Chapter 3: White Tulip Part 1

The next morning a little after ten, Miao Zhu received a call from Lu Zheng.

This timing didn’t disturb Miao Zhu’s rare holiday lie-in, and the call content was just as she had expected: the other driver was fully at fault, the car had been assessed for damage, and the repair costs would be covered by their insurance.

Lu Zheng said, “The repair is expected to take about half a month, as sourcing the parts will take time.”

“Okay, thanks for the hard work.” It was already quite fast; imported parts weren’t easy to procure.

“Miss Miao, no need to be polite.” Lu Zheng spoke in a very formal, rigid manner, her style extremely serious. “Additionally, during the repair period, the service center is willing to provide a loaner vehicle.”

Miao Zhu replied, “Oh, no need for that.”

Lu Zheng said, “Understood. If you have any driving needs, feel free to contact me anytime.”

This must have been Mu Shanyi’s instructions; Lu Zheng wouldn’t have taken the initiative on her own.

Miao Zhu didn’t want to trouble Mu Shanyi, nor had she rejected it in person, so after hanging up, she opened her chat with Mu Shanyi.

Miao Zhu told her that Lu Zheng had gotten in touch and handled everything thoughtfully, then casually expressed her thanks before putting the matter out of her mind.

As expected, Mu Shanyi didn’t reply.

Miao Zhu’s good friend from her study abroad days, Emma, had worked on the soundtrack for a movie last year and had hyped it up with Miao Zhu far in advance. Miao Zhu had promised her she’d go see it. After tickets went on sale, Sheng Xingran booked them and sent Miao Zhu a screenshot of the tickets.

Miao Zhu performed almost every week, with irregular timings, mostly on weekends. Sheng Xingran had checked her schedule and deliberately picked a Tuesday evening at seven to avoid her work that week.

The movie ran for two hours, and with Miao Zhu’s house having a curfew at night, there was plenty of time to get home after.

The weather had been abnormal that year; after days of scorching sun, Cloud City saw a drop in temperature accompanied by continuous rain.

On Tuesday, after work, Miao Zhu first met up with Xie Dasu, and the two rehearsed pieces in his private music room.

The Nature Museum was holding a candlelight concert for its opening anniversary in two days, and the director had enthusiastically invited them to perform. The specified pieces were in a style neither had encountered before, and after several attempts to sync up, they still fell short of their expectations.

Miao Zhu had plans with Sheng Xingran to see the movie, and time was getting tight, so she could only apologize and reschedule rehearsal with Xie Dasu, sling her violin case over her back, and hurry to the cinema.

She arrived about ten minutes before the movie started.

Miao Zhu thought she’d arrived late and called Sheng Xingran to ask where she was. Sheng Xingran sighed, “Longlong, the rain is so heavy. I came from the studio and got stuck in traffic. I’m going to miss the start!”

Miao Zhu had to comfort her instead: “Missing the opening is fine. Just drive safely; the roads are slippery in the rain, and visibility is poor.”

It was a weekday with rain pouring, so there weren’t many people waiting for the movie; plenty of empty seats in the lounge area.

Miao Zhu picked a spot toward the inside, set her violin case beside her, plugged in her earphones, pulled up the rehearsal audio with Xie Dasu, opened the sheet music on her tablet, and made notes while listening.

The lounge AC was blasting; even immersed, Miao Zhu had to pause, unfold her shawl, and wrap it around herself.

As she picked up the tablet again, her peripheral vision caught a pair of black satin fine-heeled shoes stopping in front of her.

“…Sister A-Heng?” Miao Zhu pulled out her earphones and stood from her seat.

Mu Shanyi wore a suit jacket over a deep V-neck satin blouse, her long hair in big waves.

Her bone structure was exquisite, her features bold and striking. With fair skin and red lips, she stood out in a league of her own. It took Miao Zhu a few seconds to notice the assistant trailing her, and farther back, seven or eight men and women in business attire standing respectfully.

Miao Zhu asked, “Are you working?”

The Mu Family’s focus over the past few decades had been on energy and medical devices, but this cinema belonged to Cloud Initial Plaza, which was under Mu Shanyi’s name. She hadn’t been back in the country for a long time, so inspecting her properties made sense; those in business attire were likely plaza executives.

“Waiting for Xingran?” Mu Shanyi asked instead of answering.

Miao Zhu said, “Yeah.”

The electronic screen on the wall scrolled the movie schedule. Mu Shanyi glanced up: “The movie you’re seeing seems to have started already.”

Miao Zhu explained, “It’s raining outside; she got stuck in traffic.”

Mu Shanyi frowned almost imperceptibly.

“I’m not bored anyway,” Miao Zhu said with a smile.

She was sensitive; even without Miao Zhu saying anything, she was already defending Sheng Xingran.

Mu Shanyi had no interest in saying more.

They’d only exchanged these few words when Mu Shanyi, still busy with work and with so many people waiting behind her, left.

After Mu Shanyi departed, Miao Zhu resumed studying the music, and when Sheng Xingran called again, it was already half an hour into the movie.

“Longlong, I’m here now, but the movie’s been playing so long that jumping in would spoil the plot. How about we reschedule?”

Sheng Xingran had suggested the movie date, picked the time, was late, and now wanted to bail.

Miao Zhu’s voice stayed even: “Sure.”

Sheng Xingran said, “Come down then. I’m at the east side of Phase Three plaza waiting for you. Let’s go have some fun.”

“Okay.” Miao Zhu packed away her shawl and noticed the lounge didn’t feel as chilly anymore.

Outside Cloud Initial Plaza, the rain had eased. Miao Zhu found where Sheng Xingran had parked, silently stowed her violin case in the back seat, then opened the passenger door and got in.

Sheng Xingran leaned over: “Are you mad?”

Miao Zhu buckled her seatbelt, her expression calm: “Why do you ask?”

“Don’t be mad. I figured you might not have eaten dinner, so I got you a little cake.” Sheng Xingran lifted the dessert bag and handed it to Miao Zhu.

It was a bayberry matcha cake.

Miao Zhu liked cake and could eat a few bites of any pure sweet one, but anything sour or bitter was out.

In all these years with Sheng Xingran, she knew her tastes—but not completely.