Yan Muyu had pondered more than once why she treated Qiu Chao this way.
It had been nearly a decade since she and Qiu Chao had last seen each other, and even uttering the syllables of her name felt strangely unfamiliar.
Yet that thorn still lodged in her throat. Even though Yan Muyu felt she had long since pulled it out, the discomfort of a foreign object stuck there lingered.
Lin Chi had brought it up many times.
“You’re no fool. How could you not guess that your brother might have been in a contractual relationship back then?”
Yan Muyu would always quibble in response.
She insisted that Yan Kai had seemed perfectly content at the time, and that the atmosphere between him and Qiu Chao had felt genuine.
Lin Chi would counter, “Why couldn’t it have been an act?”
Lin Chi, with her sun-kissed tan, still carried a mature allure that drew people in at first glance. She was like autumn wheat fields—gazing into her eyes, one could almost hear the free, whispering rustle of wind through the stalks.
She was older than both Yan Muyu and Shen Tianqing, and her longstanding independence meant Yan Muyu always listened to her.
Even Shen Tianqing, whom neither her parents nor her brothers could sway, would join forces with Yan Muyu in mischief, only for Lin Chi to step in and smooth things over.
When Lin Chi put it that way, Yan Muyu shook her head firmly. “It’s not the same.”
Lin Chi pressed, “Then are you underestimating Yan Kai’s feelings for Sister Zhen Shu?”
None of them truly believed in love, yet they all inevitably craved emotional connection.
Shen Tianqing had drowned herself in drunken stupors and nightmares for a dead woman, her personality utterly transformed.
From start to finish, Yan Muyu had been an empty bamboo vessel, hollow and impossible to fill.
But long nights were always lonely.
Passions could momentarily stall the flow of time, but for people as emotionally attuned as they were, the underlying melancholy of time’s passage was always detectable.
Inevitably, Yan Muyu’s thoughts drifted back to her childhood.
She remembered Lin Yumian covering her eyes but failing to muffle the filthy words that reached her ears.
And the tears her mother had flung into her face.
Love was that humble, that humiliating.
Even Yan Kai was no exception.
Wasn’t Shen Tianqing the same? Chasing after a woman whose body had turned to ashes.
She had tormented herself into becoming a laughingstock, a well-known madwoman, then pretended at unwavering fidelity by seeking out body doubles—hoping through similar faces and forms that the lost soul might return.
“There’s no need for him to go that far,” Yan Muyu said. “He knows full well Sister Zhen Shu would never choose him.”
Lin Chi, who adored silver jewelry, lifted her wine glass, the bracelets on her wrist tinkling softly.
She clinked it against Yan Muyu’s. “You’ve never felt that… desperate hope before everything’s set in stone, that burning desire to turn the tables against the odds.”
When she smiled, fine lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes, only adding to her charm.
“As if you’ve experienced it yourself,” Yan Muyu shot back.
Lin Chi replied, “Of course I have. Maybe not as intensely as you, with your overflowing emotions, but I had my share of passionate affairs.”
The woman, now in a stable relationship, shrugged. “And what about you? All your romances are quick flings. People say you go through the motions without investing your heart—or even your body, for that matter.”
Yan Muyu twitched her lips. “I do invest my body.”
Lin Chi grinned. “But Tian Nuan says you’re just a tool for her clients.”
Yan Muyu took a deep breath. “Call her by her full name—that nickname is disgusting.”
She defended herself. “What does Shen Tianqing know? She doesn’t even have a girlfriend.”
Lin Chi countered, “At least she loved Shi Xu without regrets. Even after she died, Shen Tianqing would marry her ghost if she could. You?”
Lin Chi was probably doing it on purpose, her tone laced with obvious mockery. “You come off as so carefree… and yet so pitiful.”
Yan Muyu hated admitting any pity for herself. She knocked back a gulp of wine and finally broached the subject, propping up her face.
“I don’t care about any contracts, but Qiu Chao, she…”
Lin Chi jumped in. “Slept with you?”
