Tang Su’s breathing stagnated for a moment, then she laughed awkwardly.
Strangely, Wei Shuyu did not get angry at her or show any displeasure. Her voice remained calm, her face expressionless as she simply gazed at her faintly. She seemed no different from usual.
But…
Under her gaze, Tang Su felt as though everything about her had nowhere to hide.
“That’s not what I meant,” Tang Su said with a smile, clearly trying to ease the atmosphere. “I just wanted to ask about your plans.”
“My plans?”
Wei Shuyu gave her an up-and-down look, a hint of mockery appearing in her clear eyes.
“I made myself very clear. Please believe in Jin Yizhu.”
“Alright, I understand.”
Tang Su nodded. Wei Shuyu’s stance was unmistakable.
She clearly stood on Jin Yizhu’s side and even demanded that Tang Su declare her support as well.
“I just think we need a backup plan.”
Tang Su stood up and pulled open the conference room’s blinds, gesturing for her to look at the scene on the other side.
Beyond the one-way glass was the company’s office.
It was a workday, but no one was working. The employees sat at their desks, screens glowing with an eerie blue light that cast shifting shadows across their faces.
In front of the wall-mounted filing cabinets, several people in suits rummaged through them, half their bodies buried inside as their arms stretched out like vines, intent on unearthing every secret.
“You can see it too. Headquarters is coming in aggressively, determined to find our weak spot and halt this project.”
Tang Su shrugged, displaying an indifferent attitude. She had been hired by Jin Yizhu and felt no particular loyalty to the company—only appreciation for the high salary and Jin Yizhu’s easygoing nature.
If the company truly went under, it would only leave an ugly mark on her resume; otherwise, it posed no real issue for her.
“Wei Shuyu, I think…”
She looked at the woman before her, a trace of regret in her eyes.
Tang Su had managed entertainment companies for years and possessed a keen instinct for promising projects.
When Jin Yizhu had shown her a demo of Wei Shuyu’s work and asked her to join, she had initially refused. But after watching the footage, she agreed without hesitation.
She knew the value of that material. She was unsure if Jin Yizhu fully grasped it, but with it in her hands, she absolutely could not let it slip away.
“I think you deserve a better future.”
Tang Su’s voice carried almost a sigh. She wanted to persuade Wei Shuyu not to go all the way down one path to the end, not to put all her eggs in one basket. But seeing Wei Shuyu’s eyes, she felt like she was preaching to the deaf.
“Your work is excellent, and I know what to do. But Jin Yizhu… with Lionheart’s current situation, she might not be able to focus on this side.”
In other words, start approaching new investors now, prepare for both scenarios, and if things looked bad, simply cut Jin Yizhu loose and proceed on her own.
After all, Jin Yizhu’s only role here was providing the money.
A spoiled Eldest Miss with nothing but wealth to her name.
Wei Shuyu knew exactly how the world viewed Jin Yizhu.
Money had given her glory but also shackles. Trapped by them, she might not even realize what had happened. But was that Jin Yizhu’s fault?
Was it the fault of the naive and ignorant Jin Yizhu, who had not yet figured out the ways of the world?
And those who fished for fame, occupying positions they did not deserve, exchanging interests over toasts and cups—did they bear no blame?
Why, at a time like this, was Jin Yizhu—the one who had done nothing wrong—the first to be abandoned? Was money so important that it could erase right and wrong altogether?
“Mm, I know. But you signed a contract with her.”
Wei Shuyu’s expression did not change, not even her eyelids twitching. She looked at her with a half-smile, her voice laced with suppressed anger.
“Tang Su, you can only believe in her.”
Wei Shuyu toyed with the ornament on her bag, and only then did Tang Su notice that the CookieAnn clutched a tiny loudspeaker.
In that instant, Tang Su understood her implication.
“That’s a recorder?” Tang Su burst into amused laughter. “What wickedly fun design.”
Threatened by Wei Shuyu with the recording and her non-compete agreement, Tang Su’s wavering heart suddenly settled. Since Wei Shuyu had made the choice for her, she had no recourse.
Wei Shuyu finally raised her eyes and glanced at her. “You’re not angry?”
“Why would I be?” Tang Su spread her hands in a carefree gesture. “I’m just doing a job for pay. It doesn’t matter where. You, on the other hand—don’t gamble your whole life on this.”
In her view, Wei Shuyu was utterly mad.
With Jin Yizhu’s future uncertain, she did not run for the hills but carried a recorder everywhere, not even sparing Tang Su. She was clearly tying herself to Jin Yizhu’s ship, willing to sink into the sea with it.
‘What life do I have?’
Wei Shuyu smiled and shook her head, picked up her bag, and stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”
Tang Su said nothing, merely watching her back as she left.
‘What life do I have?’ What did that mean? For someone like Wei Shuyu—refined, beautiful, immensely talented, trained in a renowned studio, holding work that everyone coveted—why would she say something like that?
Wei Shuyu went downstairs, where He Ping’an waited with that flashy car.
It was raining outside, a drizzle pattering on the ground, forming small puddles on the concrete that shattered like mirrors with each new drop.
