Chapter 43: Tang Li

This room card wasn’t from a colleague, of course—it was Chu Susu’s.

The room was empty, with a small suitcase by the bed. Clearly, she’d just arrived not long ago.

“Rest assured, she doesn’t have a stomachache,” Chu Susu said, then sat down on the edge of the bed. “I had her trick you into coming up here.”

Han Xuan stood at the door without moving. “Why not just message me directly?”

Chu Susu casually flopped back, lazily rolling onto her side.

“I wanted to try suddenly appearing and giving you a scare.”

She’d mainly wanted to see the surprised look on this girl’s face, but unfortunately, she didn’t get her wish.

Han Xuan said softly, “How could you be so sure I didn’t know you were coming?”

Perhaps the one waiting patiently for the rabbit wasn’t Chu Susu after all.

“Hm?”

Her voice was extremely soft. Chu Susu frowned and lifted her gaze, but what she saw was still that innocent, harmless face.

As if the slyness in those words had just been an illusion.

“…”

Suddenly, Chu Susu felt like beneath this little girl’s pure and kind exterior hid a mischievous little heart.

“Fine, so you saw through it. Whatever,” she gave up struggling. “Mainly, after what happened that day… I just couldn’t wait any longer. The company gave me some time off, so I came to find you.”

Han Xuan slowly walked over. “If there’s something to say, you could’ve just WeChatted me.”

“You don’t want me here?”

“No, it’s just… is your head okay now?” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t you need more rest? Or is there something else you need to handle in Magic City?”

“Of course not. I came specifically to see you.”

The words caught Han Xuan off guard, flushing her cheeks red. She shyly turned her head away, not letting Chu Susu catch her expression. “Oh… really.”

Her usual easily embarrassed personality gave Chu Susu the illusion that… the other was still just that pure little lamb.

“Let’s talk about what happened that day,” she cut straight to the point. “What I saw wasn’t a hallucination, right?”

Even though she’d been knocked unconscious with a stick, Chu Susu remembered it vividly.

Han Xuan didn’t speak, as if silently admitting it.

“So what exactly was that? Superpowers? Magic?”

Chu Susu guessed wildly, while realizing the other had no intention of explaining.

No matter what she said, Han Xuan just averted her gaze and murmured softly, “I can’t tell you yet. Sorry.”

“…OK, I get it.” She hadn’t really expected an answer anyway. “These things can’t be known by ordinary people, right?”

That was how it usually went in the movies.

“Mm.”

Chu Susu abruptly sat up and gripped Han Xuan’s shoulders, forcibly turning her body around to make her look straight at her.

Those purple eyes were now hidden beneath pure black beauty contacts, hard to detect.

“Then why did you risk exposing yourself to come save me?”

From the kidnapper’s testimony, it was clear a chunk of his memory had been erased. Now, besides Han Xuan, she was the only one who remembered the incident.

“Why did you leave my memories intact?”

Han Xuan was forced to meet those sharp eyes. She pursed her lips, her tone carrying a hint of gentle submission, as if afraid of making her angry.

“I couldn’t just… not come save you.”

Chu Susu let out a breath. Those pitiful eyes made her realize her attitude had been a bit too aggressive.

She slowly released her grip on Han Xuan’s shoulders and said,

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… really want to thank you for saving me. Truly.”

At her words, the person in front of her suddenly let out a “pfft” laugh.

“How could you scare me?” Han Xuan quickly bit her lip to suppress the smile. “If anything, I’m the one worried I scared you that day.”

“You didn’t.”

“That’s good,” Han Xuan said. “Also, don’t tell anyone else, okay? I might get in trouble.”

“Of course.”

“Mm…” Han Xuan suddenly wore a hesitant expression, as if wanting to say something but holding back. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“What?”

“Wait a sec.”

Chu Susu watched as Han Xuan got up and left the room. About five minutes later, she returned with something in hand.

It was a miniature camera, about the size of a palm, with plenty of scratches on its plastic shell—clearly well-worn.

What did this mean?

Han Xuan gestured for her to hold on, then connected the camera to an app on her phone. In no time, a choppy video appeared on the screen.

The footage wasn’t high quality—shot at night or in shaky mode.

Even so, Chu Susu recognized it at a glance: the camera had recorded the warehouse.

The night was so dark it was practically blank, but Han Xuan’s conversation with the man was crystal clear.

Chu Susu frowned, then quickly realized. “That guy wanted to secretly film something?”

“Mm.” Han Xuan said calmly, “This isn’t as simple as it seems. Jack instructed this guy to kidnap you for one purpose: to make you miss the report. He had no reason to need a camera to film you.”

