Chapter 22: Long Tail

Camellia Courtyard

The accusatory words over the phone were filled with grievance and hurt. Before, it wasn’t as if Xing Yue had never shown impatience—but the more impatient she was, the more aggressive Bu Yao became, the more imperiously she’d order her around.

Not anymore. Sensing Xing Yue’s irritation with her now triggered a different kind of emotion.

Xing Yue’s brow smoothed slightly. She walked to the window-side area of the break room, her tone considerably softer: “I didn’t say you can’t wait, and I didn’t say you can’t call me. I’m at work, aren’t I? Once I’m done, I’ll come home.”

Usually, if someone called her and she instantly rejected the first call, most would guess she was busy and not immediately punch in a second one.

In Bu Yao’s worldview, it seemed no buffer period existed. Her thinking might have shifted somewhat, but her actions hadn’t. If the call wasn’t answered, she’d dial a second time, a third, regardless of whether it was convenient for Xing Yue—dialing until Xing Yue finally picked up.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Bu Yao’s hand, upon touching the camellia flower, visibly lightened its touch. “When my dad is busy working outside and can only come home at ten, he calls my mom by eight. You didn’t tell me you were working overtime, and when I called to ask, you snapped at me.”

Bu Yao had casually spoken of her family’s dynamics, simply sharing what she’d been immersed in since childhood. Naturally, she believed Xing Yue should also inform her in advance about overtime—not wait for her to call and ask.

But she’d forgotten that Xing Yue wasn’t currently her wife, nor were they in a dating relationship. This kind of default initiative to report only suited couples.

Xing Yue came from a divorced family since childhood. Her father was rarely home. She’d never once heard him call to report anything—he only used the silent treatment to drive her mother into a hysterical lunatic.

Hearing what Bu Yao described, no matter how hard she tried, her mind couldn’t conjure the image. Xing Yue didn’t know what it looked like when parents loved each other.

“My voice isn’t even as loud as yours. Who’s snapping at who?” Realizing that Bu Yao had truly only wanted to ask when she’d be home—not command her or restrict her—the impatience in her tone softened by several degrees. “Let’s each take a step back. Next time I work overtime, I’ll tell you two hours in advance. You don’t make a scene.”

Xing Yue was still the one to concede. She had clearly stated this was an ambiguous relationship—where in an ambiguous relationship did one person keep hounding the other to answer calls? Both sides should have some sense of boundaries.

Bu Yao was completely treating Xing Yue as her own woman. Though she was a bit domineering, her complaints were genuinely pitiful. And Xing Yue had a soft ear—she couldn’t bear to hear such things.

“Mm,” Bu Yao murmured softly, originally from shyness. Her hand finally released the courtyard leaves. The evening breeze stirred her dark hair, brushing it against the red camellias. “Do you want something to eat? Or maybe something to drink?”

Xing Yue loved the color red. She’d been fortunate enough to attend a flower-viewing garden party once. While the vast majority favored the white camellias, Xing Yue had instantly fallen for the fiery red ones.

She’d even specially used Little Green Stone Snake’s connections to acquire these expensive varieties and planted them all across her courtyard. At first, she’d worried they wouldn’t survive and had hired a plant specialist ahead of time to examine the soil.

Xing Yue glanced at the clock on the wall and said: “I’ll be back at eleven. Just wash up and wait for me. I don’t want to eat anything else—I want to eat a little tail.”

With mischievous intent, she hung up at lightning speed. Her specialty was flirting and then bolting, leaving all the discomfort behind for the Little Fire Snake. In less than two hours, those legs probably still wouldn’t have changed back—leaving her with just a tail, sobbing and writhing on her bed. How thrilling.

Xing Yue returned to the recording room. Jiang Li, trying to cozy up, frantically fished for conversation topics: “Teacher Xing has a family? A little wife type, right? Just like my sister’s wife—can’t go a moment without looking for her person. So clingy.”

From the bits and pieces dropped by someone else’s words, Xing Yue could roughly piece together that He Zhiwen’s married life was very happy, very loving with her wife.

She sipped her warm water. She didn’t particularly want to hear more, but she didn’t interrupt Jiang Li either.

“Actually, my sister’s wife has pretty good qualities all around. She teaches at S University, with a side job as a piano teacher. She’s quite ethereal-looking—sweet and beautiful. The people chasing after her could line up from the S University gates to Mo City. Can you believe my little sister, that little brat, actually managed to win her over?”

Jiang Li was unconsciously showing off her sister, carrying a sense of superiority that her sister had caught a goddess that countless others had pursued but failed to win—utterly unaware she was doing it.

“But ah…” The woman’s expression turned subtly disdainful. “She’s great and all, except she had an ex-girlfriend she was with for seven years. I mean, what’s the difference between that and a second marriage? My little sister had never even dated before—fresh goods. Still feels like a bit of a loss.”

Xing Yue’s expression gradually chilled. The very air seemed to solidify. Her fingers around the cup turned starkly pale. “Why did they break up?”

There’d been no other conversation, but suddenly engaging with this question—Jiang Li thought Xing Yue also loved gossip. She grew even more enthusiastic: “Ah, they say her mom wanted her to find someone local, so they broke up. Isn’t that just cruel? Seven whole years before saying she wouldn’t marry someone from out of town. Wasted all those years for nothing. The woman she was with is well over thirty now. So pitiful.”

Xing Yue’s tightly clenched grip on the cup gradually loosened. She lowered her eyes and drank a few more sips of warm water. “Is that what He Zhiwen said…”

Not marrying someone from out of town—so they broke up after seven years.

That excuse for breaking up had deliberately placed all the blame squarely on herself. Anyone hearing it would call He Zhiwen a scumbag.

Jiang Li spoke with absolute conviction: “This can’t be false. Xiao Wen told my sister herself. My sister, she really…”

Whatever Jiang Li complained about after, whatever else she said—Xing Yue could no longer absorb it. Her thoughts emptied out, a surge of desolation crashing over her like a tide.

She’d thought she’d never have to hear about He Zhiwen again in this lifetime. The very first update was news of her marriage. At the time, Xing Yue hadn’t felt much. But upon hearing the words He Zhiwen had fabricated to protect her dignity, she was deeply moved.

The phone on the table suddenly vibrated. Xing Yue’s attention shifted—it was a video from Bu Yao.

The video’s cover image was of the camellia trees in her courtyard. She tapped it open. The camellias flashed briefly before the camera shifted to Bu Yao herself, dressed in a Hepburn-style little black dress.

As the frame moved, Xing Yue could clearly see Bu Yao kneeling on the lawn, her fair knees pressing firmly into the grass and soil. Her upper body was half-prone, and beneath the hem of her skirt, a red snake tail slithered out. The base was thick and lushly rounded; the further down, the narrower the diameter. The matte snake scales were coolly alluring, exquisitely beautiful—writhing restlessly on the lawn, making soft rustling sounds.

It added a splash of delicate color to the Camellia Courtyard.

Bu Yao’s voice came through: “What do I do… I’ve grown a tail…”

Xing Yue’s eyes went completely wide. Her heart thumped wildly, her face instantly flushing bright red. She lowered her head, pretending to flip through the script, and turned off her phone screen—afraid the recording room staff might see.

The Eldest Miss hadn’t even retracted her legs yet, kneeling there sprawled on the lawn. She might even climb a tree, her tail recklessly coiling around the camellia trees Xing Yue had planted.

Imagining this, Xing Yue felt as if all her blood had reversed flow and rushed to her brain. She couldn’t quite suppress her quickening breath. What the hell was this—she was going to get a nosebleed.