Chapter 31: Bet You Didn’t See That Coming

There were already plenty of onlookers gathered outside the set at Lake Heart Park. When He Lifu showed up and then left, the siblings exchanging glances from the bridge and the shore made for a poignant frame that tugged at everyone’s heartstrings—a perfect picture of life’s cruel twists. People couldn’t help but wonder what was going through their minds.

The video spread online like wildfire, sparking endless discussions. Even though the footage was distant and blurry, netizens could sense something was off in the atmosphere.

Zhong Kefei’s recent move to rebrand the group under his own name had stirred up a storm in the business world. That clip of Zhong Jia carried some negative impact on him and the company, and He Lifu showing up uninvited inevitably raised suspicions that he was there to stir trouble.

Rumor had it that he had a rocky relationship with his father, the son-in-law who had married into wealth, but he was the old man’s favorite. The recent purge at the top had infuriated the elderly Old Master He so much that he ended up in the ER again, shaking with rage under the oxygen mask as he cursed Zhong Kefei as an ungrateful wolf.

Zhong Kefei’s wife hadn’t been well these past few years either, keeping a low profile to the point where some whispered she was under house arrest.

Old Master He had only one daughter under his knee, and he had been deeply reluctant to give her to Zhong Kefei. But with no other choice—his only child blinded by love—and the live-in son-in-law playing the humble, devoted role to win over his father-in-law and wife, who could have guessed he was just biding his time? Once Zhong Kefei had earned their trust, eroding the power structure wasn’t hard. What the outside world was really curious about was how the original heir apparent would be handled—after all, He Lifu was his son too.

“So why exactly did He Lifu come?” Shi Heng couldn’t figure it out.

He had the good fortune to meet this scion of a wealthy family once, at a cocktail party thrown by a luxury brand. The agency’s artists had scored invites, so naturally their manager tagged along.

He Lifu was nominally the He Family heir, but his silver spoon had been gold-plated later in life—not exactly pure pedigree. That kind of background was a bit awkward. In social settings, people were all smiles and deference to his face, but behind his back, they might scoff that he was just lucky.

He Liuyin, who was chatting with others nearby, just smiled when she overheard—no intention of stepping in for her son. Zhong Kefei was in full social butterfly mode and had no attention to spare for him. Only Old Master He from the He Family, not far away, called him over kindly to introduce him to some old contacts from the political world.

Truth be told, neither sibling had grown up in a particularly healthy environment. He Lifu’s brooding look suited any black-and-white photo perfectly, but as for Zhong Jia—A Cha remarked, “Tiantian’s doing okay, right? She’s pretty sunny.”

On a call from backstage, Shi Heng held his phone and tapped into the trending topic’s live feed. “Eh, more or less. A kid her age—she’s got way too much bottled up inside.”

Not bad. Online, aside from the die-hard shippers pairing up the siblings, nothing too outrageous. Shi Heng even picked up some inspiration from the wild speculations in the comments. He tsked. “You think maybe He Lifu’s been having a rough time lately? Figures his sister, with no mom or dad around, must be even worse off. So he drops by for some psychological comfort?”

No need to say how that turned out—total letdown.

Shi Heng finished speaking and waited a good while with no response. He called out a few times before A Cha snapped back to attention. “Huh? Shi Ge, what’d you just say?”

At the end of her line of sight, under the willow trees, two people were interacting in a way that felt too intimate—not like rehearsing lines at all. She really wanted to tell Shi Heng, oblivious back in the capital, that Zhong Jia hiding things? Bullshit!

Sure, same-sex marriage was on the verge of legalization, but even during the public consultation, support and opposition were neck-and-neck. Change wouldn’t happen overnight, so plenty of same-sex couples in the industry still shied away from the spotlight, opting for secret marriages as the unspoken norm.

Not to mention, Xie Yingnian and Qiao Yingqiu had their own history. And Zhong Jia with… what the hell? The woman her own mom had a thing for—the one who almost became her stepmom. Eerily similar “love born from the script.” If word got out, it’d just feed the forbidden romance crowd.