Indeed, after the thug tied her up in the warehouse, he’d locked the door. If the target was her, it made no sense.

Not to mention, someone breaking the law wouldn’t voluntarily leave evidence of their crime.

Was it to film Han Xuan?

“Something’s off,” Chu Susu said, staring at the blurry footage thoughtfully. “Even if it was to film you, my rescue was a last-minute decision. Who could’ve known in advance?”

Besides, Jack and Han Xuan were total strangers—no grudge, no motive.

Han Xuan disconnected the device and said faintly, “Maybe someone knew.”

“Oh? Who?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But people like me… special ones… get targeted a lot. What I can say for sure is, besides Jack, someone else paid off this kidnapper.”

Chu Susu was stunned for a second. She hadn’t expected such a tangled web behind it all, dragging her into aspects she’d never imagined—like being pulled into an invisible whirlpool.

Han Xuan took in her reaction, forcing a smile as she lowered her gaze, though her eyes seemed to weep silently.

“Sorry, Susu.”

She buried her head low, apologizing countless times for mistakes that weren’t even hers.

“These things have nothing to do with you, yet I dragged you in. I… shouldn’t have let you know, should I?”

Chu Susu placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t say that. This involves me too, so telling me was the right call.”

Right now, Han Xuan seemed as fragile as cicada wings or a dry leaf, with tears glistening at the corners of her eyes—as if she might shatter at the slightest touch.

Her shoulders trembled. “I was just… so scared.”

Anyone seeing her like this would be moved.

Chu Susu hesitated for a moment, but her heartache overrode her reason. She pulled Han Xuan into her arms.

“Good girl, don’t cry. You can tell me anything.”

Han Xuan’s body shook in her embrace, and soon Chu Susu felt her chest growing damp.

They both fell silent for a while, until Han Xuan’s emotions settled. Then she spoke.

“From childhood to now, it’s always been like this.”

Her voice was thick with congestion.

“As a kid, I didn’t know I was different, so I foolishly showed off in front of others.”

“The outcome… of course, they treated me like a monster and chased me away.”

There was a hint of self-mockery in Han Xuan’s tone.

“Later, I learned to hide it, but emergencies still happen.”

“I thought helping others would stop them from seeing me as a monster, but I was wrong.”

“They act like they’ve discovered a new continent, using every trick to get evidence from me.” She glanced down at the camera discarded by her feet. “Filming videos is one of their methods.”

“Once they have it recorded, they can hand it to the media or even the government. Something so unbelievable would make explosive news—and profit, naturally.”

“There are too many people like that. So when this happens, I’m not surprised,” Han Xuan said. “But as for who’s behind it, no leads.”

Chu Susu suddenly understood—this must be why Han Xuan was always so low-key. Months at the company, and she still hadn’t gotten close to any colleagues.

Yet she’d grown so close to her, even risking exposure.

Chu Susu wasn’t one to trust easily, but facing Han Xuan, she couldn’t muster even a shred of doubt.

She asked softly, “Why tell me all this? Aren’t you afraid I’ll be like them?”

Han Xuan pitifully nuzzled her head into the crook of her neck, not answering directly but countering with a question.

“Would you?”

Her warm, soft breath tickled her ear, leaving Chu Susu breathless.

Of course not.

“No,” she said earnestly. “I swear to you, I’ll keep your secret. I won’t tell a soul—not even my family.”

Han Xuan’s eyes, meeting hers, brimmed with emotion.

“Thanks, Susu.” She seemed to choke up a little. “You’re the first person who’s ever taken me home.”

Chu Susu stroked her soft, silky long hair and gently patted her. “No need to thank me. I haven’t done anything for you.”

“It’s already… a lot.”

It was precisely because she had never possessed anything like this before that even the tiniest bit of kindness filled her with satisfaction.

Han Xuan hugged her a little longer before gently pushing her away, reluctance evident in her eyes.

“There’s an exchange meeting I have to attend this afternoon, so I should probably get going.” She bit her lip. “I… can I come find you tonight?”

“No problem.”

Chu Susu smiled and let go of her. “Go on, I’ll wait for you.”

She walked Han Xuan through the corridor and watched her step into the elevator before finally leaving.

As a result, Chu Susu didn’t see the expression on Han Xuan’s face the instant the elevator doors closed.

The smile on her face slowly faded. She wiped away the last traces of tears with her sleeve. Aside from her slightly swollen eyes, there was no sign she had ever cried.

“Susu.”

Han Xuan murmured the name softly, her tone a mix of coquetry and concern.

“Why are you still the same old you? Someone cries a little, and you go soft, believing everything they say.”

She stared at her fingertips for a moment, then muttered to herself.

“If things keep going like this, the one who ends up crying will be you.”