Chapter 80: Choice

The next day, after Zhao Chiyun woke up, her entire body ached. Even walking left her feeling powerless, which infuriated her.

She blamed it all on Gan Xun.

Gan Xun didn’t see it that way. During Monday morning rush hour on the subway, she messaged her: if she hadn’t given her a full-body massage last night, it would only hurt more today. Gan Xun was the hero!

Zhao Chiyun replied: [Joke. If you hadn’t treated me like that, it wouldn’t ache like this.]

Gan Xun carefully recalled last night’s positions. She hadn’t realized the high-difficulty ones, which required Zhao Chiyun to support herself, were that taxing.

They had only lain there or lain prone for a bit. Would that really cause soreness and pain?

She suggested to Zhao Chiyun: [It must be because you struggled with too much force. Next time, just lie completely flat. Scream if you want to—don’t hold back—and you shouldn’t end up sore all over.]

After “The other party is typing,” Zhao Chiyun only sent back four words.

[Utterly shameless.]

Such strong aggression—the idiom hit harder than “shameless” or “lewd.”

Gan Xun loved hearing it and replied with a [sneaky grin].

She searched for equestrian clubs near Mirror City, but the signal cut out right then. No matter what she did, the page wouldn’t load.

After futile attempts, she put away her phone. Forget trying to imitate clumsily—riding wasn’t the same thrill it used to be anyway.

The promotional clip featuring Zhao Chiyun had brought sustained heat to Book Garden all the way to the end of September, and it still hadn’t fully faded.

More people began noticing her works because of the person’s low profile.

This was exactly what Cui Can loved to see. She specially produced a video showcasing Zhao Chiyun’s calligraphy and painting pieces, along with the creative process.

Zhao Chiyun happily cooperated, hoping to shift people’s gaze from her face to her hands—though not being looked at at all was truly what she wanted.

Some people, however, didn’t know when to stop and crossed the line. Lately, it still troubled her at work.

At first, she felt displeased deep down. She was teaching properly and hadn’t resorted to using her looks, yet these irrelevant people fixated on her appearance. It was practically an insult.

Whenever impatience struck, she wanted to say arrogantly: back in Mirror Country, these commoners wouldn’t even qualify to gaze upon her. How dare they toy with her for amusement.

She never voiced it. It wasn’t that she’d truly learned to mingle with the masses; she just feared her roommate’s hundred recitations of “everyone is equal.”

In time, she grew numb to it. Such absurdities no longer stirred any emotional waves in her.

She also realized the modern world was full of inexplicable things—like Gan Xun attending her grade’s class reunion and being swarmed by admirers.

Though Gan Xun insisted it wasn’t like that and that Cui Can had exaggerated, Zhao Chiyun had her own analysis.

People here didn’t get angry about their looks being admired. Social platforms were full of selfies and videos; anyone who could live off their appearance was among the finest creations under Nüwa’s hands. They were thrilled, not ashamed.

It was nothing like Mirror Country back then.

Subtly and imperceptibly, Zhao Chiyun shed her old mindset. If someone came specifically to see her and she couldn’t avoid it, she would meet them.

She did so openly and generously: were they signing up for a class?

The one thing she couldn’t change was her dislike of being photographed.

She believed stranger lenses were unworthy and shouldn’t record her countenance. She clearly stated she didn’t want any photos circulating.

Some people listened; others didn’t.

That day, her class ended, and before she could leave the classroom, Yan Qing walked in.

She explained first: “Qiu Yu went to the bathroom. I’m waiting for her.”

“Um.”

“Has Teacher Zhao been troubled lately?”

“What?”

Zhao Chiyun looked up and saw her standing half a step away, her head tilted slightly as if afraid she couldn’t see clearly.

Yan Qing smiled and explained: “I heard from Qiu Yu that more people have been coming just for you, even disrupting classes. You were very angry.”

Zhao Chiyun replied seriously: “Book Garden will put a stop to such things going forward. It won’t affect the classes.”

“Teacher Zhao misunderstands. I’m not worried about classroom efficiency.”

Yan Qing paused, then walked out of the classroom with Zhao Chiyun: “I’m worried about Teacher Zhao’s mood. I’ve never seen you angry before.”

She seemed to be joking, but Zhao Chiyun didn’t laugh. She thought to herself that true dignity meant majesty without anger—who showed emotions to mere strangers?

Yan Qing sensed her aloofness and tactfully changed her tone: “I think Teacher Zhao could seize this opportunity—for monetization or personal development. Staying on to teach at Book Garden reassures me as a parent, but it’s a waste of your talents. That can’t be your ultimate goal, right?”

“I like teaching.”

Zhao Chiyun gave a firm answer, then appeared thoughtful: “I’ll consider it.”

Whenever she couldn’t understand something, she pretended to mull it over.

As the saying went, nobles spoke slowly. Talking less was always safer, and no one would press her for immediate answers sentence by sentence.

Back in the office, she got the idea of monetization from Cui Can and understood Yan Qing’s suggestion. Cui Can urged her to job-hop or earn more money while the buzz lasted.

Cui Can operated the scheduling system in the office: “She’s amazing at business—a real strong-woman mindset. She has a point. Who doesn’t want to climb higher? Why not shoot some videos, go live, and sell classes? Like hawking our courses in the livestream room.”

She laughed at her own idea.

Book Garden did have live consultations, but they were infrequent. Previously, Lan Xiaoxi had handled them, but lately, she hadn’t been involved much.

“Xiaoxi has been slacking at work lately. Maybe she doesn’t want to do it anymore.”