Off-screen, it looked taboo to outsiders. On-screen, they were playing out something taboo.

“What do you think Kong Can’s feeling right now?”

The crew finished setting the scene and led the performers for the opera to the stage by the lake. The extras took their positions. Nong Siqing gazed forward through the fine curtain of rain from the awning, the light in her eyes drifting off to some distant place.

In the script, it was time to bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new. By evening, the irritating drizzle had stopped. The county had brought in a Kunqu Opera troupe from out of province, with the star martial male and female leads taking the stage together. Cheers and applause erupted from the crowd below.

The lead cleared his throat and began. Flutes and strings filled the air as a black-awninged boat on the lake suddenly rocked gently. Kong Can, who was supposed to part ways with Ruan Ting, couldn’t hold back and kissed her instead.

This Kunqu piece was called “Contemplating the Mortal.” How many years had tumbled by? People of old were trapped by love, and now she too couldn’t sever her mortal attachments.

Zhong Jia fiddled with the corner of her script. Xie Yingnian sat right beside her; in her peripheral vision, she caught the glimpse of an earlobe adorned with a diamond-shaped jade earring. When the director asked, her breathing grew suddenly heavy.

“My initial thought was: Don’t like her. Don’t cause her trouble. Don’t let Yuan Yuan end up without a family like me.”

That was the resolve Kong Can made after fleeing Ruan Ting’s room that night in a panic. The reason was straightforward. Nong Siqing’s expression remained calm as she waited for her to continue.

But Xie Yingnian’s gaze lingered briefly on Zhong Jia’s face, as if there were deeper layers to her words worth savoring.

“So Kong Can wants to leave Chongxiang. She has no home, nowhere she must go, anywhere she can go. Before leaving, she wants to see Ruan Ting one last time—no regrets left behind.” Zhong Jia’s eyelids drooped slightly as she earnestly shared her understanding of Kong Can. “But when they actually meet, she regrets it.”

A few of them sat around a square table draped in gray-checkered cloth that blocked the sides. The resting pavilion’s door flap hung half-open, and the portable AC’s heating was mediocre. Under the table, though, the local warmer meant for toasting sticky rice cakes baked so fiercely that everyone had to scoot their stools back a bit. With their legs toasty, at least their upper bodies weren’t as chilled.

Zhong Jia’s hand hung naturally under the table. Immersed in her narration, she inched closer bit by bit, gently hooking Xie Yingnian’s pinky finger. “Liking each other but unable to be together—that’s the real regret.”

Their pinkies intertwined. She knew in this moment she wasn’t Kong Can, so she had a million reasons to hold tight to the person she liked.

Without the tablecloth, the subtle move would have been out in the open—but as it was, it felt exactly like a stolen moment.

Xie Yingnian nearly fumbled the water cup she’d meant to set down. Her other hand quietly clasped, Nong Siqing glanced their way with a knowing glint of amusement, as if she’d seen right through them.

Xie Yingnian, one of the parties involved, kept a perfectly composed facade. But the hand splashed with a few drops slipped into her pocket—empty. Only then did she remember she’d left the prayer beads with Jujiu earlier.

She paused, then rubbed the innocent fabric of her pocket instead.

What emotion she was trying to soothe, even Xie Yingnian couldn’t say. She rarely felt this adrift, yet lately it happened all too often.

Thinking back to the start of filming, how the tables had turned. Who’d have thought the hesitant one would end up being her?

Then she heard Zhong Jia say, “This kiss is impulsive, born from letting go she can’t quite manage.”

Zhong Jia was speaking to Nong Siqing, but Xie Yingnian felt the weight of those words sink into her chest—tart and bubbling, like something fermenting slowly. It left her equal parts expectant and panicked, desperate to seal up those stirring pores.

Her phone calendar showed the twenty-seventh of the twelfth lunar month. A few days to real New Year’s Eve. An invisible hourglass ticked down amid the city’s festive lights. When the midnight bells rang, stepping into the new year meant starting fresh.

