Chapter 52: A Heart-Piercing Confession Part 2

Xu Xue had hoped she would truly experience it once. Yan Muyu had felt guilt for the first time through her.

Yan Muyu looked up at Qiu Chao. “Were we really, really close back then?”

【Why am I suddenly so nervous?】

【Xuan Zhelu, I feel like you’re here to play wingwoman, not steal her away.】

【Qiu Chao looks so beautiful while doing embroidery…】

【What’s up with the production team? These cuts are too dramatic—like I’m watching a drama??】

Qiu Chao replied, “It was precisely because we were too close that cutting ties was so hard.”

Xuan Zhelu didn’t quite get it and pressed, “Why?”

Qiu Chao said, “I wasn’t lucky. I had to fight for everything myself.”

She still didn’t look up, her focus seemingly entirely on the embroidery in her hands. It was the ornate fabric banner for the fish lantern, vibrant with colors and blessings.

To those watching, it seemed as if Qiu Chao were stitching her own wedding gown, her gaze brimming with profound affection.

Her red lips parted, and she spoke word by word: “Whether it was my career… or love.”

~~~

This went far beyond a mere hint.

Even Pei Wan looked up in surprise, but the speaker continued her precise stitches, seemingly oblivious to the shock her words unleashed.

The atmosphere at the table chilled in an instant.

Xuan Zhelu fell silent. From the moment she arrived, she had sensed that Qiu Chao’s feelings toward Yan Muyu were anything but ordinary. Once she realized Qiu Chao liked her too, she began questioning the truth of their past.

In the four months she dated Yan Muyu, Xuan Zhelu never once heard her mention the past.

Yan Muyu seemed like the quintessential live-in-the-moment type.

Her way of navigating the world blended Eastern poise with Western ease. She never saw having an ex as something embarrassing. When they were together, Xuan Zhelu would get jealous and ask about Yan Muyu’s former flames.

And Yan Muyu would actually answer—praising one for being cute, another for making killer braised chicken, spinning tales that left Xuan Zhelu squirming in her seat, glaring daggers.

Yet Yan Muyu seemed to be waiting for just that glare, so she could pull her into an embrace and ask with a smile, “Are you mad?”

Her way of soothing ruffled feathers was masterful; even her caresses felt utterly unique.

Yan Muyu could be anyone to anyone, yet no one ever felt like she truly belonged to someone else.

It was enough to drive you mad with longing after parting—not for Yan Muyu herself, perhaps, but for the illusory, all-encompassing love she projected in relationships.

No matter how you pushed and pulled, she was like a rubber band you could stretch endlessly, her breaking point a mystery.

But the moment you let go, the snap-back pain ripped you apart, as if a piece of you had been brutally stolen.

Only later did you realize it had never truly been yours.

When Xuan Zhelu had pursued and won Yan Muyu, she thought she was different.

None of Yan Muyu’s exes were actresses.

Even though her work brought her into contact with countless beauties on screen—women so stunning that anyone scrolling past their photos would pause—Yan Muyu never seemed captivated by them.

Xuan Zhelu had always had smooth sailing in life. Meeting Yan Muyu felt like paying the price for all that ease.

She grew anxious and clingy, becoming the very kind of relentless pursuer she once mocked.

Having had it made the loss accentuate how precious it had been.

She wanted it again, wanted to be enveloped once more in that depth of feeling.

But why had Yan Muyu never looked at Qiu Chao that way, and yet Qiu Chao still loomed so large in her heart?

Was it because they had once been family for four years?

It didn’t feel like that was all.

Xuan Zhelu had always thought herself bold.

Buoyed by her family background, her debut on that survival show had been aided by connections—not for nothing was it dubbed “the princess game.”

But she had worked just as hard, even if she had never thrown herself into the fire for a single chance.

Nor endured cut after cut in a snowy night for a paycheck. She still lingered in her comfort zone; the “hardships” her seniors described didn’t match her reality.

So Xuan Zhelu wasn’t afraid of being mocked for liking women. Even without acting, her options were limitless.

All of it was just one branch of her life’s path—a mere chance to experiment.

Qiu Chao was different.

Even at the peak of her career, carving out a new path would be arduous.

She’d have a cushy retirement at best, more than most.

To gain real influence, she’d need to invest in herself and pivot to new fields.

Some fading stars joined agencies, climbing into management and grooming newcomers to blaze trails.

Qiu Chao’s studio was just her—solitary.

One rose, all rose; one fell, all fell.

Qiu Chao’s voice remained utterly calm, as if her words weren’t tantamount to a confession.

The live chat exploded with scrolling messages. Some fans insisted it was scripted; others raged that Qiu Siyuan was nuts for hyping a real ex-sister-in-law duo.

Still others admired the beauty wielding the silver needle on screen.

They watched Qiu Chao’s lashes cast dense shadows beneath her eyes, saw her fingers occasionally tangle, watched her snip the excess thread.

The director’s cuts—intentional or not—lingered on the wave-pattern hair ribbon Yan Muyu had tied around her wrist that day, another of Qiu Chao’s creations. In this moment, it seemed half-alive, surging with the turmoil roiling in its maker’s heart.

Had Qiu Chao lost her mind?

Xuan Zhelu wondered. Don’t you care about your future anymore?

I can act out on a variety show, blame it on the script, because I’m untouchable.

But you, Qiu Chao? The role model for countless actresses, the senior who cracked open international doors in a blaze of glory.

Everyone knew her grassroots roots, the scandals that clung to her.

Weren’t you afraid this one line would be twisted until you could never grace the screen again?