“Why?”

Cui Can glanced up at Zhao Chiyun and sighed quietly to herself.

“Maybe this place isn’t her true home. She has her own dreams and ambitions, and it’s tying her down here.”

Zhao Chiyun nodded, understanding the reasoning.

She said: “Lady Yan only knows this isn’t my final home, but she doesn’t know the entire world isn’t either. I’m merely sojourning here.”

Cui Can looked up from her spreadsheet again: “So no matter what, you’re definitely leaving?”

The question was oddly phrased. Zhao Chiyun countered: “If I can leave, why wouldn’t I?”

“What about Gan Xun?”

Cui Can couldn’t hold back: “If it comes down to choosing between going home or Gan Xun, which do you pick?”

Only the two of them were in Cui Can’s office. Cui Can sat at her desk working, while Zhao Chiyun lounged more relaxed on the sofa, sipping warm water from her cup.

The single question chilled the atmosphere.

Cui Can glanced up at the air conditioner—temperature was fine, not set too low.

Zhao Chiyun took two sips of water, then looked up with a smile at Cui Can: “The choice isn’t mine, so why assume? By then, I’ll miss her, and she’ll miss me.”

“It’ll be more than missing. She’ll be heartbroken.”

“Chiyun, you’ve been treating life here like a vacation or a life simulation game, but this is Gan Xun’s everything.”

Cui Can spoke more directly in work mode. After laying out the facts, she realized these weren’t words she should say.

Meddling in others’ relationships wasn’t wise. Gan Xun would think even more deeply about it and had already accepted it.

So she brushed it off with a laugh: “But hey, it’s not a big deal. Everyone’s mentally prepared. Don’t worry, County Princess—I’ll make sure to comfort Gan Xun properly when the time comes.”

For some reason, Zhao Chiyun thought back to that day when Gan Xun mentioned buying a car to pick her up. She hadn’t taken it seriously then.

Now she realized Cui Can was right. The reason she had no great ambitions here was that she hadn’t treated this life as her real one.

But this was Gan Xun’s life—no side quests, just the main storyline. She would buy a car and house here, choose her fated partner, and grow old together.

That person wouldn’t be Zhao Chiyun, because Zhao Chiyun was trapped in her own dilemma and couldn’t make the promise: “I’ll stay with you.”

“Then I’ll trouble you to keep her good company after I leave.”

That was the only way she could entrust it, indirectly answering Cui Can’s question.

Zhao Chiyun checked the time. They had plans to have dinner together at Cui Can’s house tonight. She missed Little Cat, and Gan Xun had promised to meet at Book Garden after work.

Right after class ended, she’d seen Gan Xun’s message saying she was on the way. She should have arrived by now.

No sooner had she thought that than the office door was knocked on, startling her heart.

With Cui Can’s “come on in,” Gan Xun’s slender figure appeared at the door, smiling at them.

The beating in Zhao Chiyun’s chest quickened, racing faster than normal.

If it had been their first meeting, that pounding might have seemed like “love at first sight.”

But it wasn’t their first meeting, so it could only be anxiety, unease, and…

“All done? I’m starving. Tang Lv’s been asking in the group chat what time we’ll arrive—no one’s replying,” Gan Xun said as she spoke.

Cui Can stood to pack up: “Been doing scheduling, missed the messages. Let’s go—I’m dying of hunger too.”

The drive back to Cui Can’s house took only a few minutes. Along the way, Cui Can kept the conversation going, asking about Gan Xun’s work.

Gan Xun responded casually, occasionally turning back to glance at Zhao Chiyun whenever she spoke.

Her smiling gaze was gentle to the point of coolness in the twilight, like the embers of a setting sun—beautiful, but lacking warmth.

Gan Xun acted completely normal: no moping, no deliberate ignoring. But Zhao Chiyun had a gut feeling that she had overheard.

The knock on the door had come right after their conversation ended, perfectly timed. There had only been the two of them upstairs, surroundings silent. Their unmuted talk shouldn’t have been hard to hear.

Even if she had heard, it was nothing.

Those words held no slander or impulsiveness—just heartfelt truths. Gan Xun had discussed similar topics with her more than once.

They had said the same things.

Gan Xun had even said she hoped Zhao Chiyun would return home quickly and reunite with her family. She was grateful.

At the same time, Zhao Chiyun knew deep down that if Gan Xun had been present, she wouldn’t have spoken that way.

No sweet nothings—just calmly and directly stating the fact: “I’m leaving.”

They parked in the underground garage. After Cui Can used facial recognition, the three of them entered the elevator one after another.

Zhao Chiyun still felt a slight discomfort in elevators— that sudden stomach drop, the persistent dizziness in the enclosed space.

But she no longer showed it. She wouldn’t cling to Gan Xun like the first time, barely staying upright amid the vertigo for ages.

So Gan Xun didn’t hold her hand. Instead, she chatted animatedly with Cui Can about plans for the October long holiday.

Once out of the elevator and after two steps, Zhao Chiyun’s body returned to normal.

How much time and effort did it take to go from unaccustomed to accustomed?

It was the same with elevators. What about a relationship?

Cui Can opened the door and led them inside. Zhao Chiyun grabbed Gan Xun’s wrist with one hand and steadied herself on the doorframe with the other. Softly, she said to Cui Can: “I have a few words to say to her. We’ll come in right after.”

The door closed. In the hallway, she met Gan Xun’s gaze. Her heart pounded fiercely.

But it wasn’t their first meeting, so it could only be anxiety, unease… and guilt.

“You heard it all, didn’t you?”