Chapter 42: Third Day After Recovering Memory

The third Luosang Ballet Competition drew to a smooth close.

Jiang Wan claimed second place in the Youth Group.

The crown went to another exceptionally talented girl.

“Congratulations,” Jiang Wan said with a warm smile, her eyes brimming with sincerity.

She wasn’t surprised by the outcome. There was always someone better out there, and she understood that well enough.

The girl blinked in surprise. Jiang Wan’s expression seemed utterly genuine, without a trace of bitterness.

Was she just hiding it masterfully, or was her heart truly that open?

“Thank you. I hope we cross paths again next time,” the girl replied with a polite smile of her own, a flicker of genuine fondness warming her toward Jiang Wan.

It wasn’t until the competition had fully wrapped up that Guanguan learned what had gone down backstage. She puffed up with fury, like a bloated pufferfish.

At the insistent urging of Bei Huai and Guanguan, Jiang Wan finally went to the hospital for a thorough check-up.

Guanguan scrutinized the medical report with a stern little face, looking for all the world like she was wrestling with some arcane scholarly puzzle.

“See? I told you I was fine. Happy now?” Jiang Wan said, shaking her head in helpless amusement.

Gazing at her friend’s youthful face, so full of fresh collagen, she felt a pang of both nostalgia and melancholy.

In her previous life, everyone had opposed her relationship with Little Bei—everyone except Guanguan, who had simply said her happiness was what mattered most.

Unlike the current Guanguan, who was head over heels for Cen Jin, the Guanguan of her past life had no ties to Cen Jin or Bei Huai, much less a crush on Cen Jin.

At least up until Jiang Wan’s car accident, Guanguan had remained single.

What worried Jiang Wan most was the butterfly effect. She feared that by changing her own fate, she might have inadvertently doomed Guanguan.

She had no idea if Guanguan falling for Cen Jin was a blessing or a curse.

“You… what are you doing?”

“Nothing at all,” Jiang Wan replied, snapping back to the present.

Guanguan shot her friend a suspicious glance. If she wasn’t mistaken, that look in Jiang Wan’s eyes… it was exactly like a doting mother eyeing her wayward child.

A sudden shiver ran through her.

Never mind. No more silly thoughts.

With the check-up results coming back clean, Bei Huai finally let out a breath she’d been holding.

As for Xiang Ran, Jiang Wan had reported her to the competition committee right after the event ended.

Xiang Ran’s family had a bit of money, and she’d been pampered from a young age, which had left her spoiled, willful, and arrogant. She stubbornly refused to admit fault or apologize.

Jiang Wan had no interest in any payout. What she wanted was for Xiang Ran to carry this lesson for life.

There was no reaching a settlement.

Xiang Ran’s entry was disqualified, and the black mark would stain her record throughout her entire dance career.

Proud as she was, Xiang Ran could hardly stomach the reality.

All things considered, it was the fairest outcome. Jiang Wan hadn’t sustained any real injury, so there was no call for excessive demands.

With that, the farce was well and truly over.

But lately, Bei Huai had noticed something odd.

She felt Jiang Wan was acting strangely.

Nothing major, just… she kept staring at her, clinging to her side, following her everywhere.

Ever since the ballet competition ended, the moment Jiang Wan got back to school, she’d asked their homeroom teacher for a seat change.

She wanted to sit next to Bei Huai.

Her reasoning was airtight: Bei Huai was the best in physics, so pairing up would boost her own grades.

The teacher mulled it over briefly, recalled Bei Huai’s stellar recent performance, and approved without hesitation.

Ignoring her old deskmate’s resentful glare, Jiang Wan quickly gathered her things and slid into the seat beside Bei Huai.

Bei Huai’s former deskmate, meanwhile, switched spots with glee, all but thanking Jiang Wan outright.

He wasn’t as intimidated by Bei Huai anymore, but the vibe had been so oppressive, with no one to chat with—he’d been bored out of his mind.

Bei Huai stole a sidelong glance at the girl now beside her. Thrilled deep down, she put on a cool front. “What gives? Wasn’t your deskmate a whiz? Didn’t you say just the other day how much he’d helped you? Ditching him already?”

Truth be told, she hadn’t seen it coming—Jiang Wan asking the teacher to sit together.

Her delight far outweighed any bewilderment.

Which was why she regretted her words the instant they left her mouth.

Jiang Wan didn’t bristle in the slightest. She simply stared at Bei Huai for a few seconds before breaking into a smile.

In her previous life, after pulling herself together, she’d majored in psychology and grown attuned to people’s micro-expressions.

She noticed that right after speaking, Little Bei fidgeted with her earlobe—a telltale sign of inner discomfort and anxiety. Her gaze flickered evasively, refusing to meet Jiang Wan’s eyes.

It was obvious: her Little Bei was all talk, no heart in it.

At this age, Little Bei was the picture of tsundere awkwardness.

But to Jiang Wan, it was all unbearably cute.

She curved her lips in a smile, her tone utterly earnest. “In my heart, Little Bei, you’re the best by far.”

Jiang Wan’s earnest demeanor instead left Bei Huai feeling somewhat at a loss. She turned her head away and coughed lightly a few times. “Stop talking. Class is about to start.”

Since even Little Bei had said so, Jiang Wan reluctantly forced her attention away from Bei Huai.

She figured she should hold back a little—couldn’t afford to scare Little Bei off.

After all, they still had a long road ahead together.

But the moment she nodded off for a bit and woke up, Bei Huai was nowhere to be seen by her side.

Jiang Wan’s face fell in an instant.

She shot to her feet in a flash, her eyes sweeping across the classroom.

No sign of Bei Huai.

She fired off a quick message, but got no reply.

Propping herself against the desk, Jiang Wan tried desperately to calm herself down.

It’s okay, it’s okay. Little Bei probably just went to the bathroom. She’d be back any second.

Little Bei hadn’t vanished. She’d return right away.

She repeated the words to herself again and again, but the fear gnawing at her heart only grew, threatening to shatter her fragile composure.

What if… what if Little Bei didn’t come back?

Clenching her jaw, she bolted from the classroom.

She had barely reached the door when she collided straight into an incoming embrace.

A familiar cool fragrance filled her senses, and a soothing voice drifted down from above. “Running like that—what’s wrong?”

It felt like she’d been pulled back from the brink of disaster. Jiang Wan exhaled in relief, her arms wrapping tightly around Bei Huai.

She ignored the odd stares from their classmates, refusing to let go no matter what.

She was scared—so terribly scared.

Scared that, just like in her previous life, Little Bei would step out for a moment, only for her to return full of joy and receive the devastating news of her death.

Little Bei’s wound must have hurt so much in those final moments. She hadn’t even had the chance to take a proper look at her before she was gone.

They had promised to watch the Fairy Ball Cactus bloom together, but Little Bei, you liar.

Liar, big fat liar—just abandoning her like that.

“Wanwan, what’s the matter?” Sensing the girl’s turbulent emotions, Bei Huai softened her voice and asked gently.

“From now on, wherever you go, you have to tell me. No more sneaking off without a word.” The girl’s muffled voice came from her chest, thick with a nasal whine.

It was an utterly unreasonable demand.

Yet Bei Huai agreed with good grace.

“Alright. From now on, I’ll let you know wherever I go.”

She gently stroked the girl’s head, her voice low and husky, laced with an indescribable tenderness.

“As long as you don’t get sick of it.”