Through the airplane window, Yanjing Airport bustled even in the dead of night, the navigation lights of civilian jets blinking one after another across the sky.
Xie Yingnian had brought little luggage—just a toiletry bag and a few changes of clothes. Drawing from past experience, she figured she’d only stay until her birthday. Shi Cainran didn’t need her company at all.
Since it was a last-minute private trip, Xie Yingnian naturally assumed she’d breeze through arrivals. Instead, the crowd visible through the glass doors slapped her with reality. Layer upon layer of people, spanning every age group, with a heavy skew toward women. No banners or chants, but it was obvious they were her fans.
“Haven’t I been out of the spotlight for years? How am I not faded yet?” Xie Yingnian paused in front of a massive backlit ad panel. The scene was almost theatrical—the star endorsing the product was Min Conglu, her ex from three years ago, who had just officially announced her marriage as an A-lister.
Jujiu said, “Come on, quit with the humblebrag. You’ve swept every major film award in the country, cemented in the history books. That’s enough to coast on for life. How could you possibly fade?”
It wasn’t humblebragging.
Xie Yingnian gazed at the half-familiar faces cheering for her. Maybe they liked her face, or some quality she had, or a character she’d played. Whatever it was, they gave selflessly, their passion seemingly inexhaustible, self-sustaining.
The path strewn with flowers, the roar of the crowd—it all enveloped her in grandeur, yet her heart felt absurdly hollow, like an empty valley. Her genetic flaw had preset her emotions: she preferred desirelessness or unrequited longing over devastating heartbreak. Others’ obsessions could exist in harmless, gentle forms. She didn’t understand them, but she envied them all the same.
It was a distant shore she’d never reach in a lifetime.
Xie Yingnian rarely shared her life on social media or appeared on fan-recorded shows. She kept herself in a transparent, exquisite glass case for admiration, making every glimpse precious.
So as she walked out, she obliged the fans—signing autographs, posing for photos, granting every request.
Early in her career, she’d do fan service too. Her studio would pick comments, like one asking her to wear a DK uniform through the airport—she had to look up what that even was on the spot. In her early twenties, fresh off a wuxia film where she played a ethereal swordswoman in white, dashing as a young noble in male garb. No wonder fans’ cross-dressing fantasies spilled into real life.
Around then, a female celeb was pushing a “national husband” persona with a severe bob and menswear styling, drawing flak from netizens and media. When the studio replied to that comment with a shushing emoji, everyone thought they were dodging the trend.
But on her next trip, Xie Yingnian actually showed up at the airport like that.
She carried it off naturally, without a hint of affectation—a high ponytail, intricate embroidery giving the uniform a courtly flair, yet she made it feel fresh and crisp, a slender black tie dangling from her neck. That day produced several iconic photo sets; even the unedited Visual China shots worked as wallpapers. Netizens joked she was defecting to Japan to work as a host.
Just that once. Later cross-dressing stayed on screen—bookish scholars or warlords, at the whim of directors with odd tastes. Outsiders might think China lacked male actors.
Top beauties often had androgynous features. Zhong Jia’s eyes had that vibe too, but Xie Yingnian’s depth came more from her eye sockets—heavy makeup amplified her femme fatale allure. She was never cut out for innocent ingenue roles.
In interviews, she’d admitted as much: she’d passed the age of bringing youthful boyishness to roles. At twenty, she played twenty-year-old girls; at thirty, thirty-year-old women. She wanted audiences to appreciate feminine beauty at every stage.
But she’d broken that promise. Soon after splitting with Min Conglu, she vanished from the public eye.
“Baby, please don’t disappear without a word again, okay? Mommy’s been hunting for substitutes so hard.” One fan wailed dramatically, thrusting photos at her.
Xie Yingnian bent to sign them, her scarf covering her chin. “That’s enough now. Who’re you fooling? Me playing your mom would actually work.”
Jujiu laughed. The fan bouquets passed through Xie Yingnian’s hands before reaching her.
“No gifts. Do I look broke or something?”
“Handmade stuff’s fine. Letters too.”
“You again. Are you even an adult yet? I told middle and high schoolers to study hard and skip the stan life. Oh, birthday? No snotty crying—special exception, one signature.” Xie Yingnian asked mildly, “Any wishes?”
The girl with the backpack smiled shyly. “Scold me like that one more time?”
