Chapter 85: Play

“Illegitimate daughter?”

The little lamb was actually Fucheng Group’s illegitimate daughter?

Li Le’er, listening to their conversation from the side, was stunned in shock, her hair-styling motion frozen mid-air.

This was the first time she’d heard about it. Qiao Qian said it was Xiaoying who told Susu, and she’d overheard it? So among the four of them, she was the only one kept in the dark?

Such explosive news, and Li Le’er was the last to know—she suddenly felt a bit downhearted, but she also knew this wasn’t the time to discuss it.

The key point in Qiao Qian’s words just now was—she wanted to borrow money from Han Xuan?

“This isn’t right.” Li Le’er frowned. “We can try to scrape some money together for you, but she’s not even family. Why would she agree?”

But Qiao Qian wasn’t listening. She just stared straight at Chu Susu, stubbornly waiting for an answer.

“That’s impossible.”

Chu Susu rejected her outright, looking puzzled. “Qiao Qian, you’ve met Han Xuan too. Does she look like she has money?”

Back then, Han Xuan couldn’t even attend Fucheng’s birthday banquet openly. She’d worn an inconspicuous black skirt that didn’t match the occasion and got mocked by the others.

Where would she get tens of millions to lend Qiao Qian to pay off her debts?

Even if Han Xuan did have that kind of money—putting it mildly—Li Le’er was right. They weren’t relatives. Whose money grew on trees? Why should she agree to lend it?

But Qiao Qian wouldn’t hear it.

She downed a few glasses alone. Whether it was the alcohol going to her head or the dim lighting, her eyes gradually turned bloodshot, taking on a startling intensity.

“I know you two are close.” Qiao Qian said slowly. “If you guarantee it for me, she’ll definitely find a way to help me out…”

Chu Susu could tell at a glance that she wasn’t listening to anyone right now, so she repeated, “No guarantee will work. Where’s she supposed to get that much money from? Qiao Qian, do you understand what I’m saying? That’s a huge amount…”

“Han Xuan definitely has a way!”

Qiao Qian cut her off forcefully, her chest heaving as she took deep breaths.

The moment their gazes met, Chu Susu suddenly realized something. An unbelievable thought flashed through her mind.

Qiao Qian had said “definitely has a way,” not “definitely has money.” Could it be…

She immediately asked gravely, “Do you know something?”

Qiao Qian’s face went pale, sweat beading on her forehead. She tugged at the corner of her mouth and met Chu Susu’s gaze, giving a tiny, almost imperceptible nod—as if admitting it.

Chu Susu’s heart went cold in an instant.

“What are you two talking about? What do you know? I suddenly feel so dumb—I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

The only one clueless about what was happening, Li Le’er was completely baffled. She racked her brain but couldn’t figure out why Qiao Qian thought Han Xuan could help her with this.

Did Han Xuan have some other identity besides being Fucheng’s illegitimate daughter? She wasn’t that capable.

Qiao Qian’s tense body relaxed a little. She turned her head and explained, “Le’er, Han Xuan really does have some ways to help me.”

Li Le’er asked blankly, “What ways? Tell me!”

“…”

Qiao Qian didn’t answer. She just glanced at Chu Susu, then indifferently lowered her eyes.

Chu Susu fell silent too, because she suddenly understood something.

Qiao Qian clearly could’ve just come to her alone, so why go to the extra trouble of calling Li Le’er and Zhou Xiaoying?

There was only one reason: Qiao Qian definitely knew about Han Xuan’s unusual abilities. Her attitude now was basically telling Chu Susu—

If she didn’t agree, Qiao Qian would spread it around. First to Xiaoying and Le’er, and who knew who else after that.

Even if Han Xuan had connections everywhere, she couldn’t go around erasing everyone’s memories one by one, right?

Absurd. Too absurd!

Chu Susu’s emotions were complicated right now—anger at being threatened, disappointment at being used by a friend, and bafflement at the sheer impossibility.

Qiao Qian used to be different. What had happened to turn her into this?

She pressed her lips together, staring at the other girl without speaking for the moment, while Qiao Qian patiently waited for her response.

Li Le’er felt like they were playing some cryptic game. Her confused gaze darted between them:

“Susu, if Han Xuan really has a way, why not just ask her? She might help Qiao Qian out.”

“The problem isn’t that.” Chu Susu said lowly. “It’s complicated to explain, but in short, it’s impossible.”

She could guess with her toes that anything requiring Han Xuan’s help would definitely be illegal—like having her alter the lender’s memories or something.

Chu Susu’s firm tone made Qiao Qian’s face look worse and worse. The faint hope that had risen was now ebbing away bit by bit.

“You just won’t help me, will you?”

Qiao Qian forced out a smile. “I’ve always seen you all as my best friends. If I had any other choice, why would I even ask?”

“See us as friends?” Chu Susu’s tone was harsh. “Friends should be honest with each other, but you still haven’t said why you borrowed from loan sharks in the first place.”

