Happy times were always fleeting, and they each had their own work to attend to.
Before leaving, Le Yiqiu hugged Lin Xianing for a long time, humming and hawing, reluctant to let go.
Finally, under the relentless urging of the alarm and Lin Xianing’s gentle coaxing, she loosened her grip on the other woman.
They both had goals they wanted to achieve. Unless one of them gave up her career to stay by the other’s side, separation was inevitable.
But neither she nor Lin Xianing would abandon their careers, nor did they want the other to sacrifice hers for them.
In their situation, they could probably find a way to balance work and companionship.
Yet before confirming their relationship, they were still just ambiguous fake partners in this flirtatious phase. They had neither the right nor the standing to act like a real couple—or even spouses.
What if she regained her memories?
Le Yiqiu had consulted a doctor, who said that people who recovered their memories usually remembered what they’d done during their amnesiac period as well.
But the timelines were too disparate—one was a decade long, the other might be a year or two. In terms of sheer duration, the former had an overwhelming advantage.
So the two of them held back, restrained in their mutual affection.
On the plane, Le Yiqiu scrolled through the photo album on her phone, filled with pictures she’d taken of Lin Xianing.
She’d imported all of them onto her device. During this time, she’d printed out quite a few, and she’d even made a physical photo album to carry with her, selecting the best ones.
Her computer screen, phone screen—even her phone case featured Lin Xianing.
Tu Sheng, sitting next to her on the flight, glanced at her phone for a while before asking, “Is that phone case of the Lin Xianing girl?”
Le Yiqiu nodded bashfully. “Yeah.”
Having her wife-to-be on her phone case had been spotted—and by her teacher, no less. It felt embarrassing.
“Young people sure know how to have fun,” Tu Sheng remarked with a sigh. Then he asked, “Could you put my wife’s photo on a phone case for me?”
Young folks played around, but older ones had their own tricks too.
“Send me the photo, and I’ll get one custom-made for you,” Le Yiqiu replied, a touch of envy in her voice. Her teacher was in his sixties or seventies, and after so many years with his wife, their bond remained as strong as ever. She hoped she and Lin Xianing could be the same—loving each other steadfastly for a decade or more, just like Master and Teacher’s Wife.
Master and Teacher’s Wife had been married for decades, their child in her thirties, and their affection was still so vibrant.
Sometimes Le Yiqiu wondered what she and Lin Xianing would be like when they grew old.
Would she still hold Lin Xianing’s hand, never letting go no matter where they went?
When you met someone you wanted to spend your life with, everything reminded you of them. Seeing happy old couples made her hope she and Lin Xianing would share that same bliss in their later years.
“Custom-made?” Tu Sheng echoed, thinking it might be pricey. “How much? I’ll transfer you the money.”
“No need, Teacher. It’s just a phone case—I got a box of them customized for a hundred bucks.”
Transparent cases with photo prints: twenty for a hundred yuan. She could go a month without repeating a design.
Hearing how cheap they were, Tu Sheng said no more and picked out photos from his phone to send her.
One was a family portrait of him, his wife, and their daughter, when they were all still young and the girl was just a baby.
That reminded Le Yiqiu of the teacher’s daughter. She suddenly asked, “How’s Sister Tu Xun been lately?”
She’d heard the teacher’s daughter was a brilliant scientist—famous by reputation, but she’d never met her.
“Her?” Tu Sheng’s face lit up with a smile at the mention of his daughter. “She’s got a collaboration going with a company in Maple Leaf Country right now. She’s on a business trip nearby our filming location, so you two might even cross paths.”
Scientists were a respected profession, and Le Yiqiu looked forward to meeting Sister Tu Xun.
After a brief chat, Tu Sheng—being older—soon said he needed to nap.
She’d been keeping him company anyway, so with him resting, she could rest too.
But in the quiet, her longing for Lin Xianing intensified.
Closing her eyes brought Lin Xianing’s image to mind; opening them made her wonder what Lin Xianing was doing right then.
Lin Xianing’s workload was heavy lately. After seeing her off at the airport, she’d headed straight to work.
Lin Xianing probably wouldn’t have free time until her next film wrapped, while Le Yiqiu would finish shooting here and then dive into her own movie, busy until October or November.
Their schedules aligned in busyness, it seemed.
…
The weather in Maple Leaf Country was much like back home. The moment Le Yiqiu stepped off the plane, she messaged Lin Xianing.
Her flight had departed at nine-thirty in the morning. After over a dozen hours in the air, it was one or two in the morning back home—but midday here.
The spring weather was similar on both sides: around twenty degrees Celsius. She wore a pure white long-sleeved T-shirt topped with a long trench coat and sneakers, pulling her suitcase behind the rest of the crew.
