Chapter 16: “Don’t You Remember What Day It Is Today?”

Christmas. That afternoon, the sun shone brightly.

Li Wuhui did not appear at the fashion show in Beijing, nor at the brand event in London. She was in an unremarkable art studio in Mang City, surrounded by many curious or mischievous children, serving as a substitute model for a certain model who had missed the appointment due to chickenpox.

She sat on an old wooden chair with crooked legs, her eyes lowered as she gazed at a nameless sketchbook covered in random scribbles. Her naturally curly long hair draped down, like some kind of plankton leaping in the sunlight.

She wore an expensive beige coat and an expensive green plaid scarf tied in a large crossover style.

The space behind her was very bright, as if hiding an entire sun—enough to dazzle anyone’s eyes.

Qiu Yiran put down her paintbrush and closed the sketchbook.

She glanced downward hurriedly—

And saw the novel, excited gazes below, peeking boldly yet cautiously at Li Wuhui.

Even a few slightly older children, at an age brimming with curiosity about celebrities, had lost interest in completing the figure sketching assignment. They secretly hid their phones behind their collars, aimed at Li Wuhui…

“Don’t whisper to each other.”

Just before the flash could go off, Qiu Yiran issued a timely reminder, using her eyes to stop their photographing attempts.

Realizing her tone was stricter than usual, they stuck out their tongues and hurriedly stowed the phones hidden in their collars, scrambling to pick up their paintbrushes.

Qiu Yiran pursed her lips.

She had to admit that, compared to the effortlessly attention-grabbing Li Wuhui, she would much rather have had Teacher Zhang as the model for today’s sketching session.

As this thought crossed her mind,

Almost the next second, her eyes met Li Wuhui’s.

Something in the air came to a halt.

One second, two seconds…

Qiu Yiran looked away first.

She picked up the paintbrush in her hand as if nothing had happened, then set it down again. Then Li Wuhui’s slow, leisurely voice drifted over.

“Teacher Qiu is really strict.”

The moment these words left her mouth, the busy rustle of brushes in the studio fell silent. A few students poked their heads out from behind their easels, their eyes darting curiously between the two women.

Qiu Yiran stared them down one by one in warning.

The rhythmic sounds of brushes resumed.

Qiu Yiran let out a breath of relief before looking back at Li Wuhui. But Li Wuhui was no longer watching her—she simply kept her eyes lowered on the sketchbook in her hands.

The sketching session had already been underway for half an hour.

Li Wuhui had maintained her seated pose without moving once.

As a professional model,

She did not treat the last-minute invitation lightly, nor did she show any disrespect toward this group of special children.

Even though this was not Paris, but the most unremarkable art studio imaginable.

She hadn’t even lifted her head when she spoke to Qiu Yiran just now.

The class continued all the way until sunset.

There were several breaks midway, during which Li Wuhui obligingly posed for photos with the students who recognized her. Casually, as if offhand, she asked one group,

“Is your Teacher Qiu always like this?”

Qiu Yiran’s fingers twitched.

It was break time now, so she had no way to intervene in Li Wuhui’s private chats with the students.

The students who had been asked unanimously glanced first at Qiu Yiran, then at Li Wuhui. They stuck out their tongues and said,

“No, Teacher Qiu is usually really friendly with us. We don’t know why she’s acting so weird today…”

Their voices trailed off smaller and smaller.

“I can hear you even if you whisper.” Qiu Yiran reminded them, then checked the time. “Time’s up. Let’s continue.”

The students all returned to their seats.

Li Wuhui squinted at her and let out a chuckle, saying nothing more.

Finally, class ended—

Xu Manman helped gather all the paintings and brought them to Qiu Yiran for review.

By the time Qiu Yiran snapped out of it, Li Wuhui had already taken a phone call and left the studio.

She hadn’t even had the chance to say thank you.

And so, stepping into the setting sun with her mind weighed down, hugging a sketchbook filled with drawings of Li Wuhui, Qiu Yiran saw the WeChat message Teacher Zhang had sent during the break:

A picture of a Li Wuhui billboard.

Along with Teacher Zhang’s shock: 【Is this the one who came to our studio today?】

Qiu Yiran replied: 【How much modeling fee are you planning to give her?】

Teacher Zhang sent back a horrified face-scrubbing emoji, then said—

【I don’t know ah】

【I just ran into her at the school gate】

【Her vibe and height seemed perfect for dragging in as a model, so I had the nerve to ask if she could help out】

【Then she asked if we had a teacher who drives a taxi to class. I said yes, so she said she’d come take a look… We didn’t discuss the fee at the time ah/crying】

Teacher Zhang fired off a frantic string of messages, pausing abruptly at the end. After typing and deleting repeatedly, one final message popped up:

【A teacher who drives a taxi to class? Oh, I get it—so you know her?】

This needed clearing up.

Qiu Yiran didn’t want Li Wuhui to be misunderstood as connected to her, so she replied:

【A passenger I’ve given rides to a few times. Probably left something behind and came looking for me.】

After sending it,

She pocketed her phone. When she looked up, she saw someone leaning against her bright yellow taxi—

Clearly Li Wuhui.