Qiao Qian was speechless for a moment. Then, whether out of guilt or humiliated anger at the rejection, tears started falling silently again.

“Sigh.”

Li Le’er tugged at Chu Susu’s sleeve, signaling her not to keep pushing Qiao Qian.

In a gentler tone, she consoled, “Why not just come out and say what’s going on? At least then we could brainstorm solutions with you. Why keep it all bottled up?”

But no matter how they asked, Qiao Qian clamped her mouth shut and said nothing, as if she hadn’t heard the question.

Li Le’er sighed and gave up. “If that’s how it is, we really can’t help you.”

She and Chu Susu stood up together, exchanging a look that said they both knew talks were over.

The ice in the iced wine on the table had half melted into water, while the fruit plate beside it remained untouched.

Qiao Qian sat alone in the booth, isolated—no one approaching, no one staying. Her solitary figure looked so lonely.

In the end, she called out Chu Susu’s name one more time: “Susu.”

That gaze mixed with emotions Chu Susu couldn’t quite read—like pleading, or stubborn insistence. It made her heart jolt for no reason.

Chu Susu replied softly, “If you want to talk later, come find us.”

With that, she didn’t linger and pulled Li Le’er away.

All that was left behind was Qiao Qian’s voice, almost entirely drowned out by the music:

“If you won’t help me, I’ll find a way myself.”

Later, Li Le’er pestered Chu Susu about what was up with Han Xuan. Unable to dodge it, Chu Susu made up an excuse to brush her off.

She borrowed Zhou Xiaoying’s earlier story: “…The Fucheng boss is pretty superstitious, so everyone in the family has some brush with the supernatural.”

Chu Susu recounted how she and Han Yao had been trapped together in Jiang City’s historical venue, encountering that “supernatural” doll. It scared the timid Li Le’er half to death, and she didn’t dare ask more.

She shuddered. “Then, Qiao Qian didn’t look great that day. She didn’t get involved with something unclean, did she…?”

“Not likely. Don’t overthink it.”

As for where Qiao Qian had actually spent the money, Chu Susu later asked around with other friends and pretty much figured it out.

She’d thought that bar was weird from the start, and it turned out her guess was spot on.

Her friend told her the difference wasn’t just that it was a lesbian bar—there was something even more special—

Li Le’er looked baffled. “Bar T? What’s that job?”

“…Simply put, a T who accompanies guests drinking at the bar.”

Whether in gay or straight bars, they existed. Some patrons came to drink in bad moods and needed company. That was their role.

Of course, they didn’t do it for free—they’d encourage consumption, push expensive drinks, and get commissions.

“You mean Qiao Qian took out high-interest loans to spend at the bar?” Li Le’er was puzzled. “How much could drinking cost? Not enough to rack up that much debt.”

“Or maybe not drinking—she went straight to that Bar T.”

The women dancing on stage had kept glancing their way, and Chu Susu had noticed. Clearly, Qiao Qian was a regular.

And that was a plausible explanation, even without evidence.

As for the real truth, only Qiao Qian knew.

Li Le’er asked again, “Then when Qiao Qian wanted Han Xuan’s help, was it for something like… raising a little ghost or summoning with a pen fairy to solve it?”

She’d been reading too many novels lately—her head full of ghosts and monsters. She was scaring herself before anyone else said a word.

“Could be.”

Chu Susu still felt it wasn’t as simple as it seemed, so she spooked Li Le’er a bit to keep her out of it for now.

Li Le’er: “So you’re not planning to tell Han Xuan either?”

Chu Susu was in the office then, right around lunchtime. “Mm.”

Li Le’er: “Mm, yeah, that’s for the best. It doesn’t involve Han Xuan anyway—better not to bother her. Such a hassle.”

Chu Susu bit into half-eaten apple, about to reply with a “Mm,” when suddenly a voice came from beside her.

“What shouldn’t I know?”

Though soft, it was like a thunderclap exploding in the quiet office, startling Chu Susu badly. The apple also fell onto the desk.

Han Xuan placed the lunchbox aside and naturally took a tissue to wipe the juice splattered from the apple.

“…” Chu Susu came back to her senses, still with lingering fear. “How do you walk without making a sound?”

Han Xuan looked a bit aggrieved. “I knocked on the door, but you didn’t hear me after a long time.”

Chu Susu then realized she was still wearing her earphones. It had felt quiet earlier because the playlist had finished its last song, leaving dozens of seconds of silence.

Han Xuan pursed her lips again and carefully apologized:

“I didn’t mean to peek at your computer. I was just about to call you and accidentally saw my own name. Don’t be upset.”

“…It’s fine. I’m not upset.”

Hearing this, Han Xuan finally relaxed. She smiled gently and sat down on the chair across from her.

Chu Susu gazed into her eyes, feeling inexplicably guilty.

She had thought the matter was over. Unexpectedly, when she opened the lunchbox, a soft voice came from across the table:

“So, what is it that you can’t tell me?”