For solo trips, she traveled light with just one bag—buying anything else locally.
Mostly, she packed her accustomed essentials, which might not be available here.
Le Yiqiu hadn’t expected Lin Xianing to reply so quickly, even at one in the morning back home.
—Why aren’t you asleep yet?
—Waiting for your message.
—Worried about me?
—Yeah.
—I just landed. Heading to the hotel with the crew now. Lots of people here, so no worries. The main crew arrived ages ago.
Tu Sheng had returned home briefly before filming started, concerned about Teacher’s Wife being alone. Once production kicked off, he’d be away for months, so he’d joined them this time.
—Okay, get some rest. Don’t overdo it.
—You too.
Le Yiqiu texted while walking, dawdling until she finally boarded the crew van.
By then, another message from Lin Xianing had come through.
—Filming starts tomorrow?
—Yeah. You get some early rest; I’ll nap once I’m at the hotel.
—Good.
Le Yiqiu turned to gaze out the car window. The utterly foreign scenery and customs sharpened her yearning for Lin Xianing.
—I miss you.
Reading that, Lin Xianing felt a pang in her nose. Her own longing was no less than Le Yiqiu’s.
This was their first long separation since Le Yiqiu’s amnesia.
—I miss you too.
Lin Xianing’s reply was understated, but the sentiment landed. Le Yiqiu’s face broke into a smile—anyone could tell she was chatting with her sweetheart.
But since they weren’t close enough, no one teased her about it.
—Get some sleep then. Good night, Lin Xianing.
—Good afternoon, Le Yiqiu.
“Good night” and “good afternoon” highlighted the time difference. Le Yiqiu was the one abroad, yet Lin Xianing had added Maple Leaf Country’s weather to her phone.
When you loved someone in a certain city, you followed that city too—not just the person.
Le Yiqiu was about to put her phone away when a message from Zhao Yu popped up.
—Xie Dan gave an interview to some media outlet.
As expected. After Le Zhuo’s marriage, she’d figured Xie Dan wouldn’t let it go. Having pinned everything on her, Xie Dan surely wouldn’t leave her alone.
Le Yiqiu had been blacklisted across the net for a while, her reputation in tatters—what more could Xie Dan do?
Besides, society had changed. Parents weren’t always right anymore.
With the internet’s rise, more people shared their toxic family stories.
That famous line: “A bad childhood takes a lifetime to heal.”
And as a director, not an actor, even her birth mother’s smears might not hurt her much.
It could even help rehabilitate her image.
Netizens no longer blindly sided with parents, thinking if they attacked you, you must be the problem.
In such cases, they tended to be more rational.
Maybe because few families were truly ideal. Domestic education had always centered parents, children’s voices dismissed.
Those kids, grown up, naturally sympathized with their younger selves.
Plus, too many celebrities had been “hammered” by their own parents—who just wanted money, not family ties.
After repeated deceptions, combined with personal and observed experiences, trust had eroded.
TV dramas these days often depicted the miseries of dysfunctional families. Even if Xie Dan tried using media, few would buy it.
Le Yiqiu had anticipated Xie Dan might pressure her through various channels, so she’d tasked Zhao Yu with monitoring her.
Originally, she hadn’t wanted to go too hard on Xie Dan.
That changed after seeing the interview video Zhao Yu obtained, where Xie Dan painted her as a heritage-grabber who’d left her parents homeless.
A rebellious child from the start: cold, emotionless, a heartless beast.
The kid who’d done every dirty deed to force her parents’ divorce.
Le Yiqiu watched the video and let out a cold chuckle. Xie Dan, unable to reach her, was resorting to this?
Zhao Yu: —Want me to buy out the video?
—No need. This interview flops, and there’ll be another. She won’t quit easily.
She needed a permanent solution.
Le Yiqiu didn’t want to waste more time on Xie Dan. She’d once hoped they’d at least acknowledge her as their daughter—no help or care required, just no trouble. She’d fulfill her filial duties later.
But if Xie Dan insisted on going this far, Le Yiqiu had no reason to hold back.
Some people and matters required decisive cuts, or endless trouble followed.
Xie Dan aimed to weaponize public opinion against her, but as a director, what did opinions matter?
The interview’s first half targeted her; the second turned to Lin Xianing. As her mother-in-law, Xie Dan complained about never meeting the daughter-in-law post-wedding—outrageous, and so on.
Subtly, it implied Lin Xianing was a poor family member, even dropping hints about the Lin Family.
Le Yiqiu hadn’t reacted much to the first part, but the bits about Lin Xianing ignited her anger.
She and Lin Xianing had overcome so much to be together, yet someone still schemed to make it harder.
