Chapter 16

◎Mianmian’s Fans◎

Zhu Lexing had only meant to step out for some fresh air, cool off in the venue, and then return, letting the whole incident blow over.

She never imagined that merely rounding a corner would bring Jiang Yue and Yan Mian back into view.

Even though the Omega had deliberately lowered her voice, the system’s assistance allowed Zhu Lexing to catch every detail of the exchange.

A question mark slowly formed in Zhu Lexing’s mind.

What kind of lunatic was this woman?

Jiang Yue’s words began by putting herself down, painting herself as nothing more than a tool to pave the way for Yan Mian. Then, in a tone dripping with feigned concern, she wove the entire conversation as if it were all for Yan Mian’s benefit.

But if it had truly been for her own good, Yan Mian never would have ended up in her current state.

Had the original work not omitted any melodramatic backstory, Zhu Lexing might have seriously doubted whether Yan Mian was even her biological daughter.

As indignation flared within her, Jiang Yue noticed the shift in Yan Mian’s tone and softened her voice. “Little Mian, you’re still too young. You’ll understand one day. But trust Mommy—Mommy would never do anything to hurt you.”

Yan Mian had no idea how to respond.

The woman’s tone sounded gentle, yet it pressed in more aggressively than before, urging Yan Mian to step back.

“I—”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?”

An impatient voice cut through the air, startling them both. Around the corner stood Zhu Lexing, her trench coat catching the light like that of any ordinary passerby. But her expression betrayed undisguised cold indifference.

Jiang Yue recovered quickly. “Your daddy asked me to—”

“To find me?” Zhu Lexing cut her off without mercy. “Do even you believe that?”

Jiang Yue realized in an instant that all of Zhu Lexing’s earlier “friendliness” had been an act.

Away from Zhu Lin’s watchful eyes, Zhu Lexing had reverted to her true self.

And yet, this was the Zhu Lexing she knew all too well.

Jiang Yue opened her mouth to placate her, but Zhu Lexing gave her no chance. She strode forward, her gaze locking onto Yan Mian’s face. “And you.”

Stared at like that, Yan Mian felt a flush of embarrassment, mingled with a faint sense of relief.

At least in this moment, she didn’t have to heed her mother’s words or imagine herself as one of Zhu Lexing’s possessions.

But Zhu Lexing was right there in front of her.

Yan Mian’s emotions were a tangled mess. She bit her lip, bracing for whatever harsh words might come.

The young woman simply stared at her for a few seconds before letting out a cold snort. “What are you still doing here? Let’s go.”

Her voice still carried a chill.

Compared to moments ago, though, it felt almost gentle by contrast.

Without another pause, Zhu Lexing turned and headed straight back to the cabin.

Jiang Yue watched her retreating back, her brows knitting together unconsciously.

She harbored a deep annoyance toward Zhu Lexing, but what could she do? Zhu Lexing had been born into a different world entirely.

No matter how grating she found it, Jiang Yue could only coax and indulge her.

Her thoughts drifted back to Yan Mian’s earlier tearful complaints.

She moved to offer some comfort, but Yan Mian averted her gaze. “Then I’ll head back too.”

The meal concluded in hasty awkwardness.

No one had openly clashed, so Zhu Lin remained oblivious to the undercurrents of tension. He stayed lost in his pride over Zhu Lexing finally acting like a proper daughter, utterly unable to pull himself away from the feeling.

Two cars idled in front of them. Jiang Yue, still unwilling to let go, tried to maneuver Zhu Lexing and Yan Mian into the same vehicle, hoping to foster more closeness between them.

Zhu Lexing, wary of her continuing to brainwash Yan Mian on the ride home, didn’t object.

Yan Mian started to speak but fell silent again.

Moonlight spilled like ink across the sky, the car’s interior wrapped in stillness. Only after a long stretch did Zhu Lexing break it. “Once we’re home, you—”

Yan Mian tensed, assuming another warning was coming. She frowned without realizing it and parted her lips to respond—only to hear Zhu Lexing finish, “If you need anything, just tell him directly.”