The girl was still young, just into her twenties, two years younger than Cainran. Her life stretched long ahead; she’d meet better people, and then she’d realize it was just a misguided crush—not worth it.

They wrapped a scene of the two strolling along the lake. A ten-minute break, then the conversation on the black-awninged boat—the highlight of the evening, and the final one.

Nong Siqing gave the cue. Three, two, one—the camera eased in.

The boat passed under the bridge arch. The boatman slowed his oar strokes because Ruan Ting had pulled him aside before boarding and slipped him a tip.

The boatman figured it was tourists reluctant to leave the lake’s scenery behind. But he’d forgotten how early dark fell in deep winter. Most folks boated across just to hear the opera on the other side, where seats by the stage were packed. The water around was pitch black—what scenery was there to admire?

The scenery in Ruan Ting’s eyes was Kong Can, stammering unusually. The view wasn’t what held her back; this was her one true reluctance.

“You must’ve heard this plenty. It’s from your parts, right?” Kong Can kept her head down. She and Ruan Ting sat at opposite ends of the cabin—not close, but for them, agonizingly far. Like back at their first meeting, bickering fiercely over half a braised duck.

The oar dipped into the water rhythmically, lazy and slow. The opera warbled faintly in the distance—hard to make out, just a vague melody.

Ruan Ting smiled faintly. “Mm.”

She waited quietly. The young woman kept up a stream of small talk the whole way—saying nothing and everything at once. Ruan Ting heard it all and caught the scent of farewell.

Kong Can twisted her hands. Back in the tube-shaped apartments, her reputation wasn’t great either—adrift with no one to lean on, no tree to perch in. That’s why her features carried a touch of feigned ferocity, a shield against being pushed around.

In front of Ruan Ting, though, it all melted away naturally. She looked fair-skinned and well-behaved, hurtful words stuck in her throat. Her troubled expression made Ruan Ting want to take the burden for her.

“I heard from Miao Miao that you’re leaving?” Ruan Ting dropped it casually.

Kong Can across from her froze for a beat. Her tense back slowly relaxed as she nodded along, a bit slow on the uptake. “Yeah.”

“Where are you going?”

“Dian City or…” Kong Can paused for a few seconds, pursed her lips, and trailed off.

Ruan Ting smiled. “What, afraid I’ll chase after you?”

“No, I just want to go somewhere farther away. I’ve told you before—I really want to leave the province. I’m so curious about the outside world, the sea, the plains… without all those towering mountains…”

And without you.

She kept that last part to herself, the words bitter and sour in her heart as tears fell silently.

Had she been holding this in for so long, circling around it like this?

Ruan Ting said, “You can go anywhere you want. When are you leaving? I’ll see you off.”

“You’re just… like this…” Kong Can’s voice broke, trembling at the end. The faint echo rippled through Ruan Ting’s chest, stirring a fine web of pain.

“Like what?” Ruan Ting handed her a tissue. Kong Can took it, then grabbed Ruan Ting’s wrist and bit down haphazardly on the soft skin.

The woman let out a soft hiss but smiled with indulgent affection. “Are you a dog or something?”

“You’re just going to let me go like that?” It was such a contradictory thing to say—Kong Can regretted it immediately, gritting her teeth.

Just like that.

How easily it came out. Ruan Ting thought to herself, I wanted so badly to relive the first half of my life for you… and now it doesn’t even matter if you stay or go. Do you have any idea why?

“Then don’t go?” Ruan Ting teased, though there was a thread of genuine hope woven into her words.

She wanted to say something soothing, anything to keep those distressing red rims from forming around Kong Can’s eyes again. But before she could speak, Kong Can cut her off. “Ruan Ting, do you love me?”

Ruan Ting had heard “like” from her lips a few times before. This time, though, she wanted to hear “love.”

As if a firm yes would let her surrender completely, without regrets.

