Li Yunli even spotted a jumble of sleep aids and calming medications scattered haphazardly across the nightstand. Empty mineral water bottles lay crumpled and tossed carelessly beside the bed, while the simple wardrobe overflowed with winter clothes in utter disarray.
She picked up one of the pill bottles that still had plenty left inside and clutched it fiercely in her hand. Her knuckles turned white, giving the impression that in the next second, Li Yunli might shatter the bottle entirely.
The sleep aids were relatively few, though. Most were calming drugs.
Those calming medications were mainly for poor sleep quality, nightmares, and the like.
It pained her to think that Ji Zhenshi had been so overworked she needed these just to rest—and that she must have been having nightmares.
Whenever Ji Zhenshi had something weighing on her mind, she couldn’t sleep. Even if she managed to drift off, nightmares would jolt her awake.
Knowing this only amplified Li Yunli’s dull, endless ache. With a murmur of regret, she whispered to herself, “Xiao Zhen, I was really wrong.”
Wrong in the most absurd way imaginable.
Li Yunli had lived twenty-nine years without making an error this grave, leaving her at a loss.
She walked slowly, step by steady step. At nearly thirty years old, this was the first time she truly felt the helpless regret that came after committing such a mistake.
The pill bottles were glaring enough, but what pierced her heart even more was the stack of postcards Ji Zhenshi had casually left on the nightstand.
There was a thick pile, all from the places she had visited. On the backs, Ji Zhenshi had jotted down her feelings at each spot—joy from fans asking for photos, frustration at cold treatment from organizers, and above all, an outpouring of longing like a torrent of river water.
Every single postcard began the same way: addressed to a bold capital L.
Whether that L stood for her or not, to Li Yunli it felt like a belated torment.
If it was her, then the emotions Ji Zhenshi had poured into those words doubled back to torment Li Yunli now.
If it wasn’t… then someone else already occupied Ji Zhenshi’s heart.
The contradiction tore at her. Nearly frantic, Li Yunli read every word.
“Congrats to me! Teacher Tang and I pulled off another heavenly duet here, right under a majestic waterfall. It was such a special experience for us. Wanted to send you a postcard and share the waterfall’s magic with you.”
“After the show today, I ran into fans while eating out. So happy!”
“April Fool’s! I don’t like you anymore. Haha, April Fool’s—just kidding.”
“The zoo here had peacocks fanning their tails. The guide said it’s for courtship. I feel like I share some vibe with that peacock. So embarrassing.”
“…”
Li Yunli could sense the lingering emotions in those words—the joy, the sorrow, the she hadn’t shared in any of them.
Missing this past half-year felt like an enormous loss.
Cradling the postcards like precious treasures, Li Yunli pressed them close to her chest, as if she could absorb Ji Zhenshi’s presence that way.
Xiao Zhen, will you give me one last chance?
…
On the road back to the hotel after finishing work, Ji Zhenshi checked her phone.
“Xiao Zhen, the performance went smoothly.”
“Couldn’t snag tickets—such a shame. Would’ve loved to see you live.”
“Look, a little milk cat showed up while we were renovating the new shop. So soft and tiny. Isn’t it cute?”
“It’s a stray, I think. Want it? If you do, I’ll get her vaccinated and keep her at the shop, okay?”
The moment Ji Zhenshi unlocked her phone, several unread messages from Li Yunli popped up. The chat had gone silent for so long after being blocked, but Li Yunli had suddenly added her back.
These past few days, Li Yunli kept sending messages like this. Ji Zhenshi knew what she was after, but it left her conflicted—she didn’t want to be led around by the nose. Her mind was a mess, so her replies were perfunctory, yet Li Yunli persisted relentlessly, sending more even without responses.
Just thinking of Li Yunli turned her brain to mush. It made her so uncomfortable.
Without even opening the photos, Ji Zhenshi typed a brief reply: “Mm. Cute. Up to you.”
Ever since Li Yunli had come to see her that one time, Ji Zhenshi felt her mental state deteriorating. It was torture—like teetering on the edge of madness but forced to stay rational.
This sudden outreach felt like being toyed with, yet she was powerless against Li Yunli.
After the high tension of the performance, Ji Zhenshi slowly closed her eyes, eager for a moment’s rest. Her phone buzzed again.