Zhu Lexing seemed on the verge of saying more but held back. In the end, she managed only a stiff afterthought: “And no one will care about the watch.”

The reminder jogged Yan Mian’s memory. Throughout the meal, Zhu Lin’s eyes had lingered on Zhu Lexing and her surroundings.

Even when speaking to Yan Mian, his attention had been more on Zhu Lexing. He’d only truly engaged with Yan Mian because Zhu Lexing hadn’t spoken up.

No one would care.

Zhu Lin didn’t care. The driver didn’t care.

Zhu Lexing didn’t care either.

What exactly wouldn’t they care about? The watch?

Or the person named Yan Mian?

Her upbringing had conditioned Yan Mian to overanalyze every word.

Unwilling to risk an embarrassing interpretation, she offered no reply.

The rest of the drive passed in silence. Upon arriving home, Zhu Lexing headed for her room but paused at the foot of the stairs. Casually, she remarked, “Yan Mian’s watch got smashed. I had someone buy her a new one.”

The words came out of nowhere. Everyone in the living room froze.

Zhu Lin blinked for a moment before the incident clicked.

They’d called it an accident, but coming from Zhu Lexing’s lips, it was almost certainly her own doing. Realizing it couldn’t be covered up, she’d confessed preemptively.

What had gotten into her today?

Jiang Yue’s face darkened. She rounded on Yan Mian at once. “Little Mian! How could you smash the gift Uncle Zhu gave you—”

“I smashed it,” Zhu Lexing interrupted flatly. “What does it have to do with her?”

No sooner had she spoken than Zhu Lexing inwardly cringed, remembering it was Yan Mian’s watch, after all.

It absolutely did have to do with her.

Zhu Lin waved it off hurriedly. “It’s fine—just a watch. We’ll get another. Xingxing, be more careful next time. It’s late; everyone get some rest.”

With the servants watching, Jiang Yue had no choice but to grit her teeth. “Well, Little Mian should have taken better care of it.”

“In the Zhu Family,” Zhu Lexing shot back, “if I want to smash something, it doesn’t matter where she hides it. Instead of blaming her, Auntie, you might want to put that abacus of yours away.”

“The more elaborate your schemes, the worse your luck gets.”

With that, Zhu Lexing headed upstairs without a backward glance.

Caught off guard in front of Zhu Lin, her ulterior motives laid bare, Jiang Yue went pale.

Zhu Lin dismissed it as their usual bickering. After all, Zhu Lexing had long been blunt about it—calling out Jiang Yue’s wild delusions and her transparent scheming to marry into wealth.

He didn’t think much of it and simply comforted her. “Lexing’s temper is just like that…”

Jiang Yue’s lips trembled as she hurriedly replied, “It’s fine, I understand. I don’t blame her…”

She turned around to look for Yan Mian, only to discover that Yan Mian had already returned to her room.

At the desk.

Yan Mian had been working on exercises for an hour. Just as she switched off the timer and prepared to sleep, that phrase resurfaced in her mind: “No one would care.”

It turned out that people did care about “Yan Mian.”

No, the incident itself was simply trivial to them.

But… if that was the case, why had Zhu Lexing brought it up on her own?

If she hadn’t mentioned it, Zhu Lin probably never would have remembered.

Yan Mian stared at the cover of her book, lost in a prolonged silence.

The suspicion buried deep in her heart was one she couldn’t even admit to herself.

The others didn’t care, but Yan Mian did.

So Zhu Lexing had stepped in to prove it for her, to handle it.

That way, Yan Mian wouldn’t care anymore either.

The next day.

Seven in the morning, and Zhu Lexing felt like only half her soul was awake.

By the time the servant roused her again, she had gradually grown accustomed to the routine.

It was agonizing! But she was used to it now!

After mechanically washing up, she headed downstairs. Zhu Lin was seated at the long dining table, but only a single bowl of noodles sat before him.

“…” Zhu Lin asked cautiously, “Xingxing, did you ask the chef to change the menu?”

Zhu Lexing recalled the previous extravagant spreads, which she’d assumed were Zhu Lin’s doing. Now it seemed he was asking because she might be unhappy with the reduced portions. Her scalp prickled as she muttered, “…There was so much food we couldn’t finish it. It was wasteful.”