Yan Muyu nearly spat out her wine.
She coughed dramatically, and Lin Chi grew even more convinced she’d hit the mark.
The sun-tanned, short-haired older woman leaned in, slinging an arm around Yan Muyu’s shoulders. “Hey, isn’t that a win for you?”
“You’ve always had a thing for that body type. Qiu Chao’s not just top-tier—she’s the whole package.”
“It’s not that,” Yan Muyu said.
She didn’t deny it, though, and Lin Chi arched a brow, finding it all the more intriguing.
“Then what? Did she not only sleep with you but also with one of your friends?”
Lin Chi pondered for a few minutes after saying that.
She was quite a bit older than Yan Muyu, and they hadn’t gone to school together, but she had met some of Yan Muyu’s friends back in the day.
“That sickly one?”
It took Yan Muyu considerable effort to recall that she meant Qiu Siyuan.
Qiu Siyuan wasn’t really sickly; it was just that Lin Chi had run into her right after her appendectomy.
Besides, Qiu Siyuan had gone abroad after high school graduation and rarely returned. Yan Muyu asked, “Why would you think of her?”
Lin Chi said, “I saw Qiu Chao with her one day.”
Yan Muyu blinked. “What?”
Lin Chi’s smile widened. She loved bold lipsticks that looked toxic on anyone else, but on her, they were perfect.
Yan Muyu had once tried the same shade, only for Shen Tianqing to say she looked like a corpse risen from the grave.
“It was around the time Qiu Chao went public with your brother,” Lin Chi added.
Yan Muyu had no memory of it, but in that instant, a strange feeling stirred in her chest.
Lin Chi pressed on. “Don’t change the subject. Setting aside any contracts, what other reason could there be?”
Yan Muyu hesitated. “Qiu Chao… she was my ex-girlfriend’s…”
“Which ex?” Lin Chi asked.
“You’ve met her. The model.”
Lin Chi let out an “oh.” “The one with the cool beauty face and those little freckles, like a sparrow.”
“She’s not cool at all,” Yan Muyu protested.
Lin Chi shrugged. “She looks cold and glamorous. Qiu Chao has that vibe too, but they’re not the same type. How do they know each other?”
Yan Muyu explained, “There was this movie. She was one of the actors, and for some reason, she clashed with Qiu Chao.”
Lin Chi eyed her conflicted expression. “What kind of clash? Did they get into a fight?”
Yan Muyu shook her head. “Of course not.”
She stared down at her wine glass, its etched crystal one of Lin Chi’s prized possessions. Lin Chi was a collector of glasses in every material imaginable, with a dedicated storage room at home.
Yan Muyu’s face grew visibly downcast. “There was an accident on set, and she got hurt.”
Lin Chi asked, “What does that have to do with Qiu Chao?”
She didn’t think Qiu Chao capable of something like that.
Yan Muyu said, “I didn’t think it involved her either, but Amber said Qiu Chao pushed her.”
Lin Chi was skeptical. “And you believed her?”
Yan Muyu shook her head. “Of course not, but the explosion scene was too dangerous. She didn’t make it.”
Lin Chi sighed. “Is that why you’ve been cold to Qiu Chao?”
Yan Muyu shook her head again. “No way. But afterward, Qiu Chao got together with Amber’s half-brother from her father’s side.”
After that incident, Yan Muyu had cut off all contact with Qiu Chao. She never imagined hearing the name of someone she’d once treated like family coming from her girlfriend’s mouth.
Amber was a French-Chinese mix, and Yan Muyu had met her at a school classmate’s party.
Her Chinese was passable at best, almost scorching her tongue, and calling Yan Muyu’s name sounded like a toddler babbling.
But Yan Muyu found it endearing. Plus, she’d shot a photo series for her, and before long, they’d gotten together.
Amber’s mother was Chinese but had passed away the year before, after which her father had finally acknowledged her.
The family had many children, though, and they discriminated against her as the mixed-blood kid. Life hadn’t been easy for her.