“Then I’ll get her vaccinated and keep her at the shop. You can come pet her whenever you’re free, Xiao Zhen.”
“She’s so soft and milky, just like you when you whine and act cute.”
“Come back when you can?”
Ji Zhenshi frowned. Before she could reply, another message popped up.
“Ji Zhenshi, your cousin’s wedding is next Wednesday. Don’t forget to come back.”
Everyone wanted her to return, but they were the ones who had driven her away.
Staring at Yang Ying’s near-commanding tone, Ji Zhenshi’s heart plummeted. Her face darkened instantly.
Scrolling up, the entire screen was filled with messages from the other side—none from her.
“Come home on break. Grandma misses you. The family wants to get together.”
“Your cousin’s here, asking if you’re in Beinan. She wants to talk.”
“It’s been so long—your temper’s ridiculous. You think staying away scares anyone? I’m doing this for your own good. When will you grow up?”
“Ji Zhenshi, don’t think throwing a tantrum affects me. Think about it—I carried you for ten months. Don’t I even have the right to guide you? Come back before next month!”
Like retaliation, no matter how Yang Ying cajoled or pressured with every tactic, Ji Zhenshi never responded. She wouldn’t go back.
She didn’t want to return to that place. Yang Ying’s moral guilting left her suffocating. She longed to argue back, but it felt pointless—they’d never see eye to eye. So she said nothing.
This time, for her cousin’s wedding, Ji Zhenshi planned to ignore it as usual. She wasn’t old enough to be nagged about marriage yet, but she hated inheriting those old-fashioned ideas from the previous generation. With no common ground, staying away was her only option.
“Sighing like that—are you that exhausted?” Though her eyes were closed, Tang Xien could sense Ji Zhenshi’s turmoil from a seat away.
Their relationship had evolved into that of teacher and friend through their time together, so Tang Xien occasionally initiated conversation.
Ji Zhenshi tossed her phone into her bag. “Phones are the devil.”
Tang Xien slowly opened her eyes, exhaustion clouding her own gaze, her voice lacking its usual vigor. “They turn into the devil when you don’t want to reply. Ji Zhenshi, you really are something.”
“I just don’t want to reply.”
“Doesn’t your phone have Do Not Disturb?”
“But I’ll see them eventually.”
“Ignoring them is a skill. You need to practice.”
“…” Ji Zhenshi was speechless.
Tang Xien did have exceptional discipline in this regard.
She ignored work after hours and non-work messages during. Clear boundaries, iron principles.
Ji Zhenshi knew she could never match that. With a sigh, idle now, she suddenly remembered her promise to Ye Wuzhi.
Glancing at Tang Xien with her eyes closed, Ji Zhenshi hesitated, then pulled an artistic photo of Tang Xien from her bag. Steel ing herself, she spoke up. “Teacher… Teacher Tang.”
“Teacher Tang… It’s not like this is our first meeting. Why the stutter?” Tang Xien lazily lifted her eyelids and saw Ji Zhenshi clutching her photo, face twisted in reluctance—clearly psyching herself up.
One eyebrow arched; Tang Xien waited silently for what came next.
“It’s just… I have this friend—or not really a friend. She plays violin and really admires you. She asked me to get an autographed photo. You’re her idol.”
Ji Zhenshi regretted agreeing to Ye Wuzhi’s request more with every word. She was in too deep now, already picturing Tang Xien’s cold refusal.
As expected, Tang Xien glanced at the photo and responded coolly. “If she’s not even your friend, why should I do her this favor? I said long ago I don’t play the celebrity game. I’m no star or great figure. What does she want my autograph for?”
This was the first time Ji Zhenshi had asked her for anything, but Tang Xien held firm to her principles.
Ji Zhenshi sighed—not too disappointed, since she’d half-expected it. “Fine, no signing then.”
With that, she pulled out a pen. Her memory and mimicry skills shone here; in a few strokes, she forged Tang Xien’s signature perfectly.
“Done right in front of you—no principles broken, and she won’t be disappointed.” Pleased with her cleverness, Ji Zhenshi pocketed the pen smugly.
Tang Xien watched wide-eyed as Ji Zhenshi replicated her signature without batting an eye. Even she admitted it was seventy or eighty percent spot-on. “Ji Zhenshi, wasting that brainpower on this—what kind of person are you? If she’s not a friend, just say no.”
