Chapter 12: Accomplice

The summer days stretched long into the evening. It was already past six, yet the sun lingered, refusing to set. Fiery red sunset glow illuminated the full-wall mural in the living room, where the mineral pigments sparkled under the dazzling afterlight.

Miao Zhu sank powerlessly into the soft single-seater sofa. From the kitchen, she heard Aunt Huang teaching Sheng Xingran how to wrap little goldfish dumplings.

“See here, Miss Sheng? Fold it into a triAngel, then press down around the edges a bit, and you can shape the tail…”

“Like this?”

“Yeah~ Just pinch it like that at the end, and there you go.”

Miao Zhu zoned out for a moment, then picked up her phone again. The screen lingered on her chat with Mu Shanyi.

【Mu Shanyi: Sorry, I had to cancel.】

【Mu Shanyi: How’s today? Feeling better?】

She hadn’t replied.

This silence could be interpreted as deliberately leaving Mu Shanyi hanging—a quiet protest against the broken promise.

Of course, Miao Zhu didn’t have the confidence to act so “spoiled by favor.” She simply hadn’t figured out what to say yet.

Ever since receiving Mu Shanyi’s message outside the theater, she’d been off-kilter.

If she hadn’t decided, she wouldn’t think about it for now. Miao Zhu switched to her social feed, scrolling through friends’ updates. Suddenly, a voice call notification popped up at the top of the screen.

Miao Zhu sat up straight. Mu Shanyi?

They were on different time zones—morning for Mu Shanyi. After a long flight, she’d woken up this early? Jet lag?

Miao Zhu held the phone to her ear and instinctively glanced toward the kitchen.

The call timer started: one second, two seconds, three… Mu Shanyi said nothing. Neither did Miao Zhu.

The silence tugged invisibly, stretching on. Finally, Miao Zhu’s ear caught a faint, soft chuckle.

“Don’t want to talk?”

Mu Shanyi’s voice over the phone differed from usual—perhaps fatigue roughened her vocal cords. It resembled the rich timbre of a cello, unexpectedly captivating.

Miao Zhu: “…My throat hurts.”

“Your voice does sound hoarse.” Mu Shanyi confirmed her excuse. “Better today?”

Miao Zhu: “A bit better.”

Another low chuckle answered her.

Miao Zhu pinched her earlobe. She realized she was being perfunctory, as if truly sulking at Mu Shanyi.

Mu Shanyi: “I broke our plans. How should I make it up to you?”

Miao Zhu opened her mouth. Mu Shanyi was signaling allowance for a tantrum, indulging her small whims.

“Longlong.” Sheng Xingran emerged from the kitchen with light steps, carrying a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Her voice drew nearer. “I juiced some oranges for vitamin C. Want to drink it now?”

Miao Zhu turned, phone in hand, her gaze meeting Sheng Xingran’s.

“On a call?” Sheng Xingran perched on the arm of Miao Zhu’s sofa and leaned down. “Who is it?”

“…”

Mu Shanyi’s steady breaths filled her ear; Sheng Xingran’s vibrant face filled her view.

No need to tense up or lie. Casually admitting it was Mu Shanyi wouldn’t be an issue.

“A friend.” Miao Zhu kept her expression calm.

Sheng Xingran didn’t suspect a thing and smoothly set the orange juice on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

The sunset faded, the light dimming. Cicadas chirped sporadically outside, mingled with faint murmurs of voices.

The call timer ticked on.

“Get plenty of rest. See a doctor if anything feels off.” After a clear pause, Mu Shanyi spoke again. “I’ll be back next week.”

Mu Shanyi’s breathing remained even; Miao Zhu detected no other undertones. But the dropped thread—the interrupted topic—spoke volumes.

She hadn’t just lied to Sheng Xingran. She’d roped Mu Shanyi into the deception, making her a secret accomplice, relegating her to the shadows.

“Okay.” Miao Zhu replied.

Mu Shanyi ended the call.

Miao Zhu curled back into the sofa. Seeing her poor state, Sheng Xingran urged her to rest after dinner. Once Miao Zhu lay down, she didn’t linger.

Her frail body fell asleep quickly, only to be yanked awake in a daze by Miao Ling’s video call.

Miao Zhu switched on the bedside floor lamp, sat up hugging her blanket, and answered groggily.

“You were asleep? Is Xingran there?” Miao Ling peered left and right.

A thick wave of helplessness welled in Miao Zhu. “Mom!”

Miao Ling giggled, unreserved: “What’s to be shy about? It’s bound to happen sooner or later, right?”

The lamp’s warm yellow light cast a soft filter over Miao Zhu. On camera, she lowered her eyes meekly: “I don’t want to be with Xingran.”

Miao Ling was still laughing, but seconds later, realization dawned. Her smile faded. “Did the fever fry your brain? Do you know what you’re saying?”

Miao Zhu looked up, her dark eyes pleading pitifully at Miao Ling: “Mom, it’s not that kind of feeling I have for her.”

Miao Ling’s temper flared. Miao Zhu had always been obedient; she hadn’t expected her good girl to rebel like this, courting disaster.

But Miao Zhu’s attitude wasn’t hopeless, and her relationship with Sheng Xingran was on the cusp of a major breakthrough. Miao Ling reined in her patience: “The kind of feeling doesn’t matter. Xingran isn’t He Zizhou. The Su City project has broken ground—construction’s underway, no turning back. We just maintain ties with the He family as usual. But the Sheng family is different. The investment contract expires next year, along with those bank loans. Renewal’s on the agenda. If our cash flow snaps, both industrial park projects collapse. Lawsuits would follow—no one could shoulder that fallout.”

Miao Ling’s tone wasn’t harshly scolding; it carried more of a guiding edge: “From childhood, your food, clothes, shelter, education—we and your dad gave you the best. You’re a Miao family daughter. Having enjoyed this privileged life, you must bear the responsibility. You understand that, surely.”

Miao Zhu listened docilely to the lecture. Pleased, Miao Ling added earnest advice: “Xingran’s family background, character, personality—all impeccable. Her looks match yours perfectly. Longlong, understand that ‘liking’ isn’t essential. You’ve grown up together; your emotional foundation is solid. Uncle Sheng and Aunt Ni adore you both and fully support you and Xingran. I can’t imagine anyone more suitable.”

“You’ve done well so far. I trust you won’t disappoint me this time. You’ll give everyone a satisfactory answer, right?”

“I understand.” Miao Zhu’s lashes slowly lowered, avoiding the familiar face on screen.

Puppets didn’t need thoughts—even if they had them, they wouldn’t be respected.

She knew, really. This probing was pointless. She shouldn’t harbor illusions about her mother.

The lamp’s glow was limited; shadows swallowed the unlit corners.

All was quiet. Miao Zhu sat alone on the bed’s edge. On the nightstand sat forgotten cough syrup, straw already inserted by Sheng Xingran.

Her dulled sense of taste flickered back. Bitter medicine flooded her mouth. Miao Zhu hated bitter things; she furrowed her brow swallowing it. A tear swiftly brimmed over.

Too bitter.

Miao Zhu tossed the empty bottle aside and wiped away the tear with her fingertip.

Author’s Note:

Next chapter hits the blurb~

Duet mode activates soon!