Chapter 89: People in Love Are All a Bit Eerily Perceptive

Lu Nan hadn’t interacted with her fans in a long time. The last post she made was a very official update about her condition.

She logged into her account, only to see a password error. It took her a moment to remember that her account had long been taken away, all because of her fierce “pursuit” of Song Wenwei early on and the heavy price she had paid.

Even her secret side account, which everyone had figured out, was gone. Fortunately, she had plenty of accounts to spare, so Lu Nan pulled out another one.

To avoid getting scolded in the future, she toned it down a bit.

[Lonely Single (heart gesture)] She edited the post and sent it out, while hiding all her previous updates with their subtle hints. The two of them hadn’t had a systematic discussion about going public yet.

She didn’t want to fail spectacularly and ruin everything.

A new account was great—no one was watching, and no one could pry.

As if it were meant to slap her in the face, someone soon asked: [Sister, where did you get this pic?]

[WTF, never-seen-before pic, wuhu, thanks sister]

[This looks like one Lu Nan sent you.]

[Don’t tell me you’re Lu Nan’s alt. IP checks out.]

[Or maybe she’s Song Wenwei’s alt? How else would she have a fresh pic?]

[The CP fans above, can you just stay in your lane…]

Lu Nan didn’t dare comment again. She was afraid that if she said too much, they’d strip her bare.

The two days passed quickly.

Whenever she was bored, she’d message her, but she never replied… Maybe her phone was even off.

Lu Nan wilted away in the hospital. When Li Erning arrived, she saw Lu Nan in this dejected state.

“Hey, not dead yet? Need some water?”

Lu Nan looked up blankly. “Wanting to die is the attitude of someone who’s seen through the red dust.”

“Why do you look so dead inside?”

“You asked! But don’t say later that I’m a love-brained idiot.”

At those words, Li Erning sensed trouble and wanted to stop her, but Lu Nan’s mouth started rattling on like a machine gun: “Song Wenwei hasn’t replied to me in two days. I’m so sad. You haven’t come to see me either. This place only has Aunt Zheng—no one else. I’m only in my twenties, living like I’m in a nursing home. It’s too depressing. Song Wenwei, that little thief, won’t reply to me.”

Li Erning: …I knew it!

“You people in love are all a bit eerily perceptive.” Li Erning kept up her steady output.

Lu Nan pointed at her leg, indicating she really was sick.

She was completely listless. If her leg healed, she could go visit the set—oh wait, variety shows probably didn’t allow that.

Damn it!

…

Song Wenwei got off the plane and headed straight to the hospital. In her haste, she even turned back to instruct her assistant: “Just courier the other stuff to the hospital for me.”

The assistant ran as fast as she could but still couldn’t catch up.

God, Song Wenwei should sign up for long-distance running—she’d absolutely dominate.

She shouted after Song Wenwei: “Sister Song! Phone… phone… you forgot your phone…”

Song Wenwei couldn’t hear her at all. By then, she was already in the car, twisting the key and speeding toward the hospital.

The variety show shoot had lasted two days and two nights. Since turning off her phone on the plane, she hadn’t chatted with Lu Nan during that time and had no idea what Lu Nan had posted. While waiting at a red light, she started rummaging through her bag.

“That’s weird…” Song Wenwei muttered, continuing to search. “Where’s my phone?”

The light turned green, and she stopped obsessing over the phone.

Anyway, once she got to the hospital, they could talk about anything.

The airport wasn’t far from the hospital. Ten minutes later, she arrived back at the familiar place.

Song Wenwei stood in front of the hospital’s floor-to-ceiling windows, her reflection staring back. She checked left and right, straightened her appearance, confirmed everything was fine, and strode forward.

She took the elevator up, her hand unconsciously reaching into her bag. The item inside was cool and a bit pokey—that was the little gift she was bringing Lu Nan this time.

Someone knocked on the ward door—knock after measured knock, nothing rushed like before.

“Come in.”

Lu Nan sat in her wheelchair. Only three people came and went here: Li Erning, who never knocked; Aunt Zheng, whose voice arrived before she did. That left only one possibility.

Song Wenwei bent down, enveloping her in a faint tea fragrance that invigorated the senses, as if all negative emotions vanished like smoke. Lu Nan knew it wasn’t the perfume—it was the hug itself that soothed her.

Song Wenwei released the embrace and pulled something from her bag. Her voice trembled slightly, and for a moment, she felt like she was back in school days, a girl shyly handing over a love letter.

She asked: “What do you think? Do you like this spoon?”

She handed over a pink little pig spoon, its entire body gleaming with crystalline transparency—a ceramic piece.

The handle was a long, slightly twisted pig snout, and the spoon overall had flaws: one nostril bigger than the other, the spoon bowl a rounded, distorted oval. Look closely, and you could even see half a fingerprint on the edge.

It was uniquely charming, yet perfectly harmonious.

“Did you make this?”

Lu Nan couldn’t believe there was a store selling something this adorably ugly. Of course, she wasn’t disgusted—it just made sense if Song Wenwei had made it.

Something this cutely imperfect had to be treasured!

“Of course I did.” Song Wenwei felt inexplicably proud. “The variety show was filming in C City. I snuck into a ceramics shop when no one was around to make it. I tried making a ring too, but… it turned out too ugly. What do you think—is this one cute?”

“It’s cute.” Lu Nan held it like a treasure. “Very practical. I’ll use this spoon to eat from now on.”

Song Wenwei was pleased. It might look ugly, but it was practical—practical things weren’t ugly or pretty.

“Right, about us.” Song Wenwei took her hand. Lu Nan’s hand was a bit cool from the breeze, so she cupped it with both of hers.

“Li Erning and Ran Li talked it over. They suggest we don’t go public yet to avoid a backlash. We can take it slow, let everyone get used to us, and go public when the timing’s right.”

Ran Li had mentioned this to Lu Nan too. Her exact words were—”I won’t stop you two. You belong together anyway. I just hope you’ll think about Song Wenwei. Why did she enter the industry?”

Lu Nan knew why: Song Wenwei had a dream of becoming Best Actress. She honed her acting skills, not caring about billing as long as she had good roles, just to stay relevant.

And she had succeeded.

Lu Nan had realized it back during the Zhou Ye incident—rushing things would only spark backlash. If extremists like him lashed out again, who knew what harm it could cause? Song Wenwei couldn’t suffer any more hurt.

Especially not pain in the name of love. Another six years like before would be torture.

They had history together—it had just been severed by others. Now it was reconnected. What would people think? Hooking up after a variety show car crash? Too absurd. No one would buy it.

Before, Lu Nan hadn’t cared when they went public. Okay, that was a lie—she did care.

She understood the logic, but Lu Nan ground her teeth: Am I some sinister villain? A rat in the gutter who can’t show her face? Why not go public with me? I’m gonna make a fuss.

“Am I the other woman?” Lu Nan mumbled sulkily. “No going public then.”

Song Wenwei could tell she was just throwing a tantrum, not truly angry. She smiled helplessly. “Ran Li took my account. She was afraid I’d hear you out and impulsively go public.”

It proved Ran Li had foresight. Seeing Lu Nan so despondent, Song Wenwei was already itching to check her phone and announce it right then.

“Funny, they took mine too. Because my pursuit of you was too intense.”

Song Wenwei nodded thoughtfully, paused, then asked: “That was pursuit? No sincerity at all…”

“No it wasn’t! It was just a metaphor. A metaphor.” Lu Nan muttered: “If that kind of pursuit worked, it’d be a miracle.”