“Don’t drive this car next time,” Wei Shuyu said. “Something more low-key.”
She sat in the back seat and closed her eyes wearily, clutching her phone. The screen remained still, no notifications appearing.
“What time will Jin Yizhu arrive in Hong Kong?”
The flight from Tokyo to Hong Kong took at least five hours.
Jin Yizhu had boarded just past two in the afternoon, and it was barely past six now—far from landing time.
“Does her flight not have internet?”
Wei Shuyu asked again, then felt she had been too eager. She gave a self-mocking smile. “Forget I said that.”
He Ping’an had gone with them to Karuizawa and understood their relationship well.
Now that Jin Yizhu had returned to Hong Kong and the situation remained unclear, everything was up in the air. She stole a glance at Wei Shuyu through the rearview mirror. The usually aloof woman, devoid of emotion, now sat with her eyes closed, exhaustion etched across her face.
For some reason, He Ping’an felt a mix of emotions.
Back at the apartment building, Wei Shuyu opened her eyes and suddenly asked, “No one followed us, right?”
“No,” He Ping’an replied. “If there was a problem, I’d tell you.”
Wei Shuyu went upstairs and flung herself onto the sofa.
Jin Yizhu had not been here for a while, and the apartment bore only traces of her solitary life.
When she usually stayed here, Wei Shuyu never felt lonely; in fact, she found it comfortable.
She had always had a strong sense of territory and disliked sharing a roof with others, not even family or friends.
Jin Yizhu had left herself a room, furnished and ready for occupancy, but she rarely came. The nights she spent here were few, and later she simply slept in Wei Shuyu’s room instead. That spare room sat unused, devoid of Jin Yizhu’s presence.
Now, as Wei Shuyu looked around, she realized there were no traces of Jin Yizhu anywhere and felt an urge to cry.
Though she hated to admit it, she did feel a bit lonely.
What to do? Jin Yizhu had only just left, and she already felt lonely.
She had said she could not come over for a while.
It could not be helped. Wei Shuyu knew she could not be willful now. Jin Yizhu had many things to handle, and she was not the important one.
Exhausted, with a thousand thoughts tangling in her mind, Wei Shuyu’s weary brain grew even more chaotic.
She did not know if she was awake or asleep, only that the dream felt like a cage, trapping her completely.
In the dim darkness of the dream, the world was a vast labyrinth that held her tight, refusing to let her escape. She searched repeatedly for a way out but found none.
On the not-so-spacious sofa, Wei Shuyu’s hand dangled off the edge, and her phone slipped onto the carpet with a muffled thud.
She failed to wake fully, merely furrowing her brows as tears flowed even in sleep.
Fortunately, the nightmare did not last long. Her phone rang, the sound growing louder until it finally jolted Wei Shuyu awake.
She fumbled on the sofa but could not find it. As her sluggish mind cleared slightly, she spotted the phone on the carpet, its screen flashing with Jin Yizhu’s profile picture.
Wei Shuyu snatched it up. “Jin Yizhu? Have you arrived in Hong Kong?”
“Just landed,” Jin Yizhu said. She was at the airport, walking quickly while speaking rapidly. “I’m heading to the hospital now and might not have time to call later. What were you doing?”
“I was so tired I fell asleep by accident.”
After saying it, Wei Shuyu felt a pang of guilt.
Jin Yizhu was facing a major turning point in her life, and not only could she not help, she had fallen asleep?
Wei Shuyu took a deep breath. “Sorry, did it ring long?”
“Two or three times. Why apologize?” Jin Yizhu had much on her mind, so her tone was not light, but hearing Wei Shuyu’s voice smoothed some of the creases in her heart. “Nightmare?”
“…Yeah.”
In Jin Yizhu’s words, Wei Shuyu felt a heartwarming tenderness.
“How did you know?”
“Just a guess. Otherwise, you’d have picked up right away.”
Jin Yizhu walked briskly—perhaps time always flew when talking to Wei Shuyu.
“Take a bath before bed tonight. It’ll help you sleep better.”
She neared the airport exit and suddenly felt a wave of longing. Softly, she said, “Wei Shuyu, I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too… even though you just left.” Wei Shuyu suppressed her emotions, not wanting to burden Jin Yizhu with her concerns. “I hope things go smoothly.”
Come back soon. She left the second half unsaid, afraid of adding pressure.
“Mm, I got a friend to help. Some overseas doctors are coming for a consultation; they should arrive soon.”
Jin Yizhu sighed faintly. Spotting Mary waving at her, her heart settled a bit. “I need to hang up. Go to sleep soon, okay?”
“Okay, I’ll sleep right away.”
Wei Shuyu agreed, and the heart that had sunk earlier was mended by Jin Yizhu.
“Go to the hospital first. Tell me if anything happens, alright?”
She hesitated but ultimately said nothing about Tang Su.
Tang Su was already under control anyway; mentioning it or not made little difference. As long as the project here proceeded smoothly.
“Mm,” Jin Yizhu replied. “I’ll try.”
She had no desire to hide things from Wei Shuyu, but telling her would only add worry.
Better to resolve it quickly and return to her side.