To Ruan Ting, the difference between “like” and “love” wasn’t all that great.

Her marriage had been forged partly on “like,” after all. Gou Jiaxun had cut such a dashing figure, his vows of forever sealed into the wedding ring on her finger—like an extension of her own body. The envious glances from friends and family had made her feel adored every moment of every day.

But later… there was no later.

Only now, years afterward, another young woman staring at her with reddened eyes, asking if she loved her.

She’d been hurt once before, so her instinct was to run, to avoid feeling it all again. And yet, deep down, she had fallen for her a thousand times over.

What was love? It wasn’t just blandly muddling through the days together. It was facing hardship head-on and still choosing to act on impulse—for her, just this once.

“I love you.” Ruan Ting’s gaze softened, her voice sincere and unwavering. “I love you.”

The boat rocked suddenly. The boatman rowed on steadily, unperturbed. On the nearby floating stage, the performers flung their water sleeves with a flourish, their voices carrying clearly now as they sang a passage from Mulian Saves His Mother:

“How many roads to Spirit Mountain? Ten wan eight thousand, and some to spare.”

First Kong Can leaned in to kiss her. Then Ruan Ting kissed her back.

Her neck was damp—tears, and the spot where Zhong Jia had kissed her before. Xie Yingnian heard the director’s voice from another boat nearby calling “cut.”

She lowered her eyes to the girl in her arms. Zhong Jia’s eyes were closed, tear tracks lingering at the corners, her face still buried in Xie Yingnian’s shoulder as if she had no intention of getting up.

This girl always struggled with crying scenes, as if she were holding back a flood of tears and the valve just wouldn’t cooperate.

But today had gone smoothly. The latter part, especially, had tears streaming down her face like rain. perhaps it was because of the WeChat message Xie Yingnian had just instructed Secretary Zhou to send: Boss Xie’s given it some more thought lately. Nothing major, but it turns out Xie Yingnian dated your mom back in the day—isn’t that a bit awkward?

Zhong Jia rubbed her eyes and sat up. She’d cried so hard it left her uncomfortable; she coughed a few times.

“Why do you always close your eyes?” A breeze swept across the lake, tousling the hair on Zhong Jia’s forehead. Xie Yingnian reached out to smooth it back, her gaze lingering on the corner of Zhong Jia’s eye—the spot she’d kissed.

Zhong Jia let out a puzzled “Ah?” Her nose was still stuffy, her voice carrying an innocent lilt. Realization dawned, and she explained, “Because it makes time feel like it slows down.”

The woman before her had probably guessed as much. She turned her face away impassively, but Zhong Jia simply stood, walked over, and squatted down to chase after Xie Yingnian’s gaze. Propping her chin in one hand, she broke into an irrepressible grin. “You doing that just makes me overthink.”

The boat swayed side to side, turning her into a silly, grinning roly-poly as she squatted there. Xie Yingnian smiled helplessly. “Then tell me—what are you thinking about?”

“Um… on New Year’s Eve, when we get the day off, can I take you out to dinner?” Zhong Jia tugged at the hem of Xie Yingnian’s pants.

They were in the middle of filming—an inappropriate moment. Xie Yingnian nodded anyway. “Sure.”

Once they were off the boat, Xie Yingnian’s first move was to have Jujiu hand over her phone.

She wanted to check if the message to Zhou Chun had gone through. Yu Maidong was off filming a variety show deep in the mountains—if she’d gone along, there’d probably be no signal.

What she saw instead was a chat screenshot that left her equal parts exasperated and amused. Zhong Jia had replied to Secretary Zhou: My mom passed away years ago. Even if she were still alive—even if she’d liked Xie Yingnian—I could still compete with her fair and square.

Zhou Chun had responded with a “hehe,” adding: Not surprising you’re her daughter—no morals there. Or that she’s Qiao Yingqiu’s daughter, either. Loves fierce and out in the open, no holds barred.

Xie Yingnian: “…”

So all that crying had been purely because she’d leveled up?