Qiu Yiran walked over unhurriedly.

She ought to have thanked her right away, but somehow, her first words were, “Did Teacher Zhang give you the modeling fee?”

Li Wuhui clearly hadn’t expected that question first and answered offhandedly, “She said to deduct it from your modeling fee.”

Qiu Yiran fell silent.

She knew Teacher Zhang wouldn’t have said any such thing.

But she couldn’t let Li Wuhui work for free. Besides, her own fees were settled monthly—she couldn’t make Li Wuhui wait until month’s end.

With this in mind, Qiu Yiran sighed.

First, she placed the sketchbook filled with drawings of Li Wuhui into the trunk. Then, bending her legs carefully, she rummaged in front of the car and pulled out two crumpled fifty-yuan bills.

Hardly anyone used cash these days. This was already the most she kept in the car.

She did her best to smooth out the crumpled bills.

Then she stepped out through the car door and handed them over neatly to Li Wuhui.

As she emerged, Li Wuhui’s gaze lingered on her left leg.

She only withdrew it when Qiu Yiran drew near.

Eyeing the two crumpled bills, Li Wuhui seemed to understand her intent. She took them but clutched them in her hand, asking, “One hundred?”

“That’s already plenty.” Qiu Yiran explained. “Cost of living here is low.”

“You think I’m upset it’s too little?” Li Wuhui said calmly.

The question left Qiu Yiran stunned—

She knew Li Wuhui wasn’t the type.

The Li Wuhui she’d known before they met had been destitute and struggling, possibly enduring even worse hardship than this.

But things were different now.

Li Wuhui had gained recognition back home. Her face was highly distinctive—even in a backwater city like Mang City, she was constantly recognized.

No major scandal had erupted yet. But if this kept up, it would inevitably spiral beyond what Qiu Yiran could tolerate.

She could accept her class fees being a measly thirty yuan. She could even accept some obscure media digging up her story one day—right up to the point where everyone knew she’d spiraled after her leg amputation, sinking into poverty and drawing pitying sighs… She wouldn’t care.

But she couldn’t bear Li Wuhui doing the same here, hearing those same words.

“Qiu Yiran.”

After a long pause, Li Wuhui pocketed the two fifties. But her gaze locked onto her tightly—like an interrogation, like a demand.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

Qiu Yiran snapped back to attention.

Li Wuhui watched her intently, unwilling to miss a single expression.

But seeing only blank confusion on her face, Li Wuhui laughed in sudden anger.

“Don’t you remember what day it is today?”

Qiu Yiran finally realized.

Her lips parted, white breath escaping, but no sound came out. She clenched her jaw and stayed silent, her pale face nearly translucent in the sunlight.

She couldn’t say it—

Of course I remember. Every Christmas is our wedding anniversary.

Li Wuhui stared at her.

A long while passed, as if she were finally exhausted by this version of her—thoroughly disappointed and ready to give up. From her pocket, she pulled something and tossed it over, saying coldly,

“You forgot your thing.”

Qiu Yiran caught it.

It was the fruit knife she’d left for Li Wuhui the night before, tucked into that bag of apples.

It was her gift—she’d thought Li Wuhui would understand. She only wanted her to peel an apple for herself anytime, happy or not.

Now Li Wuhui had thrown the fruit knife back, still warm from her body heat.

Qiu Yiran slipped the knife into her pocket. Her fingertip gently rubbed the lingering warmth on the handle as she forced out the words one by one.

“Actually, you could always peel apples for yourself.”

Christmas or not. She just wanted Li Wuhui to feel a little happier whenever.

“You’re right.”

Li Wuhui didn’t refute her. She laughed very softly.

“Actually, I should’ve learned to peel my own apples ages ago. Don’t worry—after I go back this time, I won’t come looking for you here anymore.”

The strength drained from Qiu Yiran’s clenched fist.

“So, Qiu Yiran.”

Li Wuhui called her name again, her voice lost amid the rush of traffic, tone unreadable. “Let’s get divorced.”

The setting sun glowed molten gold. Students streamed out of the building in a dense crowd, thick enough to suffocate.

In her stunned daze, Qiu Yiran looked up—and saw sunlight gliding along Li Wuhui’s silhouette.

“Come to Paris with me.”

As if she’d anticipated the reaction. Li Wuhui continued clearly,

“Then divorce me there.”

With that, Li Wuhui leaned placidly against the taxi.

Utterly oblivious, it seemed, to how outrageous her next proposal truly was.

“Drive this car there.”

Qiu Yiran, still dazed, thought she’d misheard. “What did you say?”

People flowed past them, cold air and Qiu Yiran’s severed left leg stretching between.

“I said, drive this car with me to Paris. Divorce me there…”

Li Wuhui’s gaze flicked over her leg and lingered. Then, enunciating every word, she said,

“Afterward, we’ll never see each other again.”