Chapter 26: Willing to Bear It

Zhong Jia’s attention had been entirely focused on Xie Yingnian’s sudden appearance just moments ago. But when the other woman opened her mouth, her voice hoarse and the mask on her face clearly more than just a fashion accessory, Zhong Jia finally realized something was off.

What did she mean by wondering if she’d taken her medicine today? Xie Yingnian was far too careless with her own health. Zhong Jia had told her last time to get some proper exercise, but she had no idea if those words had even sunk in. All Xie Yingnian ever did was scare people off with that fierce, paper-tiger glare of hers.

Anxious now, Zhong Jia shoved aside her embarrassment from crying like a baby in front of Xie Yingnian and asked with genuine concern, “Are you coming down with a cold?”

The woman was dressed in a layered outfit up top: a deep blue overcoat over a matching shirt, with a scarf loosely wrapped around her neck that revealed the collar at her chest and a black turtleneck underneath.

Xie Yingnian was infamous for her haphazard casual style. When interviews asked for fashion advice, she’d always say comfort was all that mattered.

Back in her early twenties, during those grueling high-pressure work years, she’d strolled through airports in nothing but old-man undershirts and baggy shorts, even causing those items to sell out for a while. Too bad countless buyers ended up regretting it and leaving scathing reviews.

Xie Yingnian’s face and figure were the ultimate filters— she could wear anything and pull it off. Her fans even joked that she looked best wearing nothing at all.

To Zhong Jia, the outfit barely qualified as warm enough. But then she thought of the sickly Ju Zai, who bundled up like a bear in winter yet still turned into a human ice block, and who could writhe in agony from menstrual cramps without even taking painkillers. Suddenly, Zhong Jia wasn’t reassured at all.

Xie Yingnian hesitated for a few seconds without answering. Seeing Zhong Jia reach out to feel her forehead, she subtly stepped back. “No fever. It’s not serious.”

Remembering Doctor Cui’s cold, clinical assessment, she breezily glossed over the real reason for her cold. “It’s just that time of year—easy to catch a chill.”

“So, did you take your medicine?” Zhong Jia pressed, unrelenting. Thinking Xie Yingnian might not like casual touches, she politely withdrew her hand and stayed put.

Colds could be minor nuisances or worse, but most were just that—minor. It was rare to see someone as worked up as Zhong Jia. Xie Yingnian’s gaze lingered briefly on the other woman’s ears, and she understood why.

Her expression remained calm, her tone softening a touch. “I did.”

“That’s good, then.” Zhong Jia nodded dazedly.

Xie Yingnian’s gentle voice was identical to Ruan Ting’s from a few days ago, prompting Zhong Jia to instinctively step back as well. But her retreat stemmed from shyness, a fear that getting too close would unleash a flood of intimate memories—like crashing waves stirring up the emotions she’d barely suppressed earlier that day.

But what had prompted Xie Yingnian’s step back just seconds ago?

Zhong Jia had no way of knowing.

“Have you sorted things out at home?” Zhong Jia’s nose was red, her voice still stuffy.

She’d wanted to ask over WeChat, but worried it might be too abrupt. Then she remembered how Xie Yingnian had rushed off that day—maybe it was something serious. After hesitating, she decided to ask in person.

As Zhong Jia had turned around earlier, Xie Yingnian had slipped her right hand behind her back, and it stayed there now. Her earrings glinted faintly amid her hair as she spoke. “Mostly. Nothing major.”

Come to think of it, today was Shi Cainran’s birthday. No matter how busy she was, Xie Yingnian always sent birthday wishes right at midnight, along with a gift. The girl would either reply with a perfunctory “Thanks, sis” or ignore it altogether.

This time, there’d been no word even now.

Zhou Chun had tipped her off earlier, saying she’d spotted Shi Cainran dining with Jiang Nai at a fancy restaurant. Jiang Nai was a highly capable music manager who’d launched popular singers even in these tough market years.

“That’s great, isn’t it?” Xie Yingnian let out a chuckle. “She’s all grown up now. I can’t look after her forever. She has her own path, and I’m happy for her.”

Xie Yingnian said the words, but Zhou Chun had always sensed she wasn’t as detached as she claimed. After all these years, she’d slaved away like an ox for that sister of hers—even entering the industry for Shi Cainran’s sake.

Whatever the nature of their bond, it had always involved mutual compromise and influence, spiraling into hysterical, all-consuming burnout only when there was nowhere left to retreat. Pure one-sided devotion was rare. In a way, Shi Cainran depended on Xie Yingnian, but didn’t Xie Yingnian depend on her too?

Back when Liang Sufen died so suddenly, she’d left behind this patched-together sisterly bond, murky and complex. It would take the most precise instruments to analyze whether love and reliance outweighed hatred and entanglement.

It had been ages since Xie Yingnian last felt a gaze so pure it could scorch her. Sincerity often seemed laughable in the adult world, yet it was hard not to be moved when faced with it.

Just like when Zhong Jia bit her neck, eyes blazing, and uttered those make-or-break words.

In that moment, Xie Yingnian felt weighed down by the girl’s all-in devotion, as if she were Zhong Jia’s entire world. And such a lovely young woman at that. For a few seconds, she even wanted to let herself drown in it, beyond the bounds of their roles.

But she held back.

The film had cast Xie Yingnian first, then Zhong Jia. Nong Siqing had her biases in selection. The raw, prairie-fire spark of first love was hard to fake, so she’d capped actors at under twenty-two, craving that youthful mix of innocence and fearlessness.

Experience didn’t matter; she had ways to force actors into character. Helping them exit the role and mend afterward? Not her problem. Xie Yingnian and Qiao Yingqiu had endured that agonizing phase themselves.