Fortunately, someone had introduced her to the modeling scene, and she was starting to make a name for herself.
When Yan Muyu fell for someone, even if it was only two parts genuine, it looked like eight.
Shen Tianqing never held high hopes for her love life but didn’t refuse Yan Muyu’s invitations to hang out.
Shen Tianqing didn’t like Amber’s Chinese name—Xu Xue, she thought it was a cheap knockoff of her beloved Shi Xu, and she’d subtly tried to get Yan Muyu to change it.
Yan Muyu had cussed her out for it. Shen Tianqing had huffed, “We’ll see how long your little infatuation lasts.”
Lin Chi had also later met the French girl named Xu Xue.
A month later, Lin Chi had discussed work with her over a meal. Xu Xue was a bit reserved but loved listening to Yan Muyu talk. Yan Muyu had even switched to a foreign language the whole time to accommodate Amber, leaving Lin Chi with a headache afterward.
On the day Amber got hurt, Yan Muyu had been out on a outdoor shoot. They’d planned to visit an art exhibit once work wrapped for the weekend.
Amber hadn’t been famous, and the acting gig had come through a friend.
She’d been thrilled about landing the role and had come to school specially to share the news with Yan Muyu.
Yan Muyu thought the production sounded too risky, especially since the female characters were all minor parts—mere set dressing, even for the lead actress, let alone the ex-girlfriend of the third male lead.
But Amber treasured the opportunity, so Yan Muyu supported her.
She never expected disaster to strike.
When Yan Muyu got the news, she borrowed Shen Tianqing’s new car—a pink vintage number—and floored it like she was in a race.
By the time she reached the hospital, she didn’t notice one familiar face among the set crew rushed in for emergency care.
Qiu Chao lay on a bed in the corner, separated by a white privacy curtain. She stared in shock as the person she’d longed for dashed past, frantically questioning the attending nurse.
Yan Muyu’s voice sounded desperately urgent—even hoarse at times—a side of her Qiu Chao had never seen.
Of course Qiu Chao knew who Amber was.
She was no longer the clueless girl from back then, cooking at the Yan family home and only catching fragments of Yan Muyu’s phone calls.
By now, she understood exactly what Yan Muyu had said.
The nurse had asked who that person was to her.
Yan Muyu said that was her girlfriend.
Indeed, it was her girlfriend.
Amber was badly hurt. The aftermath of the explosion from the car crash had left her on the brink of death.
Worse still was her lower body. Her left leg needed to be amputated, and she required immediate surgery.
Yan Muyu had never imagined something like this could happen.
In her past relationships, her girlfriends had never given her that sensation of “you’re the only one for me.”
The girls she chose mostly came from affluent families. Even in their worst circumstances, none had ever needed to juggle multiple jobs.
This girl was an anomaly.
She didn’t look like someone burdened by hardship at all, yet she understood Yan Muyu’s language of cinema. From their very first meeting, she had bluntly voiced Yan Muyu’s loneliness.
Even with her shy and introverted personality, she still made Yan Muyu’s eyes light up.
But Amber truly had nothing to her name.
Just last month, Yan Muyu had accompanied her to her mother’s funeral. The woman had lingered on her deathbed for years.
She was merely a rural girl who had crossed the ocean to work—a dishwasher in Chinatown who had ended up with a man she met by chance.
Forbidden from having an abortion, she gave birth to Amber and came to this country in search of him.
She found him, but all she received was a small stipend for the funeral.
He never even visited her bedside once. Instead, it was his son who showed up—the renowned investor, a bit of a playboy on the romantic front.
He had reluctantly provided Amber with living expenses.
Lin Chi said, “I’ve heard she’s passed away.”
Yan Muyu nodded. “Did Shen Tianqing tell you?”
Lin Chi said, “She said you cried ugly.”
Yan Muyu replied, “It was so heartbreaking—how could I not cry?”
Lin Chi said, “Are you saying that if she were still alive, you two might spend your lives together?”
