The Eldest Miss should seek another beauty
Summer mornings always dawned early. It was not yet six, yet the sky outside had already turned a pale grayish-white.
Bu Yao didn’t know when the power had come back on. Afraid the light might disturb the still-sleeping Xing Yue, she crawled out of the covers and switched off the bedside lamp.
Xing Yue had been in a foul mood last night, and Bu Yao hadn’t managed to get anything out of her either. Drunk and dazed, Xing Yue had kept stroking her tail and simply fallen asleep while doing so.
Xing Yue couldn’t hold her alcohol well. More than half her neck had erupted in alcoholic red blotches, and her brow was still furrowed. She looked far from just uncomfortable.
Bu Yao gently touched Xing Yue’s face with her small hand and thought about going to the fridge to get some ice to apply. Just as she stepped off the bed, she noticed the bag that had fallen to the floor. Its contents—IDs, a cell phone, a compact mirror—had all spilled out.
It had been dark last night; she hadn’t noticed.
She picked these things up and frowned in thought at the shattered screen of the phone. Pressing the buttons yielded no response—it was likely completely ruined. In the small cardholder, she found two SIM cards.
Today wasn’t the weekend, and Bu Yao wasn’t sure if Xing Yue had any daytime work. Having the phone dead wasn’t a solution. Worried that the studio colleagues wouldn’t be able to reach her and delay Xing Yue’s work, she took the SIM cards and searched the room for a spare phone.
She searched for quite a while before finally finding one in the bottom drawer of the closet. The edges were already chipped—probably an old phone Xing Yue had used before. She installed the SIM card and plugged it in to charge.
The moment the phone powered on, the lock screen wallpaper made her freeze.
It was a younger Xing Yue, wearing a sleeveless top and a khaki hip-hugging skirt—a light, sophisticated style, gentle and radiant. The girl in her arms had a lively smile, dressed in a belted linen-blend dress, pure and striking white.
In the photo, Xing Yue’s arm around the girl held a cup of milk tea. The girl held the same brand of drink. The cups were printed with two English words respectively: “My” and “wife”.
Instantly, sour jealousy bubbled up in Bu Yao’s chest. Seeing the cup labeled “wife” held by that other girl made her expression darken to its absolute worst.
So this was Xing Yue’s ex-girlfriend. Xing Yue really was a sucker for looks, finding such a pretty girlfriend.
They’d already broken up—so why still keep a couple photo as the lock screen…
Bu Yao’s face was fully etched with displeasure. She lifted Xing Yue’s hand to use the fingerprint to unlock it, then let go, wanting to open the photo gallery and just find any picture to replace it.
She hadn’t expected that the moment she clicked on the gallery, it held twelve thousand photos. As far as the eye could see, they were all of this girl. The sorted albums even included ones transferred via Bluetooth from old phone swaps, spanning from Li Era Year 32 to Li Era Year 39. Xing Yue had been with this girl for seven long years.
Bu Yao casually tapped one open. It was an overhead shot—from top to bottom. This angle clearly captured Xing Yue washing the feet of the person holding the phone. Those distant-mountain delicate brows, that straight and elegant nose, that familiar profile—she was smiling so tenderly.
She had only flipped open one random photo, and this image hurt more than the day Xing Yue had asked for the divorce. Her heart felt like it was dripping blood.
She’d made Xing Yue help her put on shoes, and Xing Yue had scolded her to tears. Yet here Xing Yue was washing another woman’s feet.
Bu Yao’s hand trembled. Whether from fury or something else, she didn’t know. Suddenly, an incoming call rang out. Startled, she hadn’t even reacted before the phone was snatched away.
Hoarse, heavy breathing echoed sharply. Xing Yue took the phone, staring at the incoming number on the screen. Seeing it was an unfamiliar string of digits, her eyes went blank for two seconds before she lay back down on the bed.
“Hello,” Xing Yue answered, massaging her temple with her other hand. The sudden movement from getting up had made her head feel like it was going to explode.
“Hello, is this Senior Yue? This is Jiang Li.”
“Mm.”
“Yesterday, I didn’t mean to stand you up. A younger sister at home had a sudden medical emergency, and I rushed her to the hospital. I didn’t have my phone with me. Senior Yue, may I humbly ask you to give me a chance to apologize?”
The other party was sincere, even somewhat anxious—likely rejected by the studio and had only been able to reach Xing Yue now.
Xing Yue’s head ached fiercely, and she wasn’t in a very receptive mood, but she still answered politely: “Understood. Come to the station this afternoon.”
Ending the call, Xing Yue dialed her assistant: “Verify whether Miss Jiang has a family member who was hospitalized yesterday.”
She held this phone, staring blankly for a moment. After hanging up, the phone automatically turned off the screen. She pressed the power button once more, and the lock screen lit up again…
Xing Yue looked at it for a few seconds, then finally placed the phone on the nightstand. She pulled the covers up a bit and looked at the woman beside her. “Was it fun?”
Her throat was painfully dry, her voice hoarse. Yet there wasn’t much emotion in her tone—not even as much as when she’d reacted to the incoming ringtone.
Bu Yao’s fingers clenched the edge of the blanket, that small piece of fabric nearly shredded by her rubbing. “Can’t you forget that woman? Last night you were holding me while you slept!”
Faced with Bu Yao’s accusation, Xing Yue’s expression remained as still as dead water—not a single ripple. She even seemed leisurely as she rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “What connection do those two things have?”
She hooked a strand of Bu Yao’s hair, playing with it. “Not happy? Then leave me.”
In just a few short days since Bu Yao had come back for her, her life had become utter chaos. She was better off alone.
Bu Yao hadn’t expected Xing Yue to admit it so blatantly, unwilling to even offer a word of comfort. She’d divorced her for barely ten years, and seven of those had been spent in a relationship with another woman.
The blow was too great. Bu Yao couldn’t bear it. She choked with sharp accusation: “Then why did you sleep with me?”
Xing Yue: “The pressure was immense, and you just happened to show up…”
“Slap!”
The slap that hadn’t landed on her face yesterday landed soundly now. Bu Yao had put all her strength into it—one slap sent half of Xing Yue’s face swelling.
Even this didn’t quell her anger. She got off the bed and swept everything off Xing Yue’s vanity onto the floor. “I was for your stress relief? Other people pay for prostitutes—how much money do you have to give me? Can you even afford it?”
She paced back and forth in the same spot, performing the same motions. Ten years of therapy, and Xing Yue had provoked her into a stereotypical behavior.
Xing Yue pulled the blanket higher, curling herself entirely inside it. Muffled, she said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah… I can’t afford to sleep with you. The Eldest Miss should seek another beauty.”
Such a fierce argument, as if last night’s intimacy had all been an illusion.
No one knew how long passed. The room fell utterly silent—no more sounds at all. The stillness was terrifying.
Xing Yue’s eyes were bloodshot. Her fingernails, from tightly clenching her fists, had cracked at the index finger. Her face still hurt.
Good that she’s gone. Leaving was for the best. Can’t mate with ordinary people, can’t match up to the Eldest Miss—she should just stay single.
Just as Xing Yue was about to catch her breath, the blanket was suddenly yanked open. Harsh daylight and a flash of flamboyant red hair invaded her vision together.
Bu Yao threw herself over, leaning close to ask: “Are you secretly crying, Xing Yue?”
