lin Xianing shook her head. “No.”
Lying there, lost in thought for a while, she finally asked, “Don’t you remember what day it is?”
“What day?”
Le Yiqiu asked, puzzled, checking her phone’s date. “April 11th… my birthday?”
She was truly stunned—she’d been so oblivious she’d forgotten her own birthday.
“Did you come back early for this?”
Skipping the rest of her schedule to celebrate her birthday?
A bit worried, she asked, “Is your schedule okay?”
“No issue. My work ended, and I have this whole week off before you leave the country.”
Lin Xianing sat up too, saying she could take a short break.
How?
Le Yiqiu was somewhat surprised. She’d seen Lin Xianing’s schedule; these days were supposed to be packed.
Her expression gave it away. Lin Xianing leisurely got out of bed, strolled to the window, and drew the curtains.
“I finished ahead of schedule.”
Even Le Yiqiu got it now. Besides acting, Lin Xianing’s work rule was no more than eight hours a day.
They’d talked daily; Lin Xianing was swamped, with Chen Tao taking calls sometimes.
She’d called at Lin Xianing’s off-time, yet she was still working.
Plus, Lin Xianing returned to her hotel late at night; their schedules clashed so much Le Yiqiu often fell asleep waiting, missing their bedtime video calls.
Now it clicked: Lin Xianing had rushed her schedule to return for her birthday—and to spend time before her trip abroad.
Some things didn’t need saying; she understood.
Lin Xianing never talked much; she just quietly did them.
Le Yiqiu stayed silent, eyes fixed on Lin Xianing’s hands drawing the curtains. Artists pamper every inch; Lin Xianing’s hands could model. Sunlight streamed in, making them translucently pale, nails perfectly manicured—any motion left faint red marks.