Might as well look into Ji Zhenshi; this girl didn’t seem like a first-timer.
Mentioning Ye Wuzhi loosened Ji Zhenshi’s tongue. She shared their whole string of encounters with Tang Xien.
Tang Xien gave her a complex look afterward. “Sounds pretty calculated. Watch yourself.”
Ji Zhenshi pointed out she’d never told Ye Wuzhi her teacher was Tang Xien—just that she played violin. Yet Ye Wuzhi wanted the autograph. Didn’t that mean Ye Wuzhi had looked into her background?
And what were the odds of such a coincidence?
Ji Zhenshi finally pinpointed her nagging unease and nodded. “Got it. Love at first sight like that wouldn’t happen to me anyway—not some drama, and I’m not that gorgeous.”
“I didn’t mean to question your charm.”
“…”
Ji Zhenshi didn’t return to Beinan until the next day. She’d told Li Yunli three or four days, maybe five or six. In reality, she and Tang Xien had guested at a friend’s concert, and nearly ten days had passed by the time she got back.
Dragging her suitcase home, Ji Zhenshi stared in shock at Ye Wuzhi waiting downstairs.
“You… how did you know…”
She hadn’t told a soul when she’d return. Was Ye Wuzhi a demon?
Arms crossed, Ye Wuzhi eyed Ji Zhenshi. Seeing no one behind her, disappointment flickered in her eyes.
Then, beaming with joy, she reached out. “Welcome back, Ji Genius. I’ve been here to greet your triumphant return. Don’t disappoint me now, Ji Genius.”
Ji Zhenshi stared blankly, then fished the photo from her bag and handed it over without a flush or flinch. “Here. Authorized by Tang Xien.”
Tang Xien had watched her sign it—authorization enough.
Ye Wuzhi took it reverently, like a priceless gem. “So cool! Ji Zhenshi, from today on, you’re second only to my idol in my book. Thanks—this is Tang Xien’s autograph! She never does this stuff. Giving me one means she must rate me highly, right?”
“Me. I’m her prized pupil, the only one she truly favors.” Ji Zhenshi corrected her.
Tang Xien herself had called her a genius.
It hadn’t bothered her before, but now, sensing a threat to her status, Ji Zhenshi bristled with crisis awareness.
Ye Wuzhi admired the autograph contentedly, eyes full of adoration, not bothering to argue.
Tang Xien’s career and her very presence exuded irresistible allure—a beauty that held the gaze captive.
Ji Zhenshi watched her thoughtfully.
Finally shaking off Ye Wuzhi, Ji Zhenshi remembered her plan to take Grandma to the art exhibition today.
Grandma had somehow scored two tickets and asked her to go if she had time—she didn’t want to with Ji Tingjun.
Ji Zhenshi hadn’t spent much time with Grandma these past six months. Work kept her away from Beinan, and she just didn’t want to go home.
After a quick shower, she scanned for a shared bicycle. Penny-pinching had become her lifestyle—she was laser-focused on repaying Tang Xien and gaining her freedom.
It took half an hour of pedaling to reach the art exhibition. She bought an ice pop, bit into it, and called Grandma.
“Under the awning at the entrance.”
Heading there, Ji Zhenshi found not just Zhang Fenglan, but Li Yunli sitting beside her, smiling warmly in her direction.
In a blink, understanding dawned. Ji Zhenshi turned on her heel to leave.
Li Yunli’s smile froze, bitterness flooding her chest.
Moments ago, Ji Zhenshi looked so vibrant on that bicycle—the familiar version from her memories. Her sharp features stood out, clad in that pure white T-shirt she remembered. Long legs planted on the ground accentuated her perfect proportions; toned arms hinted at sensual muscle lines.
She braked smoothly, ice pop in mouth, hands in pockets, striding briskly. Effortlessly weaving through the crowd, her golden hair blazed brightly.
It was like their vibrant university days. Li Yunli’s heart raced, cheeks flushing. The world faded; only her Xiao Zhen remained in her eyes. Her lips curved unconsciously, soft affection warming her gaze.
But that rosy bubble burst when Ji Zhenshi’s face soured and she spun away without a thought.
That girl had been so much like the clingy, whiny sweetheart she’d once adored that Li Yunli had forgotten their current reality.