Xie Yingnian: “…”
No scolding happened. Xie Yingnian signed, handed back the pen, and strode cleanly out of the terminal. With one long-legged step, she slid into a Land Rover curbside.
The girl turned away, a bit dejected, when a Black Forest cake appeared before her. Jujiu, sprinting from a convenience store, said, “Happy birthday—Teacher Xie told me to get it.”
The SUV had clean, rugged lines, a pure black body, and minimalist exterior trim.
It wasn’t Xie Yingnian’s first time in this car. Paparazzi had snapped it heading to her Chaoyang home once, with clickbait accounts claiming some real estate heir had “straightened her out.” Clearer videos later showed a woman in the driver’s seat.
Not a celeb or influencer—just an ordinary woman.
At the time, Xie Yingnian was still with Min Conglu, no cheating scandals. Their interactions seemed normal, so the public pegged it as a simple female friendship.
Which it was.
Cui Ming had mentioned in WeChat that Chang Xiaosui was Xie Yingnian’s childhood friend. As for this Cui Ming—five years Xie Yingnian’s senior, with a half-broken connection—she was just an old acquaintance.
Cui Ming had always been decisive, goal-driven from youth. The year her single mom remarried up, she went from crow to phoenix, leaving the old alley behind. Facing her plain-looking but wealthy stepfather, she called him “Dad” crisply, no mental blocks, though not overly affectionate.
A close look at mother and daughter screamed “selfish pragmatists” from their foreheads.
Cui Ming graduated med school, talented and ruthless to herself. Funny how her reconnection with Xie Yingnian played out like a movie.
She downed coffee like water, squeezing every gap to shadow senior surgeries and absorb techniques.
Cui Ming had mapped her career early—no slacking, no missteps. Heaven rewards diligent geniuses, so years later, she became the hospital’s youngest ever deputy chief surgeon.
One night, a battered woman at the info desk asked for the ER.
Halfway home for a shower, Cui Ming passed by and caught the familiar voice. She paused, glanced over, and called uncertainly, “Xie Yingnian?”
The tall, skinny girl froze seconds before turning. Their gazes met midair. Xie Yingnian’s eyes lingered on Cui Ming’s haggard face; Cui Ming sized up her injuries.
They stood in silence a moment, then smiled in unison.
Neither was shocked by the other’s varying degrees of mess.
Xie Yingnian always thought Cui Ming was indifferent to others, brutal to herself—self-punishing for not topping exams, no mercy.
Cui Ming treated her wounds, eyes unblinking through debridement and disinfection. She endured like a champ.
“How’d it happen?” Back in her office, white coat on, Cui Ming gripped her wrist, eyeing the wound for clues.
Xie Yingnian instinctively licked her lips, wincing as it tugged her bruised mouth. She frowned lightly. “Underground Boxing Arena.”
Cui Ming didn’t pry further.
Her mom had medical talent too, but self-destructed—hooked up with a deadbeat who made empty promises. His wife stormed the final exam and slapped her.
Expelled, socially ruined, and—worst—pregnant with Cui Ming.
Every day growing up, the regretful woman drilled extreme ideas into her. The tangled alleys weren’t home—just stagnant weeds holding her back, a murky pond.
When they moved, she deleted her negligible social circle, her only reluctance Xie Yingnian.
Cui Ming harbored an indefinable fondness for Xie Yingnian—the quietest, easiest person she’d met. If she had to settle, it’d be her. Not creepy-physical; Xie was young then. More soul-deep.
Xie Yingnian had called her out on it once. Cui Ming owned up readily.
But that fondness lost to her ambition. Deep down, she was like her embittered mom: lock on a goal, charge full tilt, terrified of delays.
Xie Yingnian was thirteen then—the year her foster father Shi Jianguo died, when her “big sister” vibe started thickening.
Cui Ming saw through it: from now on, Xie would be stuck with a widowed mother and an orphaned sister. She decisively cut ties and left.
Their hospital reunion proved it: recent tragedy—the restaurant Shi Jianguo and Liang Sufen ran burned down at night. Foster mom dead in the fire, little sister badly burned.
Medical bills, compensation payments, and funeral expenses came flying at her like snowflakes. That Xie Yingnian hadn’t been crushed beneath their weight was nothing short of a miracle.
She had gone to the underground boxing arena for the sake of that unlucky little sister. Shi Cainran seemed to think money came easily to her. She had cried and fussed about going to the best hospital for burn treatment, demanding the finest medications, without a care for whether they could actually afford it.