Since turning sixteen, Zhong Jia had scoured the internet for news on Xie Yingnian and knew some of her no-go zones. Xie Yingnian’s vague answers hinted at the same, so she curbed her curiosity about the tattoos and scars on her back.

“Uh, did… did you come to find me for something?” Zhong Jia asked.

She could chat breezily in front of an audience, but now she was a stammering fool, forgetting even to question why Xie Yingnian had barged into her room.

Few could resist such an exception to the rule. Uniqueness was most intoxicating at the dawn of feelings.

Xie Yingnian smiled soundlessly, her eyes crinkling in what seemed like good humor. “Nothing in particular.”

“Huh?” Zhong Jia let out a puzzled sound.

Xie Yingnian held back a laugh. “Not welcome? Then I’ll head out.”

“No—” Xie Yingnian’s left hand, pressed against her pant seam, was gently hooked by fingers that slowly tightened into a grip, creating a subtle warmth. Then Zhong Jia asked hesitantly, “Did you see me crying?”

Xie Yingnian found her tone amusing and played along. “Gonna silence me?”

Zhong Jia had lost plenty of verbal sparring matches to Xie Yingnian and had learned her lesson. She sidestepped it. “I didn’t look too ugly, did I?”

Xie Yingnian’s gaze slowly roamed over her still-flushed face, marveling at the girl’s innocence—and hoping she wouldn’t learn to weaponize this “ugliness” into seduction before filming wrapped.

“Not ugly.”

Her eyelids itched; Zhong Jia rubbed her eyes. “Then… could you hug me?”

She said it so softly, as if afraid of rejection, muffling the volume. If Xie Yingnian didn’t hear, that was fine.

Words paled against actions. Xie Yingnian had come to comfort her anyway. She gently squeezed back. “Of course.”

Xie Yingnian stepped closer and enveloped Zhong Jia in a hug, her shoulder bearing the weight of a head that wasn’t heavy. The remnants of Zhong Jia’s earlier grievances stirred in the warm embrace; she sniffled but held back tears.

Her arms reached around Xie Yingnian’s back, hugging tight.

“…Is this too tight?” Xie Yingnian felt a bit breathless from the squeeze.

Zhong Jia loosened up quickly. Under the lights, her nose tip pink, she whispered, “Sorry. I just missed you so much.”

The last part was barely audible, but they were so close, each could almost hear the other’s heartbeat.

Xie Yingnian’s lips curved slightly. The unspoken longing—felt so vividly even if Zhong Jia hesitated to voice it—left her ears ringing for a few seconds. Seizing the moment, she listened to the frantic beat nearby, then pulled her in even tighter.

After a while, Zhong Jia remembered something. She pulled away, apologetic. “Xie Yingnian, I forgot—there’s lipstick on my arm. It must’ve smeared on your clothes. Sorry, take it off and I’ll send it for dry cleaning.”

“And,” Zhong Jia added, puzzled, “why do you keep one hand behind your back?”

Xie Yingnian’s shoulders wouldn’t budge no matter how Zhong Jia tried to turn her. As she circled around for a better look, Xie Yingnian suddenly spoke, startling her into freezing.

Xie Yingnian: “Turn around.”

Zhong Jia’s mouth fell open. “…Huh?”

“You said you’d make it up to me.”

“Uh, I…” Zhong Jia’s words seemed to rust in her throat. She remembered her WeChat promise.

The girl in front of her turned stiffly, pausing for a beat. When Xie Yingnian didn’t move, she even braced herself against the desk edge, leaning her upper body forward a bit. Her practiced pose puzzled Xie Yingnian. Had someone treated her like this before?

Her heart pounding, Zhong Jia caught a glimpse of the unmoving figure from the corner of her eye. She bit her lip gently and slowly closed her eyes.

In the lamplight, her silent profile looked obediently sweet, stripped of the cool edge she brought to the stage. She was the very picture of a little cat, temporarily shedding its pride to please its owner.

Xie Yingnian hadn’t been entirely honest that day. She was afraid of pain—had been ever since she was a child—but some kinds of pain simply had to be endured.

Zhong Jia’s compliance came from experience, yet it also dredged up some unpleasant memories.

Back in elementary school, she had been the kind of student teachers despised: quiet and sullen, never one to fit in, far from obedient, with no parents who buttered up the faculty with gifts. She often clashed verbally with foul-mouthed classmates, and things sometimes escalated to outright fights. Physical punishment had been a regular occurrence for her. Of course, none of that was unusual; management at that county elementary school had always been lax, which was why she had started attending before her seventh birthday.

But this time was different.

Because it was Xie Yingnian. Because it was her pain to give. Zhong Jia was willing to bear it.

That gentle upward curve, wrapped in soft cotton sleep pants, was beautiful.

Xie Yingnian walked over. Whatever teasing or bullying notions she might have harbored earlier, she had no intention of following through now. She took hold of the wrist on Zhong Jia’s side closest to her, feeling it tremble faintly. Clearly terrified, yet yielding so readily to such an unreasonable demand. With a soft sigh in her heart, Xie Yingnian eased her grip and slipped the knotted silk ribbon into Zhong Jia’s hand.

Zhong Jia clenched her fingers around it on instinct, only to realize that the object was surprisingly light.

The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed airflow only through two narrow vents on either side. Just then, a light breeze wafted in, mingling with the room’s cozy warmth to deliver a pleasant caress across the skin. It also carried a voice from behind straight to Zhong Jia’s ears.

“Silly girl. Do I have some kind of weird fetish or something? Those sweets I bought you—surely eating them will lift your spirits a bit?”