Zhu Lin heaved a long sigh of relief. “I thought it was wasteful too. But you used to love those feasts, so I never told them to change it. This is better—”

The reality caught Zhu Lexing off guard.

She immediately thought of the gaudy renovations—surely those were the original host’s tastes as well?

Zhu Lexing was about to test the waters with a question when Yan Mian emerged from her room. Their eyes met, and Yan Mian spoke first to Zhu Lin. “Uncle, I’m off to school.”

Zhu Lin watched Yan Mian’s retreating figure and sighed. “Little Mian really is an excellent student.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he remembered Zhu Lexing sitting across from him. Afraid she might take offense, he started to praise her as well—only for Zhu Lexing to nod as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She really is.”

Zhu Lin: ?

He recalled what the driver had mentioned about their thawing relationship.

…Had they truly patched things up?

This was a delightful surprise.

Zhu Lin was about to speak when Zhu Lexing finished her bread, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed out.

Not forgetting to wave goodbye on her way—polite to a fault.

It was worlds apart from her old habits: holing up until the absolute last second, then storming off while berating everyone in sight.

Zhu Lin stared blankly for a moment before his conviction hardened.

This was how his daughter ought to be.

Tomorrow was the school anniversary, making today’s rehearsal the final one.

Zhu Lexing was reasonably pleased with the results. A few slackers lingered, but it was a vast improvement over yesterday.

She made a couple offhand comments without belaboring the point—

The actual performance was tomorrow, and with some people’s goldfish memories, anything said now would be forgotten by the time it mattered.

Better to remind them then, when they’d be more alert.

Zhu Lexing figured tomorrow’s wrap-up would spell freedom. But upon returning to class, Zhu Xing sought her out again. He informed her there would be a student speech tomorrow; the sophomore representative had suddenly fallen ill, and they needed her to step in at the last minute.

The timing felt too convenient. Zhu Lexing blurted, “Did my dad pay you all to pick me?”

It was exactly the sort of impulsive choice that matched her view of the Zhu family.

Zhu Xing paused for several seconds before replying, “No, that student was hospitalized.”

Zhu Lexing: “…All right. But I still don’t want to.”

For one thing, what right did “Zhu Lexing” have to represent anyone? She’d accomplished nothing noteworthy. For another, Zhu Lexing hated stiff, official speeches.

Still, Zhu Xing approaching her suggested the leaders wanted to do Zhu Lin a favor.

After a moment’s thought, Zhu Lexing said abruptly, “Ask Yan Mian instead.”

Zhu Xing blinked. “You—”

“You know how things stand between us,” Zhu Lexing said. “Picking me or her makes no difference.”

Zhu Xing hesitated.

He knew their history, but Zhu Lexing’s track record was checkered. Her suggestion might be a setup to sabotage Yan Mian.

Zhu Lexing rolled her eyes. “My dad’s going to be watching from the audience. Don’t overthink it.”

Reassured, Zhu Xing softened and gave the idea serious consideration.

With that settled, Zhu Lexing returned to the classroom. Bored out of her mind, she twirled her pen—only to catch Song Yingying scrolling through the forum from the corner of her eye.

Just like in the modern world, this one had thriving campus forums—mostly anonymous, though school oversight kept posts civil.

The homepage featured the usual: study tips, gossip, celebrity chatter. Nothing different from any social platform.

Zhu Lexing watched Song Yingying browse for a while before downloading the app herself.

When it came to picking a username, Song Yingying advised earnestly, “Each student ID can only register once, and you get one name change per year. Choose wisely.”

Zhu Lexing thought, even this?

She had no intention of getting fancy—just an anonymous lurker—so she typed: 【Mianmian’s Fans】.

It proudly declared her status as a top Mianmian fan.

Yet “Mianmian” stayed discreet, without naming names!

Perfect!

The more Zhu Lexing looked at it, the more she loved it. She dove headfirst into the digital realm.

Song Yingying stared at the newly mutual-follow 【Mianmian’s Fans】: “…”