“You just gave in because she threw a tantrum?” Cui Ming said as she bound the gauze a bit tighter. Xie Yingnian finally gasped in surprise at the sudden pressure.
The young female doctor sneered. “Xie Yingnian, if you’re sick, go get it treated. I just don’t understand—is she treating you like a lifeline, or are you treating her like one?”
Cui Ming had only said it in passing, but her words turned out to be prophetic. Xie Yingnian really was sick.
After dropping Jujiu off at home, Cui Ming drove through the thick curtain of night toward the sanatorium on the outskirts of the capital.
She had single eyelids, and her features weren’t particularly exquisite, but they came together in a comfortable way. Unfortunately, she was taciturn most of the time, which made her seem unapproachable. Earlier in the car, Jujiu had been completely unlike her usual self, not even daring to breathe loudly as she sat rigidly beside the doll that Zhou Chun had brought back from abroad, frozen like a statue.
“Are you still getting nauseous at the sight of meat?” Cui Ming asked.
She had helped with Shi Cainran’s hospital transfer, and she had also found the sanatorium later on. Her stepfather was in the medical business and had wide connections.
Xie Yingnian had fretted the entire way, unsure how to reply to Zhong Jia’s WeChat message. Even more troubling was the screenshot that Zhou Chun had sent her. In it, Zhong Jia was telling her confidante big sister, Secretary Zhou: Boss Xie said before that she’d help me check out potential matches, but I already have someone I like. It’s her—I think she’s wonderful. [Image]
Attached was a fresh photo of Xie Yingnian that had just been taken at the capital’s airport.
Zhou Chun: What did I tell you? The future daughter-in-law you’re vetting is yourself. Pretty thrilling, huh?
Mr. Xie herself: …She doesn’t have to be quite that obedient.
Two Gen Z kids causing her trouble at the same time—Xie Yingnian sighed helplessly. She locked her phone screen and stared out the front windshield as she answered Cui Ming’s question. “Seafood’s gotten a little better, but red meat is still no good.”
The memories one most wanted to forget often lingered deepest in the heart, following like a shadow.
After that incident, whenever Xie Yingnian recalled Shi Cainran’s torn and tattered dress, the ugly scars on her legs from where she had sobbed in pain, or how she had chased after that panicked man… As she pursued him, the hallway lights had clicked on one by one with sharp little clicks—sounds like booming thunder that made her temples throb.
The air after the rain carried a faint, earthy tang.
She had almost caught up to him when the wiry man dashed through a red light like a desperate fugitive. There was a bang as the driver slammed on the brakes. His body flew up, slamming heavily onto the car’s hood before sliding abruptly to the ground.
Screams erupted all around her. Xie Yingnian’s legs went weak, and she couldn’t take another step forward. The bloody scene not far away burned itself onto her retinas. The vast swath of red inadvertently flipped some switch inside her that she had only half-understood up until then.
Her knees buckled. She sank to the ground, head bowed low, and dry-heaved uncontrollably…
The light turned green. The SUV’s tires rolled over the speed bump. Xie Yingnian gazed at the roadside sign reading “School ahead—slow for vehicles.” “Cui Ming, I told you before, didn’t I? Ever since then, I’ve been having nightmares all the time. In them, I’m completely without morals, coldly judging everything with my own ruthless logic.”
Cui Ming let out a soft hum. Her days were filled to the brim with work; she almost wished she could be remade into an AI with no biological needs. What others saw as rigid and dull, she embraced gladly—no need for music to unwind or relax.
Even so, the woman focused on the road suddenly called up her voice assistant, letting soothing songs fill the enclosed space of the car.
Xie Yingnian understood Cui Ming’s intention. Most of the time, she really was mired in pain—a pain born from the tangle of kindness and cruelty. She knew nightmares awaited, yet she had to sleep anyway. She longed desperately for intimacy but could only hold herself back.
But that was only most of the time.
After a nightmare came a brief moment of clarity. Her mind went blank, reason too scattered to gather itself. Her limbs felt soft and relaxed, as if reset to factory settings, returning her to the raw essence of life itself.
And in those moments…
Xie Yingnian opened her palm. In the dim light, she traced the deeply familiar lines from memory alone. Her gaze was calm, almost indifferent. She clenched her fist and chuckled lightly. “Sometimes, I think it’s not so bad at all.”