Xuan Zhelu was much younger than Qiu Chao, but industry insiders always knew the real dirt.

Like Qiu Chao’s rumored flings—ask any collaborator, and they’d tell you they were fake.

Things other stars obsessed over didn’t faze her.

It was as if she’d been through a bloodbath early on, returned defeated, and vowed not to rest until she reclaimed what was hers.

【????】

【I’m losing it—this doesn’t look like a joke anymore.】

【Is this what I think it is? Conquering love?】

【There was definitely more to their past!!】

【Even Xuan Zhelu has gone quiet.】

Yan Muyu said, “So, no more chasing your career?”

The guests’ fish lanterns for the Fish Lantern Festival were in the final stages. Yan Muyu sat down to work on the smaller details.

Fish lanterns weren’t limited to fish shapes anymore; styles had evolved wildly.

Thanks to the show, orders at the workshop had skyrocketed. The owner was reportedly burning the midnight oil, swamped.

Yan Muyu showed no reaction—at least on the surface.

The follow cam missed her expression in that instant, but Xuan Zhelu, sitting beside her, caught it.

Yan Muyu’s hand had trembled just a bit.

Of course. She was hypersensitive to emotions.

Even in love, she sensed the slightest shift in her partner. How could she miss such a blatant near-confession?

Qiu Chao held up her finished banner. She had even embroidered everyone’s names on it.

Someone screenshotted and zoomed in, spotting Xuan Zhelu’s name.

【Qiu Chao is so thoughtful, such a caring woman.】

【Guess that’s why literary film debuts build such strong empathy—public opinion cuts deep.】

【How is she so calm when everyone else is freaking out?】

[The guests on this show are really getting the juicy gossip for free… Ding Yingxue especially.]

Qiu Chao: “What more can I pursue? The three major awards? I already won them.”

Her tone was gentle, but her words carried a hint of arrogance. “If you’re talking about the international ones, I might have to change my nationality for those. But I was nominated, wasn’t I?”

[How do such soft lips deliver lines this badass?]

[Not humble at all. Perfect.]

[I want to call this woman out for bragging, but it’s all backed by real achievements. Being a fan of Qiu Chao’s career must feel amazing—everything you could want.]

[I bet her longtime fans want her to fall in love properly, but the guys out there are such low quality. They’re torn, haha.]

Her words made the two actors present bow their heads involuntarily.

Even Xuan Zhelu, who saw Qiu Chao as a romantic rival, had to admit the woman’s strength.

Ding Yingxue was even more dramatic. She grabbed three tissues, bowed toward Qiu Chao, and muttered something under her breath. Pei Wan couldn’t stop her in time and quietly scolded her.

Yan Muyu: “Then just enjoy your retirement.”

Her tone was casual too. “Do whatever you want. You’re accomplished enough to reach for the stars.”

There was no sourness in her voice, yet it somehow carried a trace of melancholy, giving the strange illusion that she’d raised a child who’d grown up too fast.

The scene felt all too familiar to Xuan Zhelu. Yan Muyu’s rejections always followed the same pattern.

Affectionate, humorous, and utterly ruthless.

She started pitying Qiu Chao again. What did it matter if she was a senior? She was still ending up in the same boat.

That warning—”Don’t fall for Yan Muyu”—whoever said it was a genius. It was spot on.

Qiu Chao: “So I want to date.”

She set down the embroidered banner in her hands and looked at Yan Muyu. “What does my agent think?”

[Sister Qiu, you look like you’re about to devour Yan Muyu…]

[Who’s really the top here?]

[She called her ‘agent,’ but it sounded like ‘hubby’ to me.]

[Xuan Zhelu next door is dying of jealousy.]

Yan Muyu: “Go for it. Just don’t fish in the trash bin for a partner.”

She was still painting on the oil paper without even looking up, yet it made Qiu Chao recall many years ago, when she had sat beside Yan Muyu watching her paint an oil painting.

Qiu Chao still carried an unshakable inferiority complex about this.

She couldn’t do anything but act. She couldn’t paint, write poetry, sing, or dance.

She could learn it all for a role, but she didn’t love it.

Her life had no room for “nurturing the soul.” It was all about survival and desperate choices with no other way out.

So even sitting next to Yan Muyu had made her cautious. She hadn’t realized her gaze was too intense, leading Yan Muyu to assume she wanted to paint too.

That year’s Qiu Chao had refused: “I don’t know how to paint.”

But Yan Muyu had pressed her in front of the canvas, handed her the brush while keeping the palette herself, and leaned over to guide her hand through a few strokes.

They turned a classical figure oil painting into a ridiculous cartoon, hilariously absurd and laugh-out-loud funny.

Qiu Chao had been mortified, but Yan Muyu had gripped her hand and used a broad brush to cover the scribbles. Then she let Qiu Chao experiment with the palette knife and a fan brush.

All of it had been Qiu Chao’s first thrilling new experiences.

In others’ ears, Yan Muyu’s voice now sounded flat, no different from back then when she’d egged Qiu Chao on to fool around.

But Qiu Chao could sense the difference.

This person was clearly moved.

Yan Muyu: “Find someone faithful, gentle, and good to you.”

Qiu Chao hummed in agreement. “I’ve already found her.”

Yan Muyu looked up instinctively, only to meet Qiu Chao’s gaze.

It was like a tangled web of affection, poised to mercilessly ensnare her.

Not long after, Yan Muyu received a message from Qiu Chao—

Can you come with me to Xiao Qing’s home tonight?

She said Ahuang had puppies, and I want to see them.

Yan Muyu felt like there was a catch. Why hadn’t Hong Long mentioned it?

But she couldn’t help picturing Qiu Chao interacting with Xiao Qing, like she’d turned into a child herself.

It struck Yan Muyu as novel.

She thought: Fine.

What, is she going to drain me dry?